b r a v e c r e a t u r e s

I was up in Sydney a little while back. I was having breakfast at the Tropicanna when a handsome guy came in to by himself a coffee, presumably on the way to work. Tall, blond, thirtyish with wide shoulders and a solid back end on him, the kind of butt that implies great legs no matter what pants someone is wearing. He went out of his way to catch my eye and gave me the cheekiest smile. All in all, you couldn't ask for more to get my attention.

Once he had his coffee, he came over to my table and struck up a conversation - I think the line was "you're not from around here", but whatever he said in a few seconds he proved himself to be not only handsome but smart and funny. He was off to work and I was off to some meetings so he didn't stay long, but he did give me his number and asked for mine. He asked me if I would like to meet him for a coffee or a bite to eat before I went back to Melbourne.

I managed to restrain myself from saying HELL YES and mumbled something that skirted complete uncool.

The next couple of days were busy and not particularly conducive to socialising so, we didn't meet up. To be honest, while he was a stunner, a number of things that happened on the trip put him out of my mind. As a result on my last morning, when I got an SMS from him at 7 am (WTF!!), I grumpily ignored it. I figured I would see him another time.

As I was on the train on my way to the airport I got another message from him. This time it included the text - "what are you up to for the next two hours" along with a picture of his handsome, smiling face and quite a bit of naked torso.

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING!!! 

I messaged him that I was on my way to Mascot to catch my flight and that unless he felt like coming out there we were out of luck this time. There was a bit of a delay and then he messaged me "that aside - are you interested?". My response - "VERY". The next message got me a lump in my throat, not to mention my pants - "If you're on QF Blah Blah, your flights been delayed. On my way to the airport to meet you, see you in 20".

As I finished checking my bags in, I turned to see the sexy bugger sauntering through the crowds of grey and black clad business travellers in a low slung pair of chocolate puma trackies, and a bright t shirt. And either he wasn't wearing underwear or he was blessed in more areas that I had previously realised†.

My flight was indeed delayed and that on top of me being early anyhow meant we had nearly 2 hours. Over the last few years the Qantas terminal at Mascot has become a fully fledged and pretty up market shopping mall with some good food outlets and great shopping. We had a bite to eat and talked. Turns out he is as interesting and funny as he is sexy and I laughed and laughed with him. With him all the while rubbing against me discretely to keep me always at least slightly aroused.

OK, pretty much fully aroused the whole time.

We teased each other constantly. I really enjoy being sexy in public is ways the other people don't notice. Its dangerous and exciting, and he was not only up for it, he was REALLY good at it. After about 40 minutes of this he said "Come on, I have a girlfriend who works out here, lets go visit her". He could have talked me into almost anything at that point, so adjusting the lump in my pants I followed him.

We went into one of the fashion outlets in the terminal and chatted to his friend for a while. A nice girl who clearly knew him well and was happy to support our ongoing flirting. He had been looking at some clothes when he tuned to me and said - "what do you think of these pants on me?"

"They're not on you, so I cant tell" was my reply. "Thats easy fixed" he says, grabbing my hand and dragging me towards the back of the shop and the change rooms. His friends comment of "take your time" only just registered as I was completely focused on the fact that I might be about to get to kiss this amazing sexy man, a possibility I had ruled out given where we were‡.

He pulls me into the surprisingly large back change room, calmly closes the door, carefully hangs up the pants and turns to look at me - wicked smile splitting him from ear to ear - "I have been dying to do this" he says, and then with no rush, he kissed me.

I say with no rush, because to all intents and purposes my sense of time was completely suspended. He kisses beautifully and his strong body pressed up against me was completely intoxicating. I am not sure how long we were in there, and I am not divulging ALL Of the details, but there is not much we didn't do given the limitations of space and a pretty hard floor. The change room mirror certainly came in very handy.

We finally extracted ourselves when I heard my flight. His friend had actually closed the shop and was doing some sort of stocktaking with her iPod on, which was fortunate because there were some points where I think we were making a lot of noise.

He walked me to my gate, holding my hand the entire way. When we got there he said - "I really like you, are you interested in seeing me again?" This time I didn't hold back, I said 'HELL YES" and in full view of two (bitter, evil) stewards I am acquainted with kissed him.

Since then he has been down to Melbourne once and I have been up to Sydney once. I am not sure were its going, and it doesn't matter. I am having fun with it, and thats all that counts.

 † The latter - he was wearing a swimming jockstrap, which I now posses and am in fact wearing as I write this

‡ I am all for PDA's (public displays of affection) but snogging someone I have really only just met, and desperately want to shag, does seem a mite tacky.

 Oh and thanks to http://www.britdoodz.com for the artwork,

babsolalia n.

