Not sure if I mentioned @cute_bogan.
Met him a couple of months back.
He wasn't my usual demographic.
And nor, apparently, was I his regular type.
But we had an intense mutual sexual attraction and that had seemed enough for both of us.
Hopes of any sort of ongoing relationship with @cute_bogan have, however, been cruelly dashed.
Despite 2 fun dinners followed by all-night shag sessions, he cancelled our last meeting.
Said he was sick.
He did sound sick.
But then, he always had that nasal westie twang.
And something told me he was lying.
He then compounded the lie by adding another layer.
"And I'm kinda skint at the moment".
With date being cancelled I made other arrangements and went out to the Darlo Bar.
Me, 2 friends and only 4 other patrons... one of whom is @cute_bogan.
He looks sheepish.
Says this must look bad.
I shrug.
He says he just had to get out of the house.
Fair enough.
He then makes an uncharitable remark about my outfit.
Says I look very proper.
In a disdainful way.
I feel disdain is most unseemly in someone from Rooty Hill.
But refrain from saying so.
Seems he doesn’t like my beard so neatly clippered.
Nor me in a button down shirt with a cashmere sweater.
Prefers me with scruffy beard.
And v-neck t-shirt.
"I am a veritable fashion chameleon", I say, adopting the tone of voice I use when referring to my jean or my shoe in the singular. I thought it was quite funny.
His response suggested he didn't share my sentiment:
“That’s the thing,” he says.
“You’re just too queeny.”
Am aghast.
"Moi??"
Am aghast.
"Moi??"
"You're really butch in bed. But really, really queeny."
Am in real quandary with this one.
I’m loving the butch in bed comment but I’m reeling from really queeny comment.
I’m not that queeny, I say.
He winces with a wry smile that says, in fact, I am.
Saunter in a manly fashion over to my friends who immediately ask who I was talking to.
@cute_bogan, I say.
He’s hot, they say.
Apparently too hot for me, I say.
Said I’m too queeny.
Was hoping for effusive outburst from friends that I’m not queeny.
They just shrug.
I decide to chat to @cute_bogan’s friend.
@cute_bogan breaks up chat by steering friend away.
But not before I discover that @cute_bogan had lied to me about his name.
I go back to my friends.
@cute_westie and friend start laughing.
It occurs to me that perhaps I am source of embarrassment to @cute_bogan.
Am not used to being source of embarrassment to anybody other than my parents.
And to think I was prepared to overlook the fact that he says arxk instead of ask.
I don’t know where he gets off calling me queeny.
He was the one lying face down saying "fuck me, sir"
Refered to his arsehole as his pussy.
And begged me to ‘abuse’ his mouth with my cock.
Queeny my fuckin’ arse.
Who the fucking hell do all these guys with their bizarre straight-acting hang-ups fucking well think they are?
There’s nothing straight about 2 guys having sex so why pretend? Most of their ideas about ‘straight’ actually mean ‘boof head’. Need to find a man with a little bit of class, for whom manliness is about maturity, confidence and a little bit of culture.
As well as a firm grip on all things financial...
Thought I had found him.
For a minute.
2 nights after queeny incident, was partaking in a quiet after-work bevy at a not-so-classy venue when I espied handsome, debonair foreign looking type in fabulous shirt and tie combo and some very schmick designer eyewear.
He looks at me and smiles.
I am suddenly most happy with that morning’s fashion choices.
I say hi.
He compliments my outfit.
Says he doesn’t think Australian men dress well.
Thinks they need a lot of work.
But I’m an exception.
Feel patriotic urge to defend my countrymen but actually agree. Nothing about this guy needs work.
Well, not at this stage anyway.
@handsome_stranger is from Spain.
He's moved here recently, working at some very high level with Credit Suisse.
Briefly think about the state of Spanish economy and question the wisdom of this decision, but remind myself that a Swiss financial institution is better qualified than I in such matters.
@handsome_stranger has killer accent and smile.
Intelligent and entertaining conversation ensues.
And he is very charming.
He loves that I work in a creative field and says he finds it hard to find people here who are interested in the arts.
Says he'd like to visit the Art Gallery of NSW and asks if I'd like to join him.
