My inappropriate weekend revealed

I open my eyes. One at the time, as both feels like too much effort. I survey the room around me. Everything looks unfamiliar. Even with both eyes open, things don’t get any better. To my right there’s a red wall and a Victorian window. I have been hearing trains coming in and leaving every few minutes. I realise it’s the Tube, which must mean I’m in London. 

Something snaps into place. London. I'm in Longshanks’ bed. Cringing inside, I turn my head to the left, slowly. There’s an electric blanket on the bed, but I wonder if that's the only thing that kept me warm last night?

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Rewind 24 hours. I’m on my way to London. Longshanks and I have decided to meet up. I’ve been invited to stay at his place. Shall I bring a sleeping bag? No, I’m told.

I’ve never been here, but I find the place easily enough. How did we do it before iPhones? I ring the doorbell and he appears. Despite being February, he’s tanned. He also has very long hair and a beard. His blue eyes are piercing amongst all that dark. One word: hot. He hugs me and grabs my overnight bag. I’m a bit wobbly on my legs as we go up the stairs to his flat.

He shows me around and offers me tea and a muffin. I remind him I'm not British. He makes coffee. We sit down, sip our drinks, tell each other we look fab. Then we get changed and go out. I have brought an evening outfit, but we’re heading out at 5pm and staying out. I decide to ditch the heels, as there’s no way I can trudge around London in 4-inch heels for like eight hours. I’m tall enough in my flat boots.

We walk along the South Bank, do a silly little ‘horror tour’ thing, stroll loads and talk even more. It’s like the old days - just I finally know where I stand. We live 150 miles apart. He's not looking for a relationship. He points out a couple of times he’s really happy we stayed in contact and he really values our friendship. We talk about our dating disasters. I open up about my ex boyfriend. His personality is quite different from what I remember. He's insecure and the boldness has gone. He’s not as loud as he was, not as cocky. I get the impression that this is the real him. I like it that he’s being himself.

We grab some food, then go to our show. One of his friends has got a ticket and joins us. He’s a great guy. The 3 of us have a lovely time – it’s like being with old friends. By the end of the show, I’ve had two pints and half a bottle of white wine. (I should point out that I normally don’t do pints). Coming back from the ladies’, I plop down on my seat and inadvertently sit on my neighbour’s hand. She’s not happy. When we leave, I have to lean onto Longshanks’ friend’s arm to get down the staircase. Classy. Thank Heaven I’m in flats.

We move on to a cocktail bar, then to a club. At this point our friend goes home and it’s just us again: Longshanks, I and about a zillion units of alcohol between us. There's this moment when two Italians who're queuing behind us make a string of racist comments, thinking nobody understands. That’s out of order. I turn around and give them The Stare. They shut up. Longshanks is impressed.

The club is packed and apparently the bar is closing shortly, so we grab two drinks each. I can barely handle one. We dance, and Longshanks puts his hands on my waist. It’s probably the alcohol, but suddenly the atmosphere has changed. I swivel to put my empty drink on a table, and he grabs me by the hips. I’m too drunk to react. And it feels nice. I don’t think it surprises either of us when he lifts up my chin and kisses me. I get pushed closer to him by the crowd. He kisses me again. The next few minutes are a bit of a haze, but what I do know is that I have to go to the toilet. When I come back (with bare legs, as I had a massive ladder in my tights), Longshanks is waiting for me, holding my jacket. He grabs my hand and we go catch the night bus.

We have to wait a good 20 minutes, which I reckon saves the night. The fresh air does me a world of good and by the time we get to his place, I feel a lot more normal. I’m shivering though, and he has put his jacket on my shoulders. We go to his bedroom. I let go of his hand and start taking off my jewellery. But Longshanks has other plans.

He grabs me and pulls me towards him. He takes my blazer off and drops it on the bed. Then he picks me up. Literally, like a doll. He’s a big guy, a lot taller than me, and he barely seems to notice my weight. He pulls my mouth to his and wraps my legs around his waist. I won’t remind you that I’m wearing a very short dress, and, at this point, no tights.

There’s only so much of this I can take. It feels really good, but I just don’t want it to happen. I’m feeling remarkably sober at this point, and I just move my face away and say ‘please put me down’.

And that is that. Sorry if this is a bit of a let-down, but somehow I manage to talk him out of it, kiss him goodnight and shut him out of his bedroom before things go any further. And that’s how I get to wake up in his bed, alone, the following morning. There's this moment when he comes back into the bedroom to grab the spare duvet for the sofa and put the electric blanket on for me. At that particular point, I’m prancing around in my underwear taking my make up off with wipes. Almost ends badly again. I guess my willpower is a lot stronger than I think?

In the morning, I fear things might be awkward but they’re not. The atmosphere is relaxed. It turns out neither of us has a hangover (God works in mysterious ways). I’m a hungry hippo and devour the fry-up he cooks for us. No sausages for me though – which quickly turns into a joke. We then go out and spend the afternoon strolling in a park and chatting away. I can’t pick up any tension. Things are just like yesterday afternoon.  

Before I leave, he sits me down and says he had a great weekend. He loves spending time with me. He wants us to be friends. He wants to be able to see me even if I start dating somebody. The physical stuff is great, but it just happens if we both feel like it. Then he kisses me on the mouth before I get off the car.

If that day you saw a tall, Italian-looking girl on the way to Paddington, sporting wild hair and a royally confused look on her face, chances are it was me.

Pupa x