I believe I’ve told you about losing my man-cherry before. It was with a tall, skinny, boss-eyed twink in my local cemetery. All quite a shock for me really as up until that point I’d imagined it would happen on a beach with Tom Selleck and Burt Reynolds taking turns, and with Sean Connery playing with my nipples. (Never let it be said that I don’t go for a certain type). Anyway, the real event was a bit crap and unmemorable really, so often I try to pretend it didn’t happen, and that the first time my hoop was bludgeoned was some years later by a 6 foot hairy sailor in a deserted house, his rough, weathered hands pawing at me, as he had his way with me time and time again pushed up against the wall or on the bare floor boards. I went home with some odd bruises that night, I can tell you. Ah, good times…
Sigh.
Sorry, where was I....
Ah yes, what I want to tell you about is how I lost my virginity - WITH A GIRL! Shock, horror etc. Yes, for once upon a time I did indeed have a go at poking my pork sword up a girl’s squish mitten. And here's is how it happened…
(cue wobbly memory effect)
It was back in 1992. Saturday January 11th to be precise. I know because it was my friend's 21st birthday on the 8th and she threw a small party at her house the following Saturday. For the purposes of this story we'll call her "M", and just for the record I was also 21 years old.
The intended guests had received invites in the post some weeks before. It was to be a Murder Mystery evening, and everyone had a particular character assigned to them who they had to dress as and stay in character as for the duration of the evening. In her infinite wisdom "M" had decided that all intended invitees would be cross-dressing, and when I opened my invitation I found I was to be a fading Hollywood star, once a great actress but now pushed aside by younger upstarts. A Norma Desmond figure, if you will. I wonder why she picked me for this glamorous role...
In the intervening weeks I found all the items I needed, and on the afternoon of the party I collected my outfit and drove to "M"'s house where a team of girls were going to transform me. You know what girls are like when they get a sniff of being able to put make-up on a man.
Come 7pm and everyone was arriving. The girls were in a variety of male costumes. There was a farmer in wellies and on a toy tractor, a businessman in a suit and tie, a fisherman in waders and sowesta (with a fake hairy chest underneath), and assorted others. The men were all dressed as women; an old Miss Marple-style grandma, a power-dressed businesswoman, a harassed mother of three (complete with pram and "babies"), and various others.
And there was me; blue sequinned fishtail halter-neck gown (part of a Diana Ross costume I found in a fancy dress shop), big blond curly wig, 6-inch heels (courtesy of a friend's Mum who had big feet), suspenders and fishnet stockings, long, red (fake) nails, plenty of fake diamonds, and a face full of slap courtesy of my make-up team. The only thing I didn't do was shave my chest or legs - some things are sacrosanct! I waited until everyone had arrived and made a typically grand entrance down the stairs with a glass of champagne and a cigarette holder, darling.
So, for the entire evening we had to stay resolutely in character. We'd been given certain things to say, and "M", as the game's leader, had to reveal certain vital pieces of information. At some point someone guessed who the murderer was (I think), but the evening was about getting spectacularly drunk. We succeeded.
We'd all decided to stay at "M"'s house, so we'd all bought sleeping bag and changes of clothes. At some point a grand decision was made for us all to go to bed, so the sleeping bags were rolled out over sofas and floor, and people started getting ready for bed. Or in many cases - mine included - we simply collapsed as we were.
I'd drifted into the fitful sleep of the pissed, only to be woken by one of the girls. I should add that at this time I wasn't generally out to this group of friends - only three people present knew I was gay. Anyway, my sleeping bag was unzipped and in climbed a girl. The one dressed as the fisherman. With the fake chest hair, remember. We'll call her "H". I was still fully dragged-up, barring the wig and heels.
"H": Do you mind me coming in with you? My bag's not very comfortable.
OMO: Erm... no. I guess not. Gonna be tight in here with two though.
"H": That's ok. I don't mind being pressed up against you.
OMO: Er... erm... oh.
(To Be Continued...)
Friday, September 28, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Non-iPodlessness
Finally, FINALLY, I got around to getting a new iPod today, after being without a soundtrack to my every movement since May 2006.