We exchange numbers and agree on a date.
We part with a handshake and a kiss on each cheek.
Art gallery visit is a success.
As we're walking through the Domain afterwards he gestures towards the cliffside apartments of Potts Point, asks what area that is, saying he imagines there would be great view from there.
Me: I live just near there.
@handsome_stranger: I’d love to see it.
Me: Sure.
So we trek up the hill to my apartment, and then onto the roof to admire the view.
I make him coffee, which he doesn’t drink.
Instead he grabs me.
And throws me onto the sofa.
The outdoor rooftop sofa.
And then jumps on me.
Just goes for it.
Quite unannounced.
But most welcome.
It’s the full dry root – you know, the fully clothed, pash, grope, frottage thing.
In full view of all neighbouring apartment blocks and rooftops.
He seems to become suddenly aware of his surroundings.
And comes over all gentlemanly.
Says we should wait until next time.
Doesn’t happen next time either.
Date number 2 entails theatre going, ending with a kiss on each cheek and a promise to make me dinner at my house next time.
I accept, promising to buy exotic ingredients for traditional Catalan meal – which is a sensation.
Interlude between food preparation and eating, however, is not a sensation.
Well not the sensation I had anticipated.
"What should we do while we wait for dinner to cook?" he asks.
No need to respond as he takes my hand and leads me all Harlequin-novel-style to my bedroom.
Goes the gentle kiss.
Nice.
Then throws me on the bed and jumps on me in the manner of teenage boy diving from great height to make maximum splash.
This guy is over 6 feet tall and about 95kg.
And, as you know, I am all of 5’7 and 70kg.
He has a nice bod though, even if he is a little rough.
And hasty.
Has my t-shirt off in 3 seconds and pulls my jeans down without undoing them.
Shoes and socks are still on.
He doesn’t care.
And as I can’t move, there is little I can do.
Then his jeans are down.
And it’s out.
And fuck it’s huge!
The biggest cock.
I.
HAVE.
EVER.
SEEN.
Like a coke can with a tennis ball taped on.
I would need an anesthetic and would have said so except he put it in my mouth.
Yep, just shoved it in.
Without even asking.
Gag reflex going crazy.
Gasping for air.
Watering eyes.
I cough and splutter as I squirm to get out.
He snakes down and I actually get really scared.
"Um...I don’t think you’re gonna be able to fuck me with that".
"That’s ok", he says "it doesn’t need to be penetrative to be good".
Phew.
"We can do other things", he says.
Relief.
But only momentary.
He brings my semi-jean-clad legs together and starts rubbing his cock against the cleavage formed by thighs.
He then jams my legs together with his huge arms and starts fucking that cleavage.
I feel like the hole in a teenage boy’s mattress.
He moves up and down like a large freshly caught fish on the deck of a trawler.
And I’m pinned there like a stunned mullet.
Within minutes he’s doing the whole porno "I’m coming" thing.
The Breathing.
The Yes.
The God.
Calling me a bitch.
Telling me he loves me.
Spitting in my face.
Then slapping it.
Pulling my hair.
He cums between my legs with an almighty groan.
Followed by a painful bite on the neck.
He then collapses completely.
For a few dreadful seconds I think he is dead and I am Private Benjamin.
Then up he jumps, teenage-like vigour found anew.
Let’s eat, he says, pulling up his jeans.
I lie there for a minute, then fall off the bed, jeans still around my ankles.
I stagger to the table, buttoning up my jeans and wishing I’d remembered to wipe my legs before pulling jeans back up.
He has already served dinner and started without me.
Meal is great.
Conversation non-existent.
He has table manners of a pig, which ordinarily I would have overlooked in the cook of such a meal.
With his final mouthful, he bounds from table, compliments himself on the meal (with mouth still full) and asks if I want to have sex again.
"Um, I’m a little tired. Maybe next time".
"Ok", he says, and leaves.
I open another bottle of wine.
Which I finish in 30 minutes.
Smoking 4 cigarettes in that time.
I then have shower, wash dishes, stack dishwasher and get on Grindr.
All I want is a versatile man with a brain, some manners and a more easily accommodated cock.
Is that really too much to arxk?
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