Women are like electric cookers, men like gas cookers: immediately hot, and cold again as soon as you switch it off. Women need a longer fore-and afterglow.
This is generally true for sex, and also relationships on the whole.
Especially for the German boy.
His fire lit as soon as he set eyes on me, whilst mine began to glimmer and glow slowly, stoked by his attention and all-out loveliness (if slightly dimmed by his overt PDAs and lingering glances which can feel creepy at times) but has yet to catch up with his raging furnace.
Tall Boy has become a bit of a phantom. He never gets in touch, I don't see him through work anymore and even the memory of his magnificent scent and cock have somehow faded into the background.
Dope Boy took me out to the theatre this week, he was already half-cut once I got there and even hallucinated that one of the actors had changed his clothes when he made his second entrance. He hadn't. Admittedly, the play was somehow lacking (i.e. shit), but not due to any fault of the actors who tried their best with a naff script and lack of direction.
The set was great though, running water and all!
Afterwards, we joined Yacht girl and her date for the second half of the comedy gig upstairs, where Dope Boy made a total ass of himself heckling the comedian.
I thought it was funny as hell, but the comedian sadly didn't...
Chelsea Boy has moved even further West, but I won't start calling him Ealing Boy. He is seeing a delightful Blonde with a dirty mouth and imagination to match my own.
Not long ago, there was a documentary about a close relative of Cashmere's on TV, and I texted him to see if he was watching it too. He replied, rather pleasantly, that he is now living in Switzerland. No mention of any further libel enquiries towards my person, or any other bad blood, what a relief.
Salsa Boy hasn't been in touch since our "chat" (i.e. him getting dumped). I assume he is now getting his asexual thrills elsewhere, and hopefully even regularly launders his shirts before he goes on a date which should really aid his cause.
A funny thing has happened with the Jewish boy from the party I went to with Salsa, which resulted in his sperm sticking to my perm.
He took me out for dinner a couple of weeks ago, which I didn't refuse despite my involvement with the German boy. After all, he knows my little philosophy and has never made an attempt to convert or propose to me.
Jewish Boy paid for our dinner with 3 crisp fifties, the result of a recent gambling spree, and on we went to his Notting Hill pad. A box of tampons and other paraphernalia in his bathroom were silent witnesses to the recent stay of his "annoying ex", or may denote the presence of another, more permanent female.
I didn't much care after he removed the skid mark from the loo and began to massage my feet on his sofa. Fuelled by copious amounts of single malt, we found ourselves rolling on his carpet with his hands all over me, his tongue in my mouth and my bottom cosied into a pair of his "sweats" (I had picked up my skinny flatmate's trousers by mistake, and they were giving me trouble after the rich dinner).
I was determined not to go much further, but couldn't help guaffawing aloud when he brought out a large purple vibrator and stuck it in the waist band of his own "sweats".
"What's this?", I asked him without being able to stop giggling, "I cannot believe anyone would bring out a second-hand vibrator!?"
"It's clean, it's clean", he insisted and wriggled it around next to his corkscrew dick.
"I don't care", I told him, "I'm not touching it!", taking in its buzzing action and weird purple spikes around the bottom of the shaft. Urgh, and double urgh!
He ended up pleasuring himself lying back on the sofa, whilst I kissed him and watched, letting him fondle me through the crotch of his own sweat pants.
"You've no idea how much I want you", he told me whilst I attempted not to touch his oddly-shaped erection, but I was nonetheless turned on enough not to watch any of the film he had put on.
He came with a vengeance, all over his stomach and chest. I went to get him a towel from the female-artefacts-strewn bathroom and helped him wipe down.
After a last gulp of whiskey I scuttled off to the tube, in my own (or rather the flatmate's) trousers. I had to ring Chelsea Boy for a male opionion on what I'd just done. He provided it in a whisper, so as not to disturb the Blonde... who is now also privy to my shenanigans when the cat is away, so to speak.
Said "cat" is actually around quite frequently for someone from the Continent- we see each other on average about every 2 weeks.
Usually, he comes to me, but I have also been to his a couple of weekends.
Being apart and virtual strangers (albeit with a blossoming phone habit to rival the Samaritans), then living in each others' pockets whilst I attempt to play hostess plagued by a lack of sleep brought on by his presence (the creaking bed every time he moves, his snoring and wandering hands as soon as he's awake not helping matters), isn't always easy.
Fortunately, he is one of the easiest-going and most tolerant, water-off-a-duck's-back harmony junkies imaginable, the only piece of his resistance being his refusal to get a full STD check-up... because "we don't do this in Germany".
Ironically he was actually diagnosed with HPV, following my discovery of a harmless-looking wart on his foreskin. Whilst he was embarrassed and seemed to want to try and glance over this unpleasant development, it filled me with "I-told-you-so" mirth and a slight concern over what else he might have picked up at the same 'address'. Admittedly, he has been a long-term 'resident' of most such addresses, five and seven years were the durations of his last two relationships.
In any case, he is looking into it. In the meantime, we are sticking with the products of Mr Durex and co, enhanced by unnatural lubricants to help my rubber-grated pussy along.
The most useless acquisition proved to be the Durex "Play" gel with peppermint flavour and "mint-fresh" action. Whilst its condom equivalent produces a pleasantly fresh feeling and taste on the genitals, the gel was decidedly too much of a minty thing:
The first time we used it, I tried sitting on German boy's face shortly after he entered me, he ended up choking on a wave of minty freshness which stung his nostrils and had to be spit into the sink post-haste.
The second time it came into 'play', it stung my poor pussy into oblivion, requiring a spontaneous strong shower, much writhing in pain and abstinence for the rest of the day.
I don't think I ever get quite that dry when there aren't any condoms or other rubber implements involved, so I look forward to a change in that direction.
However, I can see this being the beginning of another episode of the baby-monster raising its instinctive head...