She went off to pee
In my unmarried days, I had a very short purple patch where everything went well with the ladies - just got contact lenses, a fancy job and a certain swagger (in that order).

Cutting to the chase, after a few false starts I managed to find my way into the bed chamber of a very pretty young temp who was working at our office. She was very keen indeed as she led me by the hand to her bedroom. I noticed that she had it all planned out and even had a condom on her bedside cabinet neatly arranged amongst her other things.

The sex was not as good as I had imagined - much awkwardness all round - but I was a most perturbed by her attitude the second that the deed had been done. She leapt out of bed then rushed to the bathroom saying that she needed to pee. On the way she handed me box of tissues and a plastic beaker of water. "Quick, " said she, "dip your penis in that."

Is that normal?
(Gusofnavarone always makes a map of france from sarnies, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 15:07, 17 replies)

IBIZA.. Havvin it Laaaarge..
Sometime near to 1994, i forget exactly, the local football team I was kind of playing for - basically, they were a good team, won everything and strutted about with the kind of gusto that confident, good looking young men strut when they're good at something - and I say kind of playing for, because I was the player who was chuffed to bits just have been asked to sign on for the team in the first place and regardless that I then spent most of my Sunday mornings dressed in the team playing strip, overladen with a tracksuit and standing on the touchline. I was happy enough though as the kit barely fit my overweight-for-my-age somewhat wholesome physique and I say "happy", until on one occasion I came on as a substitute and then got substituted myself some 15 mins later. That kind of player. Anyway, I digress. But you get the point.

We won the league, we won the cup, we gained promotion to the top tier of local football and all in all had a jolly good season. At this point you may, of course again substitute the word 'we' in the previous sentence to that of 'they'. Talk then was of a end-of-season team holiday to the paradise holiday island of Ibiza and their famed nightclubs of Pasha and Amnesia where 24hr party people hang out. Not being someone who frequented nightclubs even back at home, feeling like a fish out of water every time I ventured near a place, that part of the holiday didnt appeal to me, but being included in the tour party guest list did - so I signed up.

Anyway, to Ibiza we went and it was pretty much everything it was acclaimed for. Days were spent drinking by the pool and evenings were a mix of untucked pressed shirts, too much cologne and a floppy haired group swagger into town - everyone trying their best to walk like Liam Gallagher (*sidenote - the assh*le).

Within at most a day or so, the goal tally (you can read between the lines here as to what i mean) stood at an impressive, albeit unaudited, 15 - 0. Group reminiscences of the previous nights escapades were constantly enjoyed the following day and as I laid low listening to The Stone Roses on my walkman (a band I didnt even like) I hoped that none would mention my lack of contribution to the overall team score.

Anyway, we booked up with the local rep to go to a new thing at that time which was a foam party at one of the local clubs, so as usual we trotted along and before you could say "Were havin it laaaaarge" for the 10 billionth time, the place was up to your neck in foam and to my surprise, I found myself dancing. Not only dancing but frolicking (yeah, I even used that word at the time when I was 19, go figure) with, as even my mates lauded, "a faaackin hot blonde". One Bez from the Happy Mondays dance later, I found myself playing school-disco-style tongue tennis with her, hands fondling about her person and glowing with a sense of enormous pride at this unexpected boost to my team cred. Jackpot. New found confidence came I think in the sense that my head was the only goods on show and so this poor unfortunate had somehow been sold short and perhaps wouldn't be engaging in my company if our embrace had been in an otherwise foam-less environment, who knows.

So, anyway.... What was the original question again? Ah yes, embarrassing dates.

Following day, my place on the row of sun loungers had become more inclusive within the group, no longer was I the guy on the end having random objects constantly thrown at me without warning and without obvious assailant, now I was the guy they all wanted to hear from. "Mate, she was faackin hot, did you shag her?" came the questions. To which I (I obviously hadnt, and had in fact gone for a piss, came back to see she had gone and then skulked my way back to my cell on the premise that if I wasnt there and she wasnt there, perhaps the very questions I was now being asked, would be asked the following day), with my assumptions now correct and my well rehearsed response firmly in place I replied, in my very best Mockney footy accent (which everyone had somehow adopted, even though we were all from Hampshire), was "Mate, if you must know, I f*cked her in your bed and jizzed on your pillow?" - Cue ensuing group laughter and my arrival. I really had arrived.

