Foreword
Hello, hello, hello, Davina here again . . . but please feel free to call me Dave.
It seems ages since I last contributed. In fact I just checked and it is almost a year. A whole year and no contact at all. What am I like! Please, please excuse my atrocious bad manners.
My last instalment covered a week in Lanzarote with Sinead, followed by a week in her home town of Dublin (Dublin being, of course, the world's fairest and biggest city, because it's doubling all the time).
Sorry about that.
That fortnight's holiday took place back in September 2015 and seeing the date shocked me. So too did a bit of research on the story so far. Initially my friend Mikela published her New Beginnings series in five episodes, describing the love triangle between me, her and Kat, from her viewpoint, obviously.
Reacting angrily (as only to be expected), Kat responded with the four part Two Sides to Every Story series, coming from a very different point of view.
Re-reading those series I realized that both my lovers were telling the truth, but only those bits of truth that suited them most. So, determined to set the record straight, I launched my own series, mostly but not always using "Davina" in the title* and omigod, I've already had twelve episodes published.
Twelve compared to their combined total of nine.
Even more alarmingly, I've only got as far as Two Sides to Every Story Pt. 02, and I haven't reached New Beginnings at all.
Long-winded or what!
This then is my opening effort to catch up. I doubt I can tell all in one three page yarn but I will do my best, and I'll begin by skipping Christmas 2015 and, resuming as of late spring 2016, skipping Easter as well.
Before I kick off here are some reminders about me. Appearance-wise I think that I'm boyish and not very attractive. I have often been compared with Velma from Scooby Do. You know who I mean; not the tall, shapely redhead, the shorter brown-haired one with the out-sized glasses.
I do, co-incidentally dispute that comparison. Okay, so I wear similar glasses and have all the freckles and a matching snub of a nose. But I'm much taller at five foot eight, my (admittedly similar coloured hair) is lots shorter and I'd never, ever dress the way she does. I am a Docs, jeans and sweatshirt sort of a girl, end of.
And maybe I'm not totally unattractive. I have had approaches from women. No, I've had approaches from many different women; surely they can't all be as myopic as me.
What else is there to tell? I am an IT techie, proud owner of a gold star and Maxine 2, an almost new red Mini, successor to the original Maxine (who didn't have a qualifying number). Like Maxine before her, Maxine 2 mostly lives on the Busfeild carpark in East Morton, close to my dream cottage. Parking fees are paid in the form of me buying several pints every day, an arrangement that suits both the pub and me perfectly.
And that's about it for now. Let's get on with the tale.
Chapter One
Sex has always been a big thing for me. Not that I have any hang-ups about it. By "big thing" I mean I do like to have plenty of it and have accepted nearly every one of those female approaches. Although I have male friends I have no intention of ever being intimate with any of them, or with any other man, come to that. No, for me it's girls all the way.
And come what may, I can always find a willing woman.
Or, rather, a willing woman can nearly always find me.
I suppose now is the time to mention Kat. In previous episodes I have often referred to Kat as the love of my life but by then, spring 2016, I'd had enough. No way was she living in my dream cottage again, Kim Kardashian look-alike or not.
Yes, you heard right: Kat closely resembles Kim K but is years younger and half a foot taller. Blokes have been known to swoon after one single glimpse of her.
So too have grown women so whatever you do, don't stereotype her as male eye candy.
Kat's problem (a far as I'm concerned) is her passion for travelling. Most recently she set off for "a year if my money holds out" shortly before my September holiday with Sinead. And that was not the first time, it was the third. Yes I've co-habited with Kat three times and guess how many times she's left without a backwards glance.
You've got it: the answer is three.
Okay, so Kat declared undying love when I dropped her off at Manchester airport, but I had already drawn the line. Three strikes and out, that was the order of the day.
Home alone, holiday over, footloose and fancy-free, I filled the last few months of 2015 and the first few of 2016 reacquainting myself with a lot of old conquests, not least with Margot.
What a babe is she!
Come to that, what an awkward so-and-so is she!!
Blonde, busty and significantly older, Margot drifts in and out of my life; sometimes she vanishes for months on end but always mysteriously reappears whenever I'm single again, ready to claw my back with her blood-red talons.
Golden eagles couldn't rake my back more efficiently than she can.
She had other traits, too; significant other traits.
Confession time: I was well into spanking games, particularly with Margot. So too was she. She didn't disappear for any more than a week at a time while I was "getting over Kat" on that third occasion. On the contrary, I saw an awful lot of her, in every sense of the term.
Girl oh girl the palms of my hands are tingling just thinking about her.
I even more regularly slept with my workmate, Joyce, who ran the Credit Control department. Joyce, also significantly older, filled in two or three nights a week. Unlike Margot, she was totally and utterly reliable. If Joyce said she would meet me in the local pub (our usual trysting place) at eight, then she would be there on the dot.
Who else was there? Not any ex-lovers because I didn't (and still don't) burn bridges, with the sole exception of Philippa from the building society, my employers before I made a switch to the Widget Company. Not that I'd ever have chased after that bitch. I wouldn't fuck her again if she was the last woman on the planet.
Otherwise I wasn't exactly spoilt for choice. Most of my schooldays lovers went off to uni while I chose not to, in spite of my excellent grades. By then, late 2015, early 2016, they'd all graduated and almost to a woman lived "away". Home visits were not unknown though, and I usually got a "visit" as well as Mummy and Daddy.
I'm prepared to bet my "visits" were far longer (and infinitely more rewarding) than any drop by any of those mummies and daddies got; more so by miles.
And, talking about visits, Sinead came over for a week at Easter, her flight heavily discounted thanks to an obliging travel agent cousin of hers. Honestly, she paid less Dublin to Leeds/Bradford that I had once paid on the train, Leeds to Keighley.
Okay, so that's yet another exaggeration, but wasn't it good to see her again. I had promised to show her all the local sights but that never happened. Her sightseeing was restricted to my bedroom ceiling and the inside of the Busfeild Arms.
What a week of bliss. I waved her off with tears in my eyes but worry not; we'd already agreed a week in Lanzarote come September (and that became an annual arrangement that stands to this day).
