G, 2008

I met G in a gay bar in my home city. I’d worked late with some pals and my sister, and after the shindig had been and gone we wanted to carry on into the night. This bar was famed in our city for it’s debauchery - mud wrestling and lady lovin’ abounded here. I’d never had any luck there before; one disadvantage of being a femininely dressed bisexual woman is that people assume that you’re there for support rather than as a punter. It could be worse, I suppose.

That night I could have cared less though, and it may have been the wine that made me feel powerful, or the liberation of having cut all my long brown hair off a few weeks earlier. My body started buzzing. It was electric. I danced and danced with my sister on the lit up floor, until we couldn’t breathe and our lips were dry and parched. So many people. We went outside to the rooftop bar.

We immediately saw our friend V, and older guy in our industry who hadn’t really made it much of a secret that he wanted to slip me one. It had been sort of weird between us, and I found him so unattractive that the thought of fucking him took on a majorly kinky not-sure-if-I’m-prepared-to-actually-live-this-fantasy quality that I was still working out. He bought us bubbly drinks, and we all chatted and then we watched him start to really drink. It was eye opening.

Then I saw G. He was standing talking to what I later found out to be his very pretty blonde friend. He was French, and fucking gorgeous. I don’t know how we started talking, but we did, and I remember finding out he was French and just losing my shit. I’m utterly obsessed with France and the fact that he was just so goddamn good looking made me instantly moist up. His English was at the stage where I could work out what he was saying, but not without some effort. He was making my skin vibrate so eventually I straight up asked him if he wanted to come home with me. He was concerned that his English meant he had misunderstood me, but I reassured him - yes, I really was inviting him home to fuck my brains out. He said yes, but that he needed to take his friend home first.

I ran to my sister and told her (totally excitedly) that I was going to get sex! The look on her face went from unbelieving delight to a bit of shock and she said ‘I think I’m going to stay at Mum’s’. Good idea.

My sister left ad all of a sudden I felt a fool, and convinced that G had taken the opportunity to swiftly escape me. I was losing hope swiftly when he reappeared and told me to get my coat stat (obviously not exactly in those words). We took a taxi to mine and I remember his hot mouth bursting all over my lips. It was incredible. We both stumbled up my carpeted stairs and fell onto my bed. As he stood before me I took his tshirt off to reveal a muscular and incredibly tanned body. He came towards me and his skin was so hot it was as if he burned his imprint onto my body. I can still feel it. He took off my black singlet and deftly (miraculously, even) removed all my other clothes without me really realising.

He turned to me and asked me what I did for a living. ‘I’m a student’ I said and he nodded. ‘Do you want to know what I do?’ he asked. Sure. Why not. ‘I am porn star’.

Now I am pretty open minded but I was completely not expecting that answer and I’m sure the shock registered on my face because after a few seconds he laughed, shook his head and told me he was joking. ‘My cock is not big enough’. Imagine a naked man in front of you saying that with a French accent. EXACTLY. Hilarious. ‘I am osteopath.’ Three little words that actually could not have delighted me more. I love being touched and have relatively constant back problems, so it was ideal that after he fucked my back up by fucking me hard from behind, he could readjust me and give me a rub down! What’s not to like?

He bent me over the side of my bed, and pushed the head of himself inside me. That achingly pleasurable first entrance. Christ. I had a full bush at this point and he seemed to quite like it, perhaps a European thing? Embarrassingly, I don’t remember much else of the sex part, other than I enjoyed it but didn’t climax. I do remember being particularly vocal as my sister wasn’t there though...

Around this time, I was starting to realise that even great sex for me was often sans-climax. I just couldn’t seem to get there when someone else was present. After he came, clenching my ass as he shot, he actually did give me a rub down. A full blown, full body massage. It was gorgeous. Afterwards I gave him a beer (!) and we chatted about France, about our families and about our lives. He tried to teach me some French and when we slept he pulled me closer to him and held me there all night.

