santianna

Fortunate Meetings

Last night was so fun I do not even feel vaguely guilty for having gone out, when I really shouldnt have been. But not like it would have made much of a difference anyway, I had hit saturation point with the books. And besides, I had already asked Dees boyfriend to meet me.

I was at my new caf haunt again yesterday, reading, but not concentrating very much. Ive simply lost the momentum to study, along with the fear that had driven me close to insanity, not to mention, a perpetual yeast infection, for the last week. The staff kept on flirting with me, and I even asked the chef if he would like to join me at the FHM event I was going to attend later Mr. Big was really sick, and that wasnt very nice, since Id not seen him for a great long while and he turned up looking as easy to love as ever, unfortunately he had to leave in a couple of minutes because of a doctors appointment. Ugh. Who needs doctors. But he left me with two VIP passes, which I was certainly most glad to have!

Earlier on I had been standing around thinking about how lame the whole thing was. I met Will (my regular photographer), and he was carrying a huge camera bag, and completely preoccupied with taking photographs. There were a whole bunch of other photographers around, and one old guy (they call him the talent-less chee ko peh local lingo for pervert) that I had wanted to shoot for at some point earlier in this sideline career of mine. I think he recognized me, but I tried my best to register absolutely no recognition for him whatsoever. Not that I really think hes a chee ko peh la, but I really couldnt be bothered with any of them. Old guys are cool, only if their white and look like George Clooney. And besides, they were obsessing over their cameras. Photographers really do live behind the lenses and out of the scope of reality. Who was the guy that postponed and execution because his video camera ran out of film?

There were no free drinks either, and I saw this inconspicuous, harmless looking man standing by the Jim Bean counter, purchasing a drink, and went up to him and asked him if he would buy me a drink. How uncanny, but he turned out to be the hubby of the publisher of FHM. And he did buy me a drink gave me his actually- and gave me more then enough drink coupons (believe me, I got really drunk last night. I am still feeling hung over). Then I thought I saw the NZ Trade commissioner (the G-Spots best buddy. Ive been trying to call G for the past week, but to no success. Its nearly like he got wiped out from the face of the earth. After exam week, I might have to resort to drastic measures to find him *laughs*) I took a double take and looked right at him, and he looked back.

The guy whod bought me the drink he insists hes a white ah beng- told me that thats really the editor for FHM. Well, holy god and all things good, hes hot! (And a little to the side, my loins are on fire, as jokingly as I could manage under the circumstances). And honestly, for once in a long time, I was actually vaguely star-struck. He was young, cute and edited my ticket to fame. I had no problems talking to other big shooters, not if they were much older and thought I was sexy. I stopped seeing the rift between my social-capitalist standing (a student whose only claim to fame is a beach read blog) and theirs (Director of so and so) sometime back when I realized that people were people, and that we are all fundamentally the same. Plus, they were quite sick and tired of women looking at them and seeing money, instead of a person. Id be lying if I said my mind never registers the fact that they are rich and successful, but Im not a bleeder and have no formed intentions of becoming one.

So for pretty much of the night, I was wondering how to go about getting his number. The answer came in the form of 3 Jim Beans on the rocks, a little conversation where I spent the bulk of the pageant criticizing everyone except Dee and Candy, with and while the director from some luxury watch company made critical commentary on the winning chances of my two girlfriends, and more Jim Beans.

Of all hilarities, there was an interval and a guy I used to know, a good friend of a guy I spent much of my teenage years lusting after, ended up on stage.

How do you like to drink your Jim Bean? The pretty chez-o-rama emcee asked.

(Me, to the luxury watch guy) Licked off a girls body. Duh.

And how would you pick up a girl?

(me) Just use that old joke the one where you go, how do you like your eggs? Sunny-side, scrambled, or fertilized. It took immense will-power not to embarrass myself and give the suggestion from the second level.

I wondered around for a great long while, making pointless conversation with very Italian men who still have those completely amusing and endearing accents (I have no idea why there are so many of them around me all of a sudden. I can say very truthfully prior to the last 2 weeks, I had not known a single Italian). My eyes kept on adverting to the editor though, and I was like, oh my God, I better do it now. Its either I do or dont, but there were people around him all the time.

