#69 had barely exited my post-Pride party when I headed for my list to update it. I was classy like that.* It was stuck on the inside of a cupboard in my bedroom, with three fields: “name”, “where from”, and “explanation”.

#70 watched with interest. “Nine,” he said once I’d finished, “I’ve always liked the number 70**.” And so we kissed for the hell of it.

I had only met #70 recently and he’d gotten together with #71 that night (so guess what’s coming next). He’d also gone home with #63 not long before this episode, which was kind of exciting because up until then I’d just assumed #63 was straight. And the following summer, I think #70 and I had another couple of boys in common.

We were at a party in Marchmont about a year after our first kiss when we kissed again in a cunning effort to thwart the cosmic timeshare. This was something #28 and I had identified in our Montague Street flat: only one of us was able to get action at any given time. The cosmic timeshare also affected behaviours such as feeling depressed or being productive, but my principal concern was the action, especially now that #28 had gone and found himself a boyfriend. It looked like I was doomed to have no more fun for the foreseeable future, and #28 was meeting his boyfriend while I was at the party with #70.

So we kissed for the hell of it again, and I explained about the cosmic timeshare to onlookers, and I imagine they gave me the sort of smile that you give people when they’re drunkenly babbling and being ridiculous.

I hadn’t had any plans after that, but I wound up getting off that night with either #85 or #95, depending on which party it was, and it was maybe the night I left my keys in the sink for some reason and had to wake up #110 because I couldn’t get into my flat. When I finally saw #28 the next day, I asked him gleefully how his night had been, eager to crow about my scandal.

“It was going fine,” he explained, “and then my boyfriend’s ex showed up and hung out with us and I didn’t get any more action for the rest of the night.” This turned out to have happened at pretty much the exact time I kissed #70. The cosmic timeshare remained in place, but at least one of us had had a good night.

* Nowadays at least I have the good grace to wait a day or two.

** Actually he said “73”, because that’s what number he really was. I can only assume that the three missing people were from the spin-the-bottle era and not some important formative experience I’ve completely forgotten about.


~ by Nine on 15 January 2009.

One Response to “#70”

  1. I wish I had kept a list.


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