It was one of those nights. A group of us out and about and we had just discovered a new cocktail – The White Passion. I insisted that there was very little alcohol in it but then, I was on my 5th and dancing recklessly on a sofa when I made this declaration. So we danced and laughed and flirted and before you knew it people were pairing off.
And then I spotted him. He was tall, brooding and was wearing a bandanna a la Tupac style?!? I know my precious but at least it was 90s not 80s retro.
Aided by the 6th cocktail I went over and said something charming and cute. At least I would like to think it was charming and cute but chances are it was more scary and slurred. Somehow he bought it and before you could say ‘Keep your head up’ we were in a black cab heading back to mine. It would have been his but he lived with his family in Harlesden. I know my precious but by then he sooooooo looked like Tupac!!
…….Until the next morning when I woke up to a balding twenty something who looked more like Quincy Jones than Tupac. I was ready to curse the 7 white passions which were clearly stronger than I claimed but who am I kidding, Quincy Jones is still kind of cute. He woke up and gave me that morning after horny look. I couldn’t remember much about the night before but it was clear that he was ready to relive the memory.
We start fumbling and mid grope he says, “Back in a minute yeah?” and struts off naked to the bathroom. Whilst checking out the sizeable package I had a flashback! Last night he’d emerged standing to attention after 10 minutes in the bathroom only to, finish less than 3 minutes later.
I knew that I was in for a wait. As he prepared in the bathroom for close to half an hour I did a bit of tidying, answered texts and almost started on a VAT return. He emerged triumphant only again he finished within 3 minutes. The only thing worse than being cheated out of a decent one night stand is them not admitting that this performance was outside of the norm. Aren’t you supposed to blame it on the alcohol? Turns out he didn’t drink.
I offered to call a cab for him but he hadn’t enough money and felt claustrophobic on tubes and trains. After that performance I certainly wasn’t offering to contribute. He would take a bus. He insisted that there was a direct bus to Harlseden from Kings Road or Fulham Road.
So we spent the next hour looking for an imaginary bus going to Harlesden before I was able to convince him that 2 buses might be necessary. I’ve never had a white passion cocktail since that night and now shudder whenever I hear a Tupac song.
But what can I say my precious. Keep your head up?.
