Rosamicula (rosamicula) wrote,

when it comes to mother, I'm all mirth, no earth

There's a guy at fight club called Vlad. As there are two Vlads at FC he is usually referred to as Vlad-the-crazy-Ukrainian. I really liked sparring with him, because he is built on a smaller scale than most of the others, being only five feet ten, but is unfeasible strong and really fast and cunning. He is also capable of limiting his power - but not his inteligence or pace - to spar with a weakling like me. His physique fascinates me; I reckon if I were a man and fit I'd be built somewhere between Naz and him. I'd have Naz's small hands and feet and monkeyish speed (I'm much faster than you'd imagine even though I'm decrepit) and Vlad's bearish solidity and weight and relentlessness. I wish I was a real boy. SIgh. He is the one who thinks I should take it up semi-professionally, lose enough weight to wear lycra in public and get paid hard cash to beat up Russian girls for the delectation of drooling gangsters and city boys. Who knows? Maybe I should. Any we're friends, and just friends, because he ain't pretty, because he's got that Putinesque, simian Russain look and, after ten years of cage fighting, a whole cauliflower face. If I ever needed a bodyguard, he'd be the one I'd pick. He's my ideal henchman.

I was at the gym a month ago or so and I went into the swimming pool for a bit of a splash. Except Vlad, Carl (my Czech occasional) and Alecsi (gorgeous Hungarian who ended up in bed, some time later, with Carl and me on the Night of the Three Dressing Gowns) were in the pool. Now, I didn't want to risk them splashing me about and seeing what a crap swimmer I am and I don't go in the pool anyway unless the two lanes either side of me are empty, so I just went and relaxed in the jaccuzi instead and waited for them to go away. Then all three of them got out of the pool and came and joined me.

It's a very small jacuzzi and they are all big creatures, so it was a tight squeeze and one of them virtually stood on my twat as he got in, which felt odd at the time, but I was too concerned with keeping my tits safely gathered in (the bouyancy and bubbles in the jacuzzi are highly problematic if you wear a one piece and have a Himalayan frontage) to be too bothered by the oddness at the time. I don't like having other people in the jacuzzi when I'm in there, and was distinctly uncomfortable with my arms folded over my chest, anyway, but I had to sit it out a while, as it would have been rude to get out immediately after they got in.

We sat and chatted a bit and then, in the centre of foaming waters a HORROR appeared. My tampon. That was the feeling of oddness when they got in, because one of them had trod on the string. And, it was a horror, as it was the end of my period, so it was a real blackcurrant-jam-and-maple-syrup job. Carl, Alecsi and I froze in screamish alarm. I contemplated just dropping down under the water and drowning myself, but the jacuzzi was too fucking full of gorgeous Aryan leg for me to fit. Vlad, however, was completely unconcerned. He made a sort of shruggish harrumphing noise, picked up the offending article, hopped out of the jacuzzi, walked the length of the pool, wrung the excess water out into the drain and then dropped it in the bin. Hopping back in the jacuzzi he declared, ''Don't worry Jane, it is not problem, women's bodies are perfectly natural and clean''. The three of us goggled at him and he snorted, ''Pah, it is not like when you fight a man and get his sweat and snot and blood on you. That is disgusting. Not like women, they are clean." There are no words, really.

On Thursday, the night before Ofsted, against my better judgment I met him, Carl, Alecsi, Russian Himbo and Peet for a quick drink on my way home. Peet thought I needed cheering up and he was right, but I was actually far too tired to drink, so the two large gins and glass of champagne I had probably contributed to my later histrionic outburst. Anyway, I walked into the freezing air-conditioned pub from the smouldering street and they'd just got a round in, so I went and got myself a drink. When I came back, Vlad was a picture of sheepish little-boyish guilt and the others were all chuckling and shaking their heads. I asked him what he was up to, knowing full well it must have been something about me, and he flushed hideously red, which set the others off laughing. I wouldn't let it drop. I hate not being in on a joke. I like making men do what I want. I used my stern voice. He looked utterly pitiful. Peet said, chuckling, "If you don't tell her what you said , I will". In a very small voice indeed, Vlad admitted that what he had said, was:

You look very lovely today. *gulp*... I just said I was sad... that... I was the only one here ... who hadn't.... who hadn't... seen your nipples.

He was mortified. I was relieved, as halfway through his confession, I had a horrible feeling he was going to mention Tampongate. I was also: premenstrual so my norks were were cheerfully bouyed up by water retention, wearing an immensely secure and very flattering bra, and profoundly affected by the harshness of the air conditioning. So I just unbuttoned my tunic, nudged my tits neatly out of my bra (but not so far, natch, that gravity would take its bitter, bitter toll), said, "Well, now you have", to him and popped them back in. Vlad sat completely transfixed and open-mouthed for about three minutes and then leapt up and bought me a bottle of champagne.

He's a bit of a star, really. I like men like him, though most of my friends would find him too plebian, belligerent, blokeish and right-field to be sympatico. I have no end of worthy male acquaintances who stare at my front, but Vlad, you see, would also watch my back.

Shortly afterwards Peet leaned towards me and said quietly, "One of the many reasons I love you, Jane, is that you are the only woman I know who could get away with doing that". I am really looking forward to him coming over later.

I should probably update about work, but I can't be arsed.
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