Then she appeared, loudly announced to us by one of my mates as "There's your bird from last night". "Oh no", thought I. And she drew closer along the poolside I, and the others, could see that she had something unusual in the way she walked. Commonly known as having an extreme case of 'club foot' I believe its called. And with discretion not being a forte within my compadres, another declared "look, shes a f*ckin mong". Cue more extreme laughter, rolling about and me having my hair and head manhandled.

Then, as she and her friends drew alongside us, another questioned, "Here love, has he got a small dick?". "Him" says she, "how would I know? I wouldnt shag that fat f*ck if he wasn't such a fat f*ck. I mean, LOOK AT HIM!". Cue hysterical laughter bordering on fever pitch, not just from my mates, but also her mates, families on holiday, the waiter collecting glasses and a couple on an overlooking balcony above. And if I'm honest, it wasn't the fat f*ck bit that upset me at the time, for that part was blatantly obvious, I think it was more the "LOOK AT HIM" bit, which she shouted at me with some real intent that really stuck in my windpipe. A windpipe which by now was closing by the second.

Probably a good 20 minutes then went by before the laughter had finally receded to something resembling just a bunch of deep long sighs, the kind you get when you've laughed so much that there's nothing left to give. And as I glanced about the poolside, one elderly gent had even removed his glasses so as to clean the lense, after he'd been laughing so much. Then another of the group piped in, "mate, not only did you NOT shag her, but you also got turned down by f*cking crippled mong"... She heard this, which I wasn't overly disappointed with, given her previous outburst, but nevertheless and despite the general exhaustion being felt around the pool, somehow this comment allowed everyone to enjoy the moment yet again for another 10 minutes. Then they threw me in the pool, together with my walkman still attached, just to cheer me up.

Anyway, thanks for listening, I think Ive turned a corner in my therapy and can finally close this particular nasty chapter in my life - despite the fact that my friends still constantly reminded of the incident, some nigh on 20yrs later.
(drinkingteddy, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 14:41, 27 replies)

Another time I got drunk
This time I couldn't get it up. I said "This doesn't normally happen" she must have thought I said "This is because of you, this is your fault" because she started to cry.

I am a fucking stud.
(Thor McLegend FUCK SHITPANTS PAC MAN, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 14:39, 2 replies)

I got drunk and fell asleep.
I wasn't inside her or anything but it was still pretty bad. In the morning she said "It was nice to meet you anyway".

I silently wished I was dead.
(Thor McLegend FUCK SHITPANTS PAC MAN, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 14:30, 6 replies)

I've just remembered one, from ooh it must be decades ago

I didn't like his tracksuit, the cigar smelt horrible, and his gold chains kept whacking me in the back of the head.

On the plus side, he was blonde.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 14:29, 2 replies)

Ah, the joys of internet dates
I met this girl online (ICQ, mind you) and we decided to go to the movies for the first date.

That episode taught me to never trust anyone who doesn't share personal pictures. It was the early years of internet, so who could tell?

Because she was not at all visually pleasing. Not at all. Anyway, we went to the movie. Then, the second mistake was made: we watched fucking Pearl Harbor.

So, I was watching a three hour long brain fuck with Susan Boyle's rejected daughter and could not get away with it, so maybe we could at least make out, taking advantage of dark lights, if anything to at least avoid watching that goddamn movie.

My experience tells me that uglier chicks are more receptible to carnal contact due to desperation. And I found one fucking exception to that rule. Despite all the interest she showed to me previously, she would not even let me take her hand.

Everything was screwed up by halfway the movie. The last 2 hours were too goddamn torturing and awkward. I never watched that movie again (and never dated her again as well).
(Monocromatico Lady Godiva's horse, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:41, 2 replies)

yet another date distaster pea - yes im quite the dashing blade

When I was a young blade, as much as I was a cheeky wee chap I was often none too clever at approaching girls. Unfortunately my best attempt at signalling my amorous intent was to stare at the object of my desire with the sort of thousand-yard stare psychiatric nurses dread. (I have since realised women don’t like this very much). So there we are down the favourite club, with my best mate, drinking beer and scanning the electric savannah – looking for the weak the young and the vulnerable.

