Wednesday, November 09, 2005

Boys 1999

I'm sorry. There hasn't really been much talk about boys on here recently. Have I discovered discretion?


Sadly, what with living in caravans and Cardiff, there really haven't been any. For four whole weeks. This is some kind of weird, spooky record.

I might as well be celibate. Or straight. Or, what's the word? Oh, yes. "Choosy".

In which case, time for a memory from back when I did have sex. All the sensible boys are blogging about the death of club legend, Simon Hobart, founder of Popstarz.

My best time in Popstarz was, oddly, as I was leaving it. I was with a bunch of straight friends, and, as we sauntered out, "Beautiful Stranger" started to play (Yes, it was 1999).

I caught the eye of a very handsome man. He looked back, and we both laughed as we realised what the song was. Then we shrugged, and got off with each other in an ironic, we're-gay-and-it's-Madonna way.

This took less than a minute. I know that this is an eternity in gay years (time enough for a relationship or a cigratte. Take your pick). But my straight friends were amazed. They turned around to put their coats on, turned back, and discovered my marital status had changed. I extricated a hand, and waved. They left.

It turned out his name was Adam, and he was a reformed Tree Hugger. He'd spent most of the summer up an oak trying to stop a bypass. But he'd moved to London, got a hair cut and gone out clubbing.

The two of us had a magical evening, walking hand in hand down to the Embankment as dawn rose over the Thames. We dared each other, step by slimy step, to see who could get closest to the river. Adam did. And fell in.

Now, normally when the police go by and I'm semi-naked in a public place, there isn't an innocent explanation. But for once, as we explained to the motor launch, it was all fine - We were simply swapping some of my dry clothes for his damp ones.

We squelched back to my flat, wet, freezing, smelling of pollutants, and giggling. It was only when I opened my bedroom door that I remembered that at some point in the week, my flatmates and I had filled my room with balloons.

It was that kind of perfect night out. And why I'll always love Popstarz.

But what of Adam the Tree Hugger? Sadly, I fucked it all up. Always meant to find him and say sorry.


Lee said...

> Or, what's the word? Oh, yes. "Choosy".


Spinsterella said...

Four weeks?

God, after 4 weeks I'm still in the "I'm sure he's still going to call, he must have lost my number" delusional bollocks.


(Currently 3 months and starting to accept it's not gonna happen before Xmas..)

Skip said...

I lack the depths to be able to cope.

I've tried evenings in by myself. And frankly, the conversation isn't sparkling.

Spinsterella said...

Ah, y'see I have a lovely fellow-spinster flatmate. Endless conversations about men, past, present and future. And Corrie.

She gets a lot more action than me, mind.