Nymphomaniac

I’m not. But I feel like one. I don’t know if it’s because of the heat (the sun since run away) but all the hotties are out – or at least they were on Saturday.

I had a great weekend, actually. On Friday, I bypassed the gym after to meet my old work colleague for drinks. This is the one who took me out a while back and told me to dress to impress. I don’t think I named him, so I’ll call him Mr Arrogant (in a nice way. sort of). So when he texted me I left the office and ambled down to Clapham in the blazing sunshine feeling all summery – bright vest, turned up jeans, sunglasses on – it’s summertime bitches. I get there and he’s suitably summery for a bloke i.e. he had his shirt sleeves rolled up and RayBans on. He was there with a friend, classic banker type, except Ugandan. Nice enough bloke. So we had a few drinks in a few bars before grabbing some food and the night drew on. I actually hadn’t intended to stay too long since I had to be up for 8am for uni the next day but…well…I got persuaded to go to a late night bar and, oh well. Swiftly told Mr Arrogant that since I’d have to get a cab home he could very well pay for my drinks. Of course, he did.

It was fun. Apart from the times I got pushed to the side when Mr Arrogant decided to chat up seemingly endless bits of skirt. I don’t care that he chatted up these women, but I did care that I was left with his random friend. I mean, if you’re gonna invite me out then bloody well don’t forget I’m there. Ruhuude. I didn’t say anything though, at least, not straight away. And so the pattern continued. He’d chat to some girl, take her number, come back, pick me up, spin me round and buy me another drink. And then his friend asked if we were seeing each other. I nearly spit out my drink. Erm. No, we’re not. I’ve never even kissed him. He asked why and I told him that I’d known My Arrogant for something like 10 years. I know what he’s like –  a dirty, dirty dog. I hated him at first for that very reason. Then, he said that Mr Arrogant had told him he was ‘seeing me’, therefore his friend wasn’t allowed to make a move on me. What’s wrong with this picture? His friend is married. This is what these guys are like. By the end of the night I’d had enough. At one point, I came in from having a smoke and he was chatting up yet another woman. He gestured to his mate in a way that (to me) said ‘get her out of the way’. I had a proper barney at him outside the bar at the end of the night because of that. He said his gesture meant ‘make sure Freechick’s not on her own’, and he’d never try to get rid of me. The conversation went something like this:

Me: I’m only going to say this once, so sober up and listen. Don’t ever invite me out again and then just fuck me off. I can be a great wingwoman if I’m at least prepared to know that’s what the night’s about (instead of cockblocking him which I did towards the end just for fun).

Him: I’m really sorry, it wont happen again. 

Me: Good boy (squeezed his cheeks). I’m going to get a cab.

Him: No, just come and stay at P’s (his friend).

Me: Can’t. I’ve got to be at uni tomorrow.

Him: It’s fine, you can go there straight from P’s.

Me: No, thanks. I don’t want to wake up to you trying to stick your cock up my arse.

I got in a cab and left. The next day he texted me to say he finished his triathlon, blah blah blah. He’s a bell-end but it was still fun.

Saturday, I met up with Miss Yoyo after uni. We were meant to just get some lunch, have a catch up and then I’d go home, study and chill. What happened was:

1. We met up. Had lunch.

2. Wandered through Covent Garden and randomly saw hundreds of naked people riding bikes. Literally. I’ve never seen so many cocks and vaginas in my life. Some of the guys were super hot too. There were penises bouncing around everywhere. And some that just looked like belly buttons. 

3. Went for cocktails (I had apple and cinnamon margaritas. To. Die. For)

4. Ogled at the fittest guy ever in the outside area of the pub opposite. 

5. Drained cocktails and headed to the bar with the fit man.

6. Edged my way into the group with the fit man on the pretext of needing to rest my bag on the table in order to roll a cigarette so Miss Yoyo and I could ogle more blatantly. He was in a group on a stag do. Out of the group I identified 6 shaggables. 

7. Sat and people-watched. The pub had a higher than average fit-man ratio.

8. Took the piss out of people with dodgy dress sense. In particular, men who think it’s acceptable to wear SUEDE LOAFERS WITH NO SOCKS!! Gah! Seems like everyone thinks they’re TOWIE rejects these days. And, there was also a guy with denim pedal pushers on. I kid you not.

9. Bantered with a group of guys about places I could arrange a holiday for my 30th. The conclusion was Miami. Or Panama. I’m erring towards Miami, bitches.

10. Drank Long Island Ice Teas that actually sobered me up (while Miss Yoyo drank a green concoction that needed an umbrella and sparkler. She didn’t have the umbrella or sparkler, but the drink soooo deserved one).

11. Went down to the basement to listen to the live band.

12. Ended up talking to a hot Brazilian dude. I went old school and gave him a receipt from my purse and a pen to write his name on since my phone was dead (so modern I didn’t take digits, just his name for Facebook. He asked me but my name is so common he’d never find me.)

13. Almost came on the spot when he did some weird samba thing and looked at me like he wanted to eat me.

14. Left the pub and walked to the tube station, and saw a woman who was in the bar with her head INSIDE a bin, chucking up while her boyfriend rubbed her back. At like, 11pm. Sad times.

15. Got the bus home and went to bed.

Safe to say, my head was fucked the next day. 4 hours sleep in two days and copious amounts of alcohol…hmm. And I had to study the next day too. Boo. But then I looked this guy up on Facebook. His profile picture was decent. And I flicked through to the rest. One of him on a beach, rippling six pack, tattoo, brighter than bright smile. Fuck yes.

Pretty much since then I’ve had the horn. If I was a guy, I’d be walking around with a permanent boner. I so need to get laid it’s ridiculous. I’m out this Friday and next, and also meeting up with an old friend next Thursday (last time we met up turned extremely messy and we ended up chatting up half the bar). I might invite the hot Brazilian to this party I’m going to Saturday. I only know the host and she’s said to bring someone. And I have the feeling I could do some serious flirting at the very least. And I need to get laid.

Never had a Brazilian before…

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4 thoughts on “Nymphomaniac

  1. Comedy – so glad it’s not just me who turns into a slightly panting nympho when the sun comes out. A sadly frustrated and unfulfilled temporary nympho, I must add. I feel your pain / situation. Margaritas rock. x

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