Archive | August, 2013

The Lambada

30 Aug

At work the Polish girls were talking about pop music they heard on the radio in the mid-eighties, Modern Talking’s Brother Louie, the big hair and camp Euro-pop, then Monika mentioned The Lambada, the mere mention of the song title send a shudder through me.


I would have been 17 I think when the Lambada song and dance craze took off, so it would have been Christmas night 1987 and the whole family were down the local pub, The British Lion ( to my knowledge lions are not native to Britain but that’s another blog).


Towards the end of the night my mum’s friend, Gladys who must’ve been 50 if she was a day and to put it politely was pretty well oiled by 11pm, determinedly made her way over to me through the busy pub,

As the music started up she was hacking at the drunken revelers like a soldier in the jungle with a big knife to get to me.

She wanted me, a very shy and rather sober 17 year old (shocking, I know but I didn’t really drink then) to dance the Lambada with her.

I turned in horror to my mum, who handed me over to her like a sacrificial lamb.


“Have a dance with her, it’s Christmas”


For those that may not know, the Lambada was a Latin American dance of seduction that required very loose hips and hopefully a passion for the person you were dancing with, I had neither.


She thrust one of her legs between my legs grabbed me around the waist, to steady herself as much as anything I think, and then threw the top half of her body back, shimmying her shoulders and proceeded to writhe around bringing herself up to me and away from me, all the while wriggling her leg further between my legs until her mini-moo was wedged on my crotch – all the while I stood there rigid, horrified and praying for the song to be over, and trying to keep her tongue away from my ear.


Remember I was 17, she was at least 50, when after what felt like an eternity the song was finally over, she handed me back to my mum with the words I’ve never forgotten.


“it was like dancing with an ironing board”.


David the First

11 Aug

My first proper boyfriend, as opposed to drunken fumbles on club stairs was David Hulse.

David the first, we met on Friday March 1st 1996, in the upper bar of Central Station in Kings Cross, our relationship, such as it was, lasted for a full four weeks, as he phoned me on the Friday night of the 29th March to say that he thought we should just be friends … I don’t think either of us was particularly heartbroken by this news

I’d only actually physically spent two nights with David during our 28 days, most of our communication was done via the telephone, I remember late night calls from a phone-box, him telling me that just the sound of my voice had made him feel better.

He called from a phone-box because he wasn’t out to his housemates, and early 1996 was still pre-mobile phones for most people. Usually just as I was getting ready to go to bed he’d phone and talk for an hour. I think British Telecoms probably mourned the end or our relationship more than either of us did.

I was upset as I liked him, he was a sweet boy, at 23 he was 3 years younger than me, although I have a feeling that I told him I was 25 at the time as I thought a 2 year age gap made me less of a cradle snatcher.

Our first night was naturally enough the night I’d met him, I’m a good girl I am, well not a prick tease anyway.

When we went downstairs at Central Station is seemed to be full of old men, so we headed off into town, long drunken snogs in 79CXR, coming up for air and David telling an older queen looking at us that we’d just met that night, the older queen pursed his lips and said, “You don’t say”.

Our second date we went to the cinema to see Withnail & I, it was one of his favourite films.

We didn’t do a great deal – we were both quite naive and innocent, I remember wanking him off, he came loads, cum everywhere, he looked horrified that it had happened in front of someone else and he apologised, me being me I’m sure I reassured him with “s’alright” and a shrug of my shoulders.

After David I decided I just wanted to make friends and enjoy being on the gay scene, which I did.

 I had made a conscious decision not to date anyone for 6 months, in September, 5 months later I was ready to met someone so decided I wouldn’t go looking for someone but I would say yes to the next person that asked for my number or asked me on a date – showing my age again – pre-Internet days.

The first person to ask to swap numbers was another David,  David Clarke (the second). We phoned and arranged to meet in the Black Cap on the Wednesday, I chose the pub as he lived in North London and I thought it was an equal distance for both of us (considerate me) but he’d never been there before and from the name of the pub he had fears it may be a leather/fetish bar.

 I was quite drunk the night we swapped numbers, as I sat in the Black Cap bar hoping I’d recognise him when he appeared.

David Clarke was a Vet, when friends would phone me at work, I used to refer to him as the Vet, but still colleagues ears were flapping so he soon became Evette (the Vet).

An unfortunate side effect of his profession was that his fingers seemed to have a natural tendency for worming their way into bottoms – I was not a fan.