The Art of the Double Park

 Subtly does it

Living a single lifestyle can be very much like a constant flurry of traffic; brief encounters containing varying degrees of intimacy with people who flit in and out of your life purely by chance. The possibilities are seemingly limitless but it can often feel as though all you're doing is going around in circles, much like that of a perpetual revolving door. It's a perfectly practical solution in reaching your desired destination, but has a tendency to leave you feeling dazed and unsure of where you are. But as a single girl who enjoys an active and healthy sex life, I've grown rather accustomed to the headiness of it all.

And as with most single women, having been confronted by a veritable array of men has also led me to become very adept at developing a nonplussed attitude towards their appalling behaviour. Of course I'm aware that gaining respect from people who you behave promiscuously with is a tentative and unlikely endeavour. Nevertheless I still expect an element of moral decency or at the very least a well thought out lie. Neither of which I was treated to recently, when I bumped into someone who I had engaged with on a casual and drunken basis from time to time. We'll call him Nolan.

Everyone has had a Nolan at some point in their dating life. A person who falls mid-way between a one-night stand and someone who you'd like to spend time with on a regular basis. They're reasonably intelligent, enjoy the same comedy television programmes as you and the sex isn't half bad. In theory they seem to be someone who you could have an intimate relationship with which could continue for a duration not uncommon of your average summer romance.

Of course after a few haphazard online conversations with them you discover that they're just using you to fulfill a fantasy from the stunted adolescence that is their life. Being the recipient of text messages which simply read "I have a penis, you have a vagina. Shall we?"  isn't how I wish to be spoken to by anyone, not even a casual enounter. I have more respect for myself than that. (Really I do). So I ceased contact with Nolan, something which he did bring to my attention but I feigned ignorance and was content in the knowledge that we'd just gradually drift out of each others lives.

Foolishly however I made a drunken decision to re-stamp Nolan for February use - with disastrous results. And I say that with much joviality intended, because he's not a bad guy at all. Just an incredibly stupid one.

After a debaucherous evening out with friends, at 2am I found myself accompanying Nolan home in a taxi (naturally it was his parents home who were away at the time) and as we drew increasingly near I became all the more regretful. I've never felt inclined to be with someone in order to feel validated so I questioned why I'd made the decision in the first place. The simple answer being that I'd recently been through an incredibly dry stint and was feeling insatiable. It happens. Although I still had an uneasy feeling that I wasn't going to be satisfied, which turned out to be an incredibly accurate premonition.

It always amazes me how people can assume that they've covertly contained their deceitfulness despite clearly displaying their glee in every mannerism. Or in Nolan's case via his iPhone. Though my memory of the events is somewhat hazy, I clearly remember lounging in the living room sipping white wine which I suspect was South African (figures) and being in full view of his drunken texting efforts.

Ordinarily I'd be peeved that someone was being so rude when I was in their company, but it was only Nolan so it was of little consequence to me. He claimed to be texting a male friend who he named, but by glancing at his phone (which was near impossible not to do given our seating position) I quickly discovered that the names didn't correlate. It was a name of indiscriminate gender, but I could have cared less if it was a girl or not. Fidelity wasn't what I required from him.

Suffice to say it didn't take long for the activity to descend into what we both required from each other, but I remember his phone constantly making irritating alert tones throughout and finally I demanded that he answer it for goodness sake. Also I was beginning to tire of the incessant whispering in my ear, "how can we take this to the next level?" Christ, I'm not having a threesome Nolan. Not with you. Not tonight. I silently cursed myself for being there and tried not to laugh at the sight of him squinting at his ergonomic oblong piece of crap with his erection.

At this point I'd resigned myself to scrambling around in pursuit of my earrings and am unsure as to his exact activity, however he declared that he had received either a text message or a phone call from a friend who had gotten into a fight and it was his intention to go to his aid. I was skeptical but unphased and started to ready myself to leave. Nolan however was insistent that I stay, as he assured me the endeavour wouldn't exceed an hour at the most.

I found the notion of my waiting for him pretty humourous given that he meant so little to me, but I was forced to consider the logistics of my situation. It was past 3am, I had no idea where my friends were, much less if any of them would even answer a phone call and effectively had no where else guaranteed in which to reside that night. I was indignant but reluctantly agreed to stay. I had no intention of resuming any activity upon his return and was already planning on leaving ridiculously early the following morning so as to avoid any further contact with the imbecile.

