It’s Monday afternoon and I’m only just returning to my normal state, although I am still pretty spaced out. I’m off work for another week and a half and I’m childfree for a few days and so those levels of freedom inspired me to go on a spontaneous rampage for 24 hours this weekend. I think this will probably be the last spontaneous rampage of my life because I feel absolutely terrible now, I think I have knocked some years off my life span, and I have aged dramatically. Let me tell you what went down…
I dropped my son off at 11am on Saturday and went to the gym. There was a really good looking guy there who I had never seen before and so I ended up doing double my normal workout. By the time I had finished I could barely walk and I was running really late to meet my friends. I got to 51st State Festival around 1.30pm. I was happy with my outfit, although, because I was running late my hair looked absolutely shit, I pretty much just washed and went. It was not my best look but I felt happy and confident despite my hair woes. If you live in North London and are aged between 30-40 years old then you were probably at 51st State, it is basically a reunion – pretty much every person who I’ve ever met in my whole life was there. It’s like one big North London day out where everyone knows everyone somehow. I bumped into a lot of old close friends and that put me in a really great mood. By about 3pm I was drunk, high as a kite, and loving life. I was with 3 friends who know about the blog but we were with lots of other friends and friends of friends who don’t and so I kept having to remind my friends to not say certain things too loudly but it was hard because there were blog men everywhere.
The first person who I saw was Dean from my blog BIG DICK vs little willy. He was the one with the little willy. He looked really well, he’s filled out a bit and put on muscle and weight. If I didn’t know what was waiting in his pants, and also that he’s a complete fruitcake, I would have spoken to him. Instead I passed him about 4 times and pretended not to see him whilst trying to discreetly whisper to my friends ‘THAT’S THE ONE WITH THE TEENY PENIS’, I did feel a bit bad about that though because he really does have a sweet face and I just sort of wanted to hug him and tell him that one day someone will love him, deformed penis and all.
The next blog member I bumped into was Tyrone the ultimate roadman who I went on one date with after Lovebox a few years ago, we never had a second date because he started talking loudly on the first date about being North London’s most wanted man. He called me over and we had a hug and exchanged a few pleasantries. I didn’t want to be rude in case he shot me in the face but luckily there was no gunshot and I got away intact. He has since messaged me a few times on my personal Insta account to tell me that ‘U woz lookin sexy and fine as hell babes’. I just messaged back ‘Safe Famamlam big love and more life to you my brudda’ (I didn’t really) but I’m diverting his messages in a polite but firm manner, I shall not be going on a date with him again.
My best friend Grace and I walked down to the main stage to see what was going on. There was fuck all going on but it was there that I spotted Nathan, the weirdo who looked like Count Von Count from Sesame Street, the weirdo who paid money to clear out a whole bar for us in some flashy lavish show of wealth but then took me back to his Mum’s house which smelt like Battersea dog’s home. The one who had a wank without me realising and came in my eye without my consent. Fucking prick. I’m still not over that. He had put on vast amounts of weight, and not in a good way. He was flabby and fat, it was all on his face and stomach but his legs were skinny. He looked absolutely fucked. I pointed him out to Grace and she was completely horrified “Layla, what the actual fuck were you doing going on a date with him?” I was mildly ashamed of myself but I explained that he is currently 15 stone heavier than he was back then and that I was infinitely more desperate at the time. She rolled her eyes and said “Thank God you have fixed up”.
That’s when I saw a really hot man walking by and said “Wow, now he’s the type I should be going for”. Grace looked at him and said “Babe, you dated him, he’s the one who went to my gym, you sent him a picture of your eye looking all fucked up”. She was right. He was Luke, the one from the same blog as Mr cum in your eye, he was the one who pretended to be autistic to avoid seeing me again after I sent him a picture of me with a fucked up eye accidentally. Luckily he did not notice me. I cannot believe that I didn’t recognise him but my best friend did, I am so happy that I did not try to pull a seductive face and lure him over.
