Copyright(c) Alex D, 2002
This story is for my London "connection", you know who you are ;)
Monday morning, 9:05am. I get a chewing for being late. Five minutes for god's sake! Then again, god has little influence in this office. I AM an insurance salesman after all.
The usual conversation. Do anything at the weekend? The ever chirpy and infinitely irritating Maureen, clutching a batch of papers. I sigh. Och, you know. The usual. I stretch, longing for a cup of strong, black coffee, preferably with a shot of Bushmills in it. For medicinal purposes, of course. How else can I get through the day, except to be full of stimulants? I know, I know, alcohol is a depressant...still, there's nothing more depressing then a day at the desk, and that is where I must be today. I have paperwork to catch up on, so I will have to endure Maureen sucking up to me most of the day. Oh well, she makes a decent cup of tea, I suppose. The office gossip is, she's on the prowl, looking for a man. Mental note: grow a beard. Her ex-husband had one, and she lost no time telling everyone she dumped him because he refused to shave it off.
Tuesday, 11pm. Sitting in a meeting with my boss and some representatives from the parent company in London. I look industrious, scribbling frantically. In fact my Bullshit Bingo sheet is almost full, I'm going to win the $20 this week! The boss is about to wrap up...yes! " Fault tolerant"...strike! "Basically" and "pro active" in the same sentence! Bingo! I can barely keep the grin off my face as I look around the twitching expressions of my colleagues and underlings, knowing that their money will be taking me out this weekend...well, it'll pay for my carry out at least! My best mate's coming over from England for the weekend. Can't wait to see him. Going out just hasn't been the same since he left, the crazy bastard. We're both incurable fans of 70's music, so we're going to hit the town on Friday night and head to a cosy little club imaginatively called "Retro". It would be great if it wasn't infested with students, but you can't have everything... We're a bit old to be students, but hey, at least I can say I am a true child of the seventies, even though I was only seven when the decade ended.
Wednesday afternoon. A quick stop at the office on my way to flog some crap car insurance to another gullible old lady...yes! There's an email from Neil. He says he'll be arriving at 3pm on Friday and can I pick him up. I check my diary. Hmmm, full...no matter, I feel a mysterious illness coming on! Rubbing my stomach and whingeing about that dodgy looking meat in my sandwich, I exit the office laughing, calls of "hope you feel better tomorrow" ringing in my ears. A nice long weekend beckons, better go and get the drinks in!
Thursday 13.00. Yet another bloody meeting, this time over lunch. I make a show of not eating, even though my stomach is roaring its protest and I'm getting so hungry that the cork table mat is starting to look tasty. I am sick, I say. Got a Touch of the Trots. People in this country love to talk about bowel problems, and sure enough my boss starts telling us about the time he was in India. By the time he has finished, I am no longer hungry.
Friday!!! At the airport, nervously scanning the crowds. There he is! I'm SO excited about 70's night that I have come in my dad's old purple corduroy suit, hugely flared trousers, platform boots. I've lost a bit of weight, I guess, the jacket fits me now. Going to the gym must be paying off. I even found a matching purple and orange kipper tie in the second hand shop, I can't believe I was so lucky! I had considered putting on my purple afro wig, but I wouldn't want to look stupid. People are staring at me, but I don't care. They have precious little to look at, living in drab old Belfast...potential City of Culture, no less! I am still laughing at the thought when I spy Neil in the distance. My heart jumps at the sight of him, as always. It's a strange relationship we have, I'm sure he's gay but he's never told me and Christ, if he hasn't guessed about me by now, he must have something wrong with him.
He comes running towards me and we fling our arms around each other, jumping up and down with excitement, squealing like a couple of girls. I step back and clear my throat, embarrassed at such an unmanly outburst. He's wearing a rather subdued black suit, Mr Corporate Traveller, but his hand luggage is in a lavender basket, and I could almost kiss him. It looks so ridiculous!
