Soundtrack: She Wants to Move by N.E.R.D.
I’d been out drinking when I met The Bus Driver. I didn’t realise he was a bus driver, of course. Not that that kind of thing mattered… but it also did. The way he acted, presented himself, all of it – it made him seem much more mature and refined than he actually was. That’s how I ended up taking him home with me. When his mature, refined mask was removed, though (because that’s all it actually was,) reality was quite different.
Now, that’s what I call beer goggles!
The Night
I’d been out with some of Bestie’s friends and coworkers, and The Bus Driver was one of them. There was nothing really special about him to look at, but he had a really infectious personality and the filthiest laugh. I’d already had a few drinks by the time I met him, and he’d bought pretty much all of the rest of my drinks, for the rest of the night. I couldn’t work out if he was rich or flash. Either way, yes, I would have another glass of wine, thank you very much.
We giggled and talked and gossiped and drank, and, generally, had the best ol’ time. When the end of the night came, it was almost inevitable that he’d come back to mine, AKA The Flat. Thirty minutes, the wrong taxi, then the right taxi later, everyone was back at The Flat, and The Bus Driver and I were making our way to my bedroom, hand in hand.
The Bus Driver
Something changed when we started taking each other’s clothes off. He revealed a pair of striped pants that were more old man than silver fox, and my lady wood disappeared quicker than you could blink. Poof, it was gone.
The thing was, though… he was naked, in my bed, waiting for me to get in it.
I was drunk, which partially explains why I did what I did… which is getting right in bed next to him. We started kissing, which was nicer than I’d assumed. We even started to have sex… which wasn’t terrible.
But then, he put his whole tongue in my ear. Now, that might be your kind of thing, but it is not mine.
“NOPE,” I shouted – literally shouted – as I hopped out of bed.
It felt like I had a slug in my ear. Before, during, and after the event. A slug. Like if I’d stepped on a slug, but with an in-my-ear format. I DON’T LIKE IT.
He looked so hurt that I had no choice but to get back into bed with him, but I did tell him not to do that again.
What did he do?
Yep, he whacked that fat, ugly tongue of his in my ear. Both ears, at different points. I tried not to react to the first one, but I couldn’t help it with the second. I slid myself out from under him, smearing his dick juice all over myself in the process, and sat at the edge of the bed.
“Are you deaf?” I asked him.
“No?” he said, still in the same position, but turning his head around to face me. I almost laughed so hard. He looked like a bad drawing.
“Then why does your tongue keep going inside my ear?”
“I like it. “
“Oh, I can see that, but I don’t like it,” I said.
He threw back my duvet, then got under it. “Fine. Let’s just sleep.”
Ummm, I don’t want you in my bed. Get out.
I should’ve said that, but I didn’t. Instead, I crawled into bed behind him, said sorry twice, and stared at the ceiling for at least two hours while he snored loudly.
I should’ve ran after the striped pants.
The Morning After
Beer fear hit me like a ton of bricks when I awoke, and I bolted out of the bed to find Bestie.
“You need to help me get rid of this guy!” I cried, once I’d located him in the kitchen. Literally. I was actually, literally crying.
He laughed. “What do you want me to do, walk in there and throw him out?”
“Ummm, yes.”
“For fuck’s sake. Fine,” he sighed, then left the kitchen.
I was too afraid to follow him, but I did let out a little giggle by accident. Was he really going to throw The Bus Driver out? I almost wanted to watch if that was the case. The image alone was enough to make me laugh.
Five or six minutes later I heard a door slam shut, then Bestie came back. “He’s gone.”
“Did you actually throw him out?” I asked.
“Well, no, not literally, but I did tell him to fuck off. He thinks I’m your boyfriend now, by the way.”
“Hey, whatever worked. Thanks, Bestie!” I threw my arms around him. “You’re the best. I’ll make breakfast.”
It might’ve been the first time that Bestie had ever had to throw a man out of The Flat for me, but it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
But that’s another story for another day!
The next blog post in the dating timeline is this one: Girlfriend.
Thank you so much for reading my blog today! 🖤
You can read all about my disastrous dating history, right from the beginning, right here: Table of Dating Contents.
Alternatively, why not have a little peek around here: