Saturday, November 23


A few months ago I went out with David, a friend of a friend of a friend. David was handsome and Irish, born in Dublin, but was now living here for work. We went out for a drink and talked about books, movies and life in general. I must say there was something about David, a mixture of arrogance and pride which made him almost irresistible.
He asked if I liked Southern Comfort, and kept on buying me huge glasses, as if more alcohol would set me free. When it was time to go home he told me that he had ‘a special friend’, an interior designer who was currently living in London, he was still very much in love with her. He told me that if I looked for peace and stability (“like any woman,” he added) I would never find it with him. After a few more glasses of Southern Comfort he admitted his true feelings: “Margot, darling, I’d like to give you a good f*ck, I’d like to feel your wet pussy, and I’d love to come all over you.”  
I left the bar by myself, feeling drunk and confused, not sure what to reply. His accent had been charming. And you can’t say he wasn't clear.