Spooning

One of the big drawbacks of doing this writing lark and working part time to pay the bills is that you’ve got to be flexible. Its not always possible to have the weekends off. The fact that I haven’t seen a single one of Irelands reportedly average Six Nations so far this year or I don‘t get to go home and have a Sunday Roast in my folks are sacrifices I have to make.

And that’s ok. I enjoy my schedule, it lets me write Blogs on Monday afternoon and hoover the stairs on Tuesday morning. If anything it means I appreciate my days off on weekends all the more when they do occur. I have one this week and I can’t wait.

Do you know what I’d really like to do with my day off? I’d like to go out on Saturday night, get drunk, maybe have a bit of a dance. Then I’d like to go home and have some drunken sex before spending the next day having hungover sex in between eating breakfast in bed, watching movies, talking nonsense and generally having a nice time.

Oh I should have warned you. This one is going to be a little honest. I may ‘share’ a bit.

I wrote before (here) how I wasn’t a huge fan of sharing my bed. Snoring, cuddling, naked sleeping being the reasons as I explained. Unless of course it was someone who I was comfortable with. Someone who I could relax around. And that’s what I really want for my Sunday. Someone I can happily just be with.

Of course the first step in spending a lazy, horny Sunday with somebody is to actually meet someone. And I haven’t done that in a long time. Don’t get me wrong. I have had sex. “I gets mine,” as the latest rapper turned actor might say.

None of those encounters worked out. Just not right for me. Or they weren’t meant to work out in the first place. Casual, No strings, friends with benefits kind of things. I don’t want that anymore.

There is a movie out at the moment called No Strings attached. It stars Ashton Kutcher (playing Ashton Kutcher, his best kind of role) and recent Oscar winner Natalie Portman as two chums who try to have a casual,friends who have sex relationship and it doesn’t work out because (spoiler alert) they fall in love.

In my experience, this is not what happens. One party might develop feelings while the other is content to go along with the status quo until they find someone they do want to be in a relationship with, thus breaking the heart of the deluded half of the duo.

Alternatively, one of the fuckbuddies (I hate that term) might realise they want something more out of life in general and realise that its not a productive path to go down. Or neither of them will realise this and they will end up having empty, meaningless sex for a long time until one of them dies.

That’s not for me anymore. I used to think it was cool to have as much, varied sex with as many people as possible. And it is. But I’d just like to meet someone who I can hang out with on a Sunday.

Of course I realise that people in relationships, people with kids and families know this already. They probably think that I have some fantasy that is nothing like the real thing. At least 3 of my friends can’t remember the last time they got to lie in bed all day Sunday and perform their special party piece on their partners naked body.

Maybe I am just a romantic at heart. I’ve definitely seen too many movies. I want my last minute dash to airport to stop the girl leaving. I want to burst into a church a punch out the jerky boyfriend who doesn’t laugh at her jokes. I want a musical number.

Failing that? I’d settle for someone who makes good scrambled eggs and likes Cohen Brother movies.

Commuter

Regular readers might remember that a I wrote a piece a couple of weeks that started off situated at bus stop. Without wanting to come across as devoid of ideas or something of a self parody, I’m going to start this one at one of Dublin Bus’s sheltered pick up points too. Don’t worry, I mean The Hangover and Leaving Las Vegas were both set in the same place but had very different outcomes.

Is there any more basic, per functionary place than the bus stop. No one ever visits there unless they are waiting…for a bus…to stop. Its more straight forward than Ronseal. Surely romance could never blossom at one of these plexiglass coverings, could it?

Taking my usual route through the park which is situated directly between my estate and the place where I get my bus to the city centre, I was on my way to work. As I got closer to my destination I saw one person already there. They were walking back and forth from the little bench that some of the bus stops have.

When I reached the stop I could see she was a very pretty girl. In her twenties. Dark hair tied back in a thick, neatly groomed pony tail. She wasn’t wearing a lot of make up, so her skin was clear and bright. She was wearing a blue wool coat over a short skirt with dark tights and knee high boots.By now, she’d stopped walking and her big brown eyes scanned the printed time table on the back of the shelter.

Failing to garner the necessary information from the printed rota she turned to me.

“Do you know what time the 19a usually comes at?” she pleaded with me.



I didn’t really have a satisfactory answer for her. My attitude to time keeping means I rarely look at something as Orwellian as a timetable. I’ll get there when I get there. I told her that there was usually one every twenty minutes or so. This did not seem to provide any comfort to my fellow traveller.

She continued her desperate pacing. She really was very attractive, her legs drawing most of my attention.

For the sake of openness I should admit, I;m a big fan of the boots tights and skirt ensemble that is in style this season. Actually if I’m completely honest I LOVE this look. Its incredibly sexy and it appeals to certain fantasies that I have….. Too much information?

Anyway, like the cliché of an expectant father in a 1950’s movie she strode up and down, constantly looking in the direction that our bus was due to come from. When she wasn’t searching the horizon she was look furiously at her watch. I’d never seen anyone in such a tizzy over a bus.

Not only was she beautiful but now I was intrigued. She could not stay still. It was as though, in her head, every step she took would bring the bus closer. Each stare into the distance willing her big yellow rescuer closer. There could only be two possible reason for such nervous fretting.

Concluding that she was either late for an interview or alternatively late for work and on some kind of warning for tardiness, I had to know.

It also seemed like it would be a bit of an ice breaker. A charming fellow such as myself taking in interest in her unfortunate predicament. If I’ve learned anything from watching romantic comedies over the years well then a stranger striking up a conversation in such unusual circumstances could only lead to wedding bells .

“ I think they normally get here on the half hour. What time do you have to be in town for?” I asked.

“Ten to. Will that get me in on time do you think? Should I get a cab?”

So far so good, in that she didn’t mace me or tell me that her boyfriend was in the Army.

“You should be alright. If there isn’t one here in ten minutes maybe get a taxi, but you’ve plenty of time.” I tried to sound as confident and reassuring as possible. It seemed to be working as she flashed me a smile. I’ve never found teeth so sexy.

She went back to her marching while I tried to think out a way to ask her to bear my offspring. Figuring I was getting ahead of myself I decided on asking why she was so impatient.

“So whats the rush?”

She stopped walking and there was that smile again. This was it. My whole life was about to change. Conversations like this always get the heroes in the movies laid. Don’t they? It’ll work for me, won’t it?

I don’t know. Just as she was about to reveal her innermost secrets and desires (and why she was in a rush,) a colleague of hers pulled in and offered her a lift. She lept at the chance, almost pulling the back door of the car of its hinges. She did turn and say goodbye before driving out of my life for ever.

Not exactly a Hollywood ending but then they rarely happen in real life. There is a Coke Zero advert which asks “ why do chick flicks give women unrealistic expectations?” I guess I fall into that category too. Kinda.