I didn’t blog about the next guy who I spotted but I did put him on my Insta story. In brief, I met him online and went on a couple of dates with him. We didn’t have loads in common but we got on well enough. I invited him to my house on the third date, not for sex, but because he was trying to make it as a freelance personal trainer using a business page on Instagram and every picture he posted of himself was horrific so I invited him round to teach him how to take selfies. I sort of cussed his selfies, and I sort of cussed him a bit after he took the piss out of me for going on an anti-Conservative Government demonstration. I only cussed him lightly though and I still continued to help him with his shit photography skills, I shouldn’t have though because whilst I was giving him a selfie demo he looked at me and said:
“White people have got such thin lips, it’s mad, like sometimes I just look at White people’s lips like wooow, so thin”
I do not have thin lips by the way. I am not the sort of White person that you would look at and be reminded that White people have thin lips. The prick was just trying to make me feel inadequate because I had made him feel shit. I hadn’t meant to, but he was keen to bring me down. His White Mum must have had thin lips though, and he must have inherited them from her because he had thinner lips than me, and I told him so. Silly cunt. Needless to say we did not see each other again. But there he was romping around 51st State festival with his thin lips and no top on thinking he was some sort of sex god. He had the spottiest back I have ever seen in my life and I was so thrilled that I did not end up being intimate with him. He came over and just said ‘Alright?’ I nodded and walked off. It was not a particularly exciting meeting.
The final person who I saw was Marcus – the ex-footballer who ghosted on me on New Year’s Eve night a few years ago leaving me with £80 tickets and nobody to go out with. He really, truly upset me and I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. Marcus came up to me and gave me a big hug as if we were old friends. I didn’t mention him ghosting, I didn’t think there was any point. I’m well over it now. He asked me how things were and he offered to get me a drink and asked me to come to the VIP section with him to get it. I told him that I wouldn’t leave my friends and he said that he could get VIP bands for all of us, he asked how many I needed and I told him 6. He told me to stay where I was as he was going to get the passes, he kept saying “make sure you stay right there OK, I don’t want to go all the way there and sort this out to come back and not be able to find you”. I reassured him that I wouldn’t move but as soon as he walked off I went into a tent and never returned. I saw him through the tent door about 15 minutes later walking around looking confused and I gave myself a little pat on the back. Fuck you Marcus.
While I was in that tent, the Back to ’95 old school garage tent, I looked up and realised that I was dancing next to a good looking man. Curly hair, tall, nicely built, great jaw line, very much my type. I was well beyond sober so I felt no shame in going up to him and saying ‘Are you buzzing?’ I don’t know why that was my opening line, I think I just wanted to know whether he was a smashed as me because I was at the stage where I could no longer handle speaking to sober people for fear of judgement. He told me that he was and we started dancing together and chatting. He told me that his name was Max, he is a plumber from East London, 30, no kids, no girlfriend, no crazy exes (I asked).
I told him that I needed a wee (yes, I actually said that) and so I asked him for his number in case he moved by the time I came back. He took out a small old Nokia which fitted very nicely in the Back To’95 tent because I think that was when it was made, and I immediately told him that I did not want to give him my number anymore because he is clearly a drug dealer, only drug dealers have those phones. He looked at me strangely and said that it was his work phone and that his battery had died on his smart phone. It didn’t take much convincing and so I handed over the number.
As I was walking over to the shit and sick filled portaloos with my friends I realised that I had only seen Max with sunglasses on and I suddenly got worried that he could be severely crossed eyed, or that maybe he might only have one eye. Eyes are extremely important and so I began panicking about what kind of boss eyed freak I might have just exchanged numbers with. At that moment I saw him walking across the field and I shouted “I need to see your eyes – take off your glasses now please”. He waved at me and carried on walking. Fuck. I soon forgot about him when I bumped into a guy who I really recognised but couldn’t figure out where from. He was hot but he had funny teeth and he was gurning massively, although so was everyone else and so that didn’t really put me off. We established that we both follow each other on Instagram (my personal account) and we said a few pleasantries, his name was Richard and I promised myself that I would DM him when I got home. The same thing happened later on in the day with someone else, Harry. I hadn’t paid much attention to them on Instagram but in real life they were hot.