And then I saw her.
Slender, beautiful, short blonde hair, high cheekbones flawless skin and perfect, perky little breasts bobbing around under a loose fitting shiny halter-top affair (late eighties). She also had the FINEST ASS I HAVE EVER SEEN. By now my eyes were swirling like that bloody snake in jungle book as she danced and laughed with her friends (mere fuzzy blobs in my peripheral vision). Smitten is not the word. The psychotic Bush Baby stare must have worked that night as lo and behold, the beautiful slender creature popped up beside me as if from nowhere (the shopkeeper in Mr Ben never looked anywhere near as good). With a lascivious look and sparkling blue eyes she chirped,
“So do you NEVER ask a girl to dance?”

Boing!
After an evening of snogging, groping, dancing, drinking then repeat, all too soon it was time to leave the club. By this time my confidence was growing as quickly as my pants seemed to be shrinking. I suggested her place; some coyish ‘no I can’t – really I can’t’ protests were quickly swept aside with my new found rakish charm. So we bundle out of a cab still a-gropin an' a-snoggin. Giggling as we get to her front door.

"SHHHH!" She tells me.

Oh, righto! I think, flatmate(s) asleep probably. The house is quiet and in darkness. We head straight to the bedroom, have a long deep kiss (I can make out little in the gloom) then she pops the bedside lamp on.

Fuck. Me.
Walls plastered with pictures of ponies, (apparently horse riding was responsible for the great ass) pictures of boy bands unknown, more ponies, but the clincher – a single bed covered in teddies, pandas, fluffy fucking camels you name it.

"Erm. How old did you say you were?"

“17” she assures me, pawing at my jeans.

At this time I was only 18 or 19 myself so thought, fair enough. It is only now with the benefit of years I regret not asking her to pop the school uniform on that was undoubtedly still in the wardrobe. So we go at it with the vigour gifted only to the young. Then sleep. Very early in the morning we wake and enjoy another blissful shag in a bed too small for two. Breathless, tired and still fuzzy from the previous night’s excesses I start to drift off. Suddenly I was awoken with a deep dig in the ribs.
“Quick! Hide! Get under the duvet" she hissed.
Before I could even ask I hear the bedroom door opening. A voice deeper than Bluto with laryngitis boomed,

“Mornin'! I’m going for the papers and some rolls, you want anything?”

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK! Where are my clothes? Can he see my shoes lying on the floor? Does he have a gun? Then as if it could get no worse comes the fateful line…

“Who’s that?”

So there I am cowering under the duvet, in a single bed with some 17 - year olds father enquiring whom I might be. Cool as a frozen cucumber my hot, naked little minx replied,

“Tracy”

“Morning Tracy, you want anything from the shops love?”

(I may have let out a small whimper at this point)

“She’s still asleep Dad – hammered last night."

“Fair enough” and with that Glasgow’s answer to Barry White lumbered off.
Once I got my heart rate back down to mere humming bird levels, frantically I start looking for my clothes.

“What’s the rush – he’ll be at least half an hour?”

She was up for it again! I wish I could tell you my dear B3tards that I was cool and suave enough to attempt another but I think I was dressed and on the street within 60 seconds.

!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:29, 5 replies)

hillside halls of residence (the rate these peas are popping gives you an idea of my level of sucess with dates)
When I was at University, for the first year I lived in halls on campus - Hillside in Dundee if you insist. The buildings were identical – toilets, kitchen and showers in a block and (from memory) 9 bedrooms on either side of a long corridor. The campus was split male female with a strict ‘no overnight visitors of the opposite sex’ rule that was of course roundly ignored. One fateful Sunday night, heading back up from Glasgow on the glamour wagon that was the late night Stagecoach, I found myself next to an attractive, curvaceous and very friendly redhead, let’s call her Pauline for that was indeed her name. We got chatting and it quickly transpired we lived on the same campus. The poor lass must have been missing a screw or two or simply felt sorry for me because, well basically by the time we got to Perth I was most definitely ‘in’. When we finally rocked up at her halls I noted how much they differed from my own, the layout and furnishings were absolutely identical yet the place didn’t smell of blokes, weed and overflowing bins. The kitchen and toilets were also remarkably clean however my new bestest friend seemed keen to usher me swiftly past all this to her room at the end of the corridor. Presumably before we were spotted by wandering hall mates. Basically i was being sneaked in. The girly, fragrant Pauline had delightfully fresh bed linen, another novelty – which we duly set about doing our best to sully.

