Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Touchdown!

OK. So here I am, tired as hell but I have to admit I'm pretty psyched.

I had a good night. A very good night. And I am pleased to announce that James is definitely NOT gay.

We met up at the Walmer Castle in Notting Hill - the best place for Thai food in West London. It felt as if I hadn't seen him for ages but in reality it's only been a week. But then I guess a week is a long time when you're buzzing with sexual frustration.

Last night felt different from the moment James kissed me hello. The other times we've been out he's been a little distant; charming, funny and attentive, but definitely physically remote. Last night he was making contact from the outset, doing all those little things that really make an impact when you're wondering if someone is truly attracted to you; stuff like touching my hand, lighting my cigarette, feeding me from his plate, brushing a stray strand of hair out of my eyes, touching me in the small of the back when we go upstairs. I'm not sure what's happened the past week but I have the feeling that he suddenly decided that it's OK to be into me. For whatever reason, he's stopped holding back.

Hey, I'm not complaining.

We settle the bill and he tells me that he's got a great bottle of wine back at his place and would I like to share it? I go, well... Like I have to think about it, like it's a tricky decision to make, but since he's made me wait for longer than is truly necessary I'm thinking that the least I can do is play hard to get for all of, oh, three seconds.

So we head over to his place (which fortunately is close by since I took TJ's advice and pulled the out the va-va-voom stops, which for me always means the highest and most impractical shoes I own). His flat is gorgeous, in fact it's so gorgeous that I start wondering about his sexuality again as soon as I see it. It's about a million light years away from the hovel I live in. We settle down on his sofa, he puts the stereo on on (Transglobal Underground, not a bad choice) and we demolish a kick-ass bottle of red wine (can't remember what it was apart from Margeux, Chateau de something, French), and the flirt factor starts revving up more than a few notches.

One spliff, most of the wine and lots of conversation later, and James gives me this really intense look. I'm like, OK, what's happening here? He reaches over, takes the glass from my hand, his eyes still fixed on mine, and places it on the floor. Then he pulls me to him.

I thought that the last kiss was pretty good but this... this is incredible. It’s a showstopper. A truly Technicolour vaseline-lensed Hollywood moment. I smell his shampoo and something else, deliciously peppery-sweet. I melt.

Yep, we did it right there, on the sofa.

Maybe because it's been a while, maybe because I'd almost forgotten what sex is like, but this was truly amazing.

Throughout, I felt shrink-wrapped, insulated, my mind numb, all energy diverted to the senses, knife-sharp, crystal-refracted, like the moment before the parachute opens, before bare feet leave the warm edge of the highest diving board, when pure impulse and adrenaline kicks in and everything else shuts down.

Yeah, it was that good.

And afterwards, he holds me close and says, promise me you'll want to do that again.

I promise.

And as you'll know if you're a regular to my blog, I very rarely break my promises.

BUT, I like this guy and that really freaks me out. Whatever, I've got to keep a grip on this; I've just been shagged stupid by a hot piece of ass which means I'm hormonal soup right now.

It’ll end up being just another experience for me to notch in my memory, on my bedpost, another story for my friends to laugh over, another layer on my history, another chapter, another verse, another stanza in The Saga of Sara.

I have not undergone some strange seismic shift in the past couple of hours.

And the important thing to remember is that I never, ever, allow myself to believe the hype.

21 comments:

Anonymous said...

Congrats! I'm very happy for you!

PS Don't be afraid to like this guy. Who knows, he may actually be boyfriend material if you let him be.... :)

kimmyk said...

sounds like you had a good time!

but not to bust your bubble-i had a "friendship" once upon a time with a guy who i thought was gay-but then later thought-he can't be gay now after circumstances-he was gay. took him another year to come out-but he was gay. my initial instincts were spot on.

Kate B. said...

kimmyk - hi, I think it's your first time on my blog. Thanks for stopping by!

The gay thing is always a worry - my first every boyfriend came out about a year after we broke up. To this day he claims I 'turned' him. Wanker.

Thanks NYPC - I have major committment issues which means that I really can't get my head around having a conventional relationship. I'm going to do a post on it soon, it's a fascinating subject, that relationship game...

Chav Mum said...

Good stuff, but now you've reminded me that its that time of the month where things are at there most needful and its been a bit of a dry spell as Chez Shazza.

If he didn't wipe his knob in the duvet afterwards, take it from me - marry him and bare his children.

