Sunday, 25 January 2015

Dad Dancing

Well this is unexpected. I was planning on writing another post about the arseholes of the male species as per usual, but I think this one's going to be slightly different. See, I met up with Slains Dinosaur last night. He'd finally come onshore having been on a ship for the past two weeks. And I'd reluctantly agreed to meet up with him. I say reluctantly because it seemed like so much effort when I could have easily just stayed on my sofa watching Grey's Anatomy all night. But we'd been planning this for quite a while. When I say 'this', I mean sex. We were pretty much just going to meet up for sex. Because I'm a classy fuck.

So I met him and two of his shipmates at Vodka Rev. He said he'd meet me at the bar. I walked in and spotted him straight away. I mean, he's 6'9. Six feet and nine inches. A full nine inches taller than me. That's pretty fucking tall. But he was really sweet. It wasn't even awkward which I thought it might have been considering I'd only met him once. But we were chatting about stuff and his Romanian friend was dancing and it was all very nice and relaxed. Then we went to da club. As the youths say.

And in the line for da club, there were two guys in front of us. Slains Dinosaur and I were just happily chatting away when we hear them yell, 'Hey it's Crouch, it's Peter Crouch!' and laugh manically. They actually got a picture with him. Because he was tall. Not because he looked anything like Peter Crouch. The poor man, at least 5 people made a height comment that night. He must get so sick of it. Also for those uneducated in British football, this is Peter Crouch:

All I know about him is that he's tall and married to the blonde one who won Strictly Come Dancing once and is always on the front of trashy magazines. Also, on closer Wikipedia-ing, Peter Crouch is only 6'8. Just saying...

Anyway, we got into da club and went upstairs to where the cheesy music plays. Because obviously. Why would you want to listen to that godawful music played nowadays? After tequila shots, we went onto the dance floor. I think to best describe our dancing is to imagine middle aged parents dancing at a wedding after a few champagnes. It was really something. And you know what, dad-dancing at da club is incredible. It's one of the few times I've actually not given a fuck about what people think - and not just because I was drunk.

We left after an hour or so because, as per usual, I wanted food. We stopped off at McDonalds and then walked back home. I'd also like to point out that he paid for everything. I didn't have to get my purse out for the entire night. I feel like this is unusual nowadays - a man paying. It was quite a nice change.

I've just read back and noticed how awful my writing is. I am so not with it today. I'll go back and edit all the utterly terrible sentences at some point.

He had to get up at 6am to go back to his ship. We woke up at his alarm. And he had been holding me the entire night. I had my head on his chest and his arms were around me. I have honestly never had that with a guy before. Not straight away. It was so nice. And he kissed me as he was leaving and tucked the duvet up around me. I think I'm still a bit in shock about how nice it was.

And he wasn't nice like, too nice. Not like Troy. But he was nice and not a complete arsewank. Ugh I don't know, it was all just so unexpected. I had such low expectations for the night. And it went so well. He asked me out for a drink tonight.

This feels weird. But good weird. You know?

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