I hate endings. A cliche, I know but if you've read any of the books I have this year you will understand. They always seem rushed, there is no closure, much is left unexplained. A bit like Lost. I hope however that my ending has been thought out, gently disseminated over the past few days and leaves you wanting more while not feeling disappointed.
I started this blog on 19 May 2010. I set you up with my life in London and what was leading me to New York for a summer of adventure. We have all been surprised by its happenings - M1 instead of M2, Chicago instead of New York and pining instead of shagging. I could go on but it doesn't matter - I had the summer I was meant to have even if not the summer I wanted to have. I didn't find 'true love' (whatever that is) but I did have a few good flirtations and found I'm more popular in the USA than I realised. For what that's worth.
Now, here I am - right back where I started from.
...
I awoke in my flat at my usual hour of 5am to overcast skies and chilly temperatures. It was much like that morning on 20 June when I set off for America. I set off for a run through Hyde Park. I passed the same people I did three months ago, as I do most days. I was glad for the familiarity of that early morning start.
I stopped at Sainsbury's on the way back for soya milk, a banana and porridge. A quick shower and Pret latte later I queued at my bank for an eternity to pay in the last of my US dollars. Before long it was time lunch and I dashed into a black cab to get to Caprice for my 12noon booking. The ladies - my best mates - were there in all their glory dishing the latest gossip over champs and then white as we grazed on salads, soups and nibbly things.
I walked home through Green Park, that park I walked through so often when I first came to London and had no money, no love but plenty of hope. This is London, the place of my dreams. 13 years ago I left North America with its lack of charm and character behind for the UK. I accepted it as my imperfect home, adapting to tube strikes, open plan offices, a different English, expensive and small flats and slow service.
For better or worse...this is my home.
That's why when the job offer not of my dreams but of the real (London) world came through I said yes. I said yes to living because I'm not tired of London. I realise I'm here, home in my space; I'm in my rightful place. This is God's work. And it is good.
The End. For now.
Tuesday, 7 September 2010
Two and a half gays
I can't imagine a more complicated life. I'm in London with RFG but flirting with my London beaux as I'm incapable of deciding what to do. There's a new Mr Big on the scene - tall, great build, successful, flies Club and I have it on good authority he has a good-sized, cut cock. Could it be any more promising? M2 managed to avoid me on Sunday when he had the chance then I've failed to meet up with him. It will all come to nothing as far as I can tell. All the times he's promised me some sex only for me to be disappointed. That man has no life in him.
Meanwhile my hectic London life is back in full-force. I'm trying to see a million people in the span of a few hours and not doing very well. Babies are the main problem - One's still in the oven (8 months of baking so far), the other popped out the day before I left and the last one is having her first birthday. On top of that I have to fit in a waxing (essential), two more drinks, a dinner, two lunches and a coffee chat - all in the next 30 hours.
Working again is rather a bother of course and getting in the way of my fabulous back-in-London life. Endless typing of emails, delegating to minions and catching up on the office gossip is exhausting me. Still, I've managed to fit in an extended lunch and still managed to leave the office on-time yesterday.
Despite all this drama I've manged to find time to make a decision. I'm staying after-all. You see London is, well, it's London. The people are fascinating, exciting and when the men are good looking, no American compares. So the cocks are covered in extra bits and they don't trim their pubes. After 10 pints in the pub, no one notices that sort of thing anyway. The city has life flowing through it, is exciting and diverse, even if nothing is open 24 hours and the Tube is crowded and hot even in winter. It's still home and I can't imagine being anywhere else.
Yes, this is the beginning of the end. I have come home.
Meanwhile my hectic London life is back in full-force. I'm trying to see a million people in the span of a few hours and not doing very well. Babies are the main problem - One's still in the oven (8 months of baking so far), the other popped out the day before I left and the last one is having her first birthday. On top of that I have to fit in a waxing (essential), two more drinks, a dinner, two lunches and a coffee chat - all in the next 30 hours.
Working again is rather a bother of course and getting in the way of my fabulous back-in-London life. Endless typing of emails, delegating to minions and catching up on the office gossip is exhausting me. Still, I've managed to fit in an extended lunch and still managed to leave the office on-time yesterday.
Despite all this drama I've manged to find time to make a decision. I'm staying after-all. You see London is, well, it's London. The people are fascinating, exciting and when the men are good looking, no American compares. So the cocks are covered in extra bits and they don't trim their pubes. After 10 pints in the pub, no one notices that sort of thing anyway. The city has life flowing through it, is exciting and diverse, even if nothing is open 24 hours and the Tube is crowded and hot even in winter. It's still home and I can't imagine being anywhere else.