On the drive back to my flat he tells me it's his girlfriend's bag, how embarrassing and all that. Some last minute accident or other with his briefcase...yeah right, and...his girlfriend! I'm a bit surprised, and a whole lot jealous. The bitch! I curse myself for not having made a move eons ago. Even I have on occasion gone over to the dark side with girls...after all, at a 70s disco, there ARE only beautiful girls and gay men! Girls are fun, but nothing beats a tight ass and the delicious scent of a man....I shake my head. I'm getting ahead of myself. As I shift gears, my hand brushes against Neil's thigh. He doesn't move away, instead he looks out of the window. Is he blushing? I do believe he is! Bodes well for this evening...
We make a brief stop at the off licence, after I inform him there's only beer in the house. Now he has a taste for red wine. That definitely IS evidence he's been hanging round with a girl, or some affectation picked up in London. Blokes from Ireland just don't drink wine unless they're well and truly under the thumb. I'm silent as we head back to my place, trying to shrug off this feeling of disappointment. Absence definitely makes the heart grow fonder, I reflect as I follow him into the house. He looks cuter than ever, curly black hair that is always a bit too long and never sits the way he wants, his bright blue eyes, his hard little body, his peachy arse in those trousers....Sighing, I resolve to keep my hands off him. Our friendship is too important to mess up. I ask about the girlfriend, and he tells me she's an English teacher at some godawful comprehensive school. He met her in a library, and they've been together 3 months. Her name is Assumpta, originally from Donegal. Assumpta! What an awful name! How do you keep a straight face shouting that out during sex, I ask him, but his blush tells me they haven't had it yet, and my heart leaps. She's catholic, he mutters, in explanation. I wink knowingly. Is that right, I say. His cheeks are going purple, and he takes a gulp of his wine. I'm away to have a shower, he tells me, and off he goes. I sink back into the sofa, hugging my knees with delight. He's here, the love of my life! If only he knew it! Now what to do, what to do!
I chug back a few beers while he's upstairs, dancing round the room to Barry White's "You're the first, my last, my everything". Man, what an intro! His voice gives me chills and this beer's giving me a light head. Is it just me or is everything just that little bit brighter today! Neil's bag catches my eye and I wonder if I should bring it out tonight for a laugh. Then I remember where I am, sadly this isn't the most progressive place in the world and blokes just don't DO handbags, unless they're looking for a good kicking by some knuckle dragging oaf...Not for the first time, I envy Neil. I mean, he lives in London! He has a fabulous job and...but suddenly I remember all those emails at the start, when he was lonely and unhappy and I wonder if things have changed. Sure, he's more settled and likes his job, but has the social side of things got any better?
The poor thing, all alone and struggling out of the closet...forced to date a teacher called Assumpta, a wee reminder of home in a huge multicultural city. He just needs someone to give him a bit of a push and...
I'm all tipsy and sympathetic when he comes back downstairs, hair sparkling with drops of water like glitter, his lithe body still a little tanned from his recent holiday to Florida. My cock springs to attention as my eyes slide treacherously downwards to the gleaming white towel he has tied round his waist...I feel I am going to burst with lust and I cross my legs, my mouth dry. Unfortunately his towel is a bit too fluffy although I can definitely see a bulge in it...I've seen him naked so many times, at rugby practice, the times we've crashed at each other's places...why am I getting so hot and bothered this time? Maybe because I haven't seen him for SO long, and I know I've really and genuinely missed him. And I suppose going without sex for almost six months would be part of it too.
It takes me a second to realise he's speaking to me, he's wanting to know if I have any spare boxer shorts. Och Neil, I say, sure you know I never wear such things. He blushes as he remembers I don't possess a single stitch of underwear. Easy access, I tell him, winking again and...sweet! He's blushing again. You're wicked, he says, going back upstairs.
