#perfect man

I think I have finally met the perfect man.

No, really. I have.

And this time I mean it.

He’s handsome.

Intelligent.

And well dressed.

Good bod.

Good job.

And great sense of humour.

Nice apartment.

Nice dick.

No boyfriend.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

But they’re not the reasons I think he’s perfect.

Yeah sure those things are all great.

Sure they’re all benefits.

But the real clincher came in the morning.

And I ain’t talkin’ about no dawn root.

I’m talkin’ that clincher right there on the bedside table. 
Right next to last night’s still half full glasses of wine. 
And before you go there, I ain’t talkin’ no sex toys either.

I’m talkin’ a morning beverage.

Yep.

A bright orange beverage.

Gotta love that Berocca.

It’s how I start every day.

But not the way he served it.

With a shot of vodka.

Yep, a shot of vodka.

Certainly gave me back my b-b-bounce.

And fuck knows I needed it after this weekend.

He was my third shag in 3 days.

Had met him at the Beresford on Sunday night.

Amazing that I’d actually survived that long.

Which was far more action packed than I had anticipated... My parting words at work on Friday night were: I’m having a quiet one… 


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