His behaviour became increasingly erratic with the conversation littered with assurances and apologies. All of which I mentally rolled my eyes at. He escorted me to bed, tucked me in and continued to explain the situation further, none of which made any semblance of sense. I attempted to query it but he provided answers which were so unsatisfying that I didn't have the strength to argue. Why bother? He'd made up his mind to go and I was too concerned with my silent urges for him to just leave already so I could have a furtive rummage around his house. I didn't even enquire as to how he planned to get back into town. Now of course I can only presume he constructed a set of make-shift wings from the web of foolish lies spilling out of his silly little mouth.

As soon as he hastily sped out of the front door I sprang out of bed (again his parents) and padded downstairs to finish off the wine. I wandered around the modest three-bedroom property in my underwear examining various items of unnecessary clutter and bric-a-brac. It was all rather uninspiring so I attempted to contact my friends in an effort to make an early exit, only to be greeted by consecutive voicemails - just as I'd anticipated. Terrific. So the only thing left on the agenda was to pilfer around his bedroom. I sauntered back upstairs and entered a room of unholy destruction. Here was his disordered mentality personified: disorganised, sloppy and utterly revolting.

Repulsed I tentatively fought my way to the desktop computer. Predictably he'd left his Facebook signed in - the boob. I logged out of it however as I was utterly uninterested in the mundane trivialities of his life. It was at this point, while positioned with my knees to my chest on his puny little swivel chair (glass of wine in one hand, mouse in the other) that I received a text message from Nolan simply saying that he was going to wait for his friend as he'd been arrested, accompanied by a sad emoticon. This blatant idiocy proved too much for me. I already knew exactly what was going on and refused to let him get away with having me believe that he was essentially going to sleep in the front desk of this fictitious Police Station. I expected something a little more imaginative than that, even from a Computer Forensics graduate.

It took a second phone call before it was answered, the first was diverted mid-ring.  At the time I didn't think anything of it but now I envision him to be utterly panic stricken thus doing the first thing that any coward about to be caught out would do: abort the call. Yes, hello I'm Nolan and I'm going to buy some time before I come to the decision of committing the cowardly, foolish and not to mention callous act which is about to follow: letting the girl answer.

Yes, you've guessed it. The friend who had been arrested was code for the girl I intend to have sex with shortly after you. He'd attempted to pull off the elusive yet doable double park: the art of coitus with two separate sexual conquests in one night. While I don't blame him for attempting it, I was still pretty outraged. Purely at his method. His blundering, flawed and utterly moronic method. It just wasn't good etiquette. You don't leave person # one in your house and insist that they stay. You're already being greedy as it is. Thinking that you can then go back and resume is just bad form. As with anything there are rules for double parking. And by allowing both parties to communicate with each other you've pretty much lost the concept of the whole endeavour: they're not meant to find out about each other Nolan. It's not rocket science or even forensic science.

So even though I was prepared for the prospect of him being in the company of another girl, I certainly didn't expect her to answer the phone. Whether he offered her the opportunity or she demanded to answer is unclear, neither would surprise me. I was a little surprised by her indignant tone, although I could barely hear her over Nolan's injudicious chortling in the background (which I must admit stung a little). Yes very funny, you've got me. Good one. Still I relaxed back into the chair, stretched my legs out onto the desk and calmly sipped my wine while I listened to her reel off a few insults. I then calmly proceeded to inform her that I had been having sex with Nolan a little over an hour prior on his living room floor no less and was just wondering if he was available to speak as I was still in his house. I paused and took another sip of my wine as I waited for her reaction.

Disappointingly it was clear she was taking Nolan's side in this hideous debacle. I believe she laughed and berated me a little, but I don't really remember. What I do remember is being astounded. Where was the sisterhood? I tried to put myself in her position and immediately felt sorry for her. Here was a guy who obviously liked her far more than he liked me, but he didn't even have the respect to save himself for her that night. Hell, he didn't even shower before he left and her reaction was to preserve her ego to me. Why did she care what I thought? I was hardly in a position to judge having just been jilted halfway through a sexual encounter. Perhaps a less self-assured person would doubt their prowess in that area, but really speaking Nolan's actions are a reflection of his personal inadequacies - not mine.

Relatively unperturbed I terminated the call and got dressed. Definitely time to leave. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself as I reached for the front door handle. Only to find that it refused to budge. I wrenched it a few more times before coming to the realisation that the hapless buffoon had locked me in. I immediately rushed to the back of the house, trying first the back door and finally the conservatory doors. Both locked. No sign of a key. I admit I was initially more than a little panicked, but soon discovered that the living room windows opened wide enough to allow me to escape in the event of an emergency. I wasn't feeling agile enough to hoist myself onto the high windowsill in my state of 4am intoxication however and decided to give Nolan a phone call again as this had quickly devolved into kidnap territory.