He's ready soon enough and he's brought something for me, he says. It's an LP, vinyl of course...Liquid Gold no less, the one I've been wanting for years! It has Dance Yourself Dizzy, my absolute favourite song! I hold it almost reverently. Not that it was expensive or anything, but Neil knows I'm just too lazy to go and look for it. How thoughtful, I say, gazing adoringly at him (and it). Well stick it on then, he says, and I dive for the record player. In no time the drink is flowing and we're dancing away like a pair of disco gods, I only wish I had a hairy chest so I could go for a few medallions. I mean, how deliciously tacky! But I've just stuck to the suit I stole from my dad, and I've dug out the afro wig just in case. It's OK to dress up if you're going to Retro, even straight blokes do it. I smile as I remember the last time I went, there were two straight couples all dressed up as ABBA. I say straight and I have no doubt they were, but "Bjorn" gave me a good rendition of "Gimme Gimme Gimme" when I fucked him in the toilets later on ...Was that really six months ago? God! My life has become so dull!
But it's not dull now, my head is spinning and my face is flushed as Neil and I whirl each other tipsily around the room. All the clattering we're doing on the floor, the LP jumps and we stop, breathless and grinning. Better give it a rest for a bit, the neighbours will be whingeing I say. God, I'm hot he says and we flop down together onto the sofa. We turn to say something at the same time and suddenly our faces are inches apart, mouths open...his lips are shiny and dark from the wine, his breath warm on my face. Again I feel that tingle in my belly, the sudden stirring in my groin. He faces me a little bit more, his eyes intense and bright. He doesn't look away. There is electricity between us. This is one of those Moments you see in soaps, or films. I wet my lips instinctively, breathless with anticipation. Our lips inch a little closer, his eyes start to close...when suddenly there's a huge hammering on the window behind me. We leap up, almost guiltily, and I realise it must be Sonia and her mates. I forgot they said they'd come. Sonia also misses Neil. She says he's the only normal one out of our lot.
Cursing, I run to the door. Sonia'll be raging when she finds out she spoiled a potential snog. She's the one who's been pushing me to jump him all these years. Why was I resisting, I wonder as they all pile in. There's obviously been plenty of drink taken judging by the volume of people's voices and the staggering about. The room smells of smoke, beer, makeup and hairspray by the time we stagger into a taxi, well, a mini-van, whatever. I sit beside Sonia, hoping to tell her what almost happened, and also so I can sit opposite Neil. He's been quiet, even though these are his mates too...second thoughts? I quash the feeling of worry. Surely not? His knee is brushing against mine as the driver seems to find every bump in the road. I almost wish we weren't going out, that we were still alone on the sofa, inches apart. Then I catch myself on, here I am surrounded by my best mates on the way to my favourite nightspot. The man I love is sitting near me, and he will be staying at my house for another two nights! If anything, my boring, hateful days at Ripoff and Co merely serve to enhance nights like this. I intend to savour every minute.
Especially of my seduction of Neil, it's my feeling that he's finally ready, just like a ripe peach ready to be picked and savoured. And I'm never wrong when it comes to men. Idly, as we crowd past the bouncers, I wonder if the ABBA quartet will be there...
Saturday morning, 1am. What a fabulous night! We just danced the night away, literally. Sonia's friend, Anna I think her name was, won the "best dressed transvestite" award which was a surprise because I hadn't realised Anna was a bloke. She's not, Sonia hissed at me as the poor girl took her prize and flounced outside, weeping inconsolably.
After a whole night of playing it (relatively) straight, making reasonably polite conversation with some of our less flamboyant friends, getting completely trolleyed and dancing like a madman, I was fired up by drink, fab music and good company as I staggered out the door at the end of the night, hugging everyone. I hate it when I get leery and lecherous, but I can't help it. It's my dark side I suppose, in vino veritas and all that. Anyway it's cold outside and Sonia and I are holding each other up, singing some old Gloria Gaynor song while Neil rings round for a taxi. I don't know where the others went, but I whisper my plans to Sonia and she grins. You'd better not blow it, she says, I tell her I do indeed plan to blow "it" and we're both cackling like a pair of old hags when Neil grabs us and bundles us into a taxi. Instantly I snuggle down, my head in Neil's lap... I don't wake up until I feel a sharp slap round the face. Neil's face swims into view and I sit up, instantly. Where am I?
