Tales from the Waterbed

So, my random building site encounter asks me over last Monday. It turns out he lives just outside Merthyr Tydfil. In a charmingly tiny village called Troed-y-rhiw.
Which involves my best journey on the toy trains here ever – especially as
a) I can’t pronounce the name of the village.
b) It’s completely dark.
c) I can’t see any station signs.

I end up asking a lady where we are. And then, if she wouldn’t mind spelling what she just said. I realise that this is my stop, get off and find Jason’s house. It involves walking through a graveyard in the pitch dark.

Considering our first encounter was as far from romantic as you can get, tonight is a distinct improvement. We order Chinese and watch Frasier.

He has a waterbed. He explains that it’s all to do with dust allergies and bed bugs, but I’m thinking “kinky fucker.”

Despite all the PR, it turns out to be nearly impossible to have sex in a waterbed. After all, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Remember Newton’s Balls, the office toy where if you let one ball drop, another flies back, knocking the first ball out again? Well, kind of like that, really.

But it’s enormously entertaining – kind of like going on a bouncy castle with poppers.

He works for a mobile phone company, so our pillow talk involved him trying to sort out my awful phone package. Which is sweet – it’s not every shag who offers you half price line rental.

There are pictures of Jason’s ex dotted around the flat. Pleasingly, he looks like he’d steal your tyres. I ask how they got together. “I saw this rough bloke in Asda with his girlfriend, and couldn’t help cruising him. At the checkout I saw he was waiting by the door, and figured he was going to attack me, so I wouldn’t go out. In the end, he sent his sister back in to say he fancied me. We were together for three years.”