Sex with an Ex

Regular readers will have noticed that my mood has been quite up and down lately. On Monday I cried for about two hours, though not for any reason that I can really pinpoint- other than still being a bit fucked up about the end of my last relationship.

So anyway, on Tuesday, I cheered myself up the way I know best: get really, really steaming drunk and have sex. As I mentioned in my last post, G was coming to stay. We went out for nearly a year, back in 2002. We haven’t really kept in touch, but then when I was out with a friend in Camden a few months or two ago, we decided to call him. Since then we’ve been texting each other quite a lot, but we hadn’t really had a chance to meet up as he works as an air steward (or ‘cabin crew’, as they’re now apparently known as).

I met G after work and we walked down to the Elephant to get the train. It was quite funny, as I’d been a bit worried that we might run out of things to say to each other, but we didn’t. In fact we were chattering away pretty much non-stop. Back at the Mansions, I cracked open the Zubrowka. Recently I’ve been seriously contemplating whether I might in fact have a drinking problem. I knocked back a couple of drinks (G drank a lot slower). He charmed my housemate, and then we went to drink in my room so we could smoke. It was lots of fun, just chatting away and drinking. There were so many things to talk about- there’s no point me writing any of it here as only the people from back home would know what on earth I was talking about.

G told me about ‘The Game’ (some sort of pulling technique that is apparently almost completely foolproof). I’d read a little about it, though not the actual book. G, of course, has read it. Apparently, the aim is to strike up a conversation- and then turn it round to sex. So, for example, you start talking to a girl and you ask her something like whether she thinks having sex with your cousin is right. She’ll say no. Then you say, kinda jokingly, “You’re not very adventurous!” She should then say something like, “yes I am, this one time….” blah blah blah. Personally I can’t see it working, but then again I always had a higher opinion of my intelligence than is really justified. I’m quite a sucker really, so no doubt in the real world (rather than in my opinionated state of mind while sat at my desk and not really facing any reality).

After quite a few vodkas, we went to get some food at the Mexican restaurant round the corner from mine. I’d heard from quite a few people that it was really good, but I’d never been. It’s known either as “the Mexican place under the railway bridge”, or “don’t siesta, come fiesta”, which is the big sign they have hanging up. It’s actually called Bandidos or something, but I will continue to call it “don’t siesta”. The food there was pretty good, and the cocktails are lovely. For the two of us, with drinks, was about £20, which is reasonable, even though it’s not very central or anything. In contrast, the Spanish place I went to with my mum was £25, without drinks. I reckon Don’t Siesta would be really fun with a big group of people, even though they were playing really dodgy Hindi-pop.

We went back to mine to drink more Zubrowka. We went through some of my old photo albums, and laughed at the pictures of G looking really mashed, and of loads of random nights out and so on.

At about 1 am, we were lying on my bed, smoking yet more cigarettes, and G leant in to kiss me.

“Woah!” I said, needing to clarify something. “I hope you don’t think that your whole ‘game’ thing is working on me!”

“No, no, it’s not that.”

“Good… so why are you kissing me?”

“I’ve not kissed you yet, stupid.”

“Yes, I know. But I just wanted to clarify that it’s not ‘the game’.”

“It’s not. It’s just something we both want to do.”

It was very nice to kiss him, very soft and just so more-ish. Not to mention nostalgic. He took off his tshirt and I was pleased to see that he’s no longer as skinny as he used to be.

I’m not very good at writing about sex. I’d clearly never be able to write pornography. Suffice to say, the sex was excellent. I’d not had sex in that bed before (and I’ve lived there for nearly four months!) but my housemate, who used to have that room, told me that the bed is really squeaky. And sure enough, when I was on top, it started squeaking away. I was worried that it might wake up the house (though my housemate once told me that if she heard the bed making that noise, she’d know what was going on and would just be pleased I was getting some action- pretty considerate, really), and I was also worried I would start laughing. A change of position stopped the squeaking, anyway, so problem solved. The other amusing thing that happened was that I realised that we'd been lying on my mobile, and it had rung girl S. It said 3 mins on the display, and I was hoping that that meant voicemail, and she hadn't just been listening to us. Either way, I know that some pretty hardcore stuff had been said in that three minutes, so I was hoping she didn't listen to the message. I rang her the next day and it turns out she hadn't (or didn't admit to it anyway). I apologised profusely. I'm sure (actually, I know for a fact) that people have heard me shagging before, but I've never accidentally called anyone before. I'm normally so good at locking the key pad. Clearly I got a bit too carried away!!

We had sex a few times in pretty rapid succession, and then decided we should probably get some sleep, it being quite late at this point.

