Scrabble, anyone?

As planned, I picked GG up from her place at about 8.45. Not quite as planned, actually, because the traffic had been the pits driving into town, and I was a bit later than I’d intended to be. (At one point, three fire engines sped past me, lights flashing and sirens shrieking, and I thought there must have been another “incident” somewhere.) So instead of going into Soho and eating at my favourite Vietnamese, we ended up finding a tiny little Thai restaurant just off the Edgware Road. Lovely food, quiet but not empty, and we just chatted about “stuff”. Lots of eye gazing and meaningful expressions.

She’s like a waif, and really doesn’t eat very much at all. I’d fancied some soup to start but GG wasn’t going to have anything before the main course, and I was still kind of hungry when I’d finished eating. (I’d run too, earlier in the day, and always have an appetite when I’ve been pounding the pavement).

“Mmmm… that was lovely”, I said, after the plates had been cleared and we were sharing a cigarette. “What do you fancy for desert?”

“A f*ck” she responded immediately, looking at me expectantly. “That’s what I fancy.”

Minutes later, we were in the car and heading back towards north London. No traffic now, and within about half an hour we were closing the front door behind us. Music on, spliff rolled, wine poured, cushions on the floor… all seemed to be going exactly as required. Except that, after kissing, and just kind of touching, and kissing again, I wasn’t allowed to remove even my belt. Just my shoes, which had come off as soon as I walked into the house.

“We’re going to play a game”, she said. “Do you like games?”

“What… like Scrabble?”

“No, not like Scrabble. More like a sex game.”

“Oh, okay. Do I get to know the rules?”

“You’ll pick them up as we go along. They’re my rules.”

Okay, by now I was getting interested, as you can imagine. I’d played games before, and I liked them. Most of them involved some kind of accessory, usually studded, but almost certainly black. And leather. The kind of accessories that you put in a place where no-one’s ever going to stumble across them by mistake. But this wasn’t that type of game. Oh no, that would have been too simple… this was the type of game where (wait for it...) no-one gets to come. I don’t just mean for a while, I mean no-one gets to come, period. Not only that, but it was meant to utilise the full might of the human imagination. I knew that because we were both fully clothed about two hours later. And every item that did, finally, come off required careful negotiation and - at times - unashamed, and unambiguous pleading.

We’d got home at 10.30, and at 4.45am (let me repeat this bit… “at 4.45am”) I decided that this was one game that I was no longer enjoying. “F*ck this for a game of soldiers. I’m going to bed” I finally said, by now unable to maintain the connection between salacious thoughts and physiological response.

“What do you mean? We haven’t f*cked yet.”

“No, that fact hadn’t escaped me. What do you call this game, by the way?”

“Tantric sex.”

“Oh. Do me a favour, will you? Next time you feel like playing this one, call Sting.”

So, this morning we woke up late, as you can imagine. We had a little chat about the previous night’s activity, and I told GG that – in future – we’d be playing my kind of game. She asked me what kind that was, and after I showed her she agreed with me that it was a much, much better idea.

More random stuff from me later, I imagine.