I had another bit of a nap earlier on the train. I'm back in Sheffield now, in the LGB lounge. I came up here because i though i'd get a chance to crow about the concert, but i don't think that's going to happen. And if i can't do it today i'll feel a fool any other time. Oh well.

I was on 5the dancefloor, dancing, when i saw Jake Shears come down. He was surrounded by a knot of people. I wanted to go to speak to him, but i couldn't, and eventually he passed on. Not long after i saw Ana Matronic, but i couldn't speak to her either, and i soon lost sight of her.

Jake came back though. Oh yes. I tried to gradually work my way over to him, but it was ard. He didn't really stay still and of course he was surrounded constantly. I gave up at one point and asked one of the others, who i'd talked to earlier, to introduce me. She simply spurred me on to speak to him and this actually worked. I walked over again and the minute i'd a chance stepped up; i was right in front of him. I only remember three sentences passing between us, so i may have to start believing that i've forgotten a little thanks to my drunkenness, although i suspect this may actually be rather an accurate rendition of our conversation.

I went up to him and said "I think i'm just about drunk enough to talk to you." I don't think he said anything, so i continued "Could i possibly have a hug from you?" although possibly with an 'um' or three for good measure.

"Of course," he said.




I hugged him




I hugged him! I hugged Jake Shears! I hope the magnitude of this is clear. I hugged Jake Shears, quite possibly the best looking man i have ever met. I've come to terms now with the fact that this was actually real - that i did really hug Jake shears and he hugged me back. (Although no kissing took place. I was really worried i might start believing that, but apparently even i'm beyond crediting something so far-fetched.)

After the hug i don't remember saying anything. I assume i just walked off, and i'm wondering now if actually that was rather rude. I wish i'd stayed and said more to him, but i think asking for a hug was already pushing my limits, really. I am content.

Especially since, not only did i hug Jake Shears, but i met Ana Matronic too. Someone, won over by my shyness, introduced me to her and i've completely forgotten what passed between us but she hugged me too! I hugged two whole members of Scissor Sisters!

Eventually the party began to slow down and one of the rooms was deserted, so i moved to the other, smaller room. Someone rushed past me, a girl i'd danced with rather a lot that evening, and when i waved at her she grabbed at me and ordered me to follow (This has so much the air of a dream about it. I'm almost not believing it again.) I did, of course, and soon found myself in a train of people following Ana Matronic up a spiral staircase. At the top were the entire band except Jake (Still dancing away downstairs) and various people from the support acts. It was amazing. Here i was, in a small room, only about twenty or thirty people in here, holding court to the Scissor Sisters.

There followed more introductions. I was introduced to Del Marquis first, and later Babydaddy, and they were both utterly, utterly lovely in the few moments of conversation i was able to maintain with each of them. I didn't meet Paddy Boom though. The onlt straight male in the band, he was on a sofa surrounded by girls. (Including, i think, his mother.) Not much later, someone turned the lights on and off, signalling it was time for things to end. Nobody paid much attention, but i decided it was about time i left. As i got to the top of the stairs, Jake was coming up and i was able to stand aside to let him pass. The man with him quickly accosted the fellow who'd turned off the lights and they both seemed to get rather angry rather quickly. I hurried off.

Downstairs was now completely empty. Evidently all that remained of the party was in that little upstairs room and i'd abandoned it. I regret that slightly, but i'd had a brilliant night.

On the way out i was able to collect one of the tickets that, on the way in, had been taken off each of us. I'd been annoyed then, but i remembered people thrusting their hands into a huge bag of discarded tickets on the way out of the Albert Hall, and i discovered we could do the same here. I was very pleased. They were good tickets, it'll make an excellent souvenir. At least i'll be able to assuage my fears that it wasn't real.

I thought it might be best to get some sleep, so i slept from five till seven. Pretty soon i'll get back to vaguely normal sleep patterns, i'm sure.

Before the show, H and her friend had mentioned that they were going to the after show party. I'd heard a little about this before and asked if they had to pay for their tickets. They said no and that, in fact, H had asked to see if there might be a spare one for me, but it had seemed unlikely.

Still, i tagged along anyway and when we met up with the others it appeared, after some logistical experimentation, that i would be able to have a spare ticket. I was going to a party hosted by the Scissor Sisters!

