Friday, 15 July 2011
Ramblings: Dating Part 4:- Smokin’
Warning: Contains scenes of a sexual nature
A couple of years ago, after a full year of being single I decided to do something I'd never dreamt of doing before. I decided to get on a plane and try going on holiday on my own. This felt like a big deal. I'd always been on holiday with partners and going away alone seemed alien and scary. I had lots of friends but they had their own lives and to be honest I wasn't convinced that after a week in my company anyone would still want to be my friend. I booked a hotel in Edinburgh (that felt exotic enough) which turned out to be stunning, and set out exploring.
I loved Edinburgh. It's such a beautiful city, handsome architecture and where else can you stand in the city centre and get a view of the mountains and the sea? I walked for miles around the area and saw a couple of plays, took in the grisly surgical museum (which consists of a lot of pickled body parts) and relaxed, drank and ate a lot. I was particularly impressed with the chip shops. I'd never been in a chip shop with a row of optics and a cigarette counter behind the deep fat fryer. With the choice of items available to be battered and deep fried, this equated to a kind of Nirvana for me.
I've always found the Scottish accent quite attractive and the soft Edinburgh tones are especially lovely, so I decided to set about finding a little holiday liaison by trawling some of the seedier night spots of the city. On the second day there I met a nice looking chap who was visiting from out of town. He was a walking "Visit Scotland" advert as he was called Jimmy, worked in a whiskey distillery and had red hair. Red hair is, to my mind, a positive feature on a man and ginger people get a lot of bad press. Laughing at red hair has become a banal cliché that's part of popular culture and is just unfunny and trite. I ensured Jimmy had a nice visit to Edinburgh that evening. He was very fond of me and had he not lived in Northern Scotland I think we'd have met again. He certainly knew how to toss his caber.
After a few more days wandering about and lolling about reading, I ventured out again. I was in a noisy bar which was full of hideously drunk camp boys when I spotted a stocky bloke with a goatee beard looking over at me. He was a fine looking man, tall and dark with a rugby players build. I went outside for a cigarette and he followed me out and stood nearby smoking.
He sidled over and we began talking. He was a Belgian psychiatrist, in Edinburgh for a few days at a conference. I'm easily impressed by an accent and a Belgian drawl floated my boat. He was interesting and pleasant to chat to. He offered me a cigarette and I accepted, inhaling sharply.
As I blew out smoke he said "Hmm…grr…mmm."
"Are you OK?" I said
"Fine, thank you."
I inhaled again.
"I'm sorry, but what was that noise? Are you sure you're OK?"
"I'm sorry. It's the smoking. It turns me on. It drives me wild with passion."
Wow! A man who actually liked me smoking to the point where he got off on it? Edinburgh really was heaven.
We met for a meal the next night and things progressed as expected. He was charming and talked about such exciting topics as being Belgian, clinical psychosis and his love of smoking, all very fascinating. Naturally, I felt obliged to go back to see his hotel room. He was staying in a very expensive hotel and it would have been rude not to. You can't miss out on the experiences life throws at you. It's not every day you get to see the inside of a five star hotel room.
Unsurprisingly he had a "Smoking" room. There was an ashtray propped on the dressing table, one by the bedside and one by the bathroom sink. He welcomed me to the room and as we started kissing he lit two cigarettes and passed me one.
"Blow smoke on my cock." He groaned.
"What! That sounds like a healthy and safety hazard to me. I might burn your gonads."
"Go on. Do it!"
I'll draw the line there and let you imagine the rest but needless to say when I left the room a few hours later I was in need of an inhaler. Smoking a few cigarettes is all very well but I left feeling like a Beagle in a laboratory as he passed me cigarette after cigarette. We'd also drunk the whole mini bar. I lurched back to my hotel feeling distinctly nicotine stained.
He called me the following day and was very keen to meet again. I wheezed and coughed in reply that I wasn't able to meet as I was very busy. I couldn't have stood it. He was very disappointed. I heard him draw deeply on a cigarette and exhale weakly with disappointment. I think he'd stocked up on Camels especially for a repeat performance. I couldn't have dated him. I'd have had emphysema within a year.