Thursday, November 17, 2005

Sleeping in Nottingham

For the first time in eons, I spent a working day in London on Monday. So rather than leave Nottingham at the crack of dawn, I spent Sunday night at a friend’s place in London. Getting to work meant catching a bus to Finsbury Park tube station, getting a tube to Kings Cross, another to London Bridge and eventually taking the Jubilee line to Canary Wharf.

I'm SO pleased I don’t have to do that every day!

Instead of going to Northampton that night, I returned to Nottingham. So, unusually, I was there on a Monday night and in need of company. I thought I’d let D know I was in town as I hadn’t seen him over the weekend. He said he’d be around at 7.30.

D tends to like a few drinks before he comes round – he says he feels nervous before coming to see me. Nervous of me? I’m no ogre, so it must be him? Joking apart, it really is him – he’s slowly emerging from his closet (at the ripe old age of 36!) and shares a house with a very good straight friend who’d prefer he be straight or, at most, bi.

He rang at 8 to say he’d be there soon. He rang again at 8.40, saying he wouldn’t be long. If phones were that advanced, I’d have smelt the alcohol fumes through my mobile. My doorbell rang just after 9. I let him in.

A breeze of beer and cologne accompanied him as he wafted in, head held back, one arm touching his opposite shoulder. He was dressed in black, tight-fitting jeans, a tailored, dark grey jacket with fur on the collar and one of those fur hats you see Russians wearing. God, he looked camp! He reminded me of a black Julie Christie who’d walked off the set of Dr Zhivago.

‘It’s real fur,’ he announced with a bit of a flounce, picking up that I was surprised by his attire. Then he launched into an apology for not having seen me over the weekend (it hadn’t bothered me at all!) and how he had a confession to make.

On the Sunday of the weekend before, A (we have a history!) had popped by to drop off a bottle of red wine and then we’d gone to the Lord Roberts for a drink. I’d spent the night before with D and hadn’t expected to see him on the Sunday but he popped in a while later. Things were awkward for the rest of the evening and I’d had to do a balancing act where I could be civil to both of them. Despite that, the three of us went on to AD2, followed by the club. Really stupid behaviour on my part as I had to be up at the crack of dawn to be in Northampton the next morning. I left the club about 10 minutes after A left, bidding D goodbye. He’d wanted to go home with me but I said I’d rather not as I needed to get as much sleep as possible before leaving in the morning. He thought that I’d gone home with A.

I knew that he’d have thought that and he confirmed it on Monday. It had upset him that I’d left without him and he eventually went home with a ‘fit Glaswegian’ who'd chatted him up at AD2 earlier.

Now D isn’t really very experienced in the world of weirdness that can be sex in the gay world so the following shocked him a lot:
  • Lots of slapping
  • Lots of verbal abuse
  • Lots of gob

Had it been me, I’d simply have left had someone wanted to indulge in that sort of thing. D, being a relative innocent in the ways of the big bad world, felt unable to. He says the guy was a really nice guy the next morning but that the whole episode had unnerved him.

D was feeling very guilty about it but it didn’t faze me at all. I was interested in his story, glad that nothing really unpleasant had happened to him but I was more interested in him getting naked and climbing into bed with me. Yes, I am such a shallow tart! After quite a bit more self-haranguing and trying to convince himself that I was ok with everything, we were naked in bed with each other.

Things got off to a good start although I had to warn him to be a bit more reticent with his teeth – I really didn’t want a repeat of a previous episode. Not too long into the proceedings, at a point where he was lying back with his head on the pillow enjoying my administrations, I detected a change in his breathing pattern.

‘D, don’t you go falling asleep on me! I said.

There was a grunt. The breathing pattern altered slightly before resuming its previous pattern.

‘Wake up!’ I said. No grunt this time and a slight change in pattern. Then nothing.

He’d passed out.

Oh well, so much for that. I got under the duvet and switched off the light, hoping to fall into a deep sleep so that I’d have a good rest before being up at 5.45. But, it was not to be – D’s snores were breaking the sound barrier. No amount of prodding made any difference.

I moved to the couch where I eventually fell asleep.


Blogger andrea said...

You went to AD2 with A and D? Coincidence? (See, I'm working harder at the words part.)

6:10 pm  
Blogger Reluctant Nomad said...

I hadn't noticed that - definitely a coincidence! Your attention for words has improved a lot! :-)

10:49 pm  
Blogger Uroskin said...

Who am I to say no to any "fit Glaswegian'? I'd be disappointed if said fit Glaswegian did not apply the characteristics of "weird gay sex".

12:33 am  
Blogger Reluctant Nomad said...

I've not had any experience of fit Glaswegians (yet!) so can't comment on their connection with weird gay sex! :-)

Anyhow, as we all know, what is weird/kinky to one is vanilla to another. And vice versa, of course

12:45 am  
Blogger ChittyChittyBangBang! said...

He passed out while you were making love? I would have been livid! His loss?

8:10 am  
Blogger Reluctant Nomad said...

Absolutely his loss!

Actually, I used a bit of artistic license there as after he passed out, I went out for a pint and he had awoken by the time I returned.

We resumed proceedings after that! ;-)

8:41 am  
Blogger Reluctant Nomad said...

But I did eventually go sleep on the couch because of his snoring.

8:58 am  
Blogger BUDDESS said...

I learnt to fall asleep before a snoring partner does. I am lucky that it won't wake me, but I battle to fall asleep if I have to listen to someone snoring next to me. Passing out while making love is a no-no in my book. At least he seems to have made up for it.

10:38 am  
Blogger LiVEwiRe said...

Absolutely dreadful! You should have bitten him! ;) The Dr. Zhivago image was great, though! That had to be quite a sexy look!

9:27 pm  

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