Greek myths disbanded

To quote my pal Rachel 'You've got to have a date to find a date' and indeed that has often proved to be the case for me. One example was a matter of weeks after I'd been out with the "you're not funny" bloke, I found myself at a dinner party, regaling everyone with that same story in salacious detail (see below).

Anyway, the room loved the anecdate. I was working it. People were laughing. I was back "on form" as any number of the posh kids in the room would have said. But the person who seemed most interested was a stunningly handsome Greek. When I say Greek, I just mean an English public schoolboy with the longest eyelashes in the world and a rather unpronounceable name. He insisted on sitting next to me at supper to hear more, but I promise I was so dazzled was I by his utter beauty that it didn't even occur to me that he was flirting. And so my wit didn't dry up at all, as is so often the case around such extremely pretty boys. Honestly, when he pounced in the hideous nightclub (complete with £15 vodka tonics, sweat on the walls, and gaudily-dressed Eurotrash types), I was utterly surprised. My wit then departed me for good. In fact, I think my response was: "Oh. Wow."

But even this didn't put him off, and we went back to his place, and he dazzled me further with some expert kissing and a couple of very pleasant orgasms. He kept telling me how I was just incredibly sexy. Always nice to hear. Until I realised the Europop had deafened me slightly and he was actually saying "You are so sexual". [sidepoint, I am listening to music as I type this and SWEAR DOWN that Marvin Gaye's "sexual healing" just came onto the radio. Amazing.] Anyway, I ignored this, but was unable to ignore his prolonged description of how his ex-girlfriend really hadn't been sexual at all. Again, not much you can say to that. I believe I opted for "Um."

But the next morning, again, utterly adoring, gazing from under those eyelashes, and popping out to the farmer's market to buy the wherewithal to make me a smoked salmon and organic scrambled egg breakfast. "Stay here," he insisted. "Use any of the products in the bathroom." Well, my oh my. He had more products than me and my 2 sisters combined. Standing in the shower, I realised what I'd done. I'd not pulled some Greek Alpha Male type. On the contrary, I'd found me a metrosexual. It explained why he was sensitive about his ex, and surprised to meet a woman who actually enjoyed sex, etc etc. 

It was utterly novel. For the time we dated, I was in the company of someone who ALWAYS smelled good; who appreciated arthouse cinema (I pretended I did too), who thought of me and called when he did; who made sure I came first, whose sheets had a higher thread-count than my own. For a brief little moment there, I thought I was onto a winner.

But, as Socrates said [(c) Wikipedia] 'people who take the sun-lit world of the senses to be good and real are living pitifully in a den of evil and ignorance'... And so the cracks began to show. Most notably when he came out of my bathroom complaining that none of my moisturiser was suitable for his sensitive skin. The chatter about his girlfriend held up. Indeed all the chatter seemed to be mostly about him: his work, his family, his Greekness, his skincare regime, etc. I started to wonder if I was nothing but a sounding-board for this personal ego-massage.

So, lying in bed (after generously giving some pretty spectacular head... and fyi metro-sperm does actually taste better), I leant over and tested my theory, purring "Isn't it your birthday next week?" Even in spite of having suspected the basic result, I don't think I could have been more surprised when he replied blithely "Yes. It is. And I'm having a party. And you're not invited."

Turns out he was desperately worried about how he would introduce me to his pals, since we weren't properly a couple, and it was still early days, and it was just a small event, and how could he possibly not invite old friends, but invite me? As he wittered on about this personal concern of his and how very tough it had been coming to this decision, I came to one too. It was fun mounting the Olympus, but Eros hadn't shown up. So it was time to let that ship sail...