1. Psychiatry. The immediate and involuntary repetition of words or phrases just spoken by others, as a symptom of alcohol induced loss of higher brain function

2. The infantile repetition of the sounds made by others, a normal occurrence in alcohol poisoning.

3. The semi random text created by someone using sms or instant messenger while extremely drunk.

Based on: Echolalia n.

1. Psychiatry. The immediate and involuntary repetition of words or phrases just spoken by others, often a symptom of autism or some types of schizophrenia.
2. An infant's repetition of the sounds made by others, a normal occurrence in childhood development.

My beloved Barbie had a nasty communications incident the other day and I think it provides a salutary lesson for us all.

Having had an interesting but not inspiring evening out, and with more than a couple of special lemonades under her stylish, up to the minute designer belt she had stumbled, perhaps a little unsteady in her sling backs, back to the glamorous South Yarra Pentflat. As the evening had failed to provide any substantial gentlemanly attention, Babs decided to make use of her wireless broadband. So with hot toddy après in hand she logged on to a salacious "dating" site see if she couldn't "order in" what the evenings venues had sadly failed to provide.

Now Babs may have been suffering from a mild case of champagne induced good sense deprivation so when she thought she was feeling a little too awake, she decided to add a (couple of) stilnox into the mix - and suddenly the evening took a turn for the bizarre with a little side trip to the valley of the Barbie's.

Now details are sketchy at this point but we have managed to reconstruct events from the available evidence.

For me, I became aware that there had been an "incident" when I got up early the following morning, as is my wont on Sundays*, to find a long rambling tirade waiting for me in an MSN Messenger window. Something about being incensed that someone had the audacity to BLOCK Barbie on some online dating service and that I must use my apparently boundless contacts in the cybersphere to TRACK down this odious individual so Babs could confront and heap her withering scorn upon them. Things didn't seem to have gone well.

From there the dire tribe on my computer screen descended into what appeared to be a language almost completely devoid of vowels. Evidence, I surmised, of Bab's first class education in the finest of Swiss finishing schools.

It wasn't until I found 28 sms'd examples of babsolalia on my cell phone that I started to worry. I figured it would be worth popping past the Pentflat on my way to the gym†.

On the way I called Babs (biological) sister to see if she had heard anything. Apparently she had been disturbed a number of times around 4am by someone calling and speaking in tongues. Since she had been occupied by some unnamed 22 year old sportsman with an unstoppable springy dick, she had just taken the phone off the hook and focused on the task at hand.

Upon arrival at the Pentflat I climbed the back stairs to the kitchen balcony and opening the door (I have a key for just this sort of emergenc) There I found a bleary eyes Babs fork lifting her head up from where it appeared to have finally slumped, with no small amount of force, onto the keyboard of her stylish slim line white ibook. The resulting imprint of TYUIOP on Bab's otherwise flawlessly smooth forehead was a little difficult to explain for the 3 days it took to fade. We discussed a hijab, but in the end decided that in the current climate it was probably ill advised.

I think the lesson to be learned here is two fold. Firstly, strong liquor and barbiturates are not the safest of bedfellows unless one is closely supervised, and secondly, that more communications options is not always a good thing.

*loser
† yes on a Sunday morning - dateless, loser

technosexual (tek.noh.SEK.shoo.ul) n. A male with a strong aesthetic sense and a love of technology.
—technosexuality n.

I have been talking to a number of my single friends here in Melbourne about the dating scene here, and I have to say it’s not inspiring.

On the available I think my vow of celibacy actually seems a sensible strategy.

My nearest and dearest, Barbie, has met a nice boy, “No S”, and has been out on a couple of dates with him. He is nice, funny, handsome, interrupting, not a Melbourne local (meaning he isn’t ridiculously parochial), has a good job, is keen on Barbie and based on the bulge in his pants, well hung. What’s not to love?

They had a great date this week, dinner, great conversation and then back to Barbie’s glamorous and fashionable penthouse where some sofa groping and tonsil hockey inside. And then after much rolling around together fully clothed, “No S” went home.

WAH?!?!

Now this is Barbie we are talking about and usually they don’t get out intact unless Barbie inadvertently over self medicated and slips into the valley of the Barbie’s. Ignoring that for a second, given all the pluses I don’t get why they didn’t proceed past second base.

Now I completely get it that sex isn’t everything, that’s not what I am saying. Its just that sex is fun and when presented with:

A/ a guy that I am into
B/ who is into me and
C/ a reasonable opportunity

I guess I would rather shag than not.

When I think about that, I can see a couple of reasons. I tend to see sex as something fun, and passion is a different opportunity for communication. Sex is not sacred; clearly since both J’Ho and Senator Goebbels Vanstone have children and if you think sex with them is sacred we clearly have differing perspectives on the divine.

