Saturday, November 05, 2005
Oh yes, and I took all your advice and played hardball with the texting thing - I simply refused to respond. It took two days for James to crack but now he seems to have the hang of this calling and talking thing. Much nicer. I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.
I also seem to found myself another job. In addition to working behind the bar at night, I've been talked into helping out in The Club promotional office during the day - yes, it makes my soul rebel to even say the word 'office' but now and then the promise of a fistful of filthy lucre is a great persuader - so I'm finally feeling reasonably solvent, an unusual state of affairs for me.
There's a party happening tonight and I'm taking James along. I have a slightly unsettled feeling about James meeting my friends but what the hell... let's see what happens.
|You fit in with:|
Your ideals mostly resemble that of a Humanist. Although you do not have a lot of faith, you are devoted to making this world better, in the short time that you have to live. Humanists do not generally believe in an afterlife, and therefore, are committed to making the world a better place for themselves and future generations.
Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com
Thursday, November 03, 2005
OK, I confess. This pic was not taken specifically for HNT so it is kind of cheating. But my digital camera is on the blink so it's either this or nothing...
I like this picture because it reminds me of how much I love Thailand. It was taken on Ao Nang beach (near Krabi) early one morning after watching the sun rise. Good times.
I don't think that beach exists any more - the whole of the Krabi coastline was badly hit by the Tsunami.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
For some inexplicable reason I decided to tidy my room this morning. Actually, it's not that inexplicable. The flash point came when I couldn't locate one matching pair of shoes - and I have lots of shoes. Even I can't cope with that level of utter chaos.
Here is a list of things I found under my bed:
One pair of Calvin Klein boxers (scarily last century - and I have no recollection of their owner, even more scary)
One pack of Rizla
Two (empty) boxes of Durex Fetherlight
Four ripped up tube tickets
One set of furry pink handcuffs
One concert ticket - The Pixies, 1st September at Ally Pally, London (it was GREAT)
One g-string, pink, with ribbon ties
One slightly grey sports bra
One (empty) bottle of Bollinger
One (empty) bottle of Jack Daniels
One (empty) bottle of Absolut
One (almost empty) bottle of Vittel
One copy of Scarlet magazine
One copy of Vogue
One copy of Penthouse (I swear, I have NEVER seen it before)
One half-eaten Walnut Whip
My favorite pair of Earl jeans
One black stocking, slightly laddered
One dog-eared copy of Mil Millington's 'A Certain Chemistry'
One bottle of massage oil
One blonde wig
I'm not sure what this says about my life, except that I'm a lazy cow who never does any housework.
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
I looked at myself in the bathroom mirror for half an hour this morning. Trying to find myself. Trying to meet my own eyes.
I'm not sure I like what I see.
Text from James this morning: THNKNG OF U. J XOXOXO
You'd think James would have realised I'm a bad investment by now. Remind me not to put any share portfolio I might have in the future in his hands. He's obviously not very good at his job.
Helen is taking me shopping. The purchase of new shoes is the only effective cure for the comedown blues.
Monday, October 31, 2005
I also feel like a bit of an idiot.
James was lovely on Sunday morning, especially considering that he was probably expecting a night of torrid sex and all he got was a frozen physical wreck who wasn't up for anything more than a cuddle. I mean, let's face it, you treat a girl to a swanky hotel in the hope of a supremely dirty weekend, she talks you into dropping your first e and then she freaks out. Not the best scenario, is it? If I were him, I would probably never talk to me again.
But James was Mr Super Considerate. I really can't figure him out. Took me home early on Sunday morning as requested, helped me into the house (yes, I was that fragile), looked me deep in the eyes, and told me that if I needed him to just call and he'd be over like a shot. Then he kissed me gently and took off.
All this perfection - it's almost too much for me.
God, I'm a cow, aren't I?
Sunday, October 30, 2005
James picked me up yesterday in his ancient rustbucket (apparently it's a classic - an Alpha Romeo GT something - all I know is that it smells of damp dog, the heating doesn't work, and there's an annoying leak located directly above the passenger seat) and whisked me off, as promised, to a secret location in Sussex.
I was expecting a Bed & Breakfast in the finest British tradition - the kind of place done out exclusively in man-made fibres and melamine, presided over by a grim-faced blowsy bottle-blonde with American-tan clad cankles. I was wrong. We turn off the main road down a long gravel driveway and park up in front of a beautiful manor house, its old stone walls covered with creepers. James grins at me, what do you think? I'm like, well, yeah, I guess it'll have to do.
A gaggle of liveried flunkies compete to wrestle the tatty overnight bag from my hand and we're whisked off to a room the size of your average London flat. I love hotels and I doubt that I've ever stayed anywhere quite as nice as this; as soon as we're left alone I race around like an over-excited puppy while James sits on the edge of the four-poster bed, watching me with what can only be described as amusement. A tin full of home-baked biscuits! Chocolates! Two sofas! A desk! A decanter of port! A hand-written note from the manager! Flowers! A basket of fruit! Big squishy towels! A balcony! I'm in hotel heaven. I turn to James and smile, OK. I'll admit it, I'm impressed. He smiles back, that was the intention.
