Sunday Morning Ramblings

Its been three weeks today since I've gotten down and dirty with anyone other than myself. The odd snog in a bar or quick grope against a pool table but that's about it. Actually, that's not quite true, as I did have a spectacular bootjob from Hunter last night at Manacle. But no rolling around all loud and sweaty, no cocks and fists and amyl and bits in bits- you know what I mean.

Somehow I don't feel sexy at the moment, or at least, I don't feel sexy like I used to. I can pull on my fishnets and a small dress and lipstick and diamantes and corset and frilly knickers and glitter but when I hit the dancefloor I've forgotten how to move. I can pull on my camos, belt, boots and collar but when I'm standing across the bar from some hot leather boy I've forgotten how to cruise. Nothing seems to fit anymore, even my body doesn't feel quite like I remember it, as if my parts have been assembled in the wrong order or proportion or with one piece too few or too many.

Gaylourdes and I went to The Impy after Manacle, and drank a little beer (I know). The place was packed full of pretty people, pervy people, freaky people, trashy people, happy people. I searched the corners for something or someone who might make make sense of my situation, might make it all fit together. Chatted to a motley assortment of these folk, swapping tales of fisting and fucking and parties and all the usual pub smalltalk, watched others dance and pick each other up and just couldn't seem to find any way to connect with it all. Sure, I conversed and laughed and schmoozed but all the while as I tried to engage I slipped further away from it all, trying to keep up with the jokes and the flirtations but never quite being able to. To add to the frustration of this situation, I have a quite annoying inkling that I inadvertantly turned down a rather nice offer through sheer obliviousness (if it was an offer, and 'you' are reading this, please feel free to repeat it a little more blatantly and I daresay I'd be rather happy to take you up on it. Dang!). Hmmm... for all the shagging about I've done it my time I can be totally useless when it comes to picking up on when I'm being picked up, especially when I'm not feeling particularly comfortable in my own skin and unable to comprehend that anyone would find me worth cruising. Caught a cab home, alone.

Crawled into bed and slept with Hunter's old boot rag on my pillow. Fitful sleep, waking up to the smell of polish. Pressing the soaked cloth into my face and breathing in deeply...