is it a bird? is it a plane? no, its....
2004-02-23 at 9:37 a.m.
To all my Gaulie fans out there i have a tale that will send erotic impulses down the length of your spine. So sit back, relax and enjoy the ride, i like to refer to as 'Sizzle my Gizzle in Fizzle to the Wizzle'
The tale begins at the door of the public house where I stood causually discussing the reasons for my entry to as i could see, a fairly empty pub. "I've been here before...you saw me last week...John knows me..." until finally the new, foreign bouncer caved in and let me walk in - embarassment and all. Little did i know that I would be thanking that push-over of a bouncer for days on end.
Slighty disorientated and chilled from the cold feburary air which was residing up the back of my short, back dress, I wondered through the deserted pub to be reunited with the friends who had no trouble getting in. I looked around to find that i could not see anyone who could arouse in me the slightest bit of interest. I sighed and thought to myself, this is going to be the worst valentines ever. How wrong could I be...
Myself, Claire and Anna sat with Clarie's cousin who had that school boy cheekiness, a gentleman's charm and irish wit. We asked him an array of questions about his home country and bluntly asked him if he could set us up with some of his friends as we were in desperate need of some valentines love. He enthusiastically agreed and introduced us to blokes who could only be described as butters. I was not impressed. Yet, how could I be when every man I meet I compare to Mr. G? No man meets his standards. At this point, the night seemed to be slowly dimming down, so to escape from the harsh love-less reality of my love-life, I excessively induldged in a the slappers' classic drink; cider, whom is now a fine friend of mine. I drank pints of it, to drown my sorrows. And my sorrows it did indeed drown as I kissed full on the mouth not one or two but three tastey young men. Just as the night could not get any more outrageously funny, I bumped into an old friend, who I met the first day I layed by impressoinable blue eyes on the boy we know as Gaulie.
Oliver is a nice chap. Black African and abit of a sweetheart. I enjoy cracking joke with him, he laughs with me, which is always an encouraging sign. How random though, I thought as Olie called me over to say hello as i had not spoken to him this intimately in quite some time. I merrily introduced myself to his cute looking friend as 'Sean' which is his name, then rather embarrassed, I revealed my real name. We lightheartedly chit-chatted about various subjects circling the one thing that was on both of our minds. Simon. Suddenly, I went for the kill. I quickly blurted out, "Hows Simon?" I did not know that I reply would leave me smiling from ear to ear with butterflies summersaulting in my alcohol-filled stomach...
Oliver smirked. I hesistated and seemingly, he did like wise. I parted my lip-gloss coached lips to repeat the significant question but just as I did, Olie said in a coy tone, "Why don't you ask him yourself?" At first I thought he was being sarcastic and bringing notice to the fact that Gaulie had not contactecd me for mouths. I sighed at his lack of compassion on this subject. But, the words that followed this supposed condemnation, shocked, excited and tickled me, to say the least.
Taking a long, slow sip of my purple concock-tion of cider and blackcurrent juice, Oliver went about answering my hurt felt question, "What do you mean by that?" He stared at me. No it was a glare. Naughty, yet playfully innocent. I felt as if he was playing with me and my bruised heart. After gluping a fair share of my beverage and producing a low, satisfied sigh, breathing in the malbra light scented air, Oliver calmly recited a sentence that would change the mood of the night and transform me into, what can be politely descried as, as dog on heat.
With a huge grin and tone in his voice that suggested he knew that I would be pleased with what he was about to say, he said, "Ask him yourself, hes over there!" Hes over there? HES over there? What did he mean? Could the man I have been dreaming about since the day I saw him actually be in the same vaccum as me and a whole collection of alcoholic drinks? Surely not. Surely God would not be so kind to me. With disbelief but a strong yearning for Oliver not to be teasing me, I set about scanning the pub for Gaulie. But I did not have to look far, for Mr G, Si, Simion Gaulion, Simon, God of my idolitry, Hero of my heart, the King of sexiness, GAULIE was but 30 inches away from me!
Shaking with pure delight and feeling light headed from shock, I pigeon stepped over to him. "Simon!" I sung, "Its really you!" He flashed me one of his famous, prize winning smiles and said with ease, "Hello, long time no see." I was realing. Gleaming. Trembling.
Somehow I mangaged to hold a fairly decent conversation with him. I can not remember the words exchanged between us as I was fixating so much on his manly physique and beautiful, twinkling, blue eyes. I could not believe that such a fine specimin of humanity was standing in front of me, let alone making time to talk to me. It was too much. I had to take a breather and try to take a moment to reflect and come down from this Gaulie-inflicted high. I rang Random Queen, who, I could tell by her jealous tone, wished she was here with me and him. I told him I had to use the bathroom, put only really wanted to reapply my lip-stick and comb my hair. "Wait here" I said nicely. I also wanted to get a camera so i could get a snap shot of this glorious moment.
I came back, full of things to say to him. But when I returned to the spot where we engaged in conversation, he was gone. And I was left all alone.