Oh God, What Was I Thinking

When I started this blog, the goal was never to write about the actual sex. Thank god, because it would be an incredibly mundane and mediocre read for the handful of people who seem genuinely interested in it, not to mention how nauseatingly dull it would be for me to write it. There is also the slight issue that with some of them, the sex was so uninteresting that I’ve not even bothered to fully remember it taking place.

Take guy #5 for example. I know I definitely slept with him. But the actual sex? Couldn’t tell you a damn thing. I remember him commenting on the ‘fat pants’ I was wearing – he assured me he meant ‘phat’ as in ‘really cool’, but I heard what I heard, and the damage was done. In fact, now I reflect on the whole messy business, that comment was far more memorable than the fumble that followed. I do also remember dumping him by text shortly after – briefly feeling bad about it – then realising that perhaps using men for sex probably wasn’t the enormous crime I’d convinced myself it was.

But how did I end up in bed with #5 in the first place? 

I was working in a little cafe, in a bygone era where people still used cash to pay for their coffee. Each afternoon, I would trot along to the bank to deposit the takings.

In this bank, worked a rather handsome clerk. He was tall (I am acutely aware of how many times I’ve fallen for a guy for no other reason other than the fact they were tall), and rather handsome in a young Prince William sort of way. Picture a ginger-haired Wills in his twenties and wearing a bank uniform: this is guy #5.

During my daily trips to the bank, we’d occasionally exchange a few words, maybe just a flirtatious glance if it was busy. Of course, I was too shy to ever make a move. That took a lot of Dutch courage back then (or German, since most of it was fuelled by Jägermeister, but that was generally frowned upon during working hours).

One afternoon, however, I happened to be dressed as a pirate. There was a reason, but that’s not important. Just accept that I was. I strode into the bank in thigh-high leather boots, a flouncy shirt and a pirate hat to deposit my sack of doubloons (well, pound coins) into the bank. I had a newfound air of confidence and a swagger that only a pirate would understand.

Guy #5 clocked me and honed in with the swiftness of a British Royal Navy ship, equally as eager to investigate the presence of a pirate. We flirted, more so than usual (honestly, dressing like a pirate will give even the most introverted of folk an enormous confidence boost), and I did it: I asked him out on the spot. Please accept that that was a fairly big deal for me. It has literally never happened before, and has rarely happened since.

I’ll never forget his response: “I’d love to, but my girlfriend would kill me”.

Ooft. But no worries! I was shielded from any ego-bruising by the temporary effects of the overconfidence I was experiencing, and it was a valid excuse. Who was I to break up a happy relationship?
That blog will come soon…

…

Two weeks later, back in the bank,(in my civilian clothes this time), and who should saunter over but the bank clerk cutie. I was pulling back a little on the flirting this time, since I knew he was spoken for. I needn’t have worried though, because the next words to come out of his mouth were him asking me out.

I enquired about the aforementioned girlfriend. They had apparently split in the two weeks since my little pirate adventure. Was it great timing by the universe, or had he dumped this girl for me? My ego wanted to go with the second option, but it didn’t matter. I was single, he was single, and I knew I was going to get a Jolly Rogering.