Meet D the Twirlie
I figure on a new blog I probably have to write a lot of stuff at first, since there is nothing to link too. I’ve read other blogs for a while, but generally don’t link back to my own professional blog. So if I am going to do this on a new blog I better put some material up.
As I mentioned in about Connecticut Yankee, I have a love-love relationship with a British boy. He is fabulous. We shall refer to him as D the Twirlie. This is because he is a dancer, and in musical theatre lingo, a twirlie is a dancer. FYI – turns are actors and musos (or museos) are musicians.
So Twirlie is a dancer whom I met on Clapham Common. Stop laughing. My roomate at the time was having a picnic and she worked with D the Twirlie (hereafter D) at a local bar. I was coming back from the library and my friend – well I guess she needs a name now, so lets refer to her as Adventure Girl, more on that later – phoned me up and asked if I cared to join her. So I grab my dog P (P is very protective of his identity, he is actually a model. I kid you not, he was headhunted in the park) and we head up to the Common. It is here I meet D, with whom I get on very well. Thing is, D thinks I am straight because Adventure Girl talked about my at that time immediate ex-girlfriend, lets call her Obsessed. No, I am not full of myself. She still wants to get together, tough cookie that one. Anyway, D thinks I am nice apparently, because after they head to the bar and I head home with P, Adventure Girl rings me to say that D liked me, was not working tonight and wanted to know if I would like to hang out. I think, yes, being a new liberated homo and figure I must make it clear that I am not as straight as it seems.
So, I shower and put on a reasonably gay preppy outfit consisting of:
messy look, spiked hair, crowned with the obligatory US jock visor. This time around I choose a blue visor with a little wale on it, very New England.
I wear an Abercombie and Fitch blue top (With no A&F logo on it, so crass that logo). The number 35 adorns my left pec, however. The number is kinda stamped on there. The top is that thermal kind of material, that is tight fitting and shows of my at that time well defined chest and shoulders.
I wear slightly baggy jeans, the make of which I cannot remember. Underneath, I wear a pair of grey boxer briefs and on the feet are a pair of reef flipflops. The jeans hang just low enough so that the band of the briefs comes out on top, but my shirt is long enough so tht you only get the occasional peek when I strech for something. Perfect.
I should note that at this time I was still rowing competitively and had just come back from our summer house in the States (yes, everyone from CT must have a summer house, I know, so cliche) so I had a nice tan, covering my 44 shoulders and 32 waist. I am now a sorry comparison.
So I hopped on my bike and went round to his place, which was about five minutes away. We had a great night, where I made it abundently clear that I was not that straight.
At the end of the night it went something like this:
Him: Would you like to come back to my place for a drink?
Me: Sure.
a bit later…
Him: Would you like to stay the night?
Me: Sure.
a bit more later…
Him: Do you mind if I kiss you?
Me: Sure.
Probably the only time in my life that I was short on words.
Anyway, we’ve been together ever since and it will be three years shortly.
Below is a pick of D the Twirlie in action, D is on the left of the pic.
Leave a Reply