I love being taken out by Malcolm Ex.
He's disgustingly rich and I don't feel the least bit guilty about spending his money.
He adores me and he makes me feel beautiful and sexy.
He gets me to do things I wouldn't normally do, like make prank phone calls to a restaurant he's in competition with in Edinburgh called Boudoir (oh please) and ask for a table for two with an en suite ("I don't know what that is." "You know, En Suite. I'll spell it. E N S U I T E." "You mean a bathroom?" *starts to laugh uncontrollably* "Yes." *exasperated tone" "Sorry, we can't help you." "Thanks anyway!") God, what am I? Five? We both dissolve into hysterics for about 20 minutes and Malcolm is so delighted with the entire thing he makes me keep telling him the story over and over again for the rest of the evening. And apparently he'll give me anything I want for doing it for him.
He takes me to exciting bars in London that I'd never otherwise go to... then we sit back and bitch about how much the place sucks and how much we hate it. I get horribly drunk on cocktails and expensive wine.
And then he takes me home in a taxi and cuddles me and although I don't have any sexual feelings for him anymore, I just *love* him. He's the only person in the entire world I'm totally comfortable being tactile with. He's such a jerk and an idiot and a bastard and a pretentious fucker. But we have an unbreakable bond. (It's also good when we don't see each other for more than a year. Very good.)