By 9pm the people I had gone to the festival with, Grace, Maria, and Alexa, had all flaked out and left but I was not ready to go and neither were two of the girls from the extended group, Becky (with the very good hair) and Sophie, so we stayed together and bonded massively. Becky was light skinned with light brown eyes and a pretty face. Becky was single and she was on the same vibe as me, we live in the same area, we’ve never met before but we connected like old friends. The festival finished at 10pm and Sophie wanted to get back to her boyfriend, but me and Becky were nowhere near ready to finish partying and so we walked out holding hands looking for a motive. We bumped into Max on our way out, this time he didn’t have his sunglasses on and I was pleased to find that he had two eyes and that they were both in the right place, although they looked a bit small and sticky out, I kept saying to Becky “Are his eyes normal? Am I hallucinating his eyes being weird or are they actually weird?” Becky assured me that he had normal eyes and so I was relieved and happy to keep talking to Max.
Max and I held hands as we walked and we had loads to talk about. He had lost his friends and so he asked if he could stick with us. We had decided that we were going to go to an after party at Egg club in Kings Cross and Max said that he wanted to join us. I was up for that. It was nice holding hands with Max and I wanted to continue to be around a male energy. When I am wasted I always want to be with a man. It’s been one of the hardest things about being so single that I don’t even have anybody to drunk text, those lonely post rave/bar nights when everyone goes back to their significant other and you are left to get an Uber home back to your dog. So I was a bit sad when Max got a call from his friends telling him to meet them. They were going off to Shoreditch and he invited us to come but I was in no fit state for Shoreditch, I needed to be with people who were in my current state and I knew that I would find them in Egg club. As we were saying our goodbyes Max was saying how nice it was to have met me, and Becky said “Wait, you two don’t know each other? You act like old friends!” I was super happy when Max said:
“I feel like we are, we’ve got an amazing vibe together, and I think that’s because we are both just digging each other so much. It feels so nice and calm.”
I was beaming. Then he said “I need to go and find them man you know” and my heart sank a little. Them man. I wanted to shout “DON’T YOU MEAN – THOSE MEN?” but I didn’t. He hadn’t spoken like that previously and so I decided to overlook it, but I am really serious now at this time in my life that I am no longer going to tolerate people who speak like that anymore. Anyone who says man instead of men is going to get blocked. I’m not standing for it.
Cockfosters tube station was the closest one to the festival but it was completely packed and so Becky and I decided to walk the 1.1 miles to Oakwood station to catch a train. During our walk Becky told me about her break up with her Daughter’s Dad and how messy and abusive the relationship had been. She had stayed single for a while after and then earlier this year she met and fell head over heels in love with an amazing man. Their relationship progressed quickly and they spent every day together. They both felt the same as each other and they holidayed together and began planning their future together until one day, 5 months into the relationship, he phoned her up and said that he couldn’t do this anymore. He gave a lame explanation about things moving too quickly and then he ghosted and she has not heard from him since. What an unbelievably cuntish thing to do. It’s bad enough when they ghost after a few days but to disappear from an established relationship like that is such a sign of emotional retardedness and selfishness that it hurts my brain to think that there are people capable of doing it. Becky had processed the hurt and she was not afraid of moving on and being open to meeting new men. Becky’s outlook on this confirmed how much I liked her and made me really want to be friends with her. I love people who can deal with shit and come out stronger.
