Worked the door at a private members thing in Mayfair, then somehow ended up in my kitchen at five. Mia took a photo. I told her to delete it. She didn’t.
Category: Sex
Not always a bed. Sometimes an Uber, a hallway, a lock that barely works. I wanted it, I took it, I wrote it down. Romance optional. The anecdote is not.
Look, I only noticed at noon. Nice watch too. Sophie clocked it before I did and now the whole flat wants a name, a rating, and whether he’s coming back for it.
I still finished. Then I told him. Then I put it in the blog. Honesty is my vice, remember?
Soho, Saturday, one toilet cubicle with a lock that actually worked. We still managed. I lost an earring and gained a story. The attendant definitely knew. I tipped her anyway.
That’s when I knew he’d decided this was more than afters. I hadn’t. I let him stay anyway because the lighting in my room is flattering at 8am and I’m weak.
Not my shade. Not my booking. I still took the photo because the lighting was filthy in the best way.
Pub toilet. Lock that didn’t work. Someone knocked twice. I said “occupied” like I was booking a meeting room.
I told my own reflection I was going home with him. She agreed. She also needed more gloss. Priorities.
Look, the meter was still running and I wasn’t getting out in Peckham at 3am with unfinished business. He tipped the driver. I kept the story.