Party?

Steve invited me to a party.  His idea of a party is entirely different from mine.. This is my idea of a party; getting a bit dressed up (wearing inappropriate heels, which are so uncomfortable (but look hot) they don't stay on my feet past 9pm), talking to lots of people and generally laughing my tits off, a spot of dancing (this varies depending on the amount of alcohol I have consumed.  Pissed up and I hear lets get retarded by the Black Eyed Peas, I think I've got more rtyhmn than the cast of Sisteract.  It's sadly entirely untrue), drinking shed loads of booze (and invarably waking up the next morning with the fear), followed by a bit of a mild snogging at the end of the evening.   Now that's a good party.

Steve seemed to bypass the whole party part of the evening and instead took me to a room at the back of a restaurant where he had some warm beer waiting for us and some skanky old cushions and silks arranged on the floor.  It looked like a crack den.  He seemed very pleased with his efforts though and when he asked if I liked it I gave him my most amazingly dazzling false smile, whilst the whole time thinking that my spoilt little arse could manage about half an hour (maximum) in this shit hole. 

I think Steve is sweet but I had no intention of doing the wild thing with him.  Luckily for me I was spared the awkward “I’m not ready to sleep with you” chat as the excitement of the night seemed to be all too overwhelming for poor young Steve.  We were kissing (who doesn’t love kissing?), which was nice enough but it appeared Steve liked it far more than I did!!  I don’t want to go into too much detail (and Dad, you should look away now) but let’s just say Steve was spent (and not nearly as embarrassed as he should have been about the whole debacle) before he even got started.  I'd love to say that this was all down to how incredible a kisser I am, but alas, I think it has a lot more to do with Steve’s complete lack of experience with women (how was I to know?  This never happens in films)

It made me giggle and I couldn’t really stop.  I realised how insane the whole situation was.  This is entirely the sort of thing that I shouldn’t be doing.  I am such a fucking a cliché.  My fit of laughter was not helped by catching a glimpse of his Jesus keyring.  How had I not noticed this before?  (Picture attached, cause it must sound like I make this shit up).  

He didn’t seem to be mortally wounded by my laughing at him.  He asked if I would stay the night (in the crack den, on the floor.  Hmmm.  Tempting!) I felt like shouting "are you utterly insane" but instead went for the kinder option and said that Judy (my Indian mother figure and landlady) was expecting me home and that I should leave.   Thank you for the wonderful evening though!

I have spent the entire day hanging out in places that I don’t generally go, trying to avoid him, but of course he still managed to find me (this place is way too small). I explained that I needed a day to myself (and no, of course it's nothing personal, blah blah blah).  The massive spanner in the works is that he works in the bar directly opposite where I stay (I told you it was a cliche).  Nothing like shitting on your own doorstep, Breed.   Lesson severely learnt.  Thank sweet Jesus (in keyring form) that I'm leaving tomorrow.  I promise to be better behaved in Goa.