After all that excitement I'm off to rub myself on the banister. Still - out clubbing on Friday so may put an end to all that.

positronic said...

Congrads. Your narrative in general and of James is so great that I'm considering turning gay. Anyhew. Sounds like a cracking good night.

WDKY said...

Isn't it amazing how life looks so different after a really good orgasm or three? Glad it was such a success, and it sounds like bi might be the more likely scenrio!

TJ said...

Great post--glad to hear that James finally came through. (I just hope he appreciates that he has me to partially thank for how hot you must have looked in that outfit--that lucky bastard.)

Well, it sounds like there was a lot of action on both sides of the pond last night.

Harry the Hire said...

good for you

Brixton was ’97, btw. I lived with a Swedish girl, can’t remember her name, she was the manager at Dog Star and her boyfriend was a door bitch (he looked a bit like Shane MacGowan) I’d be surprised if they’re still there.
I am Australian. Four years in England and then met my wife and moved here October 2001. My wife is Polish.

Kate B. said...

Dr Khan - a wanker is a male or female of the species who takes themselves in hand, as it were. Hope you got enough notes for a detailed thesis ;-)

Chav - I know plenty of guys I can send down to Cardiff for you - can't guarantee that they're up to scratch but it's got to be better than the bannister (mind you, saves having to dust it, look on the bright side, eh?).

Positronic - if you do turn then let me know, my old flame is always on the lookout for fresh prey...

wdky - I can cope with bi, just about... although I would prefer the good doctor's diagnosis of metrosexual (in fact that sounds just about perfect, sex and shopping, fab)

tj - you have my eternal gratitude.

lighterate - ahah, that explains it. And I think Adam was at the Dogstar pre-1997. Swedish girl and door bitch sound appealing... hmmm

TJ said...

you're welcome--always looking to do whatever I can to spread a little friskiness around the globe.

and hey, why'd you edit your photo?You've got great eyes, but you cropped out another great feature--those full, sexy lips.

k o w said...

Cheers.

Kate B. said...

kow - cheers to you too!

TJ - nice compliment, thanks. :-) I took it down because someone told me that to have a recognisable pic of myself on the blog is a bit dumb. I'm not so sure but they played on my latent anxieties and as a result, I've been travelling on the tube for the last couple of days expecting someone to peer closely at me, point an accusing finger and shout, you're that slag who writes that filthy blog, aren't you, and then proceed to get an axe out or similar. Foolish I know, but there you have it. That's my reason.

TJ said...

makes sense--I suppose I should rethink the photos already posted on my blog. they do say that Philadelphia is a big 'small town'--it probably wouldn't be long before someone from work, an old classmate, or ex stumbles across it.

Kate B. said...

TJ - it's true. Or even worse, how about last night's adventure logging on to read about themselves in full(ish) gory glory? Wince.

Harry the Hire said...

Does Adam have a Midlands accent and look like Shane MacGowan? If so it might be him. He was a good bloke; be about 33-37 now. The entire time we lived together I was nursing a broken heart. I used to 'nurse' my broken heart by giving up alcohol and drugs and getting really fit.

Perhaps you know the type: nothing exceeds like excess on either end of the behavioural spectrum. For much of my twenties I was either caning it on 3 day binges or taking sabbaticals of swimming and other body-conscientious activities.

Now I have found a much more manageable balance: I do no exercise and take no drugs. Apathy means you’re never disappointed.

When I lived with the door bitch (Adam?) and his Swedish girlfriend I was a bit of a loser (hell, my friends would say I have been much more consistent than that). I went 6 months without touching a beer, while working at a bar in Dean Street Saturday nights. By the end of the six months I was more strung out than I was before I’d quit.

Kate B. said...

LOL! NO! It's not the same guy. The Adam I know is a bit of a dish and has a London accent.

I like the 'apathy' line, excellent.

Which bar in Dean Street?

Harry the Hire said...

not Groucho Club, unfortunately.

It was the kind of bar I'd never have been seen dead in, but the tips were very good and booze was free.

Kate B. said...

Groucho is full of pseuds...

Hmm, I'll have to think about this one...

The French House (maybe not, that's quite nice)? Akbar (probably not, I think that's reasonably new)? I know, it's got to be All Bar One! Am I right?

Harry the Hire said...

you're in the ball park, but on the wrong side of the pitch

Kate B. said...

I'll have to come back to you on that one. I am truly bemused.

Anonymous said...

Hooray! Over the Hump, as they used to say.