Print Story Good health, much money and everything good!
Sex
By bob6 (Wed Jan 04, 2006 at 02:47:14 AM EST) (all tags)
Now, since work is so boring today, I'll write my 365th night.

No good resolutions this year.


What shall we do for New Year's Eve?
As usual, we didn't know where we would pass the year. One thing I was sure: I wished to be with my closest friends since last year we were in Rio (I didn't need to tell that but I wanted to make you all envious). Fortunately great news came in the form of an e-mail: "this eastern European friend of a friend of mine is holding a party in his flat, there will be a lot of DRUNK EASTERN EUROPEAN GIRLS!". Great news indeed, there was prospect for a great party involving drinking without being a soirée de couilles.

The friends mentioned above are all stuck in various degrees of celibacy so they were very excited by this perspective. I was quite amused to hear that one of them spend the whole day choosing which shirt to wear, for referencing purposes I'll call him Narcissus in this diary. Since I'm a happily married man, seduction was out of question for myself even though ce n'est pas parce qu'on a commandé qu'on ne peut pas regarder le menu. We were excited too because it's been a while since our last party...

A Simple Day
Grasse matinée, of course: we don't want to be exhausted too soon tonight, do we? The wife was a little suspicious about the whole lots-eastern-girls thing, but I'm genuinely a trustworthy person...

Okay? No sudden thunderbolt? No trumpets of final judgement? Where was I? Ah yes...

I'm genuinely a trustworthy person and husband, but she doesn't trust the other girls to be reasonably daunted by a wedding ring. Of course she didn't tell me all this but I could sense it so I recommended we took some preventive measures before breakfast. At least we would be settled on a pheromonal level.

Later I received the address where the party was to be held. I thought to myself the guy must be stupidly rich since he lived in a extremely posh neighbourhood. Let's not dress like bums --I usually consider parties as a dress hazard (smoke odours, drink spatters, puke disasters). No need to be hype but we never know the kind of culture our hosts are and the address suggested a classier kind of event.

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading Look to Windward until two friends (let's call them Godeffroy and Detective Foley) arrived. We had invited them to share the dinner and drive together to the party, it wouldn't be safe to come on an empty stomach. We ate a pizza (home made) and a chocolate-chestnut cake (not home made).

The Partay
It was a not so large flat but still nice and comfortable on top of a business building. It was probably lent to our benefactor by his company (I still don't know his job). At 10:30 we were among the first so we started to drink punch and socialise with the few who had arrived. The punch was a bit light on Rum and heavy on fruits which was okay since New Year's Eve is notoriously drink oriented. Less than an hour later everybody was there and it was an awesome sight...

The lots of girls statement was underrated: fifty somewhat women for barely more than a dozen guys and two gays, afaict. Each girl was good looking in her own way and all tastes could be satisfied: tall, short, blonde, red, fat, skinny, hippie, snobbish slut, femme fatale, garçon manqué, mignonne, intellectual dominatrix, black and beautiful, etc. They came from all over the world, places like Peru, Poland, Madagascar and even fucking Mongolia. She had set her hair with a plait on each side of the head and wore silver trousers, red boots and a blue silken jacket with yellow dragon patterns: she was so obviously Mongolian (after I was told) and cute that I expected her to draw a sword at any moment, start hoping on confettis and wuxing around Champagne bubbles. Narcissus was freaking out, he took me apart:
- My bollocks are exploding and my eyes are burning, he said.
- Calm down, take a deep breath, focus!
- Don't you wish you weren't married?
- Uh, no. Not at all, if I wasn't, Ms bob6 would have been my girlfriend, which would be roughly the same.
- I mean, look around you, if you were single you would be able to pick any one of these girls, maybe two!
- Mmm. Let's see how you perform, I may be the last to laugh.
- Don't you feel a bit aroused?
- Yeah, a bit. But we took preventive measures, I nudged him.

