Stranger things have happened.
Take Friday, for example. That was pretty strange. It started as a pretty standard Erotic Meet, with the added quality of Louise and without some of the regulars who, for one thing or another, couldn't make it (it was, after all, Good Friday). I wasn't reading this time so I was ready for a relaxing evening, maybe a few hugs and drinks, but overall sitting back and doing basically nothing. This concept lasted for all of ten minutes, before I volunteered my services as a compère for the evening's entertainment.
I've no idea why I did it, but I'm glad now that I did. There were only three acts (but they were all brilliant in their own special way), so I knew I'd have to pad it out a bit. With basically nothing prepared in my head, I bounded onto stage and ejaculated, "Good evening, good evening, good evening, good evening, good evening, and welcome to April's Erotic Meet! I'm Innocent Loverboy..." There was a cheer.
I had to improvise a bit. Okay, a lot. Sarah took Shalla's bra off. Miss Ann Thropist filled the void (quiet at the back!) nicely with her comic sexy poems. Molly did her entire set chained to Mia, who stood there looking pretty and confused. After every act I came on and rapidly made something up on the spot. Massive thanks to God here, as through his grace I didn't clam up (except when I
The world phased slowly into existence a few hours ago when I found myself in my own lovely, warm, comfortable bed, with which I am attempting to get re-acquainted. Upon realising that I had an erotic writers' meet to get my arse to, I jumped out, threw some inoffensive clothing on and sloped off to London, where I rejoined some of the usual crew and some interesting others - poets, prose writers, The Joy Of Sex's Susan Quilliam and, er, Molly - where a lovely amount of food, water, and tea - oh dear Glod, such lovely tea! - was shared over a discussion of how to write sex. Like a mini-Eroticon, perhaps... except without that amount of books. Not quite, anyway.
And tonight I'm going back to Mane's house for pizza, movies, and general debauchery. I think. I won't be debauching. The others might - more so if the young raver's changed out of his suit yet. On Thursday evening it looked like he'd spraypainted it onto his body.
So. A rather disjointed post, then, but in my defence I've had a rather disjointed few days. Spending a couple of days next week doing nothing but sleeping might be a good idea, and going to see Cath for a while may also be a good idea, so I'll get working on that. But for now, I'm jumping from event to event on high-powered energy and not quite running out yet. Not quite. Nearly, but not quite. If I start to evolve into my next stage, a being of purely awakened sexual energy, let me do so. After all this, an upgrade is well overdue.