FUCKEDY FUCKED UP
I fear my friend T may be right. Her theory posits that the reason I can't hold down a relationship is that once things get physical, I lose all respect for the lady concerned. I've poo-pooed this suggestion till I'm blue in the arse. But I now fear that she might be right.
I spent much of the day in the provincial idyll of Beaulieu in the New Forest. I didn't get to see much of the woods, and it wasn't for all the trees. When Z and I weren't on the motorway, passing from wintry downpours into sub-Saharan sunshine (will the weather please just make up its mind!), we were chilling with the donkeys overlooking picturesque lakes, or eating over-priced, farmed fish in a pub.
Towards the end of the day we tried to find the sea. We headed to Lymington, but somehow managed to avoid the big blue. A couple of friendly locals pretended to point us in the right direction, but the one-way system simply diverted us back to Beaulieu.
Back in London, physical fun and frolics finally fumbled their way onto the menu. After gentle coaxing and nibbling of ear, Z began to relax, her clothes came off and my self-control went out the curtain-less window, no doubt providing the delighted denizens of my neighbourhood with some early-evening, late-night entertainment.
She asked if I had any condoms. I told her I did. But already the dormant beast of my subconscious had been awoken. "Do I want to sleep with her?," I asked myself. "Is this going to work? I don't think this is going to work! Stop being so silly - you can't throw in the towel now."
In fact, the only towel that came into play was the one I had to lend Z. You see, at a point in the evening when our, or rather, my, passions got the better of me, Z, er, managed to get something, ahem, in her eye. And in her hair. And, urghh, in her nose. And, erm, well I think you get the point.
Under the circumstances, she took it quite well. My now-nagging doubts, though, remain a concern. Are they a product of Z and I getting down and rather disgustingly dirty? I hope not. But if T is right, I really do have a problem.
I fear my friend T may be right. Her theory posits that the reason I can't hold down a relationship is that once things get physical, I lose all respect for the lady concerned. I've poo-pooed this suggestion till I'm blue in the arse. But I now fear that she might be right.
I spent much of the day in the provincial idyll of Beaulieu in the New Forest. I didn't get to see much of the woods, and it wasn't for all the trees. When Z and I weren't on the motorway, passing from wintry downpours into sub-Saharan sunshine (will the weather please just make up its mind!), we were chilling with the donkeys overlooking picturesque lakes, or eating over-priced, farmed fish in a pub.
Towards the end of the day we tried to find the sea. We headed to Lymington, but somehow managed to avoid the big blue. A couple of friendly locals pretended to point us in the right direction, but the one-way system simply diverted us back to Beaulieu.
Back in London, physical fun and frolics finally fumbled their way onto the menu. After gentle coaxing and nibbling of ear, Z began to relax, her clothes came off and my self-control went out the curtain-less window, no doubt providing the delighted denizens of my neighbourhood with some early-evening, late-night entertainment.
She asked if I had any condoms. I told her I did. But already the dormant beast of my subconscious had been awoken. "Do I want to sleep with her?," I asked myself. "Is this going to work? I don't think this is going to work! Stop being so silly - you can't throw in the towel now."
In fact, the only towel that came into play was the one I had to lend Z. You see, at a point in the evening when our, or rather, my, passions got the better of me, Z, er, managed to get something, ahem, in her eye. And in her hair. And, urghh, in her nose. And, erm, well I think you get the point.
Under the circumstances, she took it quite well. My now-nagging doubts, though, remain a concern. Are they a product of Z and I getting down and rather disgustingly dirty? I hope not. But if T is right, I really do have a problem.
posted by David Cohen at 10:39 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home