Yes, this is the beginning of the end. I have come home.
Monday, 6 September 2010
77 days later
After 77 days away I'm finally home. HOME! I feel it, I feel it as I walk along the King's Road again and take it all in. I've come back to where I belong. The air smells right, the temperature is perfect, the people speak in familiar accents. Everything looks right and orderly. Even my flat is almost just as I left it.
Things I've missed about London:
1. English accents!
2. Cafe Nero
3. Sainsbury's
4. Pret
5. Surly, grumpy people
6. Radio 4
7. The weather
8. My flat
9. My car
10. My mates
11. Not tipping!
12. The men
I'm having second thoughts. Can I really leave London for Chicago?! Really?! I must be mad to want to go. This is a world-class city. Chicago is...well, it's nice too.
Then there are the things I haven't missed:
1. How, crowded tube trains
2. Tube strikes
3. Grumpy, surly service (love/hate)
4. Working
5. Congestion charge
6. M2 and his confusing signals
7. My tiny flat
8. Uncut cocks (not that I've seen ANY cocks since landing)
Things I've missed about London:
1. English accents!
2. Cafe Nero
3. Sainsbury's
4. Pret
5. Surly, grumpy people
6. Radio 4
7. The weather
8. My flat
9. My car
10. My mates
11. Not tipping!
12. The men
I'm having second thoughts. Can I really leave London for Chicago?! Really?! I must be mad to want to go. This is a world-class city. Chicago is...well, it's nice too.
Then there are the things I haven't missed:
1. How, crowded tube trains
2. Tube strikes
3. Grumpy, surly service (love/hate)
4. Working
5. Congestion charge
6. M2 and his confusing signals
7. My tiny flat
8. Uncut cocks (not that I've seen ANY cocks since landing)
New York reflections
In one of my last interviews for a role I'm up for in the USA I was talking to the recruiter about the firm's HQ in Milwaukee. I expressed interest in career prospects at HQ down the line. She then asked "But would you really want to move to Milwaukee?" And I said "Of course! Hello - Laverne and Shirley." Was that the gayest thing I've ever said?
Saturday morning I awoke in my New York apartment for the last time. Before I ventured out for a run, a allowed myself a few moments for some indulgent reflection. I started to wonder, what could have happened this summer had I just not allowed M1 to interfere with my life again. Had I just remained in New York.
I'd been out with my friend H the night before and she rightly pointed out that I'd looked for a job in New York for four weeks and not much more. I've given Chicago more time, why? No, in the end I can't blame M1 for that. I'm attracted to it because the men flatter my ego but also because the 'buzz' of NYC and London is what I want to get away from...right?
Or maybe I've got it all wrong. Have I missed out on meeting the real man of my dreams because I went after this ghost of my past? Did I do the right thing in at least trying and, perhaps in the end, finding something else? Or is the fact I've missed noise, buzz, people actually a sign I just want to return to London and forget my American dream entirely?
Later, I ran through Central Park for the last time this summer with these thoughts swirling in my head. With two job offers and two piles of men on my plate, I started to make sense of things. As I prepare to board the flight to London in 12 hours I'm starting to see through the gloss and am finding what I really want is...
Saturday morning I awoke in my New York apartment for the last time. Before I ventured out for a run, a allowed myself a few moments for some indulgent reflection. I started to wonder, what could have happened this summer had I just not allowed M1 to interfere with my life again. Had I just remained in New York.
I'd been out with my friend H the night before and she rightly pointed out that I'd looked for a job in New York for four weeks and not much more. I've given Chicago more time, why? No, in the end I can't blame M1 for that. I'm attracted to it because the men flatter my ego but also because the 'buzz' of NYC and London is what I want to get away from...right?
Or maybe I've got it all wrong. Have I missed out on meeting the real man of my dreams because I went after this ghost of my past? Did I do the right thing in at least trying and, perhaps in the end, finding something else? Or is the fact I've missed noise, buzz, people actually a sign I just want to return to London and forget my American dream entirely?
Later, I ran through Central Park for the last time this summer with these thoughts swirling in my head. With two job offers and two piles of men on my plate, I started to make sense of things. As I prepare to board the flight to London in 12 hours I'm starting to see through the gloss and am finding what I really want is...
