Months ago I had another London encounter. Why didn’t I mention it before? This happened right before I met Shew and it kind of fell into the back of my mind, but with London back in town it has resurfaced!
In case you haven’t read all of my posts: I know London through Wall Street. I was “dating” Wall Street and London was his friend. London moved to London and then we reconnected on Facebook where it turned out we both were harboring sexy feelings. Now he drops in for sexy visits.
This last visit was more of a date, something I learned from Facebook. London mentioned being excited about his date the following night (me), and Wall Street commented about sloppy seconds. It’s impossible for me to be sloppy seconds because Wall Street never got a serving. Technically, I would be something like leftovers.
So, London said that I wouldn’t be seeing Wall Street this go around. It was my mission to avoid dealing with Wall Street drama when trying to get in London time, sadly this did not mean I wouldn’t be dealing with other friends. There’s this one little gay douche that London is friends with and I hate his face. Every time he re-meets me, he pulls the ‘I don’t know you’ routine. He knows me. (While I was hanging out with Wall Street I called him a bitch while intoxicated.) We had two drinks and then headed off to dinner where there were no gays hanging around that I know someday will have to be burned by me at the stake.
A bottle of wine, two more vodka drinks and we were at the club. Beer. Beer. Beer… and dancing. I was feeling that special kind of good where you know you’re sexy, but in reality people are hoping you don’t puke. Then it was time to play. We went to London’s friends apartment and I sat on the edge of the fold out sofa. In a split second I was on my face in handcuffs. Bondage is not my thing. Losing control is scary! The sexy business was so fun that inch thick bruises wrapped around both of my wrists the next day.
However, the defining moment of the night actually came in the morning. I woke up three hours later still properly drunk. Clumsily, I dressed and said goodbye. Waiting for the elevator, my stomach began to gurgle. There was no choice but to go back. I knocked and London answered. He asked, “Forget something?” I smiled and replied, “I just need to use the bathroom really quick… to throw up.” Five minutes later I was set and on my way. This vomit moment only rivals the one from seven years ago when I puked right before my first time with the Trainer. OY!
Another London adventure put to rest, and I believe this week will add an appropriate addition to the story. Stay Tuned!