You know how they say you should always trust your gut? Well sometimes your friend’s guts can be all the more intuitive than your own, so if you’re unsure on something it’s often good to get a second opinion. Or third… or fourth…
There was an unbelievably hot guy that I’d been chatting to for a while. You know when somebody turns you on so much a text from them can give you a semi – even if you’re sitting through The Vagina Monologues. Someone who just ticks all your boxes – even those ones you didn’t know you liked ticked. He was one of those rare finds, that was made difficult by the fact he lived an hour away. It’s like how in fairytales there’s always a dragon guarding the treasure. He was the gold, and getting to West London was the beast obstructing the trembling orgasm.
So we’d arranged to meet up on a Monday night. Which, coincidentally was the same day I’d achieved a massive hangover – not helped by my friend’s neighbour drilling through the wall at 9am. Insensitive cunts.
I hadn’t packed enough layers the day before and spent the day running my errands (gym, meetings, coffee, etc) freezing minge off. So by the time I got home all I wanted to do was curl up in bed and see how much chocolate I could eat before it was impossible to move.
So I debated blowing him off. I then debated just blowing him. It was a tough call. Two of a gay man’s greatest loves pitted against one another; duvet and dick. I reached out to a friend for help, and he first suggested writing a Pros and Cons list. So I did:
After such a well thought out idea I thought I would have had my answer… I didn’t.
So I included another friend in the debate:
Normally carbs are a total no-no, but considering all I’d eaten for the past five days was the odd Haribo and plenty of plant food, I had already scheduled full-blown carbicide in my diary for that evening. But obviously this would go out the window if I went to meet him as everybody knows that having sex on a full stomach is more uncomfortable than hearing about your nan’s sex dreams (Peter Barlow will never look the same way again).
So after much consideration, the list was extended:
After telling everyone I was staying in bed, finally a decision got made:
And obviously, this got left behind:
Before another friend spoke up:
For those of you that don’t speak fluent Emoji-Gay, that first line reads: “OH HONEY. HE’S ONE FINE FOX”
So when I arrived it was good to know that my friends had seen me in good steed.
When I first met him I immediately noticed how “straight acting” and protective he was with his hand ‘pon me waist’. Not that this was really the look I was going for while strutting through a shopping centre, but the sentiment was nice. He teased me for sounding like I was from Essex and I teased him for talking like he was from Chatsworth Estate.
Thankfully under the chav was a gentleman… and under the gentleman was pornstar. So it worked out well. And after a night of sweaty, passionate, goosebump-inducing sex, pizza was the last thing on my mind. And you know the sex was good when it ends like this:
The only thing I didn’t have after an amazing orgasm was a bit fat spliff. Then, I would have been fully content. But seen as that’s all the night was lacking, it would be pretty petty to complain.
And while we may not be destined for marriage, it’s always nice to have sex with a side of intimacy, rather than a plate of cut up straws and empty baggies.
Then, naturally, another friend checked in the morning after:
They say “mother knows best”, very true. So do your mates. Never blow a guy out for carbohydrates.