Old wisdom says love blinds but, at this moment, I thought it brought me some lucidity. Something was definitely suspicious with this girl galore but I couldn't put my finger on it. Godeffroy has an heritage from old European aristocratic families, so he found the perfect words to describe the situation: Le Bal des Débutantes. My clear-sighted beloved one put it differently with a more contemporary female analogy, she said it was a "Ally McBeal" party.
Indeed people were around 30, very well dressed, apparently gifted and much endowed. However, so concerned by their career, they forgot to have good time, fun sex and love. I warned Narcissus and Dilbert (another somewhat single friend) to choose carefully their preys because most of them won't even consider giving a phone number if they don't display patte blanche, their paychecks and their willingness to commit themselves into a long term relationship (a nightmare according to them). In other words they were competing with Prince Charming in Disguise.
Godeffroy acknowledged me, he has a shitty job and really wasn't interested, he's a desperate case anyway. Detective Foley's a cop, not interested either, desperate too. Dilbert has a well paid desk job, he's intelligent and caring, he would fit perfectly. Narcissus is an unemployed delusional lazybones exclusively committed to his own sorry ass. He replied that I was bitter from frustration of being involved right now, not allowed to touch the treasures of wild mating. Right. He also claimed that he would bank on his incredible sex appeal and that he will begin 2006 with his dribbling cock between buttocks and that I will be jealous. Blah, blah, blah.
A bit of context. Narcissus and I have a history of sex appeal friendly competition (men are just like that). He's just taking the advantage I'm not in a seducing trip and whatever he achieves tonight will be better than me, from his eyes. Did I tell you we were close friends? We are indeed. And insecure.

I didn't mention the fridge yet, it was a huge American sized full of Champagne and Vodka (unfortunately no Tequila). I decided to stick to Champagne because it tastes good, makes a sweet drunkenness and, without the interference of any other drink, it's nearly hangover free. No drugs. Given the atmosphere, I expected some coke, but no. At least my intoxication would be limited. The host was a fan of Brazil and Maghreb so dancing mainly involved ass shaking, belly rubbing and hand weaving. In the overall this make a hell of a good party, I had much fun drinking, dancing and watching my buddies prendre des rateaux.

The sheer sex-ratio pressure made things easier for my predator friends. Dilbert played very smooth and focused, he eventually got Peruvian Goddess of Love's number. Godeffroy tried nothing, got nothing, as expected. Detective Foley tried once, failed once and got sulky and started ranting about class warfare, as expected. Narcissus tried everything except the approachable and got Short Ugly Blonde's number. There was this woman that came from Mars, she was quite beautiful and wore a black strapless dress that holds on the body by the miracles of gravity and protuberance, she had put an Hindu style orange cloth over one shoulder (not a sari but close), then a tight necklace made of four lanes of fine pearls. Wow! Narcissus broke his teeth on her, I ended the slaughtery so he could move on and have actually a chance with somebody less unreachable. I managed to break the head game she was leading by spotting her fragrance (Eau de Parfum de Castelbajac). This trick always impresses sophisticate ladies, however one has to have a good sense of smell or really lucky to recognise a scent (I was lucky since Castelbajac's got this unique almond scent). I may seem paternalistic toward Narcissus but the Martian was fucking with him, she was giving him hopes but no chances. I think he should have talked to Very Low Neckline Naked Back Dress who was drooling at him, but he didn't felt like it. I tell you love opens your eyes, it's abstinence that makes you blind.

Ms bob6 is a socialiser, she actually talked to people so she could fill me with some details after the events. For instance, she is the one who was able to tell the nationalities and jobs of everyone. She's also a good judge of character so she could assist the friends in focusing to the right preys. She danced too, she always shines when they play Rai music. Some fool thought he could have a chance with her but she's a bit fierce, in a sweet manner.

Myself, well, I basically danced my sweat off, drank Champagne and stick to my reputation: utterly ignoring, thus destroying, any attempt to socialise with me. I suck at seducing, that's not a consequence of being married, I've always been like that. I'm very mean and supercilious at the first contact, I'm only nice if one scrapes a bit... a lot. But then I'm extra nice. This night I blew it, here are some examples:

Situation: At fifteen to midnight, Arabian Princess hugs me and squeezes her body on me: "That's it! Happy new year 2006"
Smart Playboy: Prolongates the hug until midnight.
Innocent bob6: "huh? It's not midnight yet, happy new year btw".

