Monday, 30 May 2011

Prisoner

Sex is an escape from anger and boredom and I don't have a problem with that. Restless. I'm not hungry. Only sex will take my mind off my mood. While envious of my shrinking waistline, Virgil is utterly unhelpful, and I do have a problem with that.

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Wednesday, 25 May 2011

Grouch

A really very sweet text from Arthur last night. Apparently he enjoyed our conversation very much and thinks there is so much more to say. Now I feel like a curmudgeon. Well, yes!, we can have more conversation. I reckon I'd even meet for a coffee and the real life acid test.

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Tuesday, 24 May 2011

Getting Aural

Davy, the New Boy from OkCupid, called. We talked for half an hour but there wasn't much aural chemistry. His voice was a bit nasal and there was something in the cadence that was anti-sexual. I don't think it worked for him either. Next time I call someone the New Boy it'll be on the basis of a lot more than just a few emails.

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A Talk With My Ex

I was just getting home from the community garden. Gardening therapy had been partially successful. I watered the beds for two hours while thinking of things I could have said better at the dreaded meeting. I wish it were possible to have parts of one's mind erased at times like these. I'm bored of my own thoughts. Then my ex-girlfriend Beth called.

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Monday, 23 May 2011

Upshot

I had the dreaded meeting and it was about as bad as it could have been. I don't know why some people think it is more ethical to make you wait three days in unpleasant anticipation and make you go to them just so that they can give you a month's notice in person rather than sending an email. It reminds me that even the most heinous bastards tend to think they inhabit the moral high ground.

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New Boy

OkCupid has finally turned up someone of interest. Davy and I have already swapped emails and pictures and this morning I suggested a phone conversation as the next logical step. Virgil saw me writing to him yesterday. Apparently I looked up guiltily and closed loads of windows as he came to sit down with me. First I said that I wasn't doing anything. Then I admitted that I was. Virgil said: "You would have gone ballistic if you had caught me writing to someone on OkCupid in the living room while you were there."
"Only if you told me about it," I replied. "I couldn't go ballistic if I didn't know."

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Penthouse

Daniel and his wife are happily married. They don't have sex. She's just not interested. Weekends are family time but from Monday to Friday he can do what he wants. So what Daniel does of a Friday night is this: he hires out a penthouse suite at a central London hotel and recruits a mixture of friends, acquaintances and internet swingers to come and play. Having provided the venue he's sure to get some. Daniel is a horny devil. He's a friendly guy too, and interesting, but you get the feeling that he would fuck a hole in the wall if someone would just stick some lube around it.

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Horrible day

Unless you've had a messy weekend, Mondays are crap days off, especially when you have a dreaded meeting to go to. Days off are supposed to be fun. Mondays are nothing days when you just feel that you've got to do admin or useful things. There's nothing festive or celebratory or special about it at all.

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Saturday, 21 May 2011

Another Ex

An ex-shag wrote to me. I found the email by chance when I logged in to a mostly retired account.

"How's things stranger? [I last saw Adrian about 4 years ago so fair enough]. I was wandering through AFF and stumbled across your profile..." 


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Ex

My ex-girlfriend called a few days ago in response to an email I wrote her. I was at the rag and it was in a busy period so I couldn't talk. The number on my screen said 'Blocked,' and over the background noise I didn't recognise her voice immediately.

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Tuesday, 17 May 2011

NSFW

Oh fucking hell, the stress of things being various. One of the designers at work just looked over my shoulder and asked me what the name of our sex party means. I told him that I would kill him if he looked it up but he just gave me a scurrilous grin. Now he's off home to find out, the firewall at work having prevented him from doing so already. Hopefully he'll forget, get distracted on the way home and be unable to remember the name he saw over my shoulder as I worked on something that was definitely NSFW. The thought of what might happen next makes me extremely uneasy.

For some time my life has been a juggling act between three distinct and (many would say) incompatible spheres. I organise an arty sex party for no money at all. At other times I doze my way through well-paid but glacial nightshifts on a scandalous rag. Finally, I also work in the field of, well... I'm not saying.

I operate with a sense of mild anxiety should any of the three parts of my life meet each other. It's like a Wenn diagram. My clients must know nothing of the other two sections; my employer may know about my clients but certainly not about the parties I organise; friends and contacts from the parties, once I trust them, get to know about the other things I do, although working for the rag gets me raised eyebrows from the more right-on of my circle.

I got sloppy and now I wonder what will happen. This could be the most enormous piece of gossip about me, or maybe Jonathan could just keep his trap shut...

And in case you were wondering, I don't tell the people I know about this blog.

Am I the most secretive person in the world?
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