Casual, meaningless socks

I should have kissed the boxer. He'd turned up to my local's sports night in full boxing gear - including gown and gloves. Somehow he was managing to drink a bottle of cider. He kept grinning at me. But I genuinely couldn't think of anything to say except for "Nice costume". Which, as I'll explain, was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Instead I got chatting to a remarkably pretty guy in football gear. "I'm thinking of splitting up with my boyfriend," he told me. "He doesn't understand all this." He gestured round to a room full of men dressed in sports gear despite being picked last at games.

"He doesn't?" I said, hovering like a vulture.

"No," said the man, sadly tugging at his shorts.

"I mean," I continued, leaning forward with a we're-all-mates grin, "It's just dressing up and having a bit of laugh isn't it?"

Startled, the footballer shook his head. "Not at all. This is serious." He held out his shirt to me. "Borussia Dortmund - German squad. I don't know anything about them, but this shirt is just such a great shade of yellow. And these shorts -" he tugged at his shorts, "They're not just black, but it's a double layer polyblend that feelds great on my skin, is shiny, and also really gathers the sweat. And that's why I wear them - not for a stupid laugh, but because it's a real turn on."

"Ohhhhh." I said, suddenly understanding and yet feeling out of my depth.

"And that guy over there - he's wearing new full-length rugby socks - 100% cotton and ribbed. They look amazing on him. Of course, I would wear Toronto Hockey gear, but none of these gays knows anything about that. Apart from you."

"Ah." I nodded. It was my best "we have nothing in common, but still have sex with me" nod. Now - I should explain. I was dressed in the 2004 Canadian Olympic squad outfit. It was an impulse buy in Toronto, purely because it was in a sale and said "Canada Roots" which I found funny. But now I sensed an opportunity.

"Yes," I said, lowering my voice slightly, "Those hockey players look... great. Really...." I breathed deeply "...great."

"You see?" he said, leaning in for a kiss, "You do understand."

* * *

The next night I was chatting to a friend who'd also been there. I told him how I'd managed to kiss the sexy footballer.

My friend smiled. "The one in the yellow jersey?"

"Oh yes. He was very pretty."

My friend smiled even more widely. "And you actually kissed him?"

"Yeah," I said proudly, "It was quite romantic really. Maybe I'll see him again."

My friend laughed. "After you left he was crouched down licking feet."

I spat out my chewing gum. "Feet?"

"Yeah. A few trainers, but mostly just chewing on guys' socks."

As I said, I really should have kissed the boxer. Or got some better mouthwash.