011109 the taxi of shame shall not equal the long walk goodbye

I’m in the mood for lurve
Simply because you’re near me

Well it had got to that stage. I’d go to Tescos and the pubescent cashier would look at me all Mrs Jones and I’d slip my card into his slender machine and the message would come up ‘card inserted too early’. Talk about passion killer.

I’d gyrate my way around my department at work, putting off the TCP-ridden leprechaun in the corner.

It was time to get laid. And it didn’t matter how, when, where or who I did it with, sometimes the why is enough.

Broken. It has been, and let all of nature rejoice and sigh relief, for once again I am furrowed and abundant - notice I avoid ‘fertile’.

I decided. That’s all. On the witching eve, dressed as ‘evil bitch’ or ‘vampire bait’, I would take a man tonight. I simply needed to, and there were three parties, four bars and a club to choose from in my quest.

Slightly stoned and excited, I entered the pub where the 24-year old barman stood behind the bar like a prize piglet. Let the perving begin. I was sat around a table of dribbling zombies, both in appearance and character, it seemed. There’s not much to be said about quantity, if you ask me.

But those two deadfaces opposite looked interesting. Twins, that’s two-for-one.

I gave it a shot. My wife remarked, ‘would you like them if they weren’t twins?’ accusationally.

It unfurled that I had already declared all of her friends ‘idiots’ and she was demanding an answer for my evilbitch behaviour. Aha! What is poison for the goose is rape for the gander, (or whatever), and I settled to enjoy taking on a halloween disguise that came all too naturally.

I joined the twins outside and had the pleasure of the most mundane, non-descript conversation one could imagine. Definitely pulled in theory though, so there was the test-drive.

Second stop. Regular pub where my wife is a fixture and has dated most all of the shrunken dick lady men behind the counter.

But who was this? The charismatic owner, a fine specimen himself, neatly nestled next to another trick or treat. He clocked me at the same second and though I turned back to the bar in mock-calm, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Surely the grail of my desire could not be attained at only the second leg of my stumbling?

‘oh, that’s just his brother; he’s rich, he lives in Chicago and everyone wants to sleep with him’.

Right.

If that ain’t a carrot, I don’t know what is. And of course, though I enjoy sleeping, one would hope for a party piece beforehand.

I basically ro’ped myself just in case. Bit of wine, bit of vodka, bit of sambuca, get it down, then all the conversations you remember will be good. And all those ‘oh…’ moments will trot by unnoticed. La la la, what about the bit where he had a mask on and he looked bipolar, and then he overheard me debating whether all bipolars are also bisexual. Something about butchering. Something about his ex-wife and it all being a big drama. Think at that point I wasn’t capable of even feigning sympathy, but extremely capable of demonstrating wildebeest.

Is it good when a man laughs about things you said, (oh God, please not what I did), long after the fact? I’m always suspicious that funny does not equal ‘and I absolutely have to return for the second fuck’.

So my fantasies have begun. In the morning he had to catch a plane, so I gathered my strewn belongings and stepped out into a storm, the wind dislodging a few cobwebs.

Suddenly I turned back and knocked on the imposing wooden door………

‘Changed your mind?’ he said coolly. I realise now he meant the taxi, but oh how I savoured the ambiguity. No, I’d left my scarf but…………………………….

I stop by a coffee house, with an ochre aura of smug sex about me, not to mention the sex stench and bleary eyes, and demolished some protein before embarking myself on my good friend Luke. Let’s prolong this walk of shame, let’s bask in its blustery glory.

So we prolonged, and it was music for the soul. We laughed about how fit men affect normal thought processes. When the magic man mentioned he sat up late at night, playing the blues on his ownsome whilst his little boy slept upstairs, I had to gag myself to prevent screaming ‘ME, ME! CHICAGO!’

But this time I’m trying not to procrastinate, deviate, lament, self-deprecate/defecate, just to enjoy what was and what can be, and to move through this beautiful universe knowing that I am now not the loneliest, most sexless bugger walking these wintry streets.