So last time I left off I was in an aqua-themed nightclub and about to enter the pool room – and much like a pool hall it was filled with a plethora of balls and very few women. Aside from myself and two other female friends it was pretty much a sausage fest in the pool area. After the full monty strip show ended the club soon filled up with more hen parties and large groups of men – the type who prey on the extremely drunk and man-hungry components of any successful hen night.
We were accompanied by my lovely ex porn actor and a large group of rowdy men who were all dressed (partially at this stage) in seventies gear. Yes there were afro wigs a-plenty along with gold medallions, chest rugs and overly large comedy glasses.
We proceeded to have plenty of clean fun (well as clean as one can hope in that pool – I dread to think of the dna test results were anyone to check that pool, I recall in my drunken stupor wondering if it were safe to enter for fear of falling pregnant from whatever would be lurking in that overly heated and thankfully chlorinated water) splashing about and posing for pictures wearing the afro and medallion. It was also at some point in these proceedings that I found out my hot stripper-cum-pornstar (yes, pun intended of course) friend was almost 15 years my junior!
Oh Dear God I was headed for cougar territory once again.
But I had my drunk head on, so much like diving into the questionable and decidedly murky pool, and then heading out into the cold night with wet hair to get a kebab; it seemed like a good idea at the time.
I was staying over at my friend’s house that night along with one of the other girls, and through strange happenstance, Pornstar (as he will henceforth be known) came with us. I think his excuse was something to do with having lost his travelcard and not having enough money to get home. So of course the only charitable thing to do was to offer him a bed for the night, but with the proviso that there was to be ‘no funny business!’ – whatever!
We all headed back in a taxi having sated ourselves on fried chicken and chips, arriving at Phoenix’s hose in the extremely wee hours… it was starting to get light and the birds were tweeting in that insistent manner they tend to do when you’re rapidly sobering up and wishing that you’d called it a night several hours previous.
Well that was an interesting dilemma as there were too many people and not enough beds – clearly. In the end we opted on myself and Phoenix sharing, with Pornstar happily sandwiched in the middle with the proviso that there be “no funny business, it ain’t Christmas, and it definitely ain’t your birthday!”
It’s funny, I’ve had several opportunities to be part of a threesome and so far I have never succumb (yes there is another pun in there somewhere). It’s not that I’m a prude or anything, and I’ll admit to being more than just a little curious. It’s just that either I’ve not fancied one of the other participants or I’ve clearly not been inebriated enough to take up the offer – either way it’s never happened for me.
So what did happen? Well of course Pornstar’s hands stared to wander, and we started kissing again (we’d been full on necking in the club earlier like a couple of overly horny teenagers drunk on 20:20, Wkd – or whatever the latest bright blue, sugar overloaded alcopop the kids are drinking nowadays – at the local school disco).
At one point we paused for a toilet break, Pornstar asked where the bathroom was so of course like any good host I guided him through the dark corridor -look the bathroom is right next to the stairs and I didn’t want him stumbling in the dark and breaking his neck.
Once we reached the bathroom we proceeded to where we had left off and what little clothes we had on were soon dropping to the floor faster than a fat kid eating chocolate bars who’s in a “Which fat kid can eat the most chocolate bars off of the floor” competition. – you know somewhere in the world there’s a competition like this, where lots of skinny people are watching them eat like it’s porn, whilst the fat kid’s equally fat parents look on with pride and a tear in their eye, thinking “that’s ma boy!”.
Now I’d love to tell you that we went all the way but I have to be honest – something held me back, and I’m not just talking about Pornstar holding me up against the bathroom wall (which he did do by the way) – maan there is nothing quite as hot as a well-toned, hot guy having the strength to lift you up and hold you like an under-stuffed ragdoll, rather than the more weighty woman that I am – I’m not light by any stretch of the imagination – pole dance makes you build muscle and I err on the side of athletic, rather than willowy ballerina.
Although we didn’t actually have sex, we did have a lot of fun doing almost everything in between. As an ex porn actor, he certainly knew wasn’t shy and he most definitely knew what he was doing. Oh and I’m told I left a rather intriguing sweaty handprint halfway up the wall – my friend Phoenix’s flatmates thought it was her – oops lol!
So there you go – the story of how I almost did it with a Pornstar!
But as you may have surmised he’s not really a contender for the highly coveted title of Kissey’s Boyfriend (not sure who exactly is coveting this title but I’m sure someone out there must be). Which leads me to my next dating contender… a Palestinian Sports Journalist, but more about that next time.