I feel underqualified for my blog post, hooray.

Public displays of affection (one of the many-varied terms shortened to that most put-upon of acronyms, P.D.A), are a sort of grey area for me. I mean, I've had experience of displays of affection, yes, but very few of them ever really public, per se, and so I don't really know what to write about.

So this should be fun.

To be fair, I'm always like this.

If, by "public", we include parties, then I at least have something to write about. Last week I mentioned a party me and Cretzal attended (the one where he didn't sing "Kiss From A Rose" to me), and we kissed a couple of times then (rendering the father's clueless naïvety even more inexplicable). No-one threw drinks at us or drew pentagrams round us, but we were among friends, so they'd at least have asked permission to do so beforehand anyway.  

And, due to my somewhat static love-life, that's most of my experience covered. I mean, I've been kissed in bars/pubs, but always with either my friends Mike (of Todostrieb fame) and Jyoti (of no Homojournal fame whatsoever) nearby to protect me/cheer me on, or by someone large enough to punch any annoyances into atoms anyway. I've kissed someone else round  one of my other friend's houses, but everyone else was watching a movie and we were at the back of the room, so it was hardly primetime viewing. I'm really not very qualified for this.

Why can't this week be about the Potash Development  Association, or Personal Digital Assistants?

...well. Once, me and a friend, who I shall give the moniker "Joey", strayed into P.D.A territory. In the park with friends, we held hands. Nothing exploded (get your mind out of the gutter), no-one got shot (stop it), and there were no screams (I give up). Afterwards, we went back to his, and you don't get to know about that because, while affectionate, it wasn't public, so ner-ner-ne-ner-ner. 

On the way home the next day, we held hands on the bus, and we kissed repeatedly. There were feral youths on the bus, as well as elderly females, and neither group paid us any more attention than they would a heterosexual couple, or a black man carrying shopping. We were accepted, which was extraordinarily lovely.

And I suppose that's all I can say on the matter, really. Once, I engaged in true PDA, and I didn't get singled out as a witch or a heathen, and I think it should (and possibly will be) the same for all our readers.

Yours happily,

James

Me: I need to think of a pseudonym for Joey.
Brain: Try his middle name on Facebook.
Me: Ah yes, a foolproof plan.

I'd make a crap spy.