In the morning, I walked him to the bus stop and he left. It wasn’t until afterwards that I realised how stupid I had been not to get his details. I never saw him again.

That Friday Night, about 11pm

I don’t know what it is with gay bars, but I am seeming to get quite the track record with meeting straight men there who apparently like me.

I’d had dinner with Tom and M2, a friend, and we’d all had red wine and roast beef and listened to music that made us feel happy and giddy and like we didn’t want the dinner to be over. M2 had to leave and after he’d gone T and I looked at each other and sort of did a sighing thing. We had always entertained M2 ensemble, rarely alone and the time we spent with him was like a courtship, plying him with funny stories, food and wine in the hopes of winning him as our friend.

I couldn’t bare it after he left and so told T I was going to meet up with some friends from work who were out for R's birthday. I didn’t have R’s number and although I had the numbers of other friends, I couldn’t be fagged texting to see where they were and assumed I would just make a delicious surprise entrance at the gay bar, where they were sure to be by now. It was a twenty minute walk there and I just fucking knew as soon as I walked in that they weren’t there. I casually looked for them, and then thought ‘fuck it’ and got a drink, sat at the bar and got my frosty bitch face on. I seem to think that ice queen is the look of choice when you’re standing alone at a bar.

The girls next to me walked outside, and soon after, he walked in. M. He looked at the place where the girls had been, then looked up at me. I hadn’t seen the grey hoodie you had asked for (although I have come to know it well now) and then I saw you cheekily sweetly ask the barmaid if it was behind the bar. I said I’d seen the girls leave but that I hadn’t seen them take your jacket. You said you were going to kill them if they’d lost it. They came back in, and immediately one pointed to the floor at your casually crumpled grey hoodie.

I must have failed completely at the ice queen thing, and rather unexpectedly succeeded at the ‘lost lamb who has been stood up’ look (although that wasn’t entirely the case) and your lovely friends started to chat to me, asking what I did and teasing you a hell of a lot. You said you knew me from somewhere and although I know your ex-girlfriend by sight you seemed to think we had had several meaningful conversations which I had conveniently forgotten. We all chatted and chatted, and I thought I got some vibes from you but wasn’t sure. You disappeared and the girls went out for a smoke. I was suddenly bored of the smoke, bored of being treated like a wee lass and wanted my friends. I faked a phone call and told your friends that my friends were walking up the road - when I walked to the entrance they were standing there. I went inside with them and got a drink.

About ten minutes later I saw you again, on your own, and suddenly felt horrible for abandoning you when you had been so nice to me before. You’d made it seem as though it was totally normal to be standing in a bar on your own on a Friday evening. That I was part of the gaggle of women that you’d come here with. I was feeling pretty lubed up from the vodka lemonades I’d been having (why do I even order these? I hate them, I just drink them when I get nervous and can’t think what to order) and so strutted over to you and started talking in your ear. Your friends came to say they were leaving and you stayed with me. We talked more and I can’t remember what we talked about, other than we were laughing and having a good time. You bought me another drink and my friend E came over to do a shot. It was a bit awkward, and I remember not wanting her there with us but also trying to make it look like I wasn’t completely flirting my head off (which I was) because E knew T. But she didn’t know the arrangement that T and I had come to. We did the shot and then blew E off. I knew it was on by this stage and took your hand and pulled you onto the dance floor. Into the dark shadowy bits.

God I am a sass-pot when I am drunk. I sure as hell don’t mess around and I am consistently surprised at my sheer fucking audacity, because I am so scared of repercussions when I am sober. Maybe it’s my authentic self coming the hell out to party.

I told you then that I had a boyfriend, but that we had an agreement about taking other lovers and you were visibly shocked. You were mostly intrigued though, and I remember dancing on my own in front of you and feeling so fuck-off powerful. Not over you, but over myself. I wanted something and I was going after it. You kissed me, and I asked you if you wanted to go outside to make out. You did.