I woke some time around 3am needing a piss. Pauline it seemed was a heavy sleeper and did not stir. No worries I knew my way around. Whether I was being a bit daring, blasé or simply foolhardy I have no idea, but in my infinite wisdom I decided to step out into the dark empty corridor and pad along to the toilets stark bollock naked. On my way back the inevitable happened, a door clicked in front of me, a girl in pyjamas stepped out, saw me, froze, then screamed, leapt back into her room and slammed her door loudly. So, in true pantomime farce style more doors were flung open behind me, more screams, lights were switched on, hysteria set in, threats were made, all whilst I’m standing there butt naked, trapped in the middle of a corridor of screaming girls in assorted nightwear, stammering that it was ok, I wasn’t some pervert intruder I was in fact there with…

Shit. I had forgotten her fucking name.

Have you ever tried to describe a person you barely know whilst naked and being ranted at by half a dozen irate young women? It's a bit stressful. For all the sense I was making, I might as well have been Manuel spluttering 'I here to see girl'.

Naturally this didn’t go down well and more cries of ‘pervert’ and ‘call the police’ were going up. All the while I’m standing there cupping my now pathetically shriveled meat and two whilst pointing frantically over the shoulders of a pair of seething first years towards the door of the girl who I claim to be a guest of, yet cannot even remember her bastard name.

After about 300 years she-who-was-remaining-resolutely-nameless stumbled out of her room, bleary eyed, blinking at the unfolding commotion. Not only did I have to suffer the shame of outing the poor girl as being somewhat easy I then had to explain after sitting next to her on a bus for a couple of hours, working my feeble charm then exploring her most intimate orifices I didn’t even have the gallantry to remember her fucking name.

The relationship did not flourish.

tl:dr charmless Muppet gets caught naked in a girls dormitory at 3am and isn’t even the 13th Duke of Wybourne
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:28, Reply)

what was i thinking (nother pea)
I was 13 years old. It was New Years Day. My folks always went to my Uncles for a party that evening. I loved these occasions, I got to stay up late, talk to my older cousins (which instantly made me feel cool and erudite) and take some records to play.

But this year was to be different. SHE was there. A neighbour's daughter. My Uncle immediately sensed my awkward fascination and kindly introduced me to the warmest most beautiful smile in the universe. I was in love. For hours we talked and laughed, oblivious to the dull grey world around us. She was incredible. A teen Aphrodite. A wildfire had been lit. We had everything in common. Where had she been all my 13 years? It turned out she was 15 (older woman, I could handle that) and a teen model no less who’d been on the cover of magazines! My head was swimming. I felt like I had pulled Heidi Klum. Still trying to impress I was working my way through the few crappy records I had brought, then I pulled out my ace card… Relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood, oh yes! Now to be fair this requires some backstory...

I had first seen Frankie Goes to Hollywood perform Relax on the Tube earlier that year. I loved it. When the single was first released it didn’t do much but for months I had been championing this track as THE BEST THING EVER RECORDED. This was long before the ensuing controversy and radio ban. As far as I was concerned it was underground, I was a visionary, an auteur. I alone had made them.

She loved it, we bonded even further, I was dizzy, discombobulated. We would be together forever. A love like ours would never ever die. But, eventually she had to leave. Like a gleaming knight I rose to the challenge to walk her (the few hundred yards) to her house. We kissed, the stars shone brighter, angels sang. I took her number and called the following day. We arranged to meet that Saturday at midday, outside the Virgin record store on Renfield Street in Glasgow.

After a few millennia Saturday came. Like most teenagers I was going through a phase of trying to look 'different'. I had planned my outfit days before. To make matter worse this was also the early eighties and styles were, well, a bit shit. To put the tin lid on it, my Mum had also sprung it on me I had to look after my 8 year old sister that day.

