Sex and the City (1)

Previously on Do the right thing:

Joe was sat in the Chinese net cafe, frantically trying to type out the eventful phone call of his birthday where a suicidal woman from Essex decided to kill herself and wanted yours truly to save her. The previous installment of Do the right thing hinted, however, at something else. At the very beginning, eagle-eyed viewers may have noticed this sentence at the beginning which was never expanded upon:

“…..and I’m getting the 4pm bus to Galway.”

Yes, that’s right kids!!! I was in Galway again. Debs/Debbie/Deb/Deborah was the reason. We had texted furiously since my last visit, when I got obnoxious/drunk as per usual and ignored the blatantly obvious come-ons of a sexy young dame. So the texting (or as Kev calls it, the “textual intercourse”) was the basis of a newly-defined relationship between Deb and me. Deb is a friend of Moyrah, a girl I went to college with. She’s quite scatty and funny and terribly pretty in a cute hoody-girl-type way. And it all came to a head the previous weekend. Joe would come to Galway.

And so I hopped on a bus after typing my last entry and off I went to the City of the Tribes. Gaillimh. The fastest-growing city in Western Europe, as is often boasted by Galweigans, and I believe it. Gentle rolling hills covered in housing estates and warehouses, big huge things, and the outskirts seem to go on forever. A bit ugly, frankly. But then that’s the engine, where the power comes from. It’s not supposed to be pretty. The city centre is much nicer; narrow alleys that almost promote chivalry (letting others pass etc.) and the buzz about the place is ridiculous. It’s like Prozac in not-so-easy-to-swallow city form.

But as Brandy almost once said, What About Deb? Well she sat in the front of Moyrah’s car at the bus station, I said hello to her and Moyrah and me chatted while she drove to Tesco. Once there, I got to see Deb properly. I actually blurted out “Wow!”, which seemed daft and staged. On we went into the supermarket and some Grolsch was bought. For the party. The house party. Hmmm……great, but when were Deb and me gonna get to……talk?

Back to Moyrah’s house, where I discovered Cormac, my newly-gay friend who just left college due to it’s depressive effects, was there. He had bought me, for my birthday, thee most orange shirt one could ever conceive. With palm trees. Hmmm….thanks. He included the receipt. Thanks!!! Sorry, but it looked a little……gay! Deb got me rude boxers (hmmmm) and Moyrah got me a sex manual (a true manual, using terms a mechanic would use) by Aussie shiny-lipped “sexpert” Tracey Cox (thee most appropriately named person ever?) who you might remember from such random Sky One chick fodder as “Hotter Sex” and “Lorraine”. I’ve read it a few times since, but it’s hard to read such a book when it has such small type and is extremely difficult to hold open with one hand…..

As I sat back on Moyrah’s couch, watching her light up another joint (I abstain these days) I held my little green bottle of Grolsch and looked at a similarly-frustrated Deb. Moyrah had been hinting at the both of us as to when we were gonna “get it on”. Because we were going to. There was no doubt in my head anyway; I was quite simply gagging for it. But the means to provoke such a situation evaded me, particularly due to the fact that we hadn’t even kissed and things were bound to get more awkward.

So Deb and I came to a consensus, against Moyrah’s wishes, that we’d head out ourselves. Into town. For a drink. As in a date.

We got out of the taxi in Eyre Square and walked, hand-in-hand into town. We had kissed in the taxi; I made the first move (rare for me) and she moved in. Very quiet and…..really cool. Down to Sally Long’s and discovered her favourite drink is……..Carlsberg and a dash of lime. Which is kind of freaky because there is only one other girl I know who likes a pint with something fruity in it and I met her in remarkably similar circumstances. The conversation was stilted, it took a few pushes but before I knew it, I was no longer nervous and stuttery and began to relax. Her friend Brian came in after a while, just kept talking and talking and then he left and we got kissing. It’s hard to explain how strange it is for someone like me to be (relatively) sober and kissing someone. In a pub. At 10pm. I’ve always been the spectator to such things. It wasn’t the only couply thing we did.

Yes, we got back to Moyrah’s at around 2am, spoke to a now off-his-head-on-weed Cormac and lied together on the couch, letting him ramble away. Cormac is much easier to talk to now he’s left college, but now I think he needs to find a vocation in life. He speaks Irish as a first language, for God’s sake! He could get a job in any part of the government or some Irish language channel. But he…..I dunno. I just hope he doesn’t sit back for too long, he needs to keep busy.

It must have been way past 3am when Deb and me got restless and began to look at the door. I stood up, so did she. I walked to the door, holding it open and beginning to say good night to Cormac. I walked towards the spare room. So did she. And then we were both inside. And then she switched the light off. And then she bumped into something and had to turn it back on. Then she switched it off.