The club was in Charing Cross. It was called Rouge. The larger of the two rooms, with a black and white tiled dance floor at one end, onto which spiralled a staircase which, we later learned, led to the Scissor Sisters' more private party, had a bar all down one wall and was decorated all over in Scissor Sisters iconography and paraphernalia. As well as the prosaically clad bar staff, Rouge was populated by various dancers, dressed in a style reminiscent of the Montmartre club from which i assume this place takes its name. They drifted around the two rooms, sometimes simply dancing or wafting past in a breath of perfumed air, sometimes offering round glasses filled with sweets or an erotic looking snake. (When i wrote this down this morning that said 'exotic', but this is what it looked like i'd written now i've come to type it up, and actually i think this is more appropriate.)

I was still in a daze, and it took me quite a while to realise that the bar was free. They were giving away alcohol. You didn't have to pay. I would probably have drunk more than i did were it not for the fact that my Vodka and Coke's already tasted stronger than i suspected they should. Even the single, usually quite effectively masked by the cola had a suggestion of accidentally inhaled hairspray to it. (Although naturally now it's a long time since i used hairspray.) But i drank enough to loosen my tongue and my limbs. I lost a little of my reticence, and grinned and giggled the rest of the way.

I had a brilliant time, would have done even without the promise that we would soon be joined by our adored hosts. I met quite a few people from the Scissor Sisters forum, really great chaps (Chaps of both sexes) the lot of them. Once again my shyness earned me the label of 'sweet'. It isn't that i don't adore being thought of as cute and sweet, it's just that i don't think that opinion of me generally lasts long.

Oh my giddy God. I'm far too excited to tell all this chronologically, so you'll hear about the last few days rather disjointedly.

The phrase currently buzzing around in my head keeps being changed changed. It should most certainly not be “I can't believe i kissed Jake Shears,” because that is untrue. What it should be, and what it started as, is “I can't believe i hugged Jake Shears.” That is not true.

For yes, tonight was the night of my long awaited jaunt to see the Scissor Sisters in concert. Roughly ten hours ago i turned up at the Royal Albert Hall. I'd arrived from Sheffield at around a quarter past two, and had spent the intervening time finding my hotel, cleaning myself up, getting and getting slightly wet on the way to my closest tube station.. At the Albert Hall, after some fiddling with my phone, i found the girl i was supposed to meet up with, (I think that’s how she’s customarily been referred to.) and soon proved that i was as reticent as promised.

Eventually, we were admitted to the actual part of the Hall where the performance would take place. We ('We' being actually quite a few people – all except me at their most recent gig of many.) were at the beginning of the queue when the doors opened, and secured places at the very front (the VERY front) of the auditorium. We were able to hang over the barrier, slightly less tiring, i'm sure, than having to stand completely unaided. The concert was pretty much on time, as far as i could tell, and eventually, after two support acts, (Actually rather good. I intend to investigate Le Tigre at least a little.) an interval and a DJ (Twice - one at the start of each half.) the Scissor Sisters came on.

The stage was, by this point, hidden by a huge white curtain. The intro to Electrobix (Rather scary, as introductions go.) came on at the same time as their silhouettes appeared on the back of the gauzy curtain, which soon fell, as they started Laura.

It was utterly amazing. I sort of remember which songs were played and in what order, but i'm not terribly inclined to share this information. I do remember that they played their versions of Franz Ferdinand's Take Me Out and i liked it a lot more than last time i heard it.

And Jake, Jake Shears, was utterly gorgey. I've seen pictures of him before, and briefly on TV, but this time i saw him in the flesh. Within spitting distance. (Assuming most people to be able to spit further than me.) And absolutely stunning. He wore this suit which i thought at first was gold, but after a while decided was more brassy in colour, made of what i think (I'm not great with fabrics.) was lamé. The trousers were so tight as to make the breath catch in your throat and the jacket (I forget if it was armless and was therefore, technically, a waistcoat.) was hardly there. It came only halfway down his back (Revealing, to my leering delight, two symmetrical muscles above the waist which would go on to form... the tops of his legs.) and exposed almost his entire chest, perfectly sculpted and lightly haired as it it. I could not take my eyes off him.

All previous obsessions have had to be cleared out. (Not loves – J's still trapped firmly in here.) No more fantasising about E! (Though i had already pretty much stopped.) No more (For the moment) stalking UE (Although i have done rather well. I haven't followed him since the last time i reported on my infatuation apart from one day (purely, i swear, by coincidence) our paths crossed many times.) For now i think only of Jake.

