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Some people would call standing in a room full of people they have slept with “mortifying”. I call it “Friday night at the bar down the road”.

 

My favourite author poses a question in his novel: “You are in a room full of people you have either slept with or dated. You have seen everyone in the room naked. You are called on to do a speech. What do you say?”

Considering that this hypothetical question has been paraphrased in my reality on multiple occasions, I already know what I would say.

“Thank you for coming. Again.”

 

My BFF and London roommate Dani was in town for her almost-traditional annual vacation to the GC.

“Oh, I’ve done him!” I told her, pointing out the most beautiful man (read: boy) I have ever had the pleasure of licking. She nodded in approval.

“Oh, I’ve done him to!” I pointed out the second most beautiful man (read: boy) I have ever had the pleasure of licking. She winked in approval.

I started to survey the room, taking in the reality that on paraphrased occasions, five of the men in the room had given me hypothetical multiple orgasms.

 

I glanced past the most beautiful man, the second most beautiful man, the man I would do again, the ex-boyfriend I don’t care for and Up-To-And-Including The Crush.

“Forget Disneyland,” I told Dani. “This is Hell on earth.”

Somehow, I had walked into my ex-boyfriends departing party where a fraction of my sexual history were seeing him off.

“I wonder why you weren’t invited?” Dani mocked.

“I think my work here is done.”

With much more ingenuity than anyone in the bar searching for the G-spot, I found a bottle of scotch and drank it straight out of a bucket.

 

When Dani and I were living together in London, we played a game called “Fuck The Alphabet”. It was a game that suited my two interests: Sex and grammar. I jumped into the game with the same enthusiasm as one has for jumping into bed. Or spelling bees.  

We wrote out a list of the letters that hadn’t passed through our vocabulary or front door and set out on a quest to uphold the English language. But it soon became tiresome. Because, and I can’t speak for anyone else, I get rather bored trying to look for a Xavier, Zachoriah, Quinten or Igloo when I am surrounded by Matt’s, Luke’s, Peter’s and John’s.

“Do you want to play ‘Fuck The Bible’ istead?” Dani suggested as a solution.

 

But it all becomes boring eventually. There does come a day when you realize, “I know exactly what I am doing when I walk into a bar and see a pretty boy.” I know the routine, the motions and what to and what not to do. It is the one area of my life where I know how to be successful. In fact, I could write a book about it…

I looked at Boy Number One through to Boy Number Five and thought about what each of them represented to me.

One, Two and Three were naked in my bed at a time when I was naked in life: Mr L.A had left and I was completely alone.

Four was my boyfriend but I never had the intuition to ask him if he had another girlfriend (read: he did).

And Five is up-to-and-including. And represents a stage where the previous four are just a distant memory of a time where I thought ignorance was fun.

 

I stood at the bar, five drinks in hand to represent the five people who knew me in the Biblical sense, and debated whether to call a few more people I have known who lived within close proximity.

“If I made it an even number, I could start putting some statistics to them,” I told Dani. “Maybe even do a pie-chart.”

“Well, a pie-chart seems to be about the only thing you haven’t done in here.”

She poured more alcohol down my throat, led me away from my ex-boyfriends departure party and tucked me into my own bed just before sunrise.

 

I left The Crush at the bar, figuring that He would probably get a more interesting education of me without my presence. But I was suddenly mortified to think of what could be talked about: Some people are scared of numbers much more than the alphabet.

 

Then I realized that I am proud of every decision I have made or licked. And if anyone has a problem with it, they to can get deported. Or simply ignore me.

 

Stretched out in my new favourite bed position called “alone”, I posed myself a question. “If that was then, and this is now, what is the stage of life that is being represented?”

I didn’t come up with an answer, but as I fell asleep, I dreamt about Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs and realized that some authors must have had an effect on me years before I even realized.

 

Post By Salium.