The Pre-Noon Nooner

Not sure how this fits in, but I googled “nooner” and this is what came up. And it’s quite hot.

So in my last post (read here if you missed it), I mentioned a hot guy that I’d met at XXL. And XXL is what he was; at over six foot, broader than a double bed, he was point blank – a tower of a man! And while I thought I was playing him, *twirls finger, admittedly, it might not have been that straight-forward. Here was me, thinking I had him at my beckon call… Cut to me waking up at 8.30am to travel half way across London for a mid-morning hump. Evidentally, he had me a little bit more whipped than I’d anticipated.

Generally, when people have sex in the morning, it’s because they’ve woken up next to each other, and more than not, have sex the night before. Not, because they wanna throw their legs around a Hungarian barman as if they were a koala mounting a conifer. ALLOW waking up early when you don’t have work. ALLOW putting on four layers of clothes and traveling for nearly an hour just for the sake of an orgasm. Most people would say they’d rather sit on their hand for seven minutes and then sort themselves out, I called it “research” and jumped aboard the 10.08am Southeastern service. Then there’s that awkward moment when the rickety old bird’s motion causes your knee to touch the stranger opposites – AND HE WINKS. I didn’t have the heart to say “that was a total accident caused by the movement of the train. The same way it’s makes your tits vibrate”. So I just moved seats.

Then there’s that other awkward moment when you get to the train station and think you’re about to be hit by a double decker bus – but it’s actually just him walking towards you. He was totally cuter than I imagined. Fierce. Then she opens her mouth. I’m thinking; dumb as a box of hair. But actually, just because his English is as broken as Cheryl Cole’s spirit after she rocked up to X Factor USA dressed like a troll on acid, doesn’t mean he’s stupid – so shame on me for prejudging.

He tells me that he lives with the “owner” (Landlady) which is why he hadn’t invited me back sooner. We walk in, and she’s squatted on the floor cleaning. She was a tall, thin woman with hair like a birds nest that was squatted on the living room floor cleaning. She looked like Big Bird on speed. Very polite though. Offered us the living room to chill out in – bitch, you think I’m here for the TV?

We move into his bedroom, and I’m speechless. It was a messy room (i.e. pizza boxes on the floor), but it was, a single bed. A SINGLE BED. I’ve seen prison cells with more luxurious sleeping arrangements. I couldn’t even sleep in a single bed, how the fuck did a man the size of a snooker table? Or more importantly, how do we together? But I’m sure we’d make do, and we did. For some reason he put on a comedy film in the background;
“I love Adam Sandler!” he shouted at Jason Biggs, bless.  
Whatever, I’d seen the film before – what I hadn’t seen where this stud’s moves. So no time like the present. He had those thick lips that automatically made him a good kisser.
“You’re actually massive.” Was my way of giving him a compliment as I dangled from his body like a sloth on a branch. (And when I say ‘massive’, I’m referring to his frame!)
“A little.”
Meh, who needs conversation when you have lats like that. A he understood being modest – that was a start I guess.
Thank God the language of sex is universal though, if I’d of got up at the crack of dawn for a lazy lay, I’d of done a Naomi and thrown my phone at his head. And you know you’re both turned-on when the sex is shorter than the train journey to get there. But with such little space to manoeuvre I didn’t wanna be clambering over each other all day. So all in all it was worth the agg to shoot a load all over his wall, but let me ask you this; have you ever had a man seven times your size shuddering on top of you? I was worried he wasn’t going to get up. I felt like one of those four people a year that get squashed by a vending machine.

Then there’s that awkward moment when you’re asking basic information about each other, after you’ve banged. Like age.
“How old are you?”
“23”
“Like me.” So I erupt into a fit of laughter, she gotta be trippin’ HA! He’s like 29, surely? Right?
Wrong. I saw his driving license. And that wasn’t the only strange conversation we had…
“So where are you from?”
“Hungary.”
“Where’s that?” =|
Now I looked like the stupid one. So he shows me on Google maps – who knew it was near Slovakia, I thought Hungary was in Greece. Anyway…
“So what language do you speak?”
“Hungarian.” Wow – I was really not showing my best side today. So we go for lunch after, spending half the time in silence, and the other half of the time staring out the window while he talks about life back home. Where was this waitress? I was starving.

I think we’ll see each other again, but can you really have a boyfriend when there’s such a big language barrier and, more importantly, such a small bed? Who knows, but until then – she’s gonna make some pretty arm candy! Who needs a Birkin bag when you’ve got a Birkin man?