I don’t think I am, or was, that slutty. Maybe I am wrong. I am pretty picky, but once I made pick is made, I am all for the follow through.

There is only one boyfriend of note that I stopped wanting to sleep with, and he turned out to be a bad person, and a bit of a dud root. We called him starfish, if you catch my drift.

Actually my desire to get to third base may be because I had a bad experience with taking it slow and I want to get the issue of sexual compatibility cleared up early.

I had b een living in Sydney for a few years, enjoying the “kindness of strangers” but I was not making any roads on the emotional front. On the evidence my prey base seems be for emotionally troubled but physically hot men, so while there were plenty of return visits there was no real romance or dating.

So I decided it was time to take a different approach. I would try and get to know someone BEFORE sleeping with him.

Controversial, huh.

One night out shortly after my new, cunning plan was laid I met a very attractive young man, Greyson, a recent arrival in Sydney from the UK. He was quite obviously taken with me, as was I with him, and we proceeded to have a fab night out. Much dancing, laughing, talking, frolicking with friends and generally tearing up Oxford St ensued. It was a night where I would completely agree with my ex James belief, now apparently abandoned, that the dancing can be the best bit.

At the end of the night I decided to leave and presented him with my phone number saying “I am going, but I have had a fantastic time with you. Here is my number; I wouldn’t be giving it to you if I didn’t want you to use it”.

Such a sad face I got. It was like he had been given a puppy and after playing with it all night it was being taken away.

While generally more articulate “bu ,bu, bu” was the best he could manage.

“Don’t worry, I really like you. Use the number and I will show you how much”. And then I left.

The next day, at a decent hour, I get a phone call from Greyson asking me to Redleaf. Not one to miss the opportunity to see cute boys I am interested in wearing speedo’s, of course I went, and lets say I was not disappointed.

Again he was a lot of fun what with the sunning and the swimming and the lunch and the gossip and the Kristin Bejorn-esq sunscreen rubbing scenes. Late in the afternoon I explained my cunning plan to Grey.

He was completely charmed by it. That I was actually interested in getting to KNOW him first was very flattering, particularly since my interest was very clear*.

So over the next week or so went on a number of very sexually charged dates, traded many an SMS/e-mail, and worked our way through first base (kissing), to second base (a bit of clothed humping)� and we were ready to, nay gagging, to take things all the way.

The dating period had done a fantastic job of allowing us to get to know each other and nothing in that process had reduced the attraction, quite the opposite. Then one Saturday night it was clear we were both really ready.

We had a great night out, we enjoyed ourselves immensely with no sense of urgency or uncertainty. We both knew where we were going and what was going to happen. It had all of the excitement of a dirty pickup and all of the comfort of a long term relationship‡.

At the end of the night, but before dawn, we headed back to my place. No nerves, just happy sexual tension. Tonight was the night.

After a relaxing cup of chamomile tea on the sofa and some sensual snogging we went up stairs to my room. But once we started to get into the main event something strange happened, once Grey got his clothes off, his sense of rhythm COMPLETELY ABANDONED HIM! Even his kissing, which had been ok previously completely went off form.

This boy fucked the way Seinfeld’s Elaine dances and kissed like the demented love child of a vacuum pump and a woodpecker, alternating trying to rip my tongue out by the root and bashing on my face. It took WEEKS for the skin on my tongue and lips to recover.

After all of that work and effort in getting to know him, Grey turned out to be the single worst root in my life.

Now I know what you will be thinking, if I wasn’t such a shallow bastard, if I had really liked him I would have persevered, but there was absolutely no way I could have sex with him again. I barely got out the first time with everything intact; I was not going to be risking it again. Actually I did go back twice more, with the same disasterous results.
The result of this experience is that I am highly skeptical of the “waiting until the time is right” approach, or keeping yourself “nice”. It’s just too Jessica Simpson for me.

Sexual compatibility is part of the mix in a relationship and it is as important to sort that bit out as the rest of it. Balance in all thing say.

As an interesting post script, I ran into Grey at Trade in London in 2001. He is still a fine looking man being the kind that as and keeps a 28″ waist and huge shoulders on a 6′ frame. To all of this he has added some very serious skanky tattoos which is hot on him particularly considering his serious corporate career. Turns out though, and I got this from his boyfriend who I know from Sydney, that he has become a voracious fisting bottom into some pretty serious pain scenes. Given his native violence in bed, this comes as no surprise.

*wearing speedos remember
� had actually both happened in the first night in the clubs, but whose counting and its my story any way
‡ interestingly, that’s pretty much how I felt about James for 6 years