Little Suzy

The Boyf deals with stress by having sex.

I deal with stress by sleeping.

The two don't necessarily go together very well.

What with me having to sack one of my staff last week I was feeling rather stressed out, but unusually I opted for going out to get drunk, rather than locking myself away with some nice food and wine and then going to bed early. So, we went to Tonka, which is a great little Friday social event. You should try it. I'll be there again tonight should you feel like buying me a drink. You'll get a kiss for it, at the very least.

I got a text on Saturday from "The Policeman Who Won't Stop Cumming (TPWWSC)" - also known as "The Groom I Slept With On His Wedding Night Before His New Husband" (The Boyf's been calling me "Little Suzy Home-Wrecker" ever since). Oops! They were just back from their honeymoon and wondered if we fancied a beer.

A few hours later all four of us were standing in a surprisingly busy Hoist. And there were actually a few very nice men hanging around. For those of you who haven't been to The Hoist I should explain.

The Hoist is located in a disused railway arch (what club in London isn't?), and consists of lots of black exposed brickwork and steel girders, and a pumping soundtrack which is supposed to be hard and dirty but seems to veer towards Abba or Madonna a little too often considering the nature of the place. Every Saturday they have a theme night (don't get exicted, the themes are never "My Little Princess" or "Mamma Mia!", although they probably should be), but in actual fact most people just turn up in leather. Black, natch. This years black is always black in Leatherland. Occasionally with a natty contrasting stripe. Last Saturday was rubber night, so naturally we wore jeans and leather waistcoats. The only people to actually wear rubber were those who really shouldn't have. Anyway, most people hang at the bar, and all groups send at least one member round every 15 minutes for a sortie through the "cruise maze" (anywhere else I believe this amount of scaffolding would be classed as a "jungle gym", the end result being largely the same, just darker and with nastier smells).

Eventually someone arrives already drunk and naked and proceeds to drape themselves all over everyone lasciviously, and this person isn't always me. By this time enough people are drunk that at least one person will be in a sling with a come-hither look on his face, whilst (and this seems to be an unwritten rule) the ugliest man in the building will invariably be standing on the balcony playing with himself at the assembled masses standing at the bar below. Again, this isn't always me. And there will always be a fisting video playing on a big screen, regardless of whether it's fisting night or not. My guess is that one of the staff is a big fan. Perhaps the one with the... no, I won't go there, you might be eating.

Just like spending a night in a forest there are the occasional screetches or roars from out of the darkness which makes you jump, and I always assume this means that someone's forgotten to trim their nails or something. You know that sound that cats make when they're mating...

By about 2am everyone in the building is having sex, or has had sex and is standing at the bar looking used and bragging to their friends whilst recovering enough for another go. Apart from me of course, as I'll be doing my Ice Maiden impression whilst propping up the bar and pretending it's all a bit beneath me. That's until someone gets me a tequila shot and then it all gets horribly messy.

Ok, so, last Saturday then. The four of us are stood at the bar. Newleywed R decides to go on a sortie, as does his husband (TPWWSC). The Boyf and I then notice that a rather stunning looking big hairy guy has wandered in and is standing at the bar looking at us. I flush and get the giggles and run off to the loo. When I return he's gone, but Newleywed R has returned looking rather worse for wear (already). I decide to wander through the jungle gym myself, ostensibly to look for the BigHairyGuy, but to be honest I'm hoping to bump into TPWWSC. And I do. We then spend the next 45 minutes doing nothing but snogging in a very dark corner whilst both his husband and The Boyf look for us. Finally The Boyf stumbles upon us - almost literally - and warns us that the husband is starting to get peeved. Again. We slink out of the shadows and take our place next to him at the bar, and are treated to disapproving looks. They then leave. Oops again.

The Boyf: "So… you had sex with him before his husband at his own wedding, and now you're the first person to have sex with him after the honeymoon. Hmmm."

OMO: "Oh look, there's that BigHairyGuy"

A nice deflection from the subject at hand, methinks.

As The Hoist is rather dark it's often easy to lose someone, and by the time we locate the BigHairyGuy he's already at it with someone else. Bugger! So we hang around to see what happens. We notice the other guy is wearing really bad underwear, and figure this alone should put BigHairyGuy off. It does, and they part. Then BigHairyGuys spots us and tips us a wink and we wander over and… well, you can guess the rest.

Afterwards at the bar we're all chatting and it turns out he's Greek (result! I love me some Greek) and seems rather smitten with us. I mean, who wouldn't be? (rolls eyes) So we'll be seeing him again when he's next over on business.

Just as we were about to leave another rather cute guy wanders past looking a bit forlorn. And hairy. Did I mention I like them hairy? He sits in a corner and starts to masturbate, whilst looking at us appreciatively. The Boyf comments that we should really help him as it's getting late and he doesn't have much time left, so we do our good deed for the night before finally heading off home.

A rather good night all round, I'm sure you'll agree. Now, I wonder if I can have sex with TPWWSC at Christmas, New Year and on his first wedding anniversary (I certainly wouldn't be complaining, although I'd rather not be cited when the divorce papers come through).