Never-the-less I arrived on time. The January sales were in full swing, the street rammed with shoppers. There I stood resolute, proud, erect (yes quite possibly that way too) being jostled by shoppers on that fateful, crisp winter's day. She was 15 minutes late. No worries. Then an hour passed. Still I stood there expectantly, full of hope and joy and dreams of our future.

Now, I don’t know if this proposed mother to be of my children simply stood me up, but looking back, I reckon this is a far more likely scenario…

She got off the bus that stopped right outside the store, took one look at this spotty teen (with bored a 8 year old girl in tow) sporting a wispy bum fluff moustache, a shiny grey suit complete with red leather bow tie and a carnation, yes, a fucking carnation! Then, like any right minded individual quietly slipped back into the crowd and FUCKED RIGHT OFF.

What the fuck was I thinking.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:26, 1 reply)

Mrs Spimf cant do drugs (of course its a pea)
not at all, she’s tried coke a few times and it always went like this...
"Want some of this coke baby?"
"No I cant, I cant, I really cant"
"Sure?"
"Well maybe just a wee bit"
Snnnnnnnnnnnnnnort!
FFW 6 hours... and we have a raging Hoover nosed maniac with one eye going to the shops and the other one coming back with the change - demanding more sex, coke,porn,sex,coke,porn - you get the picture. She even got so off her face on a bottle of poppers at T in the Park she had to be carried a good mile or so back to the bloody tent. But that's just the preamble...

A good few years back we went to a really nice hotel in a wee fishing village in Scotland - Portpatrick to be precise. With some time to kill before dinner, lolling around in our room, I decide to roll a joint.
"Want to try some hash babes"
"No I can't smoke"
"You can eat it though"
"Hmmm? Ok - not much though!"

A small piece of hash the size of a pea is consumed then we took the dogs for a walk along the beach. Drugs? No effect. An hour later there we are in the rather posh hotel bar, Mrs Spimf in a LBD looking leggy, demure and pretty damn hot.
"Would you like a drink before dinner darling”?
"Yes, sherry please"

Now I don’t know what sort of fucked up constitution my Mrs has but it would seem a tiny speck of cannabis can lie dormant in her tumblyboos until one small sherry is sloshed down there, then it begins...
Giggling - fair enough
Talking Pish - fair enough
Sudden loss of short term memory resulting is said pish being repeated on loop - fair enough
Attempt to get off bar stool and go to the loo resulting in KO style collapse in the middle of the room - erm no.

To make matters even better she had landed smack on the floor at the owner’s feet who was chatting with her daughter. Soon revived and seemingly now ok (ish) while rubbing a slight bump on her head, Mrs Spimf (brilliantly) explains to the hotel owner she might have had an adverse reaction to some prescription medicine. Owner promptly offers to call a doctor; she even offered to act as a witness in the lawsuit she had conjured from nowhere that was going to 'ruin' the 'idiot' doctor that would prescribe such powerful drugs without proper warning. Suddenly Mrs Spimf is fine and dandy again so we decide to proceed with dinner. She's now hungry - celle surprise! A sip of wine and a nibble at her starter and she’s off again. Talking pish, swaying about, stuck on a Groundhog Day loop - the lot!

Tits.

Quietly, I ask the waiter if he could sent the rest of the food up to the room and try to make as dignified an exit as one can with Ken Fucking Dodd in a cocktail dress waving and belming to a room full of bemused diners. So there we are back in the room - immediately Mrs Spimf strips naked. No idea why, the only thing I was intending eating at that point was my bloody steak, which was supposedly on its way up.
Knock knock - "room service"
"Come in" coos my idiot bloody wife, naked as a Tory MP in a boys dormitory.
The poor bloke trundles in with a splendid tray of delights, complete with comedy silver dome things on them. Give him his due he barely batted an eyelid as I hastily tried to cover my mad as a bat butt naked wife. He left with a smirk and large tip. After ten minutes of watching my wife struggling to use cutlery (she seemed to be knitting an imaginary scarf from invisible wool) I suggested at that point she might well be better in bed. So in she pops.
Thank. Fuck! Peace at last. Just as I finish my steak the convulsions start. Yes fucking convulsions.

