I spent a beautiful night with Jock last night. Granted he turned up 12 hours later than he should have done, but he was exhausted and probably would have died, asleep at the wheel if he hadn’t gone home and then fallen asleep. Whatever, we got the night together and it was pretty fantastic. We fell asleep watching The Purge Anarchy, after a picnic of cheesy breadsticks and dips, sausage rolls, iced coffees, Malteasers, and peanuts on my bed. It was lovely. Just what the doctor ordered.
I can’t quite forget about The Fireman getting back in touch though. That has played on my mind a lot more than it should have done recently and last night, at one point, I even remember looking over at Jock and marvelling at how much he reminded me of him sometimes. What the fuck? Where is this all coming from? One night of messages with this guy and all of a sudden, I’m thinking about him when I jerk off. Yep, I did that too. I’m a bad, bad person.
Oh and then today, My Mr. Grey popped up again. He’s been doing that a lot recently. I don’t really understand what’s going on. Today he messaged me on Facebook and asked me to give him my number again as he had lost his phone. Or something like that. That one simple request turned into him saying this to me:
“There are a few, very few people that I can honestly say have changed my life in the last decade. But only one has had that unique touch. And though as little as we have spent time together it’s been obviously the highest of quality. The effect you have had, has been vast. Not many both inspire and amaze me in such quantities. Always so proud of you too.”
Huh? I only asked him what phone he had bought. Where the fuck did all this come from?
It’s the hair. I totally believe it’s the hair. Having pink hair has done something to me. I’m proud, skinny, and fucking happy. Finally, I’m in that happy little place. I have confidence. And oh my fucking god, it’s true what they say. When you have confidence, people want to know you. They want to talk to you. They want to ask you out on dates which inevitable means that they want to fuck you. Eeek.
People look at me. A guy actually told his friend about me the other day. I’m sure I told you about that. Plus that guy with the Grandpa flat cap asked me out on a date five days ago. I wouldn’t have touched him with a barge pole even if Jock wasn’t in my life. Ew. Creepy guy. What made it worse is that his mother joined in…
“You should date him. He’s a lovely boy!”
Creepiest come-on ever. Blurgh.
What is happening? Maybe I should get rid of the pink hair? It’s done something to Jock too. He keeps complimenting it. He’s been a frisky little fucker the past few days. I’m not complaining, of course. He woke me up at like 2am this morning once the film had finished to give me a good seeing too. Fuck! It was fabulous! I came hard. HARD! I don’t get it. Sometimes this porky, grey old fucker can really turn me on. I don’t know how he does it. He had hold of my arms to the side of me when I was on top last night and he wouldn’t let go. It gave me goosebumps from head to toe. I tried to tell him that he was giving me goosebumps in case he thought I was having a stroke, but all that came out were these odd syllables – “Goose. You. Bumps. Me.” You get the idea. It was ridiculous. Have you ever felt so good, so turned on, that you thought you were having a stroke? That’s like an entirely new level of sex right there.
It was fucking fantastic though.
I don’t know what’s going on recently. I’m clearly releasing some kind of pheromone. I quite like it.