So as you know my flat mate Sarah invited me to be her wing-woman to the Sixster show, with backstage pass, and invite to the after-party. Despite the angry vibe of the music, which is not usually my thing, it was an amazing show. Jeremy, or J as he prefers to be called, the lead singer, is incredibly fierce on stage and compelling. Completely understand why Sarah gave him a bj in a restaurant’s toilets. He ripped his tee shirt off half way through a song, revealing rock hard abs and an un-manscaped chest. I admit, I drooled over Sarah’s man.

Anyway, after the show the party was held in the VIP area of Sebastian’s – which was ultra-sexy. Red and black were the pre-dominant themes, with the waiters wearing black latex. Apparently they could choose whatever they felt comfortable in as long as it was latex. Some dressed head to toe in it, and some, well one guy wore a latex thong. It was that sort of place.

Who would believe, that I would be in the VIP section with an up-coming band? I owe Sarah big time. Totally checked us in, and took some selfies for instragram and facebook. It was way too cool not to share.

Anyway, after Sarah and J disappeared (I won’t speculate) the drummer Benny, sat down next to me. He was 26, had a tattoo sleeve that he’d designed himself, wore a leather vest, a long necklace, and ripped jeans. He was a cliché and it worked for me.

‘You’ve got sexy eyes’ was his opening gambit.

‘Thanks’ I somehow choked out. He was mega cute. Long hair, muscles, and I could see the blonde hairs dusting his forearms. I wanted to take a bite out of him. See if he tasted as good as he looked.

I took a sip of my vodka, lime and soda – the alcoholic drink of dieters, and attempted a flirtatious smie.

He leant closer.

‘Beautiful eyes too.’

Didn’t he already say my eyes were sexy? Odd.

‘Thanks,’ it was time to change the subject away from my eyes because if he gave me a third eye compliment I was catching a taxi home.

‘So how did you get hooked up with Sixster?’ I asked, trying to sound confident and non-fan-fanatic.

‘We all grew up together. We started the band twelve years ago.’

‘Sarah said you just got signed with Sony, congrats, that’s amazing.’

‘No, it’s a lot of damn hard work.’

Shut down. I froze. That was rude.

‘So,’ he said, leaning closer, smiling sexily, ‘how bout we go to the toilets and you give me a blow job?’


Are you freaking insane? We’ve shared under fifty words and he wants me to get down on a urine stained floor in the public toilets of a club and not knowing if he has any diseases, STI’s, herpes, crabs, gonorrhea, or worse and give him a bj?

Not happening buddy.

How did Sarah risk it?

But I did say I wanted to try new things, have sexual adventures. My husband was the only person I’d ever kissed, had sex with or given a bj. But this? This seemed awful. Benny didn’t even know my name, didn’t care. And I realized though I wanted to experiment, I wanted someone who at least respected me or cared. I wasn’t ready for a full-on random sexual encounter with a complete stranger.

I grabbed my bag. Suddenly, the glamour seemed to stale. I was surrounded by drunk, sleazy strangers.

‘No thanks, I need to get home,’ I smiled, ‘and water my plants.’

And with no further argument, I walked away.