Saturday 27 July 2002

Bonus night

Ok Joel told me about this one. We were in Kick in Clerkenwell. 'Have you had Bonus Night yet?' 'Um, sorry?' 'Bonus Night!' He sez it happens after you've been split up about three months, providing neither you nor your ex are seeing other ppl. Because the last time you fuck, he says, you don't know it's the last time. Mebbe you ain't really trying. Mebbe your eyes are half-closin' but not with pleasure as much as ennui, or mebbe you perform a blowjob but it's pretty perfunctory, not havin' that little contest with yourself to see just how damn much you can fit down before you're like 'bleeeeeeeeeeeeecccchhhk!', more just a grabbage of the hand round the root and fiddle-faddle with the tip and thinkin' hurryup homo some of us got sleeps to sleep and dreams to dream. And then you split up and it's like, whu?? Definitely did it when during The Month of Shouting and Crying… but what was it like? An you can't remember no matter how hard you try. So then, Joel sez, you're at a party, and whaddaya know, there the ex is too. And mebbe you chat up other ppl or mebbe you don't but you're drawn together from force of habit need to catch up mutual attraction mutual loathing and next thing you know you're zooming home and we're talkin' VIRTUOSO PERFORMANCE CENTRALE. Head hella tippin' back offtha side of the bed. Tongue-cramping lickin' marathons. Legs torn outta their sockets. The mighty penis stretching and goin' shallow deeeeep shallow deeeeeep. Sex like you should be wearin' cummerbunds and gettin' roses flung at you the whole time. But it must never happen more than once. Cuz if it does then you're not just fucked. You're fucked. I tried to suggest Bonus Night to the ex but he weren't havin' none of it.

The Fear

K8 told me about this one. We're in Mother it's downstairs and there are men everywhere like flies. Flies bearing cans of beer that they attempt to thrust into our hands in exchange for dance conversation and a fumble. 'The Fear!' she said. 'I don't wanna get The Fear!' 'Dude, s-sorry, the… what?' 'You don't know what The Fear is? Oh my god! This is why I dig you! Never ever learn what The Fear is!' The Fear, she sez, is when you've nabbed yer cowboy and you've done yer rudestuffz and it's been funstuffz but now it's Sunday morning and your mouth is dry your thighs sore the room is full of ash and dropped speed and the carpet smells of poppers. You're contemplating getting directions printed onto little cards you just give away, she sez, cuz you're like so frickin' bored of giving them directions outtathere. Just hand 'em out at the beginning of the night and say hey, if we do the nasty under the nine-tog 2nite don't trouble me in tha mornin', hooker! And then, she sez, then they're gone and you're all alone and it's The Fear sneaking under your duvet with you and graspin' your ankles and you've gotta haul your own ass outta bed and make a lonely coffee and sit with your back to the curtains and feel the breeze pushing them against you and all you want is someone else there to be there to buy the newspaper make the coffee spend the day with you. And then ya flip out. Then she muttered something about Bridget Jones but I can't quite remember what it was.

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