Our train journey was full of nutcases, buzzed up festival people and weirdos but we loved it. During our journey we found out about a rave going on at Scala in Kings Cross – House of Silk. I haven’t been to Scala in years because I hate the venue but I was up for anything at that point. We arrived there at around 11.30pm and it was fairly empty. Scala is a huge old venue full of stairs. You have to walk at least 4 flights of stairs to get anywhere. The place is massive but there is one bar and one toilet and there are about 250 steps between the two. By this point it was a whole 12 hours since I had been at the gym and I hadn’t sat down since, I was beginning to feel major muscle aches, and although I wasn’t ready to go home, I didn’t have the physical capacity to move. I was thrilled that Becky was feeling exactly the same and so we both found a spot in the smoking garden and didn’t move for 3 hours. There were a lot of hot mixed race men in Scala that night but unless they smoked I was not going to meet them and I didn’t care.
Every time that I broke out of the smoking area to go to the toilet or to the bar, the dance floor got more and more packed, and every time I returned to Becky I would find that she had befriended another weirdo for us to talk to. I really enjoy making friends with random wasted ravers and Scala was a very good place to do that. Becky was talking to 3 of the strangest women that I had ever met in my life at one point, one of them told us that she had named her son after a one eyed character from Sponge Bob Square Pants. We laughed. She wasn’t joking. We also made friends with the happiest man on earth who had taken MDMA for the first time and who was loving life so much that I was worried that his joy was going to put him in cardiac arrest. I got stalked by a weird little Asian man who stood next to me while I was speaking to our new ‘friends’. He was repeatedly poking me on the shoulder and whispering “Have you got a man though?” But I thought he was saying “Have you got a MANGO?” and I kept spelling it out really clearly “NO. I. DO.NOT HAVE. A. MANGO.NOW PLEASE.LEAVE.ME.ALONE”. This went on for a really long time.
I noticed an extraordinarily good looking man walking out into the garden on his own. He was clearly off his face on Ecstasy. His jaw was swinging like Kerry Katona on This Morning and he was sweating. This did not take away from his divine beauty. He really looked fucked though and so I went up to him and said “You look like you need support. Would you like me to support you?” He looked extremely confused and said nothing so I repeated myself “I understand what it’s like to be on drugs and I am here to offer you some support”. I don’t know why I thought that this was the best way to approach a hot man, like some drugs outreach worker provided by FRANK to help people at raves, but it worked. He held my face with both hands and said “You are my perfect woman, I don’t know where you have come from but I am not leaving you now”. He then walked off and left. Half an hour later he came back to the smoking area with his friend and ran towards me shouting to his friend “There she is, I told you she was real”.
We got talking, his name was Ryan, he was 27 and from Harwich (I don’t actually know where that is but I know that he had a slightly Farmer-ish accent). He had travelled down with a big group of friend’s for his mate’s birthday and they had rented an Air B&B apartment nearby. He told me that he was recently single (3 months) after a 5 year relationship that had ended badly. He was a home owner, a business owner, and just generally seemed like a really sweet and stable guy (apart from the unbelievable gurning). Ryan was desperate to introduce me to all of his friends and so he dragged me around Scala until I had met all 11 of them. Ryan made me feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. He did not stop holding my hand, cuddling me and telling me how amazing I was. He told me that it felt like all his Christmases had come at once when I spoke to him and that he couldn’t believe that a woman like me would be interested in him. I lapped it up. He was exactly what I needed. I didn’t care that he was so off his face that he probably couldn’t actually make out what I looked like, right there and then we formed the perfect rave bond and I didn’t want to be away from him.
At around 3am Becky told me that she was beginning to flake and that she was ready to go. Becky lives really close to my house and at that moment I should have exchanged numbers with Ryan and got an Uber with my new BFF, but no, obviously I was so wrapped up in the joy of being complimented and given attention by an insanely gorgeous buzzing man that I decided to stay. I do this kind of thing sometimes. Once I start to party I never want to stop. Ryan and his friend’s promised Becky that they would look after me and Ryan begged me to stay. He didn’t need to beg, I wasn’t going anywhere. Once Becky left, Ryan and his boys looked after me like I was their long lost sister. They bought me drinks and made sure I was OK. Ryan was very, very handsome and so he kept getting approached by women constantly but he told them all that he was with me. I was loving life.
