Lazing with Lorelei and Her 27 Dresses

Certainly having a very feminine week.

Not that I've been tottering around in skyscraper heels and waving a clingy feather boa at the adoring masses but I've been going out with girlie girls all week. First, clothes-shopping for my niece the other day and now mall-hopping with my new girlfriend, Lissome Lorelei.

If you'd recall, she's the one who seemed to know way more about me ( how disconcerting! ) than I did about her at our first meeting - who greeted me with such crazy cheery aplomb chattering busily away a mile a minute while I stood there confused wondering where the fuck I'd seen her before! Somehow it seemed that my notoriety - and the three degrees of separation in the gay world - had preceded me.

Still, her wacky enthusiasm's surprisingly infective.


Lorelei : You're straight? Muahahaha. Tell me another one!
Paul : I know!
Enough that I was irresistibly swayed into tagging along with her on a shopping trip. Another chance to play dress-up doll - but with a live adult version? I am so there.

Lissome Lorelei turned out to be no crazed stalker as I'd half suspected but a really fun, sunshiney ( is that even a word ) person. Think Energizer Bunny - but in a skirt. And boobs too of course. Something tells me she's also a member of the Bright Brainy Bachelorettes.

Surprisingly for such a wild woolly gal, Lorelei turned out to be far more conservative convent novitiate than seductive sea siren. At least fashion-wise. When I leaned towards the slink and the bling to show off her booty, she seemed horrified and clutched at her breasts in the time-honoured fearful virgin stance - obviously far more comfortable with her high-collared Victorian dresses.


Paul : Trust me. That dress back there made you look fat. Hell, it would have made Kate Moss look fat.
But I persuaded her with my pointed argument that she ain't gonna catch no red-blooded fella dressed like Fraulein Maria cantering up the hills of Salzburg. Not unless he has an inexplicable ( and extremely disturbing ) fetish for singing nuns.

In the end we compromised between naughty and nice - with a chic Blair Waldorf prep-girl ensemble. A string of pearls and lace stockings, a sure combination almost no man can resist. Like any good gay pal though, I also convinced her to try super-sizing her bra cups with several valiant attempts to stuff her minicups into D cups. Sure, we wouldn't want to mistake them for mountains but that doesn't mean we'd want a proposal for a flight strip either.

All in a crazy bid to push her towards our fellow colleague Brash Brandon so she can ascertain for certain his wavering sexual proclivities :P