So, did I get an new iPod Touch? Nope. A cute little new Nano Video? Again, nope. Since neither had anywhere near the capacity I need I've gone for a new, silver 160Gb iPod Classic, and I can't want to go home and start loading music onto it.
I'll have to be more careful with this one so that some little shit doesn't steal it.
I know this isn't terribly exciting news for you, but I needed to share this with someone and you don't look terribly busy.
So, did I get an new iPod Touch? Nope. A cute little new Nano Video? Again, nope. Since neither had anywhere near the capacity I need I've gone for a new, silver 160Gb iPod Classic, and I can't want to go home and start loading music onto it.
I'll have to be more careful with this one so that some little shit doesn't steal it.
I know this isn't terribly exciting news for you, but I needed to share this with someone and you don't look terribly busy.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
My Guilty Secret
Apparently I’m not as good at hiding my little crushes as I thought. I mean, in Gayland I don’t bother. If I like someone I just giggle at them until The Boyf starts to rib me mercilessly, or until the object of my affection has either snogged me, or more likely, run away screaming.
In Heteroville I tend to be a little more discreet though. Or at least I thought I was.
I have a guilty secret at work, you see. There’s a guy sits not 10 feet away who I really shouldn’t like but struggle to keep my eyes off. He’s so not my type it’s unreal, but because of that I find him even more alluring. I guess I pay attention to him so much simply because I’m surprised I find him attractive and am trying to work out why.
Here’s a list of things about him I don’t like, any one of which wouldn't put my off, but together makes the whole thing rather difficult to fathom:
1. He’s in his 20’s. I like guys my age or older.
2. He’s blond. I like dark hair
3. He’s slim/muscular. I go for chunky/muscular
4. He’s tall. I prefer short
5. He’s smooth. I only go for hairy
6. He’s an Essex wide-boy/chav. I prefer everything other than that.
He smokes and swears like a trooper, has a tattoo of his favourite football club emblem on his bicep, talks about “birds” and “tits” constantly, and he regularly comes in to work on a Monday morning bruised and battered from bar fights over the weekend.
And I love him. Ok, “love” is WAY too strong. But certainly I lust after him. What I want to do is meet him in the showers at the gym and end up forced up against a wall while he brutalises me. I can imagine it being rather swift and aggressive and all about him, and I rather like that idea. It’s not a rape fantasy of course, because I wouldn’t be saying “no”. Anyway, I digress…Ahem.
We actually get along fine, which surprises me considering how utterly different we are. We were on a night out last year and he was being typically loutish, even trying to pick a fight with a colleague over something ridiculous. Anyway, we ended up at the bar together and he turned to me and said, “You know, I used to hate queers until I met you. I think you’re cool and it’s completely changed my mind. Seriously”, and then he put his arm around me. I was quite touched. Also, I got a stiffy.
So at work I watch him from the corner of my eye, wondering what it is about him I find so attractive, and I thought I was being terribly discreet until a conversation on Friday turned to “Who in the office do you fancy?”. I said “No one. You’re all equally unattractive”, to which Michelle replied “That’s not entirely true is it? We’ve seen you looking”. Emma nodded her consent and they both stared at me. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about”. “Oh, really?” said Michelle and pointed over her shoulder to where my paramour sits. The girls giggled. I went red and hurried out of the office, mumbling something about files needing to be upstairs.
So my little guilty secret is out. How long before HE finds out, that’s the question. And what will happen? I shall hang around the gym showers expectantly.
In Heteroville I tend to be a little more discreet though. Or at least I thought I was.
I have a guilty secret at work, you see. There’s a guy sits not 10 feet away who I really shouldn’t like but struggle to keep my eyes off. He’s so not my type it’s unreal, but because of that I find him even more alluring. I guess I pay attention to him so much simply because I’m surprised I find him attractive and am trying to work out why.