We're home he says and he drags me out onto the pavement. The cold air sobers me up a bit. My ankle hurts, I say, no wonder, he laughs, when you wear platforms like that. You fell on the dance floor. Oh no! I groan, fumbling around for my key. I'm so drunk I can't find it so Neil has to dig into my pockets while he tickles all my erogenous zones and I giggle and squirm. Enough of this, I think, and I pull him close to me. I don't care that we are in the middle of the street, practically, it's dark and everything's orange and shadowy from the streetlights, it's quiet and I'm so horny I can't think properly or see straight. I love you, I tell him again and again as he lets me hug him, lets me run my fingers through his beautiful hair which is damp with sweat from all the dancing. I can see that, he says, as he manages to extract my key from my trouser pocket, his fingertips millimetres away from my dick, which is already swollen and throbbing against my tight trousers. Earlier, I say, if Sonia and that lot hadn't called round... What, he says, distracted, swinging the front door open. He drags me across the threshold and shuts the door behind me, panting with the effort. You're a heavy bastard he says. Stand up right. Earlier, I repeat, doing as he says. What would have happened do you think. You and me, on the sofa.
I can't see his face in the dark and I don't want to. I know the answer already, I could feel it as I snuggled my cheek into his hard crotch in the taxi, dozing off in dreamy anticipation of what was to come...I can hear it in his quickened breathing now, smell it in his sweat. Swiftly, I grab him again and pull him against me. Stop me anytime you want, I whisper, moving in for the kill, my hand sliding down the zip of his jeans, my other hand snaking round the back of his head and pulling his lips onto mine. The kiss is deep and intense, my tongue slightly tentative about sliding into his mouth at first, but it meets his and I can taste him, feel the softness of his lips, the fiery wetness of his mouth. Oh god, I groan aloud as my hand slides into his trousers. The bristly feel of pubic hair, the dampness of sweat, the heat...he's not wearing any underwear either. His prick is already rock hard, the skin velvety soft, the tip already damp with pre cum.
I break the kiss and sink to my knees. The moment I have been waiting for, dreaming about, fantasizing over for years. I push his shirt up and yank down his tight trousers, turning him slightly so I can see it more clearly in the moonlight shining through the frosted glass of my front door. Magnificent, long and thick, but not pornstar ridiculous. Just the right size. Almost panting like a dog, I bury my face in his crotch and fill my nostrils with his intoxicating scent. He gasps as I start to take his cock into my mouth, my hand fondling his balls and the other snaking up his stomach towards his tits, his hot little nipples. I think to myself, have I died? Am I in heaven? The pain in my ankle, the stiffness of my knees, the agony of my trapped dick... all seem insignificant to me now. Further and further his cock slides down my throat. He knows to his cost (from the drinking competitions of our youth) that I can down a pint in three seconds. I'm sure he hasn't realised that I can also swallow his dick as fast, although for once I am taking my time. His hands begin to clasp my head as I end up where I began, my nose pressed against his bush, but this time his pulsating tool halfway down my throat. He cries aloud, an inarticulate sound of delight, and my heart races. I speed up my action, deepthroating him for a short while before removing his shining cock from my mouth and taking it in my hand while my tongue searches for his balls. The juices are literally flowing from the top of his cock, onto the back of my hand as it squeezes up and down, his soft moans are getting sharper and faster and I know that he's going to come soon , so I swallow it again and again, quickly, while one hand massages the base of his shaft and the other gives those heavy balls some attention... and then he's away, he's crying out for god, emptying his load into my throat as I constrict my muscles around his pulsating tool, milking it of every drop. When he has finished, his legs are trembling. Christ almighty, he mutters, his chest heaving as he struggles to get his breath back. They didn't teach you that at school.
