A friend of mine was having a party this evening as a final send-off before she shipped out to Sandhurst Military Academy for the next year. We'd met at a mutual friend's wedding in July, I'd really liked her, and although I wouldn't say we're the best of friends, we retain enough of an acquaintance that I merited and invite to her party.
As this was her Sandhurst Leaving Party, the theme for the party was military attire. My mother had suggested I go as a naval officer, by wearing a white dress shirt, navy blue pencil skirt, a blue tie, and epaulets on my shoulders. In the end, for a home-made costume, it wasn't bad, although I realised once I was all dressed that I looked more like a pilot than someone in the navy necessarily. Oh well, nothing to be done but hope I passed muster!
When I got to the party, I found myself at the front door along with a chap with a broken leg and no other costume, although we joked that he was an injured war veteran. I think it worked!
As for my own costume, a couple of people guessed that I was a "wren", which I'd never heard of before, but so many people guessed it that I decided I should just go with that being my official costume.
I found myself at the start chatting with an older American woman, and after her chatting with a younger girl who will soon be starting at my company. Had an interesting time talking to her about the interview process and what her work was likely to be like, and she seemed excited to get started with the job.
We found out that our host, the guest of honour who was shortly leaving for Sandhurst, had actually recently been selected for a documentary about cadets going through their first year, and so of course we spent the rest of the evening joking that we were secretly being filmed. Yet I think E was an outstanding choice for someone to follow, a dynamic, intense girl who plans to join the artillery. She'll make for good television, that's for sure.
Conversational patterns moved around again so I found myself talking to one guy who repeatedly ended up in conversation with me, but was doing so out of a lack of choice, he really was making no effort to continue our association. In fact he didn't ever bother introducing himself (even when a friend of his came up and enthusiastically did the name-exchange with me), which I found rather rude. I mean, to not even introduce yourself? That indicates a lack of interest which is almost beyond the pale. We had a mildly interesting conversation about online dating however, which was rather interesting.
Luckily there was an influx of people from club-land, and I ended up hearing quite a few stories about the club crawl that I'd passed on the previous night. (Given how exhausted I'd been, I think that was the right move!) Sounded like a standard night in club-land, although I would have liked the chance to see the In-and-Out Club. Oh well, next time, perhaps!
Spent quite a bit of time talking to a classic club-chap named Richard Ellis, who I'd briefly met at my friend's wedding last July. Nice conversation, and I was much more eager to chat with him than any of my conversational companions thus far!
After a while (and I was nearly freezing standing outside without a coat), we were all ushered inside to have cake, which was great, not only to have cake but also to be inside where it was warm! (It's still summer, but it's DEFINITELY fading, and going fast here....)
I chatted to some guy for a bit about the existence of God and how you can be moral without necessarily having religion...kind of existentialist, but still interesting.
Then I found myself in the kitchen talking to a guy named Toby, who was just....perfection of the male form. With spiky blonde hair, blue eyes, perfectly chiseled features, and a chest that was....I drool even remembering it. It was almost sculpted from marble, with the barest impressions of his nipples showing from under his tank-top shirt, obviously having a beautifully built chest without being so overdone that he actually had man-boobs or anything. Now I've always had a thing for men's chests, but I swear this one was so perfect, I was totally losing the thread of conversation, I was so distracted by his golden sun-kissed bronze skin, his rippling muscles and beautiful smile. Think of your most perfect California surfer-boy fantasies. That was this guy.
Is this what happens to men when they become distracted by large-chested women? I have no idea why this guy kept talking to me (I must have sounded like a right idiot, I was just so focused on admiring his body), but I was rooted to the spot for every second that this guy wanted to talk to me. It was a pleasure to even be close to such hotness.
It should be said, I have NO IDEA why this guy was talking to me. I was feeling absolutely dorky, standing there in my prim and lame WREN costume, not exactly skinny or attractive-looking. I suppose this is where being smart and clever comes in handy for a girl, as boys actually do seem to go for that somewhat.
Not like I would REALLY go for this boy, as he was only 25, and looked even younger. (He mentioned that he was turning 26 the next week, and I was startled to realise that made him the EXACT same age as my ex. Who I'd had no problem dating a few years ago, but this boy seemed like an absolute baby. So why was my ex fair game and this boy wasn't?) He was also a bartender and confessed he mostly dating younger girls, so I guess I wasn't really an option. It didn't help either though that this picture of fitness and health also broke out the cigarettes. Ugh, I was feeling absolutely sick standing next to him, smoking in an enclosed area, but it shows you how hot he was that I was willing to put up with some second-hand cigarette smoke in order to keep talking to him.
We were having an interesting conversation about whether we'd ever pondered even briefly that we were gay (he adamantly said no), and then when people actually realised they were gay. He argued since he'd been so incredibly interested in girls at age 13, it had to be obvious instantly, but I pointed out that most gay people don't come out until much later. I assume some teens know it instantly, but for other folks it seems to take a while. We did agree though that at least when you know you know...staring at this beautiful picture of manhood, it was definitely making my pulse race in a way the female form has never managed!
Finally however, it was 11:45 PM, and I started to worry about catching the last Tube home. I could tell that if I stayed late and put in the time with this boy, something might happen, but did I really want to go that route? Particularly as the cigarette smoke was making me feel somewhat nauseous, it just seemed simplest at this point to head home.
So when the crowds shifted to go back upstairs and outside, I actually just slipped out the front door without saying good-bye. (At some point I shall learn to be better at departing parties, but at the moment the silent escape really seems to be my best method).
Got back to the Tube and caught a train to Bank, where I could then switch to the Central Line. I will admit I was feeling quite warm and sleepy after all that prosecco however, and drifted off at one point. So I was quite surprised when somebody was suddenly tapping me on the shoulder, waking up with a start. It was Emily! How ironic that we should end up on the same train going home!!
So we chatted for the rest of the ride and the walk home, and I was glad to have the company. Checked my appearance when I got back home, and had to admit I didn't look quite as fat as I'd imagined, but my mascara had smudged everywhere. (Can I hope that perhaps that had only happened when I fell asleep on the train, not earlier in the evening?) Once again, no idea why that example of incredible hotness had spent so much time chatting to me, but have to say I had an enjoyable evening because of his attentions!
No comments:
Post a Comment