Friday, 3 September 2010
Flying the friendly skies...at 5am
There's something not right about flying at 5am, but in order to avoid Hurricane Earl and make my trip to New York, it had to be done. I did not realise what an experience it would be.
As I waited for my car, I spotted an early morning jogger who looked like he might be cute 'til he let rip a big, noisey, vibrating fart as he breezed past me - perhaps his way of saying 'not interested'. Feeling's mutual mate.
Then, I found myself stuck in a lift with three very American businesssmen. One of them was particularly horrific. Drunken, swearing like a sailor and wearing a brown belt with black shoes. I nearly fainted.
I get to security, almost always a drama. Today the chimp who stares at boarding passes wouldn't accept my UK driver's licence as valid ID. He asked if it part of Canada or USA? No, separate country still, I replied. Body search he said.
I'm then walking around the airport. To my horror I see several people in shorts and t-shirts, looking like they've never bathed - especially fat people. I felt tacky wearing jeans to clearly that is the new glamour of air travel.
I'm then onboard, in first class of course, managing to email and facebook thanks to the very modern concept of in-flight wifi.
I asked the stewardess for a vodka cran. 'Bit early isn't it, sir?'. 'Oh yes, of course its breakfast time isn't it? Vodka and OJ far more appropriate, thanks'. She walks away with an odd expression on her face.
The toilet in first is full and the hostie asks if I can brave steerage. I put on my tough guy face, hold my neck up high, arm myself with water and bread and brave the jungles of economy. As I make my way through the outstretched hands and the cries for water, I start to realise just how big this plane is. Who knew so many people existed this far back?
Before I sign off, I've discovered my lesson of the summer - the biggest cocks have the biggest cocks.
As I waited for my car, I spotted an early morning jogger who looked like he might be cute 'til he let rip a big, noisey, vibrating fart as he breezed past me - perhaps his way of saying 'not interested'. Feeling's mutual mate.
Then, I found myself stuck in a lift with three very American businesssmen. One of them was particularly horrific. Drunken, swearing like a sailor and wearing a brown belt with black shoes. I nearly fainted.
I get to security, almost always a drama. Today the chimp who stares at boarding passes wouldn't accept my UK driver's licence as valid ID. He asked if it part of Canada or USA? No, separate country still, I replied. Body search he said.
I'm then walking around the airport. To my horror I see several people in shorts and t-shirts, looking like they've never bathed - especially fat people. I felt tacky wearing jeans to clearly that is the new glamour of air travel.
I'm then onboard, in first class of course, managing to email and facebook thanks to the very modern concept of in-flight wifi.
I asked the stewardess for a vodka cran. 'Bit early isn't it, sir?'. 'Oh yes, of course its breakfast time isn't it? Vodka and OJ far more appropriate, thanks'. She walks away with an odd expression on her face.
The toilet in first is full and the hostie asks if I can brave steerage. I put on my tough guy face, hold my neck up high, arm myself with water and bread and brave the jungles of economy. As I make my way through the outstretched hands and the cries for water, I start to realise just how big this plane is. Who knew so many people existed this far back?
Before I sign off, I've discovered my lesson of the summer - the biggest cocks have the biggest cocks.
Thursday, 2 September 2010
Summer is over - my mobile told me so
This morning at 0515 the alarm on my mobile went off. Almost without exception, it has not disturbed me at any hour this summer. And the last time I awoke in darkness it was late winter. As I struggled to get up at this ungodly hour, I realised I'd best get used to it - summer is almost over and I shall soon be a mere worker again like the rest of you. What city I shall be doing that work in remains something of a mystery for another 24-48 hours (negotiations continue).
I had another date last night. Another bad date I should say. So bad it could only be an internet date. Classic tale - he looked nothing like the picture (neither the one he sent me nor the one I created in my head). It was a moment of weakness when I cruised Craig's List and it was a moment of stupidity when I agreed to go out on a blind date the night before an important meeting (entirely too dull to mention further.
Meanwhile I continued to exchange flirty messages (and indulge in naughty thoughts) about M2 and a new London-based prospect. At least I know they both have big cocks, charm, taste and decent underwear. Shame they live in areas run by the Liberal Democrats - they may be 'our' coalition partners but I will never leave safe Conservative territory for the unruly Lib Dems regions.
I had another date last night. Another bad date I should say. So bad it could only be an internet date. Classic tale - he looked nothing like the picture (neither the one he sent me nor the one I created in my head). It was a moment of weakness when I cruised Craig's List and it was a moment of stupidity when I agreed to go out on a blind date the night before an important meeting (entirely too dull to mention further.