Here’s a list of things about him I don’t like, any one of which wouldn't put my off, but together makes the whole thing rather difficult to fathom:
1. He’s in his 20’s. I like guys my age or older.
2. He’s blond. I like dark hair
3. He’s slim/muscular. I go for chunky/muscular
4. He’s tall. I prefer short
5. He’s smooth. I only go for hairy
6. He’s an Essex wide-boy/chav. I prefer everything other than that.
He smokes and swears like a trooper, has a tattoo of his favourite football club emblem on his bicep, talks about “birds” and “tits” constantly, and he regularly comes in to work on a Monday morning bruised and battered from bar fights over the weekend.
And I love him. Ok, “love” is WAY too strong. But certainly I lust after him. What I want to do is meet him in the showers at the gym and end up forced up against a wall while he brutalises me. I can imagine it being rather swift and aggressive and all about him, and I rather like that idea. It’s not a rape fantasy of course, because I wouldn’t be saying “no”. Anyway, I digress…Ahem.
We actually get along fine, which surprises me considering how utterly different we are. We were on a night out last year and he was being typically loutish, even trying to pick a fight with a colleague over something ridiculous. Anyway, we ended up at the bar together and he turned to me and said, “You know, I used to hate queers until I met you. I think you’re cool and it’s completely changed my mind. Seriously”, and then he put his arm around me. I was quite touched. Also, I got a stiffy.
So at work I watch him from the corner of my eye, wondering what it is about him I find so attractive, and I thought I was being terribly discreet until a conversation on Friday turned to “Who in the office do you fancy?”. I said “No one. You’re all equally unattractive”, to which Michelle replied “That’s not entirely true is it? We’ve seen you looking”. Emma nodded her consent and they both stared at me. “What? I have no idea what you’re talking about”. “Oh, really?” said Michelle and pointed over her shoulder to where my paramour sits. The girls giggled. I went red and hurried out of the office, mumbling something about files needing to be upstairs.
So my little guilty secret is out. How long before HE finds out, that’s the question. And what will happen? I shall hang around the gym showers expectantly.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Why My Friends Think I'm Weird: Pt.5
When someone asks my age I use a little system where I don't have to say an actual number.
For example, I'm 36, but if someone asks I say "Oh, I'm in my late mid-30's".
Here's how you work it out...
30 = You're 30. Nothing more to say.
31 = early 30's.
32 = mid early-30's
33 = late early-30's
34 = early mid-30's
35 = mid-30's
36 = late mid-30's
37 = early late-30's
38 = mid late-30's
39 = late 30's
And so on.
It's so you can tell someone your age without giving yourself a heart-attack when you say the number out loud and the realisation dawns that you're too old to have gone out in pink hotpants and bunny-ears. Again.
For example, I'm 36, but if someone asks I say "Oh, I'm in my late mid-30's".
Here's how you work it out...
30 = You're 30. Nothing more to say.
31 = early 30's.
32 = mid early-30's
33 = late early-30's
34 = early mid-30's
35 = mid-30's
36 = late mid-30's
37 = early late-30's
38 = mid late-30's
39 = late 30's
And so on.
It's so you can tell someone your age without giving yourself a heart-attack when you say the number out loud and the realisation dawns that you're too old to have gone out in pink hotpants and bunny-ears. Again.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
I repeat, Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!
My day didn't need to start this badly. I need a drink...
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
YMCA Anyone?
At the weekend The Boyf and I had a 5-some with two policemen and a biker.
The desire to dress up as a construction worker was almost too much to bare.
Also, I found out that The Boyf considers me to be passive. I'm not even entirely sure what that means. Is it the same as "bottom", or does it suggest a level of inactivity in bed? Answers on a postcard to OMO Towers, please.
The desire to dress up as a construction worker was almost too much to bare.
Also, I found out that The Boyf considers me to be passive. I'm not even entirely sure what that means. Is it the same as "bottom", or does it suggest a level of inactivity in bed? Answers on a postcard to OMO Towers, please.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
How To Make An Impression
On Thursday there was a "Porn Star Meet-And-Greet" in BarCode to promote AlphaMaleMedia, so we popped along to slaver over the men. To our amazement they actually turned out to be really nice (mostly) and we chatted away the evening, so when it drew to a close we agreed to meet up the following night.