I told Ryan that I wanted him to come back to mine after we left Scala and I genuinely did not mean for sex. I wasn’t even remotely horny, I just had visions of us cuddling and saying nice things to each other in a comfortable bed. Ryan agreed and said that we would need to go back to his apartment to collect his stuff and that we couldn’t do that until the rave finished, so despite the fact that I was dying, I had to stay on the dance floor with my new gang because my friend had gone. I was dancing with my eyes closed and I momentarily fell asleep a couple of times. Ryan kept waking me up whispering sweet nothings into my ear but his romantic quotes from before had been replaced with more sexual ones and I was not sure if I liked it. At one point he said:
“You are literally my perfect woman, when I google porn I google you down to a T”
I asked him what he meant by that and I was absolutely gutted when he said the M word.
“You know, big tits, brunette, big bum, MILF”
I hadn’t thought about the age difference of 8 years at all. I didn’t feel like I was his senior, I just felt like we were the same age. I ignored it but it played on my mind. I hoped that I wasn’t some weird older MILF fantasy for Ryan, if I was then I had fully misread the situation. But still, I did not want to go home alone, I was tired but I was still awake and I really wanted to fall asleep in his arms, although I had started to go off of the idea of Ryan. I went to the smoking area by myself and as I was on my way there I passed another very good looking man in a corridor. I had noticed him a few times during the night but we hadn’t spoken because I was with my new Husband. He introduced himself as Louis. I don’t remember much else apart from what he looked like. I think he was better looking than Ryan. I remember him being very tall and muscular, he had curly hair and curly lashes, mixed race of course – Spanish and Jamaican – and he was dressed very well. I sort felt like I was being unfaithful to Ryan by talking to him but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I told him that I was in a hurry and he asked for my number. I didn’t want to seem too keen so I tried to do a sexy smile and I casually leant back against the wall, except it wasn’t a wall it was a door, and as I casually leaned back it swung completely open and I fell back against it while somehow managing to remain completely stuck to it, and I ended up in the next room.
Louis looked worried but I pretended it didn’t happen and just pulled myself and the door back to where we had been and gave him my number. I then went back to join Ryan and his friends on the dance floor. I saw Louis while I was there, he was looking around and I wondered if he was looking for me and I tried to hide a bit because I didn’t want to get caught cheating. I carried on partying with Ryan but I couldn’t stop thinking about Louis. Ryan and I walked out of Scala at 6am and we were both completely shocked at the fact that it was not night time anymore. The cold light of day was horrible and I have never felt so disgusting in my life. I had been going for nearly 24 hours and I must have looked like a homeless junkie.
We walked the short distance to Ryan’s apartment which was like hell on earth. Ryan was clearly a bit fucking thick because he had booked a 2 bed apartment for 12 people. There was no way I wanted to spend more than 5 minutes there and so I hurried Ryan out as quickly as I could. I should have given up at this point and just taken myself home alone but I had committed to this now and I had the idea in my head and so I went with it. That idea was still completely non-sexual. I was not horny at all. We got a Black Taxi back to mine at around 7am. We barely communicated once we were here. I stripped completely naked and got in the shower and he lay on my bed with his eyes closed. When I came out of the shower he got naked and got in, I didn’t bother to look at his body or his dick when he took his clothes off. It didn’t occur to me. Once we were both clean we smoked a spliff and got into bed. He spooned me and at that moment I was truly grateful for him being there. The feeling of his, very well sculpted, body against mine was just bliss. It had been 257 days (6 hours, and 43 seconds) since I had last been intimate with a man and I did not realise how much I had missed it.
I didn’t want to be sexual with him though. I was not feeling it in my vagina, I was feeling it in my heart (that’s so fucking cheesy but it is true). I turned around and we kissed. It was a really slow, deep, gentle kiss and I didn’t want it to stop. We kissed for what felt like hours and his dick became hard. I could feel it pressing against me and I knew that he wanted to fuck. I had no desire to but he jumped up and got a box of condoms out of his bag. I felt weird about that, like, he went out that night with the intention of going home with a girl. I had not gone out with that intention. It made me feels less special, less like he’d just happened to meet a woman who he really liked and more like he was out there searching for an available woman.