Finally I found him sitting up on the balcony alone, and I was Jim Bean-ed enough to say fuck it and go up to talk to him. It was simple enough, and he wasnt difficult to talk to. The nice, chilled out sort of dude. There was a girl sitting beside him, and I must have asked him if it were his girlfriend at some point in time. I supposed she was, I think I saw one of the most erotic things anyone could ever do in a public place conspire between them. Any one remember the finger sucking thing in Ally McBeal?

He gave me his card and said we should keep in touch, his numbers on it. That satisfied me enough. I went down to make more pointless conversation with the Italian men, and we went to look at the wine cellar across the atrium. They behaved like geeks in Sim Lim Square (computer mart), and I thought Id leave after I got to say hi to Dee.

As he (hot editor guy) was leaving, hed looked at me and said wed keep in touch. I sure hope so; thinking about it, if he wasnt really interested, then there would have been no point in saying that right. Just give me a name card to shut me up, and thats it. But it doesnt matter, Im way past the stage where guys play stupid games with me.

The publishers husband did tell me something like I could go for it/him, whatever. Girlfriend, wife, fuck buddy, doesnt matter what hes stuck with, the fact is, I can.

I found myself telling him, What kinda of life do you lead anyway? Youre hot, youre smart, and you run a mens magazine. Its so utterly clichd, and I know running a magazine is a great deal of hard work, and the women and the content are all fun, but that doesnt stop it from being very hard work.

Eventually went to CU with one of the wine geeks, and got Terry to come down and join me for a drink. One of the girls I had always thought was Uber cool told me to stop hitting on her, which left me in complete shock, because she looked really pissed, and if shed not liked it, then couldnt she have told me so from the start? Like, months ago?

***

And talk about coincidences, I met Mikes roommate on my way to the bathroom. I stared at him and he stared back. It was kinda dark, and he was really cute, and whenever that happens, I start wondering if Im just imagining it all.

Do I know you? I say, quite loudly and very surprised.

Yes!

Holy cow, youre Mikes roommate arent you!

Now this really is something. Toby is everything a high school girl would want in a guy in order for her to shag him. Hes cute, sexy (think the whole muscular works), and dances like a dream. (You used to dance in a gay bar? With a plastic fish around your dick, and thats it? I was kidding about the fish-) And Ive finally found a cute, competent salsa partner! I CANT wait for the bloody exams to be over, and theres still the matter of the dance lessons I won in a lucky draw sometime back. Im going to take up Tango lessons, baby.

Now this is completely American Pie, but I swear to god, the first time I had seen him, I was like, aw shucks. Hes so cute, but Im screwing Mike. I shouldnt be a glutton, and anyway, the sex is more then good enough to keep me happy, so never mind about that.

I actually told Toby that. That Id always wanted to shag him, and that Id entertained the thought (note, I did not say fantasy) of having both him and Mike all over me, although I will stress at this point that Im really much more into FFM threesomes, and the idea of having two men together, on me, kinda turns me off.

Hey, did you think I was hot the first time you saw me?

Well, I was in too much of a state of shock the first time I saw you. Youd barged into the bathroom while I was shaving with only a towel around your waist.

The whole situation was completely surreal. I had wanted to get his number so many times (because I just KNEW Mike was going to leave soon) and he didnt matter much to me anyway, but couldnt. There was no way of ever getting to see him again, short of waiting outside his place at 7 a.m. to catch him before he left for work. Which is something so stupid and pointless I will never bother with. And what am I supposed to say then? I think your hot, and Ive always wanted to shag you, and now that Mikes left

Sure, I did say it eventually, but the circumstances are not the same, and that makes all the difference. I, however, went home last night and made a very drunk post (100 word recount of what I did last night). The truth is, I just dont want to shag anyone new for the time being. I have no idea why, I just dont. (Check back a week later and see the binge that ensues after the exams. Heh.)