I sigh, running my tongue round my lips, tasting him still. . Neil , I say, we're getting close to thirty and we've been mates a long time and I haven't told you I'm gay. Is that right, he says, laughing. He pulls me in for another kiss. By this time the desire is coursing through my veins like liquid fire. My trousers are too bloody tight, that's the problem. We stagger through the living room door and still devouring each others' mouths, we fall in a heap on the sofa, Neil on top of me. It's just a hot tangle of tongues, arms, fumbling hands, frantic and needy. In the end I push him off me. I tell him to wait, to let me get the damn trousers off. That's better, he says when we're both naked and lying side by side. The kisses get hotter, deeper more urgent and I can feel him reaching for my cock. Lying on my back, I open my legs to give him easier access, but I'm so turned on by the idea of him touching me that it erupts a few seconds later, spewing ropes of cum all over his hands, and my chest. My hips jerk involuntarily as the tremors overtake me and my mind is lost.
We lie there, glued together by cum and sweat. It must be the drink but I am instantly sleepy. I love you, I whisper in the darkness, and he says it back.
A perfect end to a perfect evening.
Saturday morning, 8am. I wake up alone, disorientated. I can smell bacon frying and I sigh with contentment. A good old fry up, just the trick for absorbing all that alcohol. Neil is a treasure. He always remembers how I like my eggs even though he thinks I'm committing sacrilege by blobbing tomato sauce all over them. He's always been thoughtful like that.
I wander naked into the kitchen and lo and behold, he's naked too! He hasn't heard me coming and I lean against the door frame for a minute and watch his smooth movements, listen to him whistle and work. I can't stay away from him, I can hardly keep my hands off him. I sneak up behind him, snaking my arms round his waist so I can stand with as much skin contact as possible. He's warm, and I sigh with contentment. Already I have a boner, and I let it rub against his naked arse cheeks while I nuzzle his neck.
Oi, he says, don't disturb the chef while he's cooking unless you want spunk all over your eggs as well as ketchup. Sounds ok to me, I say, but he's having none of it and makes me sit at the table. When the food's in front of me, my appetite suddenly kicks in and I wolf it down while he talks about his work. He's the manager of an Irish pub over there somewhere, decent enough pay but long hours he says. They're looking for staff, he says, with a pointed wink in my direction. How's it going at Ripoff and Co, he asks and with my mouth half full, I launch into a major whinge about how boring it all is, especially now I've been top salesman for god knows how long, there's just no challenge in it anymore. Casually he says, you should come over to London for a while. If you aren't interested in pulling pints there's plenty of sales jobs, better pay too.
Aye, you're right, I say, polishing off the rest of the bacon. And say I was to come over, where would I be staying. I know a nice apartment, he says, but you'd have to share with someone. I tell him I'll think about it, but my mind is racing. He's right, what do I have here to stay for? A crap job, a pokey wee house in a less than desirable area. I absolutely live for the weekends. Wishing your life away, Sonia always says. For someone so extrovert, you can be so conservative. Time for a change of scenery?
We've finished eating and burping after all the lemon Fanta (great for the morning after I always find). I look at him across the table, revitalised by all the food, my eyes darkening with lust. Let's get a shower, I say. It's a bit cramped in there, though. He smiles, and my heart pounds painfully. Taking me by the hand, he leads me into the bathroom. I have one of those old houses with the downstairs one, which is a pain in the arse when you need to pee in the night. The décor is still brown and orange from the previous occupants, the only room I haven't tackled yet. Tasteful, he says, stepping into the shower. You know me, I say, joining him, I never say no to an original 70's colour scheme.
The water's freezing at first, it makes us both jump, but it soon hots up...in every way. I squeeze a liberal amount of shower gel into my hand, loving the feel of the jets of warm water hitting my back. Slowly, I rub it all over him, his toned chest, his shoulders, making my way down to his crotch where there's already plenty of activity. He sighs as I soap his pubic hair, his balls, sliding my hand under and up his crack. I brush his asshole with my fingertips and he jumps as if stung. Later, later, I tell myself . Good things come to he who waits and all that.