I can't remember the last time i lusted like that. There was little stirring in the region of my groin, but the rest of me felt quite inclined to swoon. Actually, seriously, to swoon.

I wanted desperately for him to notice me, for him to look at me and see me, grinning loonishly at him, clapping. Unfortunately, everyone else wanted the same and being in the front row is still not guaranteed to get you noticed by the most gorgeous man in your universe.

And so the show went on, with me gazing endlessly at Jake, my eyes as deep as i could get them. (Twice now my eyes have been described as deep. This really means nothing to me, and i've no idea what it means to them, but it's a compliment all the same, and sounds nice.) He's well known for his exhibitionism and the jacket was eventually discarded, (Briefly replaced by an immense feathery thing for Comfortably Numb, but that soon went too and he wore nothing above the waist.) making it even harder not to leer at him. I gazed and i gazed and i gazed.

The concert was absolutely incredible. But that wasn't all.

I've lost my voice. It's all because of last Thursday. I joined the Singer's Society, you see, and that was the first meeting. I sat with the tenors, as i still refuse to sing bass. (I stayed, at my old school, in the alto section later than anyone else in my year. When i finally moved down to the tenors, in year eleven, it was only because the music teacher and head of the choir (Who left in my last year, meaning choir was put in the charge of a man generally regarded as incompetent. There was only one choir meeting in my last year at the school. (Just to clarify, although in year eleven choir was useful in my stalking of E, that was incidental to my membership - i'd joined because i loved so very much to sing, but wasn't good enough to find any outlet for this but choir.)) had decreed that everyone in year ten or above was to move to the tenor section. (Enabling my subsequent gazing at the back of E's neck.)) The purpose of this meeting, apparently, also had a social dimension, and at one point we were forced to mingle, to find and sit next to someone (Within our own section.) who we didn't yet know and to talk to them. I found myself next to a girl, which was something of a surprise, but considering i still wish i were an alto, (At the least. I'd kill to be a treble. Perhaps i'd even agree to become a castrato, were it not too late.) i wasn't all too shocked. She was nice, although i obviously wasn't able to talk much.

The songs we sang were fun. Well, the first two. First we sang a Zulu song, and then some folk song from New Zealand. (This did involve having to yell at one point "THE FLAMING PUB'S ON FIRE" in a strong antipodean accent, and i didn't quite manage to pull that bit off. Otherwise, tough, i did rather well.

Then we had a break, for drinks, and as i began climbing down the steps to leave, i saw a girl i'd first met at the bowling two weeks ago this Wednesday, who will from now be known as UA. I'd managed to talk with her a little then, but i hadn't expected the two of them (Her and the other girl, beside her.) would think much of me. But then last Tuesday i saw them both again, they were sitting by me, and i was able to impress them with my Scoubidous, (Little keyringy things and the like made from knotting together plastic threads. They look pretty complicated, so people tend to be a little impressed. They serve a double purpose. They provide something for me to talk about with whoever's kind enough to approach me and they give me something to look at, getting round my problems with eye contact.) out of which i was currently making a pink helicopter. I'd said then that i'd come to the pub with them later, but in the end i didn't feel i could and went home to sulk. (I assume we all know why.)

On Thursday, at singsoc, she accosted me about this and forced (I am exaggerating.) me to promise that i'd come to the pub with them. (Them now being her and another fellow who'd been near us at last Tuesday's meeting.) She said she'd heard me singing earlier, (Having presumably already recognised me.) which surprised me, as i thought i'd been very quiet. I usually am, after all. I didn't ask if she'd thought i was any good, too afraid that she'd answer truthfully.

After the second half (In which we sang a song by Fauré (Famous for writing Pavane.) which was utterly mangled by various awful French accents, one so loud that i was actually dragged into the wake of its bad pronunciation.) everyone was supposed to go on to a pub. There was much discussion of where to go, until one of the union bars was settled on. When we got there, it was packed, and after a fruitless wait to be served, the four of us (Three from the LGB plus my new female tenor friend, her neck conspicuously sporting an ichthus on a chain.) elected to go to the bar at UA's halls of residence.

It was quite a long walk, but eventually we got there. We stayed in the bar for quite a while. Another of my giggling fits began to come on, partly inspired by the bad music. It was a karaoke night, and some of the performers where truly, truly awful. Near the end, the four of us decided we would have a pop at it. (That is, the three of them decided and i, being the eternal hanger-on, followed them, reluctantly.) We sang Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen. I have no idea how good we were. Sometimes i sang, but often i leant on the window behind me (Perhaps not very wise.) and giggled. By the end of the song we appeared to have been joined by most of the previous performers. (Although a number of the previous performers had in fact been the same person, so the stage wasn't as swamped as it might sound.)

