My second walk of shame for the weekend was the very next morning.
Technically speaking it was the afternoon.
And I was still in my dinner jacket.
Attracted many a disapproving glance as I zigzagged along Macleay St.
The night before I had been to a glamourous black tie event for the 30th birthday of @gorgeous_princess.
Who had insisted on introducing me to everybody as her “gay friend”.
Unbeknownst to @gorgeous_princess, I was not the lone gay partygoer.
Seems that @dark_horse who works in @handsome_banker_fiance’s office has not had a lady rider in a long time.
Was very happy for me to hop in that saddle.
So we discreetly rode into the sunset.
Actually we took ourselves to Arq.
Where it was presumed that we were straight because of the dinner jackets.
Created quite a stir with a dancefloor pash.
Didn’t stay long though.
Was havin’ a chill on the banquette by the downstairs revolving door as this majestic drag queen who looked about 23 feet tall came staggering down the stairs, clutching the banister for dear life.
She stopped half way.
Stared me right in the eye.
And with a voice like Louis Armstrong, bellowed at me “How are ya, trashbag?”
‘Twas then that I knew I should leave.
Apparently @dark_horse and I left together.
We even went home.
We might have had sex but neither of us is sure.
So at least if I were a dud root he can’t remember.
And nor can I.
But last night’s root.
Now that was great.
And despite the fact that the day began with a vodka shot, my memories of the sexual encounter are quite clear.
And I’m so signing up for more.
But I’m going to exercise uncharacteristic self-restraint.
And not call until next weekend.
And not call until next weekend.
Even though the salesman in me wants to call tomorrow and schedule in the next appointment.
As does the bunny boiler in me.
However, the sane and rational human being in me (who doesn’t often get much of a look in) has advised me to play it cool.
Which I’m gonna do.
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