The Fuck-Drunk Chronicles

Sometimes you know at the outset the connection with someone will be amazing.  Other times it just sneaks up on you unexpectedly.  I recently decided that the swinging site I was using wasn’t getting me the results I wanted, so I reactivated my account on a hookup site and almost immediately got chatting to G, hitting it off from the very first message. We went out for a drink within a couple of days, and I liked him a huge amount.   He was smart, witty and intelligent, and we liked similar films and places and people, though we had very different tastes in art and books.   I was sorry to leave when the restaurant closed, and even as I sat on the train home he was continuing our conversations on whatsapp. On the face of it we seemed highly suited.   Both looking for regular overnight stays, both having explored BDSM pretty thoroughly before stepping back from it, neither interested in a relationship but perfectly happy with a FWB arrangement. There is a price to pay to be with G.

  I’m not someone who has ever been concerned for status symbols.   When I choose to meet someone, to spend my time with them and share my body with them, I don’t give a toss what brand of watch they’re wearing or what income tax bracket they fall into.   I find conspicuous consumption vulgar, rather than impressive.   When someone on one of the sites I use promises to look after me it tends to make me snort laugh: I can take care of myself and I don’t think of myself as the sort of person who would sell herself for a bit of luxury.   Everyone has a price though. Before I met B I considered staying in a hotel not advertised by Lenny Henry to be true luxury.   B was an American who flew to London frequently on business and wanted an amusing companion over dinner and a warm body in the hotel bed.   He was very open about what he wanted and what he liked, and since his preferences seemed to tally with mine it seemed a good idea to meet up.   He had some odd ideas about money, but I put