Impatiently, I yank the shower head off its perch and hold it close to his skin, loving the slippery feel of him as I spray the water all over us both. (and the floor) I've never done this before, and I'm a bit clumsy, but he's squeaky clean by the time I've finished, standing there like a Greek god, his body glistening as rivulets of water stream down his beautifully chiselled body, running off his stiff cock, down his thighs. The tension is unbearable and desperate to taste him again, I sit down on the edge of the bath and take his knob into my mouth once again. He slides his fingers through my soapy hair as I suck and lick him all over, working my hand in between his ass cheeks to that hidden little hole I long for. Delicately, I push my finger right inside, looking for the magic spot, loving the tight feel of his hot flesh he throws his head back, crying out as I work it, swallowing his cock at the same time until his knees shake and he's blowing his load in my mouth, his hands gripping my shoulders. The taste of him fills my mouth, and I gulp it down, dreamily.
Panting, he sits beside me, shaking his head. You are incredible, he gasps. I grin. I aim to please, I say, standing up and quickly soaping up. It's nice to mess around in the shower but it's just too small and cramped, and I want him upstairs now, in the freedom of my king size bed, where I can take my time. Once we're clean and dried off , I drag him upstairs, and push him onto the white sheets. Right, I growl, now you're all mine. I fling myself down beside him, grinning like a Cheshire cat. He's looking at me, all pink and breathless, his mouth slightly open. Unable to restrain myself I kiss him roughly, almost devouring him, exploring him with my tongue. When I break the kiss, his head flops down onto the pillow. Wow, he says, and it's like a red rag to a bull. His pleasure is everything to me, and I trail my tongue down under his neck, nibbling and sucking as I go, then to his nipples and by the time I go down further, his cock is waiting for me again, rock hard against his stomach. To his disappointment, I have other things on my mind this time. Positioning myself between his legs, I push them apart and upwards, chuckling as he is laid open to me. Leaning forward, I attack his balls with my tongue, sucking one slippery orb into my mouth, letting it slide out again as I push his arse cheeks apart and continue my journey, darting the tip of my tongue over the sensitive skin there until finally I reach his tight little pucker, sliding a pillow under his hips to give me better access. This is my favourite part of sex, when I just know someone has given themselves to me, when I have seen their most intimate region in graphic detail and loved every centimetre of it with my mouth and fingers. I'm a dreadful control freak and have rarely allowed anyone to do to me what I'm doing to Neil right now, even though I know it feels amazing. Neil obviously agrees, moaning as I begin bathing his hole with soft, slow licks, then hardening my tongue and poking at the tight little ring of muscle, trying to force my way in. Once again, I slide a finger in and he loses control of himself, his head thrashing from side to side, strangled groans emitting from his throat as I add another finger, sitting up and watching him writhe and arch his back as I slide them in and out, smiling in delight as I play his body like my favourite instrument.
My cock is almost painfully swollen by now, and I remove my fingers, sliding my knees up under his spreadeagled thighs, lifting his ankles over my shoulders as I place my throbbing tool at his entrance and reach over to the bedside table for a squeeze of lube. Are you sure about this, I say to him ,greasing up, grinning at his flushed face, the wild look in his eyes. Fucking hurry up, he gasps, and I need no further encouragement. I push slowly into him, expecting resistance, but once the head has gone in it slides in smoothly, right up to the hilt. I have to hold it there for a minute as, bizarrely, I suddenly feel tears in my eyes. When I have control of my emotions again, I give in to my more basic instincts and begin to thrust in and out, slowly at first, looking down all the time, loving the sight of my slippery cock burying itself inside him, the look of pure lust on his face as he grabs his knob and starts jerking it frantically. Increasing the tempo, I listen to the sounds, the bed squeaking, his frenzied breathing, the soft slap of flesh on flesh as I plunge inside him again and again, the desperate groans I realise are coming from me. His inner muscles are working like crazy, tightening around me, he's no virgin I realise but it's too late for thought as I feel the familiar tingle in the pit of my stomach, in my balls...whimpering, I fuck him harder and harder until my body cramps up in an almost agonising orgasm, the cum jetting out of me in tidal waves of unbelievable pleasure, my muscles seizing as I lose control of myself , crying out his name and falling forward onto my hands as the last drops of spunk are drained out of me. Stay inside me, he whispers, as he arches his back and , his hand moving so fast it is a blur, blows load after load of watery cum over his chest. The sweat is dripping off me as I feel the tremors from both our orgasms subside, and exhausted, I let push his legs off my shoulders and let my dick slide out of him. Limply, I flop down beside him.