I fell asleep really quickly, but poor G couldn’t get to sleep as he’s still jet lagged, and had a splitting headache. He asked me whether I had any paracetamol, but because I was asleep, I said no. I have a very long history of talking in my sleep, and can understand enough to always say no if someone is asking me for something. Pretty bad, really, as I had a box of paracetamol at the end of the bed. I’d forgotten to switch my alarm clock off, so at 7 am there was an almighty racket. I didn’t hear it, but I’m very good at sleeping through my alarm clock, hence why I have three alarm clocks (thankfully, only one of them went off- however, it’s a digital one, and goes off six times at ten minute intervals). G tried to wake me up to get me to switch if off, but I tried to switch the wrong one off- one of the ones I hadn’t set. He wasn’t particularly impressed with me. Once all the alarms were off, we went back to sleep, hugging each other, with him stroking my hair.

In the morning- well, midday- I was woken up by one of my housemates and her friend. I stumbled out of the room and they laughed at me. I called work to tell them I was sorry for not coming in, but that it really wasn’t an option, and then in a vague attempt to make myself feel like a human being, I brushed my teeth and had a wash. My housemate was teaching her friend a dance (they’re both dancers), so I watched them for a while. Then I went back to bed, and had more really hot sex.

We decided to get some food as we were both feeling pretty rough, though getting out of bed was difficult as G wouldn’t stop grabbing me and touching me (I wasn’t really complaining). Eventually though, we did get up and have some lunch, and then G left to go and meet a friend. I went home to get my hat (essential item of clothing when you’re out and about, I’ve found, especially as my hat has a little visor that I can pull down over my eyes) and sunglasses. I was feeling quite rough and needed all the protection from the world that I could get. I walked up to Brixton and sorted out some bits and bobs- paid the gas bill, went to Tesco. I felt really rough in Tesco’s and had to have a bit of a sit down. Damn hangover. Back home, my room was freezing as I was trying to air it (it stank of cigarettes, not very pleasant), and I had a five-minute power nap under my duvet. I woke up when my housemate called to tell me to look out of the window. There was a tramp going through our bins, and we shouted at him to stop. He claimed he was just recycling, but my housemate got her credit card cloned the other day, so we’re understandably a little sceptical about his claims of environmentalism!

I was still feeling rough as a dog, so I made a big vegetable stew. I could almost feel the vitamins and minerals fixing me! I watched a really weird programme about breast-feeding. There was a woman who breast-fed her daughter until she was nearly eight. That is so fucked up. I can understand doing it for a year or so, but by then babies should be getting some solid food too. When I have kids, the cut off point is going to be when they grow teeth. The only time I want my nipples bitten is when I say so, thanks! The weirdest thing was that the woman said her husband sometimes joined in. He looked so smug about it, and said that it was “quite common in breast feeding families”. Yuk. I’d rather be a single mother than have a weirdo husband who thought he was a baby. Actually, recently I’ve been thinking quite a lot about having a baby. I think it would be quite cool (pregnancy and childbirth aside- I think I should just adopt). I could carry it around in a sling and get people to coo over how cute it was. That’s quite a bizarre daydream to have, isn’t it- “I would like to be a single mother”. I’m a bit odd.

I texted G, telling him that I’d had fun etc. We’d left it with just a kiss and a goodbye, and that’s cool with me. Mainly. There’s a part of me, though, that wants to be loved and have someone to stroke my hair when I’m falling asleep, who I can have hot sex with. I don’t know. I always think that I would like to have someone like that, but the moment someone likes me, I run a mile. Not that there are people queuing round the block to get a bit of me. But theoretically, I would run away. That’s so counter productive. Anyway, G texted me back fairly sharpish, saying that he’d had fun too and hoped to see me soon and so on, so that’s quite… nice? I don’t know, what is it? Ah, it’s good. Of course it is.

I was meant to up early this morning, but I couldn’t get to sleep all that easily. I felt like I’d been electrocuted when I woke up (of course, it took all three alarm clocks!).

I’m sure I’ve already described why I have to go to physiotherapy (the whole kicking a door and tearing a ligament). Today was my first appointment. The physiotherapist said that I had managed to tear a ligament on the inside of my ankle, which is much harder to do than on the outside, and said I must have a strong kick! She gave me some theraband exercises and I'm going back on Monday when I'll get deep tissue massage and ultrasound treatment- which sounds quite cool. She also picked up on something else: I have very flat feet and the toes on my right foot really grip into the floor, especially when I'm trying to balance (usually fairly unsuccessfully). So we're going to work on that too. On the plus side, she said I had very nice feet and that they were very flexible and strong- so it's not all bad!

That’s pretty much me up to date. Work is boring today though I mustered up a slight laugh during the press meeting. There are only two of us in the office today, which is a bit of a pain, as I can’t go for as many cigarette breaks as I would like.

Just a few minutes ago, I got a text from my ex (not G, the other one). He’s going travelling to India and Thailand in a couple of weeks and says he wants to meet up before he goes. I don’t know why. Last time I saw him he told me that I was a mess and that he didn’t want to see me until 2007. Having said that, I had just thrown him out of my house for being rude to me, and he probably wanted revenge. I’m unsure of what to do. I will ponder it over lunch.

Actually, that’s a lie. What I’ll do over lunch is read the new copy of F1 Racing. Boys are stupid. Cars are good. Nice bit of philosophy there!!