Situation: Short Cute Mignonne reaches me on the dance floor and says "You're bursting with energy! You didn't stop dancing since the beginning of the party!".
Smart Playboy: "It's only a starter darling, I've got plenty more, wanna dance with me?".
Innocent bob6: "You're wrong, I've often stopped in order to drink!".

Situation: Black Shirt Black Tie British Gay smiles at me, turns his head a bit and blinks slowly.
Smart Playboy: Grabs him to dance or offers to fetch some drinks.
Innocent bob6: Smiles, blushes and avoids eye contact.

Situation: Maybe Illegal Maiden grabs a handful chest hair and tells: "How manly! You're not like those metrosexual gay wannabes who shave everything!". That was subtle.
Smart Playboy: Does anything but bob6's primary reaction.
Innocent bob6: "My wife loves to rest her head on it".

Situation: So you think all of this was trivial? Listen to this one. Having some Champagne in my bladder, I rush to the toilets without realising there was a queue. When I put my hand on the doorknob, Gorgeous Black Woman with Unabridged Feminine Attributes (am I overdoing the names?) yells at me she's the next. After some words of apology and after-yous, she submits the idea I pee in the washbasin while she sits on the proper toilet.
Smart Playboy: Accepts.
Innocent bob6: Refuses.
Asian Tall Guy who was next after her in the queue told me I was a fucking loser, that a similar opportunity would never show up again, ever (he was so upset he didn't let me jump the queue). Then I realised she just suggested WE LOCKED OURSELVES TOGETHER IN THE BATHROOM. I'm glad I suck that much because that kind of event could definitely jeopardise my marriage.

Keys to Idiomatic French
Soire de couilles: Bollocks party. A party where men vastly outnumber women.
Ce n'est pas parce qu'on a commandé qu'on ne peut pas regarder le menu: Having ordered doesn't prevent from reading the menu. The relationship is cool enough about jealousy so each one can lust on other people, limits may vary.
Grasse matinée: Fat morning. Staying late in bed, sleeping or not.
Garçon manqué: Failed boy. Manly girl.
Le Bal des Débutantes: The Maiden Ball. A yearly party held in a Parisian palace where aristocracy and celebrities are invited. Everybody dresses with extreme luxury. Young upper class ladies traditionally go there in order to find a husband.
Montrer patte blanche: To show white paw. To demonstrate some degree of honesty, soundness and all-rightness. In reference to sheep and big bad wolf tales.
Prendre un rateau: To take a rake. Being rejected when trying to seduce. Narcissus took plenty.

Conclusion
This was a fun New Year's Eve party, I hope the rest of the year goes like this. My feelings about Ms bob6 and our relationship was strenghtened, not that it needed to, but I still thank social thermodynamics to put us on the way of each other.
Despite all my mockery, half of my celibate specialists are going to get laid after all.
Oh, and we may have acquired some high society friends.

Disclaimer
This diary contains actual events as well as fantasies. I bet you can't guess which parts are real or made up.
< End of Year Review | BBC White season: 'Rivers of Blood' >
Good health, much money and everything good! | 5 comments (5 topical, 0 hidden) | Trackback
I've spotted the made up bit! by Herring (4.00 / 1) #1 Wed Jan 04, 2006 at 03:26:48 AM EST
The pizza wasn't home-made.

christ, we're all old now - StackyMcRacky
Damn! by bob6 (2.00 / 0) #2 Wed Jan 04, 2006 at 03:50:12 AM EST
The pizza pastry and the tomato filling was bought. You're good.

Cheers.
[ Parent ]
In America, we call it a sausage party by georgeha (2.00 / 0) #3 Wed Jan 04, 2006 at 04:37:00 AM EST
sounds like a fun time indeed.


Delicate... by bob6 (2.00 / 0) #4 Wed Jan 04, 2006 at 05:04:38 AM EST
Well, we just discovered soirée moules (mussel party).

Cheers.
[ Parent ]
Ah, the bearded clam party by georgeha (4.00 / 1) #5 Wed Jan 04, 2006 at 05:19:05 AM EST
I don't know if that's what they're called over here, I just remember a gal in college not believing there was such a thing ( a shame I didn't have the confidence to tell her to look between her legs).


[ Parent ]
Good health, much money and everything good! | 5 comments (5 topical, 0 hidden) | Trackback