Written on Dec 18th 09
Mr D was until recently working for a holiday company travelling across the world managing bars and tourists - meeting women and taking them home was probably in the job description. Taking this into account I don't suppose for one minute that I will be especially memorable to Mr D. Although I do have the added interest of being a lesbian, - ex lesbian - perhaps I will forever be his 'conversion' story.
To be honest my own 'intimate experiences' list is rather longer than I would like it to be. Age 19, I was a bit surprised by the whole lesbian thing - as far as I was concerned I'd come from a normal family (well - normal in as much as any family is....), -I had a respectable upbringing.
By respectable I mean I was taught to 'only speak when spoken to', followed quickly by 'stand up for yourself, don't be so quiet', say 'pardon' not what, pronounce the 't' in butter, 'don't say 'yeah' its 'yes', 'what's 'gonna' - do you mean 'going to'?', 'Speak up, don't be so quiet', 'eat all your vegetables, there are children starving in Africa you know', always say hello to old people on walks in the countryside, and finally to be self-effacing at any possible opportunity. All this has left me with a very healthy and normal dose of British self doubt - I lack confidence in absolutely everything - except the fact that I had a respectable upbringing.
My childhood was 'normal' in all other ways too - I had a collection of Cindies and a Tiny Tears which weed herself, in my teenage years I wore full make up to school every day, tried to make my school uniform 'sexy', and worried about what boys would think of me, and at age 17 I even had a serious boyfriend who I really loved! So how had this lesbian thing happened?! In my opinion I'd done all the normal things that straight girls do and this should not have happened to me. I was supposed to get married (to a man)and have children in the usual way. I wasn't supposed to have to worry about 'coming out' and lesbian bed death and turkey baster babies. I therefore spent quite some time making sure that I was properly gay and hadn't just got confused somehow.
(In hindsight why I thought I could have got confused about this I don't know - I can understand people getting confused about which shop is in which Cardiff arcade, or which lane they're supposed to be in at Culverhouse Cross huge roundabout (this remains a mystery to me even after years of driving in Cardiff) - but if you fancy a girl then you fancy a girl - its really not that confusing.
Anyway despite much 'experimentation' I didn't manage to prove much - except that the more I drink the more my standards drop! Over the years some of these liaisons have sadly been forgotten due to various (mainly alcohol related) factors - like I can't remember what they looked like/don't want to remember what they looked like/was too drunk to remember meeting them ....etc.
Mr D however, will always be remembered - not because I had the most fantastic time of my life - but because he opened up a whole new world. My experience with Mr D has made me realise that I don't have to restrict myself to women - there's another 50% of the population who I could be attracted to after all. I have spent the last 15 years thinking that I don't fancy blokes coz I'm gay -but in hindsight - perhaps it was more because firstly, I very rarely came into contact with straight eligible men, and secondly, I spend all my time with gay women who generally think willies are gross and men are a kind of harmless but less well developed species. They are sort of right about willies - they're not the most attractive things, and to be fair some men do seem to come from another less intelligent species - but its not fair to judge all of them based on an unfortunate subsection - and, thinking about it, over the years I've met a few lesbians with IQ's of less than 'moron' - I think I may have been out with some of them...... Anyway moving on...
This is especially good news for me as I'm one of those people who hardly ever fancies anyone. I meet gay women all the time and quite often I think that they are attractive and interesting - but I don't fancy them. I have concluded that I must have very rare chemistry and although I like the idea of being unique its not very helpful if you want to meet someone. So to find out that the pool of people I could be attracted to just increased by 50% is very encouraging. Having said that I am off to the lesbian Christmas party soon so the male population may have to wait another 15 years.....
Thursday 7 January 2010
Smelly Restaurant Kissing
Written on Thursday 17th December 09
Mr D asked if I wanted to go for a meal with him and some of his French friends - which of course I did - even though this meant getting back across the whole of Paris on the dreaded metro and spending the evening with a group of French people I didn't know and couldn't actually communicate with. The French friends turned out to be very pleasant and almost as bad at English as I was at French which - despite the almost complete lack of any meaningful interaction - made me feel much better about myself.
There was much friendly smiling and laughing at things which may or may not have been funny. Mr D started off by interpreting everything but after a few drinks the interpretation got less and less regular and I just pretended to myself that I could understand. This is easier than it sounds as when I can't understand what is being said in French my brain just fills in the gaps for me. At the start of the evening it generally made up relevant, in context type things which, although may not have been what was actually said, made sense to me and made me feel like I was part of the conversation. Unfortunately later on after an aperitif, a few glasses of wine, a couple of whiskeys and another cocktail - the contents of which remain a mystery - my brain was off in its own little world and I have a suspicion in hindsight that the conversation I heard for the last hour could have been entirely fictional.