We order drinks from room service and sit out on the balcony. The hotel garden is massive, stretching out as far as the eye can see. I sigh happily and decide that if Helen and I ever get evicted from our almost-squat we'll be relocating to the South Lodge Hotel.
So, James goes, what's this surprise you mentioned? I can tell from the anticipation in his eyes that he's hoping it'll be some sort of sexual kick. I'll go get it, I say, don't go anywhere. I head back into the room, quickly find what I'm looking for and go back outside. Close your eyes, I say, and give me your hand. James does as he's told - I do like an obedient man - and I place the surprise on his outstretched palm. OK, I say, you can look now. James opens his eyes, sees the two white pills and goes, Sara, what the fuck are these? I go, isn't it obvious? James goes, yes and that's what's freaking me out.
Last time James and I went out the conversation turned to drugs. It seems that James is a bit of an innocent - beyond experimenting with mushrooms at boarding school and a few lines of coke here and there, he's barely done anything. However, I got the distinct sense that he's more than a bit curious.
I'm like, oh come on James, don't get all coy with me. You seemed very interested in the whole e thing the other night. And what could be a better setting than this? I gesture around the room. I'll take care of you. Plus, I have a cast-iron guarantee that these are top-quality pills. He looks uncertain until I say, and anyway, shagging on e has to be experienced to be believed. I wink, trust me, it'll be a positive experience. I obviously choose the right tactic because five seconds later James has swallowed his pill. I do the same, order more drinks, and sit back and wait. I haven't taken a pill for a while so I'm quite looking forward to it.
Coming up while drinking vodka and ginger ale and enjoying the rolling green of the South Downs is a surprisingly calming experience. I savour the usual pinpricks, the tingling that starts at the base of my skull, spreading warm and tender, then warmer still. I turn to James, can you feel that? He looks uncertain, I think so...he rubs his neck, maybe. It's taking a long time, longer than usual. I'm starting to think that maybe I'll be having words with Marty The Dealer when I get back to London, no way is he getting away with selling me substandard goodies, when it hits me like a truck.
My ears register a long-drawn-out moan. It comes from me from deep inside me the moan of a child in pain cold air squeezing my skin... unbearablepressure... waveafterwaveafterwave crashing crashing... hits a spot in the deepest centre of my brain...won'tstopwon'tstopwon'tstop... sick... sick...sick to the core...got to lie down... too much green too much sky too much space it hurts to look at all that space i have got to get inside lie down wrap myself in duvet hide... feetlegsarmsbodywon'tmove .. stucktomychairgottomovecan'tbeartostayhere.. toomuchspacetoomuchairtoocold.. ithurtsithurtsithurtsohgodithurts .. ihavetoliedownwhywontmyfuckingbodylistentome? I have to fucking well lie down...nownownownownow
a lull in the pressure, in the fucking awful thing pressing down on me freezing me numbing me with painpainpaintoomuchtoomuchpain.... and I drop from the chair on all fours across the carpet sinking into the carpet my hands are dissapearing into this fucking shag-pile luxurious blood-red hotel carpet have to keep going across this widewidewide pool of blood swimming wading keepgoingkeepgoing pull hands out keepgoingtheefforttheeffort arms so heavy legs so big so heavy and i get to the bed pull myself up one big surge of effort never knew i had it in me god this is sososososososo hard and im on the bed the softest bed ever to cradle my body under the duvet so warm im shaking juddering a fucking power drill in my spine splintering driving fleshandbone and dark warm dark warm...safe safe safe its ok im safe icanbreathe i can breathe
What could be an hour or five minutes later - I don't know, time has gone to a place unrelated to any part of me - my brain slowly starts to settle back into my skull and I register the feeling of foreign skin pressed up against my back, strong arms holding me tight, warm breath steady on my neck. I stir, feeling my way. James' voice whispers in my ear, Sara, are you alright? I whisper back, yes. He says, I was really worried about you, you freaked. Are you sure you're alright? Yes, I say. I'm fine now. Didn't you feel it? That was the strongest pill I've ever taken. He says, I felt it. It was fine, nice. But I kind of put a downer on your high? I ask. You could say that, he replies. And then he squeezes me gently and it feels like the best thing in the world. Safer than I've ever felt. James and I are so close it feels as if we're sharing the same skin. He kisses me gently but I'm washed up, wrung out, exhausted. All I'm good for is lying curled up in that soft, soft bed, James against me, contact from head to foot, just feeling, sensing, listening, a sponge, absorbing, no energy to respond.
I think that might be the last pill I'm ever going to take.
What a waste of a four-poster bed.