That’s where the expression comes from, being a man,” Tom nodded
knowingly, pausing to take a man-sized swig of his pint before continuing. “Men
have to hold their hands up, take it on the chin and not grumble. If I said to
you, my dad went to the doctors, was told he had three weeks to live and took
it like a big woman, you’d know exactly what I meant, wouldn’t you?”
Images of Tom’s dad bawling on the doctor’s carpet, begging
and offering sexual favours for medicine filled my head, so I said, “yeah,
sure”.
“Now, if I told you he went to the doctors, was told he had
three weeks to live and took it like a man, what would you say to that?”
Tom’s dad got up from the carpet, wiped his eyes and laughed
manfully.
“Three weeks to live
you say? Why that’s just grand. Gives me time to play golf every day and blow
Tom’s inheritance on hookers. Fancy a sneaky pint before I tee off?”
“Hence, being a man calls for certain characteristics and
being a woman calls for other characteristics. That’s just the way it is,” Tom
concluded.
“You know, the scary thing is you really believe all of
this, don’t you?” I said, finishing my next pint before I even knew about it.
“I’m sure I won’t win any awards at the next PC rally, but
everything I’ve said is true. Men are men. Women are women. You just have to
decide which you want to be.”
Tom didn’t wink, although he looked as though he wanted to,
but three winks in as many minutes would’ve seriously devalued the gesture, so
he settled for nodding sagely and saving his next wink for something
spectacular.
“And what’s all this ‘we’ and ‘us’ bit? Last time I checked
you were still single. If you know so much about it, how comes you haven’t got
a girlfriend?”
“For precisely that reason, because I know so much about
it,” he winked, unable to resist the lure of that one. “Besides, I do all
right.”
This was annoyingly true. Tom did, indeed, do all right.
Every few Mondays he’d have some tawdry tale of bedroom bingo to share with me
and it wasn’t all bullshit either. Some of it obviously was, but not all of it.
Take for example his last conquest – Su Li is the name
on her birth certificate but she’s since become better known as “that little
Chinese bird I’m banging”. Tom showed me a picture of her a little while ago
(clothes on, obviously) and she looked absolutely fantastic: as pale as a drop
of snow and just as palm-meltingly delicate.
“Dirty as fuck, she is too. Wanked me off in the taxi and
let me do it all up her face when we got home.”
Now, I have no doubt he was bedding this “little Chinese
bird” but I couldn’t believe the details because they simply didn’t tie in with
my experience of girls.
I mean, sure, yeah, there were probably some girls out there
who did these sorts of things, but let’s be honest, they were going to be
pretty few and far between. And I’m not talking just about sex on a first date
here either; that would be refreshingly restrained if only I were. No, I’m
talking about nasty porno-type dirty things that you only read about in the
sleaziest (ie. the best) sex magazines – bondage, threesomes, lesbianism,
doing it in public, doing it up the bottom, all that sort of thing. If Tom were
to be believed, practically every girl in the world (or at least in Britain and
China) was an insatiable dirty nymphomaniac who’s only concern in life was
getting it as hard as she humanly could.
Now, like I say, obviously some of this was bullshit but not
all of it.
See, the reason I believed most of what Tom told me was
because Tom used to be hopeless as far as girls were concerned, absolutely
hopeless. And this is something he freely admits. He didn’t have a clue. Every
Friday and Saturday night he’d polish his glasses and head out with his best
Ben Sherman on, but the only thing he’d ever pull would be a kebab on the way
home. And that’s the way it went for
knowingly, pausing to take a man-sized swig of his pint before continuing. “Men
have to hold their hands up, take it on the chin and not grumble. If I said to
you, my dad went to the doctors, was told he had three weeks to live and took
it like a big woman, you’d know exactly what I meant, wouldn’t you?”
Images of Tom’s dad bawling on the doctor’s carpet, begging
and offering sexual favours for medicine filled my head, so I said, “yeah,
sure”.
“Now, if I told you he went to the doctors, was told he had
three weeks to live and took it like a man, what would you say to that?”
Tom’s dad got up from the carpet, wiped his eyes and laughed
manfully.
“Three weeks to live
you say? Why that’s just grand. Gives me time to play golf every day and blow
Tom’s inheritance on hookers. Fancy a sneaky pint before I tee off?”
“Hence, being a man calls for certain characteristics and
being a woman calls for other characteristics. That’s just the way it is,” Tom
concluded.
“You know, the scary thing is you really believe all of
this, don’t you?” I said, finishing my next pint before I even knew about it.
“I’m sure I won’t win any awards at the next PC rally, but
everything I’ve said is true. Men are men. Women are women. You just have to
decide which you want to be.”
Tom didn’t wink, although he looked as though he wanted to,
but three winks in as many minutes would’ve seriously devalued the gesture, so
he settled for nodding sagely and saving his next wink for something
spectacular.
“And what’s all this ‘we’ and ‘us’ bit? Last time I checked
you were still single. If you know so much about it, how comes you haven’t got
a girlfriend?”
“For precisely that reason, because I know so much about
it,” he winked, unable to resist the lure of that one. “Besides, I do all
right.”
This was annoyingly true. Tom did, indeed, do all right.
Every few Mondays he’d have some tawdry tale of bedroom bingo to share with me
and it wasn’t all bullshit either. Some of it obviously was, but not all of it.
Take for example his last conquest – Su Li is the name
on her birth certificate but she’s since become better known as “that little
Chinese bird I’m banging”. Tom showed me a picture of her a little while ago
(clothes on, obviously) and she looked absolutely fantastic: as pale as a drop
of snow and just as palm-meltingly delicate.
“Dirty as fuck, she is too. Wanked me off in the taxi and
let me do it all up her face when we got home.”
Now, I have no doubt he was bedding this “little Chinese
bird” but I couldn’t believe the details because they simply didn’t tie in with
my experience of girls.
I mean, sure, yeah, there were probably some girls out there
who did these sorts of things, but let’s be honest, they were going to be
pretty few and far between. And I’m not talking just about sex on a first date
here either; that would be refreshingly restrained if only I were. No, I’m
talking about nasty porno-type dirty things that you only read about in the
sleaziest (ie. the best) sex magazines – bondage, threesomes, lesbianism,
doing it in public, doing it up the bottom, all that sort of thing. If Tom were
to be believed, practically every girl in the world (or at least in Britain and
China) was an insatiable dirty nymphomaniac who’s only concern in life was
getting it as hard as she humanly could.
Now, like I say, obviously some of this was bullshit but not
all of it.
See, the reason I believed most of what Tom told me was
because Tom used to be hopeless as far as girls were concerned, absolutely
hopeless. And this is something he freely admits. He didn’t have a clue. Every
Friday and Saturday night he’d polish his glasses and head out with his best
Ben Sherman on, but the only thing he’d ever pull would be a kebab on the way
home. And that’s the way it went for
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