#149 was involved with a club I wound up at. I’d been there the month before, and my friend Frank had disappeared to go talk to him, basically because #149 looked so androgynous that Frank was dying to know his gender. He returned some time later to report that #149 was both male and friendly.
When I found myself there again, sans Frank, and having just lost #110, who was getting off with a really hot colleague of hers who subsequently turned out to be Trouble, I decided to go over and introduce myself to #149 too. I was relieved to find that he was indeed very nice, and the sort of person to whom you can introduce yourself out of the blue without getting funny looks. We were sitting drinking together, and I showed him my scar, because it was still a new thing so I liked to show it off at every opportunity, and then he commented that we were the same build and that if we were a couple we could wear each other’s clothes. And then I kissed him.
“You’re coming home with me tonight!” he said. But I wasn’t.
I gave him my number, but I issued an instant disclaimer about not really getting involved with people. I’d failed to invite #148 out with me that night simply because I felt intimidated by the prospect of being glued to the same person the whole time without any chance of variation, so I didn’t want to double my chances of this. Also, I didn’t have a mobile phone, and my home phone didn’t have voicemail. “That’s okay,” said #149, “I’ll just keep phoning till you’re in.” This made me feel kind of twitchy. He called the following morning, and I was too tired and bleary to make any plans, and then I never contacted him again and if he tried to call back, I guess I was never home.
About a year and a half ago I wandered into a shop with my friend Alice. I instantly realised that a) I didn’t want anything in the shop and b) #149 was working behind the counter. I figured if I left instantly it would look like I was horrified to see him, so I reckoned I should make a token stab at being interested in the place, just out of politeness. He seemed to be busy serving a customer anyway. I wandered around the shop quickly, looking at things, then waved vaguely in his direction and exited. “What was that?” Alice asked me in disbelief. “The wave of death, what was that about?” I am still not sure.