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I managed to bounce back after Thursday night's little episode.

Although I did spend most of Friday in a stupor.

Reeling from alcohol.

And shock.

Older.

And fatter.

Which lessened somewhat the previous excitement I'd been feeling in anticipation of my Friday night.

I was to participate in a reality TV cooking show.

It's not going to be aired until January or February, and a signed confidentiality agreement prohibits me saying more.

Although I am probably in breach already.

But in case I'm not, I won't say any more.

And it's only relevant because being told you look fatter and older than your Grindr pics does not make you feel good about being filmed eating.

But luckily I was also filmed drinking.

Well that bit was maybe not so lucky.

The fact that I was drinking helped me accept being filmed.

While eating.

Although if my drunken raptures about the food are televised I will die.

Of shame.

So.

Unbelievably.

Gay.
But fun was had by all.
And I was fed and watered, courtesy of a major network.

I had thought that that would be all I needed in a night out.

But @fab_flatmate and @former_model were with me.

So we went to Bootleg.

I feel like I go there a lot.

Despite having gorged ourselves earlier, we ordered a cheese platter.

And another bottle of wine.

And then I went to Palms.

And then I went to the Shift.

And then I went to the Colombian.
All the while believing I would still make it to my 8 30am Saturday spin class.

Until I went to the Oxford.

Where I finally picked up.

In the smoking room.

Yep.

Classy.

At 6am.

He was young.

Cute.

And clearly completely out of it.

As he willingly came home with me.

But then by the time we get to the end of the night we'll all pretty much go home with anybody.

And it can be so much easier to pick up when there are fewer to choose from.
And everybody seems to know that it's now or never.
So I took him home.
And he was a total bottom.
Which is kind of challenging.
Because that's kind of where I find myself as well.
But his willing submission was enough of a turn on for me to fuck him.
Although I find these days that it takes quite a lot of concentration to maintain the arousal when I am the active partner.
And I may expand upon this at some later time.
But with this one I found that roughing him up a little helped things along.
I am particularly fond of biting the nipples.
So that they really, really hurt.
Pulling hair is a good one too.
And like a lot of Gen-Y's he had enough hair to pull.
Which he seemed to like me doing.
Especially when he was face down.
But I prefered him on his back.
So I could spit in his face.
Slap it too.
He was loving it.
Or so I thought.
Until one of those slaps was just a little too rough.
And I cracked one of his teeth.
Loosened it a little too.
Yep.
With a single bare hand.
Through his bearded cheek.
How is that even possible?
Needless to say, it put a dampener on things.
We dozed off.
And when I awoke he was gone.
All that remained of him some dribbled blood on my white pillowcase.
And my mobile was ringing.
It was my mother...


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