During the weekend, Oxbridge texts me but I don't bother to reply. I don’t care about him at all. He hasn’t made me smile or laugh once, so that’s never going to work, is it?
Monday. As I reach the Eurostar terminal to head home, I get a very unexpected text from Finn. He’s the lanky young Kiwi who sort of asked me for money a while back.
‘Back in the country for 10 days before going back to Auckland for good. Would really like to catch up before I go x’ ergo: I could use a fuck.
I notice my battery is low so I prowl the terminal looking for a power point, plug my charger in and stick my wheelie in front of it so the station police won’t see me stealing electricity from the French Government. As the juice is coming in, it’s going right back out again, as I can’t resist texting Finn back.
I tell him I am ‘seeing someone’ to which he replies ‘I understand but no-one has to know’. I say: ‘I would know and I respect my guy too much to do that to him’ making it sound like I’m a decent person or something. I’m actually trying to get him to sit up and beg which he does.
‘We had something that blew my mind so much I hoped we could do it again. You are a real catch - fantastic in bed and I always wanted to be with a woman like u xx.’
Flattery may get him everywhere…
‘I’ll see…' I reply ...'if he pisses me off and I get horny one afternoon, I’ll call you. I do remember you were rather well hung…’
‘Yay! That’s the spirit. I just want to burn it up for old times sake. Can’t wait to see your amazing body again. My package is pretty good but it’s what you do with it that counts. Xxx’
I board the train pondering the fact that unbeknown to him, MLP is on Very Dangerous Ground. Not having even kissed me, never mind anything else, on our last date to that lousy Indian restaurant nearly a week ago, he’s left me textually abandoned all weekend in Paris.
As if picking up on my grumpy vibe, he redeems himself by phoning as the train exits the tunnel on the English side, but my battery is bleeping low so I tell him I’ll call him back when I get home, which I do.
We have a bit of a non-conversation during which it becomes clear he has forgotten our date for next Wednesday night, for which I’ve got some comps to the Canal Café Comedy Club. He says he’s working nights this week (at least he’s working) and promises to ‘try and sor’ somefin’ out’ so we can still get together. As accommodating as ever, I say ‘Don’t worry babe, work comes first’.
I don’t mean it. I should be coming first. At the moment, I’m not coming at all.
Tuesday. At home having a quiet night in - my first in months – I find myself irrevocably drawn to toyboywarehouse.com. There’s a young chap called Flash Gordon who’s been messaging me a lot, so I give him my number and he texts then calls me.
He sounds like a lot of fun, upbeat and flirty, and he pushes for an immediate meeting. We arrange a daytime drink on Friday afternoon. I also tell him I am ‘currently seeing someone and I won’t two time him’ which is a handy cop-out in case I'm not smitten but don't want to offend.
He says he’d be happy for me to ‘use and abuse him at will’. Hmmm! Things are looking up!
MLP calls me out of the blue, as if he knows I’m up to something. We discuss tomorrow night for which he has managed to free himself, and I return him atop his pedestal.
Wednesday. Knowing he’s worked all night, I text MLP that we don’t have to go to the Comedy Club as planned, but can stay home and I’ll cook. He replies that he is ‘very tyard but not bothered what we do as long as we’re relaxing. im not sure that I’ll be v. responsive tonight anyway’
Brilliant. Just what I needed to hear. My toyboy, who is clearly an old fart in training, wants a good meal placed in front of him before falling asleep on the sofa in front of the tele.
I compose a variety of sniffy texts ranging from:
‘What’s the point in me going out with a 28-yr old if he's going to behave like a 68- yr old?’ to
‘If you’re not going to lick my lips, at least have the sense to read them. You need to keep me sexually satisfied as I’m hardly interested in your brain or your wallet both of which appear to be permanently running on empty’ to
‘I really fancy making love with you tonight so why don’t you take a Viagra and I can bounce up and down on your hard-on while you get some sleep?’
I impulsively send the last one which I hope he receives in the manner in which it was (not) intended, i.e. humour as opposed to barely-concealed criticism.
He doesn't reply...Now he’ll feel under pressure to perform and is bound to disappoint which is not a good way to start the evening...