Features

Oh, lovers. I wish this was still an anonymous forum. And a sex blog. If only, if only.

In the fullness of time there may be some stories. Perhaps. Watch this space.

In the mean time, I was with my friend Biscuit, hanging out at a bus stop in the pouring rain at 4am on Friday night. Because I’m that fucking glamorous. A group of three came passed, and stopped by for awhile: a French guy with blue-black skin, an Englishman with a bike, his gnarled face betraying the fact he was a 90s-rave casualty, and a cute, twee Russian chick.

The Englishman had had a disturbing experience earlier in the night: while talking to the other two, he all of a sudden felt like he was not real. ‘Darling, you are both tangible and important’, I reassured him. It helped.

I spoke bad French to the other guy. His friend was having a party on Flinders Street (where? Oh, on Flinders Street…)

The Russian girl… o, how I captured her imagination. ‘Look at you!’ She squealed. ‘You are so pretty! Look!’ To Biscuit: ’Just look at her! Isn’t she so pretty?’ and then back to me: ‘You have so many features!’

Gay lovers, it even beat the time the taxi driver approvingly told me I had too many ornaments.