Oh I am so wrecked. After partying with Tim and Nicholas, Sophie and Jenny, all night, I got home at 7am, or at least, I was lying in my bed at 7am. I so wanted to transport Manny over, with a wiggle of the nose like Samantha Stevens, or have him appear in a pink mist like I dream of Jeanie, so I could slide my hands into his jocks and lick his body until we both fell asleep. I called him and slurred down the phone, When you wake up, jump straight into a taxi and get your arse over here.
I think I was asleep five minutes later, so it was a good thing he didn't, me sleeping like the dead and all.
Now I've got to get myself to the concert hall by 4pm to see a play, Tomfoolery, with Lottie. I feel exceptionally plain. Just fucked! I'm okay, if I don't move. My mouth is like the Sahara.
Manny's just called, apparently, he couldn't understand what I said on the message. All I heard was something about a taxi, he said.
Get over here, I demanded. (Before I throw all of my toys out of the toy box) I need to do things to you. (I know I've got that tension building up in me, that only Manny can dissolve)
There was a brief pause and then his voice came back all husky and low. I've just organised to go to the gym with Stuart. He's had an argument with his boyfriend and needs some company. (Good for him)
I'm beginning to forget what you look like.
Manny laughed.
What time will you be home from the play, his voice said, silky smooth.
About 7, I guess.
I'll be there by then, he said. I need you... too.
Good boy, I said. Correct answer.
So, do I walk to the concert hall, as I usually would, hoping like hell the exercise might just clear my head. Or, do I wimp it and catch a tram, it is as hot as hell out there today, after all.
So, it's on with my vintage Adidas Romes and out the door. Wish me luck.
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