It's a few minutes before I have my breath back sufficiently enough to speak. You didn't learn that at school, did you I say. He smiles. Talking of sexuality, he says, which we weren't...but there's something I should tell you.
You're straight, I say, and we both laugh. He's so beautiful right now, glowing with love. Unbelievably, I'm overwhelmed and he holds me tight, stroking my hair. I can't deal with love, my heart is hurting with happiness. I love you, I tell him over and over. I wasn't just saying that to get into your pants last night. I know, he says, do you think I'd have let you into them if you were just another lying bastard who'd say anything to get laid. Guiltily I think of all the times I've done just that. I don't deserve Neil, I really don't. This brings on more tears and he's laughing at me.
Never thought I'd see the day when you were blubbing, he says. Tell anyone and I might have to go over to London and do nasty things to you, I sniffle. Is that a threat or a promise he laughs, and then we are silent, lying in each others arms.
Sunday evening, 8pm. Sonia's here, to keep me company. I've just left Neil back to the airport. The control freak, sitting on the sofa surrounded by tear-soaked hankies, clutching the t-shirt Neil left behind, the one he was wearing on Friday night which still smells of him. Sonia is also laughing at me, saying I've got my just desserts. Lost your heart at last, she says, feeding me biscuits and cups of tea.
What a weekend, Neil and I didn't get out of bed until after 5 on Sunday, when he finally thought about packing and getting ready to go. I didn't ask him not to go. What would be the point? I'll see you soon, I said as we said our goodbyes, hugging him tightly and not caring who saw.
And I meant it. I tell Sonia about my plans and she's delighted. Go for it, she says, and you know what, I just will!
Monday morning, 10am. I'm wearing a new Mickey Mouse tie just annoy my boss We're in the monthly meeting to discuss our targets for the month ahead. I know he will ignore Mickey because I'm so bloody good at my job and it pisses him off. How was your weekend, you look different, he said as we went into the "conference" room. Och you know, the usual, I say, grinning from ear to ear. He looked at me suspiciously but said no more.
True to form, the Bullshit Bingo sheets were handed out in secret prior to the meeting. I have only two squares crossed off, and I'm getting antsy. The pool is bigger for the monthly meeting, $30 this time. And I love to win, I'm dreadfully competitive. Oh! He's mentioned "synergy", another square for me. I lick my lips and look around gleefully at my colleagues. "Walk the Talk"!!! Incredible! Strike! I've never heard that one before...another two and I'll have it...
Unfortunately I have to contribute at this point, but I try to keep my presentation jargon free so as not to give my colleagues an unfair advantage. It's brief and I sit down again, scrabbling for the sheet as Sheila from HR starts going on about some stress management programme...there it is! "Win-win" and "Out of the Loop!"
"BULLSHIT!" I leap up, waving my bingo page gaily and beaming at the shocked faces of my colleagues. I am the first to follow all the rules of the game. Mr Douglas, my boss splutters, what is the meaning of this. The meaning is, I'm out of here, I say, almost dancing my way up to his desk with my resignation letter fluttering from my hand. I'm away to London to become a barman and shack up with my gay lover!
Their jaws drop even further, poor Maureen's face falls and I take a bow. Thank you everyone, I say graciously as I saunter out the door, pausing only to grab the framed picture of Barry White off my desk and the little cactus Sonia had given me for Christmas...Down the lift one last time, out into the air.
I feel exhilarated, liberated. I will pack a bag and head straight for the airport.
Towards London, a new job and the love of my life.