I’m not really sure how to start this one…at the beginning seems like a fine point but…you’ll see.
I met The Jew at the Club (you’ll find this to be a recurring theme…have I mentioned that before?), had some big chats, ended up exchanging numbers, the usual schtick. From there, it was a flurry of texts, he was so prolific, and it kinda felt like things were going somewhere. I didnt want a boyfriend or anything at the time, but thats sort of where it felt like things were heading.
Oh so wrong.
I mean, that may have been where he was heading, but soon the idea of a stripper that would come over on her way home and have wonderful athletic sex with him, pull in a short nap, then be up and out of the house before 5am went to his head. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t an arsehole, well, not often anyway, but after a few nights of “oh, I’m really tired, been up all night playing playstation…”
Fucking EXCUSE ME? Playstation?!? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m losing out TO A GOD DAMNED GAME.
…clearly I’ll never be entirely over this. It wasnt even something awesome, like Assassins Creed, oh no, it was FIFA.
Being put out like this from my regular routine was incredibly frustrating. There’s quite often nothing better than a hot shower with hot man doing hot things with his hand and various other parts of his anatomy after a long stressful evening of contorting myself and pretending to care about some randoms life story/sob story/marital problems etc. I’d quite come to rely on my post-work come down (pun intended), and to have that taken away on either the worlds shittest reason or the worlds shittest fake reason was more than I could take. So I went to Future Music Festival with a white singlet that I wrote “Strippers not getting laid is a crime against nature. Sign here to show your support” and took along a pen. By the end of the festival my top was covered. As were my shorts. And my arms, legs and chest. I then went out with E and deliberately ran into The Jew, who took one look at me, read my shirt, blushed bright red, scowled, and slunk off. Hopefully that taught him a lesson about priorities for the benefit of his future endeavours!
Anywho….The Jew and I also like to stay up and watch the Tour de France and have sex all over his lounge room couch in a variety of compromising positions so that one or both of us could occasionally check on what was happening with the race. It was usually forgotten or the TV turned off, but hey, it was the thought that counts. I still get a little smirk whenever its tour de france time, its irrevocably linked with sex in my head thanks to the Jew.
Oh, and ladies? If you’re not jewish and not willing to go through a conversion, dont bother, you’re never going to win.