Ryan’s dick was really beautiful. Absolutely perfect, a good length but not too long, and he had girth. Because of the drugs Ryan was not able to get fully hard, the combination of his semi and his extra wide dick made it very hard to get the condom on. He got it half way and then climbed on top of me and put part of his dick inside me. He managed about 2 strokes before he went soft. When he pulled out the condom was completely split. It was at that moment that I completely sobered up. I was so angry with myself for breaking my celibacy for a two stroke semi with someone who I was probably never going to see again.
What the fuck had I been thinking? Why didn’t I go home after the festival? Why didn’t I go home when Becky left? Why did I want to stay out gallivanting around town looking for male attention? I was having the time of my life to be honest, but now, now I was in my bed next to a guy I barely knew who’s smelly trainers were beginning to toxify my bedroom. For what reason? I hadn’t even bought him round for sex. I wasn’t even horny. It just sort of happened and I wished that it hadn’t. I loved the intimacy but I felt pissed off about the sex. We slept for a couple of hours and he left mine at 11am. I was thankful when he went. I got in the shower feeling really sorry for myself and I was especially fucked off that I now have to live with a slight sense of anxiety for 2 weeks while I wait to go to the clinic. I don’t know if it’s just me but whenever I have a slip up I literally begin feeling STI symptoms up until the moment that I get the negative results. I’m feeling them now. I hate feeling like this.
I slept for most of Sunday and once I woke up I reviewed my previous 24 hours and I remembered that predominantly it was fantastic. I made a new friend, I had an amazing time with my current friends, I caught up with old ones, I saw that Count von Count was now an obese walrus, I got revenge on Marcus, I had received DMs from Harry and Richard, and I’d also had WhatsApps from Max and Louis. My dead phone line was now alive and kicking. My confidence had a boost. The only thing that I regretted, apart from physically draining myself to the point of near death by dancing for 12 hours and not eating for 18, was going home with Ryan and trying to have sex with him. I decided that he doesn’t count. Two minor strokes with a flaccid penis is not sex. So yeah, I haven’t had sex for 259 days.
Ryan and I didn’t exchange numbers. While he was laying in my bed he took my phone and added himself via my personal Insta. When I remembered that I went to look at his page and realised that he had cancelled the follow request. I had no intention of speaking to him again but I was really fucked off. Like, how dare you!? I was tempted to DM him saying ‘Impotent cunt’ but I refrained. Later that night Ryan sent me a DM and saying:
‘I can’t add you on here, my ex knows all my passwords and causes havoc whenever I add anyone x’
‘So why don’t you change your passwords then?’ I replied, knowing full well that the reason is because she is not his ex-girlfriend.
‘She knows the e-mail one too’
‘So why don’t you change the e-mail password too? Actually, don’t answer that. You are clearly not single.’
‘I am a single man, I’m just not sure if I am able to cut all ties yet. You’re the first girl I’ve been with since. I feel weird. I haven’t done anything like this in 5 years’
I wanted to say ‘Well why did you have a box of condoms then?’ but I didn’t. I didn’t respond at all. What would be the point? I felt a bit reassured about the STI thing but I felt dreadful that I had spent the night with another woman’s man. He had not given off any warning signs, but to be fair, I was in no fit state to have picked up on them if he had. I was wasted and I lost myself. I kind of needed to. It’s been a long time since I let loose completely and just went with my feelings without thinking. I could be sitting here deeply regretting it all, I wish I’d never met Ryan, but I don’t really care that much. In the grand scheme of things it wasn’t a big deal. He hasn’t changed my life or impacted on me in any great way. I probably won’t even remember his name in a year’s time. It was a well needed reckless 24 hours and a stark reminder of why recklessness should be rare. I came, I raved, and I got a load of new blog material, I’m happy with that. It will not happen again for a very, very, long time if ever at all.