Poor #114 never really stood a chance. He was my friend’s flatmate. He came from Glasgow, was maybe nineteen (I was twenty-three), probably a student, and worked in a pub. He was kind of quiet; I guess I never knew much about him. I kissed him one night when a bunch of us were drinking at my flat. It was maybe the night I’d kissed #111 (okay, the chronology may be slightly out of whack for this era), and apparently when #114 left the room for two minutes he returned to find me making out with #113 (okay, so the night I slept with #113 maybe wasn’t the only time I kissed him. Anyway, this particular night at my flat was also possibly the night that #110 passed out and then woke up to find #113 going down on her. All in all, we were a classy bunch).
I was vaguely seeing #114 for a week or two, but I don’t really remember anything other than a party at his flat. Then I lost my job and decided I oughta blow my savings before applying for dole, so I jumped on a courier flight to Tokyo and came back in debt. It was much like two years previously when I went to Japan for the first time and #63 awaited my return: I came back and said actually let’s not do this. I have very little recollection of the whole episode, so hopefully it wasn’t a big deal to him.