Unsurprisingly person # two or Nolita answered, "still ringing I see?" Seriously sweetheart I know I've essentially put a big cloud over your perfect 3am drunken rendezvous which you planned over a duration of six seconds while presumably falling out of a chavy establishment on Greyfriars Road, but give me a break here. Still, her abrasive attitude didn't rile me in the slightest but instead placated me. This was just too comical to be angered by. I was certain that Nolan had managed to wriggle out of my earlier depiction of the nights events to her like a slimy little worm slinking around in the earth blind and incapable of lateral thinking in any capacity. But was certain that the next card I had to play would be my winning hand. Surely by informing her of my hostage status she would throttle him to within an inch of his pathetic little life and march him back to the house to free me.

Sadly not all girls are as impetuous I am, for that is precisely what I would have done. And what was her reply to my telling her that I was imprisoned against my will after the boy who was still wrapped in my scent came knocking at her door? "Well, I'm sure you'll think of something." Yes, I have thought about something. I've thought about the fact that you've essentially had sex with me as well as Nolan. What do you think about that? Of course I didn't say that. I didn't even give her the satisfaction of replying or maybe I was too dumbfounded at her incredulous lack of sensitivity to my plight. I suppose she's the kind of girl who thinks that by getting the guy she's essentially one upped me in this scenario, but sadly in a scenario such as this there are no winners. There are prisoners. But no winners.

I distinctly remember wandering around the house with gritted teeth, running my fingers over various surfaces and eyeballing valuables which I could destroy or take ownership of at my own discretion. iPad, digital camera, widescreen television, a stamp collection (yes a guy who has two girls to choose from in one night collects stamps). Technically it wouldn't be burglarising, considering I hadn't broken in. I contemplated calling the police, but I didn't want to behave in a way which would lead Nolan to believe that I was hurt or upset by his foolish actions. Because I wasn't. I wasn't at all shocked at his lack of integrity. It's not like he'd ever displayed so much as a hint of it ever before.

What did shock me though was his flagrant disregard for not only his parents personal property but his own. Tactlessly rubbing a girl's misfortune in her face which was created by your premeditated actions is one thing. But then forcing her to spend the night unsupervised with all of your worldly possessions? I considered causing serious criminal damage and leaving the place in a chaotic whirlwind of spurned disarray. Not because I'd been scorned, but just to teach him a lesson in basic household security. I refrained from any such activity however, settling on the decision that no reaction at all trumped that of vengeful retribution. Suffice to say half an hour after hanging up on the bitch who was subjecting herself to any undiagnosed gynecological conditions I may have lying dormant, I was sound asleep.

 

I awoke the following morning (which in essence was a mere few hours later) feeling as though I'd had a refreshing power nap. The kind where you smile to yourself while wiping away the drool on the side of your face, always a good sign of the perfect snooze. The previous nights events were still fresh in my mind, only now I had a clear head in which to assess them. I made Nolan's parents bed and affectionately stroked his two little dogs who had slept on the floor. I took one last look in his room and picked up the disc of a video game. Call of Duty. I felt the suppleness of it between my fingers and chuckled at how easy it would be to damage it irrevocably. I placed it back on a surface already cluttered with discarded plates and empty crisp packets. Too easy. 

Although it did tickle me to think that a guy who doesn't even care about the well being of his video games isn't likely to care about much else. Which should definitely be a wake-up call to Nolita, whose real name I'm fully aware of. I remembered the first and last name from Nolan's iPhone the previous night and typed it into his Facebook. He'd saved the logging in history on his browser. A solitary inbox message confirmed that Nolan had behaved in a poor manner to her prior to the previous nights shenanigans. How predictable. He didn't go into detail but mentioned something about promising to make it up to her. And we're all aware of how he did that.

As I was waiting for my taxi to arrive I received a text message. Nolan. "Are you OK? What was last night about?" Oh seriously, I was so done with this assclown. You tell me Nolan. You're the one who rushed out of the door probably still nursing a semi only to go and stick it in someone else. Someone you must like an awful lot to go to all that trouble for. And what a lovely gesture it was. I only hope I experience romance such as that at least once in my lifetime. I didn't reply.

The house phone then proceeded to ring continuously off the hook. I can only assume it was Nolan trying to decide if coming home before 10am was a good idea. I for one wouldn't want to come home to someone who was potentially ready to murder me. But I didn't have any hard feelings. Far from it. On the whole I'd found it refreshingly entertaining. As did the taxi driver who surveyed me throwing my shoes and bag out of a ground floor window before hurtling myself out on to the driveway. After coquettishly clambering into the backseat he enquired as to why I hadn't used the front door. I simply replied that when you're faced with the situation of a double park, sometimes tricky maneuvers are required if you want to get out.