Bizarre

So, on Friday, I went to Liz and the Schmoking Creek's flat to watch the football and keep her company as her boyfriend was leaving London that night to go to a festival with Mark (,the ex).

So we watched the football, drank a little, got a little stoned (as you do), and Liz's boyfriend left us at around 11pm to go and catch his coatch.

At this point, so much weed had been consumed that Liz and I were litteraly rolling on the floor from laugher at yet another of my stupid jokes.

An hour later, the boyfriend called. Obviously, he had fallen asleep on the tube and had missed his coach, so was coming back to the flat with Mark and a random friend who both had had the patience to wait for him at the coach station.

Now Mark. We had an on-off relashionship for months a year and a half ago and ended it, both of us agreeing that we were much better off as friends.
And we are (erm, were...). We get along great (well, it's difficult not to since we haven't seen eachother in a state other than stoned since), and any kind of ambiguity is (erm, was) out of the way.
We both crashed on the sofas (each on his personal sofa) of that living room many many times since our break-up, and, even if I admit it did cross my mind, nothing had never happened. Moreover, as fucked up as it sounds, he knew everything about my relashionship with French Guy, as I asked him advice a few times.
Now I'm thinking about it, maybe I shouldn't have ranted about my break-up last time we saw eachother. Well done Lilith!

Anyway, back to the night.
Soon, Liz and I both passed out, her in her bedroom, me on one of the sofas.

I vaguely recall getting up to open the door when the guys arrived, mumbling something along the lines of "Humpf" and crashing back on my sofa, not giving a shit about who was going to sleep where.

I woke up some time later to see Random Friend on the other couch, and Mark on the floor. I think I said something to Mark about RF's snoring and went back to sleep.

An certain amount of time later, I was woken up again by a bizarre yet very nice feeling. I opened my one functional eye to realise that Mark had managed to make himself enough room on "my" sofa (he's 6ft 3) and was (very nicely) massaging my feet.

My thoughts at that moment, in that order:
1) Hmmmmmmm...
2) What the F?
3) Oh, that's nice...
4) But my feet are clearly in the top 50 of the ugliest feet in the world population!
5) Oh shit I'm horny.
6) Yeah, that's normal, it's been a bloody month Lilith, and your ex is massaging your feet in a dark room...
7) But seriously, what is he doing? He didn't use to have a thing for feet before?
8) Fuck it, it's driving me crazy, let's just go with the flow!
9) But RF is less than a meter away!
10) Let's just pretend I'm asleep... for the time being!

Now, the most bizarre about it all was that he kept massaging my feet until long after dawn, meaning more than a few hours... I stayed "asleep", even if I could feel his hard on all this time under my carves.
If you ask me, I was so confused I didn't know what to do.

So, at 7am, I "woke up" and went to the loo. When I came back he was smiling this smile of his which used to make me feel weak at the knees, and apparently still does.
Because I smiled back, settled back in position, and whispered a "yes please..."

He put my feet back around his crotch area, and moved his hands further up my legs, further, further.
Until I came in his hands... And woke up RF! (Oh-dear-oh-dear-oh-dear-oh-dear)

Who thankfully didn't appear to understand why I had made such a noise.
Mark and I got up and shared a cigarette on the balcony. We talked about the-weather-in-London-this-summer as if nothing had happened.
I still wonder if I'd rather not get myself quickly into reality-denial mode and tell myself nothing really happened.