I’m still so busy. I managed to get the big pile of surprise work done, mainly via the time-honoured method of not sleeping except in blocks of 1-2 hours here and there. I don’t know what I weigh and right now I don’t care. I need to get ready to get on a plane and there is so, so much to do between now and then.
You probably want to know how things went with the Chinese guy, let’s call him Xiaoyun (which, depending on how you pronounce it, means ‘a little sport’). We had our second date the other night, with which I joyfully ended three months of celibacy. Oh, readers. What shall I say. You already know how much I like him. He is masses of fun, we get along like old friends, he is attractive, thoughtful, nice to be around. Also, at 37, I figured he would know something about sex and therefore would be a good choice for me considering (a) I starved for three months and needed a good meal and (b) I’m about to go on a long business trip in which my chances of getting any meaningful, worthwhile sex are dramatically reduced. I wanted a date that I could reasonably count on. You know, when you date 22-year-olds, you don’t expect them to be any good at sex. They are beginners. One fully expects to invest time and energy in teaching them, and their pretty faces and unbroken hearts make it all worthwhile. But when the gentleman is 37, successful and urbane, one expects a degree of competence and finesse that makes teaching optional. Let me think who I have dated in that age group. Marcel was 37, IIRC, and his bedroom skills were fine. The Honcho was only 38 when I first met him and was a king among men, which I realise isn’t going to be true of everyone. Abdul in Egypt – Abdul and I never laid a finger on each other, we never even kissed but the phone sex that we may or may not have had when I got back to the UK revealed that he certainly knows a few things about female psychology. Which is as it should be, at his age. Hmm. What shall I say about Xiaoyun. Bah. He thinks he is great at sex but he is wrong. He is a lovely person but that is not covering up the fact that there’s a whole lot of really basic stuff that he doesn’t understand. He needs as much patient schooling as a man fifteen years his junior and I don’t see why I should have to do that.
I was so frustrated by the experience that I was glad I had arranged a couple of dates with other, much younger and prettier guys, in line with my usual style. Yesterday I managed to free up an hour in my impossible schedule to go and meet one and he is quite aware of his own naivete in these matters, in addition to being as beautiful as the lilies of the field. Now that is what I call a teachable student.
I am not going to play a tune this morning, readers, because I want to play this instructional video instead. If you are a heterosexual man and you are not utterly certain that you could pass an exam on this without revising, then you should watch and take notes. And it is a sad state of affairs when we have to turn to Monty Python to acquire these vitally important life skills.
What’s wrong with a kiss, boy? Hmm? Why not start her off with a nice kiss? You don’t have to go leaping straight for the clitoris like a bull at a gate.
Monty Python: The Meaning of Life