At one point the female tenor left for the bar, and i hurriedly inquired of the others whether they thought she realised she'd stumbled across the LGB component of singsoc. (I rather like that abbreviation, actually.) UA's sexuality was obvious, as she'd earlier discussed arranging her weekend in order to be able to "snog a girl", (And i still can't say 'snog' seriously.) and the other chap seemed rather camp, but i worried about myself. I'm never able to explicitly say that i'm gay, but i never used to think i had to. However, some of the surprised reactions of my friends (Wow, this was ages ago now. I think i've now been out roundabout a year. Although not if i'm counting from when it became public knowledge.) have convinced me that my sexuality isn't that obvious. I choose to think this is more the fault of my deep introversion and painful shyness rather than that actually, i'm not very camp, though i really do fear (It's true, i do! I'm such a fool.) that the latter may be the case.

Anyway, afterward we went to UA's bedroom for a while. That was nice. We drank a little more (I'd never had Bailey's before - it's rather nice.) and talked and giggled (Mostly me) and i revived my old habit (Not very old, in truth. I was still doing it with my sister when i left.) of repeating what people say. My sister and i would have tremendous volleys like this, picking up on something said and repeating, offering variations on the theme, and, indeed, having entire mock conversations. One of our favourites is to mock our mother for her (imagined) stinginess, which has a specific way now in which it must be expressed. One of us begins, either with "Money doesn't grow on trees." or "I'm not made of money.", then the other replies with the other phrase, and we finally both chorus "Why, if i had a pound for every time i spent a pound...", a wonderful piece of nonsense. My sister's, actually. It was a lot of fun, ridiculous as it might sound now. It was a way of excluding the rest of the world, really rather a private thing, even though we were talking out loud. If someone tried to join in we would look at each other, expressing our disdain, and expell loud sighs of disapproval. Once, at one of my birthday gathering (The one with all my family.) my sister tried to get this going, but i was too shy, so i only chimed in every now and again, leaving her to yell "See! I said he does it too!", whereupon i once again fell silent. I miss her, i love her tremendously.

I'll have to fill in other bits later. For now it's most important to blog that i saw UD again tonight. He texted me, saying how bad he was feeling, and how he needed to talk to someone. I thought for a moment that he might have meant me, but i didn't see how he could have, really. As i was formulating my reply, i got another text, (You'll notice that infernal device, so long abhorred, the mobile phone, becoming more prevalent in my life now my dependance on the internet has been thwarted.) asking if he could brave the rain (The weather wonderful in its heavy handed use of the pathetic fallacy. Honestly, people can hardly expect directors to stop pouring buckets of water on their characters at moments of emotional importance if the climate's going to carry on taunting them with its own uncriticised use of such crass sentimentality.) and come see me. I agreed, and made a hurried attempt to tidy room a little. Then, realising it would take him a while to arrive, a more leisurely attempt to make the place acceptable, including choosing the right music, (I felt abominably like the main character of my book of the moment, The Rachel Papers.) which i decided to be Yann Tiersen's Rue Des Cascades.

He arrived, bringing his own music, O by Damien Rice. It was lovely but, as he said, rather depressing. I'd chosen to sit on the seat opposite the bed, with my books, which i do tend to see as an extension of myself, filling the wall to my right. When he sat down, i obviously couldn't look him in the eye, so i found an interesting fold of the bed to look at. I alternated my gaze between that and some tassles. At the beginning it looked awfully like the back of a neck, (I don't think particularly that it was E's. It was just the neck of some imaginary boy. Necks seem an odd part to fixate on.) but by the end of the evning, without actually having changed it had become the face of a woman.

I wasn't terribly able to talk well. I never am, but now i was worse. At one point i felt forced to resort to using a portable whiteboardy slatey thing i keep in my drawer. But, despite various impediments, our conversation progressed. Quite satisfactorily, i felt. I can now call him my friend, which was more than i feared i could. I feel much better now. Less guilty.

On my first day here i smoked Marijuana. A week later, almost to the hour, i had sex. Today, a week since, my third Saturday, there seems nothing left to do but to write.