The meal was in an appres ski style restaurant - all wooden and rustic. It also smelt really bad in a mouldy cheese type way - this is apparently a sign of a really good traditional restaurant. I remain unconvinced - surely any smell which makes you wretch cannot be good in a restaurant - traditional or otherwise. Having said that the food was lovely - if a bit odd. I had to cook my own pieces of steak in boiling red wine. It took me twice as long as everyone else to eat because being British I had to simmer my tiny steak pieces for about 20 minutes before I considered them ready to eat. The average French person steak -piece- cooking -time was about one minute.
The meal was followed by a number of after dinner drinks - which to me seemed to be pure ethanol but apparently did have some other ingredients. At some point during the ethanol drinking session me and Mr D had a kiss. It was a sort of 'oops, get us, we're so drunk we fell into each other and landed on each others lips, there was nothing else we could do' type kiss. A proper full on snog - which despite being completely hammered was great - the sort of kiss that comes with all the excitement of having been thinking about it for weeks before - as opposed to the one where you met the person 5 minutes before and when you kiss them you find yourself thinking about where to get chips on the way home and wishing you remembered to set the heating to come on.
Anyway to cut a long story short - and because its not that kind of blog - I went back to Mr D's house where I stayed.
A few days later we met up again and repeated the experience - not the smelly restaurant bit - just the getting hammered and me staying at his. When I say ' his' I actually mean his parents' house. I was mortified in the morning - a 36 year old woman waking up in someones' parents house after a one (or two) night stand. I tried to appear respectable (which was hard given the circumstances) and made polite conversation with his mother - whilst feeling like a right slag! His mother didn't seem to feel at all awkward - which made me wonder how often this happened.....
Mr D asked if I wanted to go for a meal with him and some of his French friends - which of course I did - even though this meant getting back across the whole of Paris on the dreaded metro and spending the evening with a group of French people I didn't know and couldn't actually communicate with. The French friends turned out to be very pleasant and almost as bad at English as I was at French which - despite the almost complete lack of any meaningful interaction - made me feel much better about myself.
There was much friendly smiling and laughing at things which may or may not have been funny. Mr D started off by interpreting everything but after a few drinks the interpretation got less and less regular and I just pretended to myself that I could understand. This is easier than it sounds as when I can't understand what is being said in French my brain just fills in the gaps for me. At the start of the evening it generally made up relevant, in context type things which, although may not have been what was actually said, made sense to me and made me feel like I was part of the conversation. Unfortunately later on after an aperitif, a few glasses of wine, a couple of whiskeys and another cocktail - the contents of which remain a mystery - my brain was off in its own little world and I have a suspicion in hindsight that the conversation I heard for the last hour could have been entirely fictional.
The meal was in an appres ski style restaurant - all wooden and rustic. It also smelt really bad in a mouldy cheese type way - this is apparently a sign of a really good traditional restaurant. I remain unconvinced - surely any smell which makes you wretch cannot be good in a restaurant - traditional or otherwise. Having said that the food was lovely - if a bit odd. I had to cook my own pieces of steak in boiling red wine. It took me twice as long as everyone else to eat because being British I had to simmer my tiny steak pieces for about 20 minutes before I considered them ready to eat. The average French person steak -piece- cooking -time was about one minute.
The meal was followed by a number of after dinner drinks - which to me seemed to be pure ethanol but apparently did have some other ingredients. At some point during the ethanol drinking session me and Mr D had a kiss. It was a sort of 'oops, get us, we're so drunk we fell into each other and landed on each others lips, there was nothing else we could do' type kiss. A proper full on snog - which despite being completely hammered was great - the sort of kiss that comes with all the excitement of having been thinking about it for weeks before - as opposed to the one where you met the person 5 minutes before and when you kiss them you find yourself thinking about where to get chips on the way home and wishing you remembered to set the heating to come on.
Anyway to cut a long story short - and because its not that kind of blog - I went back to Mr D's house where I stayed.
A few days later we met up again and repeated the experience - not the smelly restaurant bit - just the getting hammered and me staying at his. When I say ' his' I actually mean his parents' house. I was mortified in the morning - a 36 year old woman waking up in someones' parents house after a one (or two) night stand. I tried to appear respectable (which was hard given the circumstances) and made polite conversation with his mother - whilst feeling like a right slag! His mother didn't seem to feel at all awkward - which made me wonder how often this happened.....
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)