Thus, Friday evening was spent with a large group of guys I'd have recognised better without clothes on. Also in attendance was my Doppelganger (there are three of us who are mistaken for brothers). This brother of mine and I had never discussed our similarity before ("Oh, so that's what I'm going to look like in 6 years", he said. "Not too bad I guess. It reminds me to get more sleep though"). Bastard.
So, in the company of beautiful men standing outside a very packed bar, talking and drinking in the fresh evening air I picked just the wrong moment to fall over whilst returning from the bar carrying a load of drinks. Flat on my face in the dirt next to a tree I sprawled, having also thrown the drinks all over me on the way down. A group of Angertwinks nearby pointed and laughed. I got up, brushed myself down and realised I was bleeding - I'd put a lovely graze up one of my arms. The porn stars looked faintly embarrassed, like they didn't quite know what the etiquette was. Luckily a friend burst into hysterical laughter, provoking the same in me, and the little bit of tension was immediately relieved.
Didn't end up in bed with a porn star that night, oddly.
Thus, Friday evening was spent with a large group of guys I'd have recognised better without clothes on. Also in attendance was my Doppelganger (there are three of us who are mistaken for brothers). This brother of mine and I had never discussed our similarity before ("Oh, so that's what I'm going to look like in 6 years", he said. "Not too bad I guess. It reminds me to get more sleep though"). Bastard.
So, in the company of beautiful men standing outside a very packed bar, talking and drinking in the fresh evening air I picked just the wrong moment to fall over whilst returning from the bar carrying a load of drinks. Flat on my face in the dirt next to a tree I sprawled, having also thrown the drinks all over me on the way down. A group of Angertwinks nearby pointed and laughed. I got up, brushed myself down and realised I was bleeding - I'd put a lovely graze up one of my arms. The porn stars looked faintly embarrassed, like they didn't quite know what the etiquette was. Luckily a friend burst into hysterical laughter, provoking the same in me, and the little bit of tension was immediately relieved.
Didn't end up in bed with a porn star that night, oddly.
Monday, September 17, 2007
A Real Lazy Bear
I'm very aware that I'm being totally crap with writing my blog at the moment, and I do apologise.
I have quite a little list of things to tell you about too. Let me see, there's...
1. San Francisco
2. How I hurt my arm
3. A Christening
4. A Wedding
5. London Zoo
Whilst I'm trying to compose the above topics into something readable, let me tell you about something little that happened last week.
We were doing a weekly shop the other day in a supermarket we don't often visit. On the way out a motorcycle courier was walking towards us in his leathers. Six feet tall, shaved head, goatee, sexy as fuck. The Boyf and I exchanged a glance, and as the guy walked past our eyes met, albeit briefly. We turned to check out his ass - like you do - and very nice it was too. He didn't turn round. No interest shown.
The next evening I was trawling the internet when I received a message on one of the better known bear chat sights. Yes, it was the courier asking whether it was me he'd passed in the supermarket, and telling me he had a package he'd like to deliver to me. Wink, wink.
And a very large package it was too...
I love this city.
I have quite a little list of things to tell you about too. Let me see, there's...
1. San Francisco
2. How I hurt my arm
3. A Christening
4. A Wedding
5. London Zoo
Whilst I'm trying to compose the above topics into something readable, let me tell you about something little that happened last week.
We were doing a weekly shop the other day in a supermarket we don't often visit. On the way out a motorcycle courier was walking towards us in his leathers. Six feet tall, shaved head, goatee, sexy as fuck. The Boyf and I exchanged a glance, and as the guy walked past our eyes met, albeit briefly. We turned to check out his ass - like you do - and very nice it was too. He didn't turn round. No interest shown.
The next evening I was trawling the internet when I received a message on one of the better known bear chat sights. Yes, it was the courier asking whether it was me he'd passed in the supermarket, and telling me he had a package he'd like to deliver to me. Wink, wink.
And a very large package it was too...
I love this city.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