Last Saturday was the LGB pub crawl, and quite against my expectations i ended up with somebody else spending the night in my bed. Quite early on in the evening (Though already in the second of the two pubs we were to visit, the rest of the night being spent (As, we are informed, all LGB meetings must end up here.) in Sheffield's only full time gay bar.) i fell to a fit of giggles that had people worrying for my safety and, i fear, sanity. One of the people who took it upon themselves to try calm me down (They all failed, by the way. It was only when i was close to suffocation that i actually stopped.) turned out to have developed something of an interest in me. When i was, with a few other people (Obviously i was hardly communicating with them.) at a pool table watching him play, he chastised me for laughing at his incompetence. (I'd actually been chortling at his opponent.) It turns out that actually he was flirting with me, though i failed to notice, heavy handed as it may have been. (I'm amazed, writing this, to realise that somebody flirted with me. I know there are many equally surprising points, but this one hasn't struck me until now.) Later, the top half (Where is located the dancefloor.) was packed, so many of us congregated downstairs (Where, incidentally, i later saw UE, partially the reason i'd gone, but who hadn't actually come to the pub crawl. He, and the two people he was with, seemed to be dressed in school uniforms. And, unfortunately, looking rather fetching in them.) and fell to talking. The boy who flirted with me, hereon known as UD, turned up at some point and sat by me. He was nice and lovely, and said nice things to me. He liked my hair, (About which i've been growing unsure, as i thought i was the only person who actually liked it, and that was because i'm allowed to feel it in its fluffiness.) and my shoes. (A couple of years old now, and falling apart.) He inquired about the scab on my hand. (Since joined by nine knife scars further up that arm.) I told him my lie, that "I fell over" first, but later i told the truth. He held my hand a little, (I remember this only from reading his blog. I'm afraid the connection that he felt either escaped my notice or has since escaped my memory.) and i think i looked at him in a way that i thought was doe-eyed but, having since tried it out on the mirror, i no longer think so. It just makes me look blank. Vacuous.

At the end of the night he walked me home. I'd walked home the previous time and not only been perfectly safe, but also rather enjoyed the walk, so i elected not to take a taxi home with some of the others. UD walked me back. I put my arm in his and nuzzled up to him a little. (I've wanted to do that for the longest time. And it really did live up to my expectations.) On the more public road he asked me to stop, but i took up his hand again later. As we neared my flats he asked to use the toilet. I showed him the toilet and (More out of complete ignorance of how to treat such a situation than actual desire that he should enter this space that, for all that i hate the fact that i can taste fluff as i breathe, is my very own.) also my room, where he quickly joined me. I, nervous, latched on to much of what he said and tried to develop the subject further. Naturally, as the wall he sat facing had quite a large bibliographic presence, he asked about my books. I instantly got down a book i knew would impress him, (And also could be read in five minutes.) 'The Red Tree'. Naturally, he was impressed and at this point i get confused about my intentions. We were sitting on my bed and (Some of me argues that this was purely because i felt an idiot sitting where i was. And this way i could see the book better and stop worrying where to put my eyes.) moved in closer to him and leant agaisnt him. Things started to happen, but were stopped by him. We went to bed, to sleep. Later, we woke up and (I'm a tad hazy on this now.) more things happened. Perhaps the best thing to say is that from having previously attained a score of zero (One being holding hands, i think.) on Georgia Nicholson's snogging scale, (From 'Angus Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging and its sequels.) i've now got to nine. (B.W.A. - Below Waist Activity) I enjoyed it. I did. A lot. Particularly - and i suppose i have read about this, but nothing has come close to conveying it - the feeling when he ran his fingers over my bare skin. It was my stomach, my stomach which i hate, despise and abhor, yet here it was being caressed with such tenderness. But even then, horrible as this sounds, i wasn't always thinking about him.

The next morning i felt even more lost than i had. I wanted to get him out, but could think of no way to do it without being plain horrible. Almost as soon as he was gone i recieved a text message. And another later, and a third, asking to meet up the next day. I realised i couldn't. Because while he obviously had some feelings for me, i couldn't really find any. (And i am well used to searching my heart for such feelings.)

I told him so, too, after a little while wondering, scared, what to do. I didn't do it nicely or sensitively at all. I'm a complete bastard. i hate what i've done. Some of me actually blames him for it all. When i told him that (Via e-mail, of course) i tried to make it clear that i knew this was nonsense, that he wasn't to blame at all, but i messed it up.

I don't know how to make this right.