Kiss from a Stranger

It was a Friday in mid August 2011 and little did I know that evening would turn out to be the most fun I'd have that year.
My friend and I decided to start our night off at a cool Kentish Town Pub, as we did most Friday evenings during the summer of 2011.
Marlboro Lights were smoked and double gin and tonics were sunk in the bustling beer garden, and after a few drunken shapes were thrown on the small dancefloor, we set off in pursuit of more space and better music.
We made our way to a Salsa Club in Camden and having persuaded the doorman to let us queue jump, we were debuting our Salsa moves in no time.
Another cigarette break in the outdoor area and we got talking to a few guys. We spent the rest of the night hanging out with them (on a platonic level) and dancing in that free, careless wild way you do when no one is watching you.
Before we knew it, the lights were on, it was time to leave, and despite the suggestion from a guy we met (who we affectionately christened 'Miguel back to mine') of a party back at his place which would consist of just us three, we left.
As we set off to find yet more cigarettes, there was no suggestion of retiring to bed.

Walking through the warm summer night air (made warmer by the alcohol content in our blood), I stumbled upon a guy who was walking in the same direction with his friends. There was something that instantly drew us towards each other, and we were dragging along slowly behind our friends. His name was Donald, which I instantly took the piss out off (apologies to any Donalds that may be reading!), and thus he was known as Donald Duck from that moment on.

A mere three minutes later we had lost our friends so decided instinctively to cross the street. When it became clear that we had no idea where we were going, we stopped walking and he kissed me.

The world stopped for a minute and we were frozen in time. He cupped my face in his hands and as his soft lips gently brushed against mine, I melted inside.
If ever I had had a 'movie-like' moment, this was it.

We were alerted by my friend loudly calling my name from the opposite side of the street, as though she feared I was gone forever, and slowly we made our way back to our parties.
His friends were waiting for him in a taxi and I declined his invitation of continuing my night with him. After a final goodbye kiss, we looked at each other in a way that was electric and indescribable, and with that he was gone.

I have kissed a fair few frogs in my time, but this kiss still remains as the best. Even now as I write this, I have butterflies.

All that, and it was a kiss from a stranger.

(Fun fact: The photo above was taken minutes before I would meet the kisser)

The Mid April Mistake

It is now mid April, and something has changed. I feel a magic in the air, and I know it's definitely there because 3 men said hello in the street and I looked like shit. The day after I received 2 offers of drinks, and the weekend before? Well...

I had just returned from Dubai where the beach seemed to be mainly littered with 'Arab Jersey Shore-alikes'. I would lie on the soft sand and people watch (my favourite activity) as they strolled up and down- their bulging biceps causing their arms to hang four inches away from their torso, sigh and then lower my head back to dropped dent in my towel.

A week of this, and I was back in London and dying to go out. The last few months had been difficult and as dry as The Sahara.

Upon my return, I called a good friend, and a plan was set in place. Sunday Night. Shoreditch.
We had planned dinner initially, and so I had kept myself waiting. In the end, it was a liquid dinner, and we all know that alcohol causes you to do some audacious things.
A few bar hops later, I found myself talking to a charming man. He wasn't my usual type, but was intelligent, nice and a gentleman. My friend had by this point sloped off with 'denim jacket guy'. Needless to say, that didn't end up quite as well, and she called to tell me about it while we were in the taxi on our way back to mine.

Stepping through the front door, it quickly became apparent that this guy was a freak and in a good way. I would have never been able to tell from his tweed jacket....

He took over, and my clothes we gone. I finally felt alive again.

He picked me up and carried me to the living room, and in a blur I could feel the thick, hard wood (no pun intended!) of the coffee table underneath me. After a whirlwind tour of my living room and kitchen, we were back in my bedroom, and both slowly drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, after a long conversation we both established that we knew the same person. In fact, they were very good friends. This person was the last man I had dated (you can read about him here), and he was the first guy who I had really felt something for in a while.
When Shoreditch Guy proclaimed that he'd seen him the previous weekend, and "does he have a girlfriend?....Uh yes, yes I think he does", I died a little bit inside, and immediately wanted him gone.

As he was on his way out, he left me with the promise that he'd take me to a little pub in Chelsea (In fact, the same pub I had gone to with his friend for our first date, although he didn't know it). I smiled, knowing it would never happen.

2 days later I received an invite to said pub. Needless to say- I declined.