Meanwhile I continued to exchange flirty messages (and indulge in naughty thoughts) about M2 and a new London-based prospect. At least I know they both have big cocks, charm, taste and decent underwear. Shame they live in areas run by the Liberal Democrats - they may be 'our' coalition partners but I will never leave safe Conservative territory for the unruly Lib Dems regions.
Wednesday, 1 September 2010
I hate tipping bartenders
If you've been missing me the past few days I can only but apologise for my poor show. Dear reader, I have been very busy indeed. I'm not sure what happened or when it happened but all of a sudden I am full up with dates (free dinners) and am in negotiations for two different job offers and haven't had a moment to myself. With days to go I am starting to wonder if that ticket to the UK isn't a one-way after all.
I can't stop thinking about all the cock I could have sucked this summer if I'd stayed in London. Just in the normal course of my London life of working and going to the gym I would have had at least 10 blow jobs and I reckon three shags. What have I had instead? Just three blow jobs and three shags (but with the same guy, M1). I have been deprived during this summer of no sex and me at my horniest since I was 15.
I had my date with M1 the other night. It was uneventful and yet I still left it feeling on edge enough to feel in desperate need of a recovering drink. He didn't unnerve me, he didn't make me feel awkward - in fact I was perfectly normal and confident. I didn't even have the itch to shag I'm (but wouldn't have said no) it's just that as we were parting ways I didn't want it to end. And I saw there was still feelings, just buried deeply, not on the surface as it once was.
This one drink to recover turned out to be among the biggest drunken evenings out at my reliable Sidetrack this summer. I blame the hilarious random encounter with two Australians over from London with whom we share a mutual friend. This made us instant bosom buddies (did I mention he was also a little hot in that rugby player build kind of way?).
Later and several - and I do mean several - drinks later I found myself chatting up a very thin but cute older man whom I found beside me in the morning (along with a headache), his name entirely forgotten despite my best efforts to remember. He was well into me and wasted no time trying to jump on my cock. I would have been quite a happy guy had his cock not been so small. I've seen more girth and length on fingers. Men like this really must come with some sort of warning sign. I'm so depressed now I mightn't ever other to undress a man again. If I don't see them naked at the gym first, I won't even talk to them.
So I've had sexual release but I still haven't had a good cock in my mouth. Summer is nearly over and I'm starting to think London is a one-way ticket for me. No M1, no RFG, no cock, no fucking, no job (yet). At least in London I shall always have the gym, M2, a job and my flat. And I won't have to tip bartenders a dollar every time they get me a beer.
I can't stop thinking about all the cock I could have sucked this summer if I'd stayed in London. Just in the normal course of my London life of working and going to the gym I would have had at least 10 blow jobs and I reckon three shags. What have I had instead? Just three blow jobs and three shags (but with the same guy, M1). I have been deprived during this summer of no sex and me at my horniest since I was 15.
I had my date with M1 the other night. It was uneventful and yet I still left it feeling on edge enough to feel in desperate need of a recovering drink. He didn't unnerve me, he didn't make me feel awkward - in fact I was perfectly normal and confident. I didn't even have the itch to shag I'm (but wouldn't have said no) it's just that as we were parting ways I didn't want it to end. And I saw there was still feelings, just buried deeply, not on the surface as it once was.
This one drink to recover turned out to be among the biggest drunken evenings out at my reliable Sidetrack this summer. I blame the hilarious random encounter with two Australians over from London with whom we share a mutual friend. This made us instant bosom buddies (did I mention he was also a little hot in that rugby player build kind of way?).
Later and several - and I do mean several - drinks later I found myself chatting up a very thin but cute older man whom I found beside me in the morning (along with a headache), his name entirely forgotten despite my best efforts to remember. He was well into me and wasted no time trying to jump on my cock. I would have been quite a happy guy had his cock not been so small. I've seen more girth and length on fingers. Men like this really must come with some sort of warning sign. I'm so depressed now I mightn't ever other to undress a man again. If I don't see them naked at the gym first, I won't even talk to them.
So I've had sexual release but I still haven't had a good cock in my mouth. Summer is nearly over and I'm starting to think London is a one-way ticket for me. No M1, no RFG, no cock, no fucking, no job (yet). At least in London I shall always have the gym, M2, a job and my flat. And I won't have to tip bartenders a dollar every time they get me a beer.
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