So I had my first experience of a booty call on Saturday night..And it was highly amusing. There I am, sitting in bed, Gin and Tonic in one hand, good read in the other, it's not hit 10pm yet and I get an email from an old acquaintance (even that's pushing it) wondering if I'm in Aberdeen all looonely like he is.
Well, I do all the right things like be difficult, ballsy, nazi-esque to put him off but apparently the boy was just that bored so I concede he can come round for a drink - if he provides the drink.
Of course, of COURSE he has to pitch up with a bottle of vodka and, as anyone who knows me can tell you, that shit floors me.
And of course I have this total masochistic, masculine wanna-be, pathetic habit of attempting to keep up with the boys - especially if it's just one boy. If it's a group I can pretend to be all maidenly/be a bitch about it/keep up with the girls (hard enough as it is, I really can't handle my drink) but when it's someone you're trying to coerce into not wanting to sleep with you - bottoms up, lads! (no pun intended).
So I gradually-no, that's a lie- I swiftly get hammered to the point of no return and suddenly this guy is taking opportune moments to have a litte graze of the fingers or kiss of the neck and all the while I'm yelling "I'M NOT SINGLE!" and attempting to bat him off. Then he relays some story about one time I also wasn't single and we hooked up or something but, as previously mentioned- I am a woman, I am complex, I had an excuse, and who the hell is he to use my weaknesses against me!
So I keep parroting my punchline (to no avail - I should have been wearing a padlock and flashing lights) and keep drinking and chatting about the stockmarket because, believe it or not, despite the perv factor I'm enjoying his company and gaining the investing skills to make money!
Anyway, turns out I get too hammered and end up with my head down the toilet, giggling to myself whilst this poor man stands outside trying to drunkenly persuade me to "bin" some water. By the time I'm up and running and ready for bed turns out the cheeky bugger's already in there! (thankfully having not taken my side). So I climb in plastered, roll over ready to pass out and his whole little game starts again and so I do the only thing I can that doesn't involve having to move - I start growling, pure and simple. This triggers another vomit attack which finally puts him off. Honestly, it must have been a long time since he'd last gotten some luurvin because you couldn't have paid any self-respecting bloke to sleep with me in that state - I was certainly not a pretty sight!
Anyway in the morning I did the classic Hollywood move (roll over and scream your head off at the random in bed next to you, for those who have not yet tried it out) and proceed to help him throw himself out at 7:30 in the morning causing a ruccus in the hall because I don't yet know how to use my new door in my new flat which oh shit I now have to totally spring clean again..It wasn't pleasant.
Thank god my man is too dyselxic to attempt to read this, I told him a watered down version to which he still replied: "Sounds like the boy doesn't need his kneecaps if he's so busy with his hands - I can sort that out for him."
Good thing I also forgot his name, then.
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