Su-fucking-perb.

So there she is: Portpatrick's answer to Jon Belushi writhing around in bed like Linda Blair's epileptic understudy. After some 'discussion' Mrs Spimf decides it is in fact...
"Nothing to do with the drugs - it must have been when I hit my head"
She then panics - decides she has a 'brain clot' from her tumble earlier (I had a few choice words on that one). Nevertheless Mrs Spimf demands a doctor be summoned.
"Head injuries must be investigated!"

So there I am - no choice. I called the owner and asked if she could discreetly request a local doctor give us a quick call just to reassure my idiot wife she is not destined to spend the remainder of her days communicating with one eyebrow. Ten minutes later an ambulance with full blues and twos rocks up.

Fuck.

All too soon the paramedics enter the room, along with the bloody owner and her daughter as well for good measure. After I managed to tactfully ask them to get the fuck out I had a quite word with the paramedic.
"Don’t think its the bump to the head mate" (looks around conspiratorially) "she's actually eaten a little bit of cannabis"
Paramedic looks confused,
"How much"
"Erm maybe enough for two fairly miserly joints"
Paramedic scratches head.
"What’s she doing eating it - your supposed to smoke it, at least that's what I do (winks), having said that if she's had a bump to the head we should maybe take her in for observation"

Tits.

So they go to lift the pale and shaking Mrs Spimf out of bed
"Wait!"
"She’s naked"
"Oh right, fine where are her clothes"
I gather up the frilly black undies, stockings heels and LBD and realise the chances of getting her dressed without more drama were, to even the most optimistic observer, bugger all.
"Fuck it, wrap her up in the duvet, I’ll take the clothes with me"
And so they did. Then popped her on a little chair with wheels affair and lifted her up....
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" cries my lunatic wife - "I'M SCARED OF HEIGHTS!!!!"
"Erm your only about 6 inches off the floor love"
"OH? ...Well it felt a lot higher"
*facepalms*

So we process through the hotel lobby - the entire staff and guests it would seem had now lined up to see the drama unfolding with 'my lovely wife' now back on a high waving like a mong on a day trip to a window factory.
Kill me now, please God - end this now.
So we sat in the ambulance - it was at least 40 minutes to the nearest A&E. Mrs Spimf cracking jokes all the way. Me sitting there with a face like thunder. They treated Mrs Spimf and I like we had been up all night smearing methadone on a baby, they grilled me on what she had 'actually taken' then eventually they let us home at around 3 am. So on top of the cost of the fancy hotel, meal and a ruined LBD, the taxi back to the hotel cost nearly 50 quid - about 15 years ago.
I don't allow my wife drugs anymore. Muppet.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:18, 4 replies)

First date, so let's go to the pictures
I took her to see Shallow Grave.
Not ideal first date material, I now see in retrospect.
( expf, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:03, 12 replies)

we kissed behind the leisure centre
then she was sick on my half-shell trackie bottoms.

I told her I didn't think it was going to work out.
( rofl harris, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:02, 2 replies)

Shit meself in Shanghai
Arrived in Shangers for job interview, was booked into a hotel by the firm, with another applicant, a Canadian ex-figure skater, reasonably pretty but killer body. She was staying in the room directly above me in one of those really narrow hotels that are common in SEAsia. We get through the day, and head back to hotel, I'm thinking 'yeah, gonna have a crack at that'. We had lunch together, cheap Kung Pao Chicken, tasty...
Suggest we go out for a walk around the Bund, have a bite to eat, work my charm, get her back to the hotel and do the do. She was terminally boring, everything we saw had to immediately be compared to Canada... the amount of times I heard '... well, in Canada...' was driving me nuts. But this made me even more determined to get something out of the evening.
We get back to the hotel area, and a tiny little rumble starts in my guts, ooh, a tad uncomfortable, but nothing that bad...
Worth noting at this point what I was wearing, dark blue short sleeved shirt, crisp white linen shorts...
we get to within 50 meters of the hotel, she's giving it loads of body contact, I'm in! but damn, my stomach is still rumbling, i need to get this fart out before we end up in a confined space, one little push should do it...
WHOOOOOSH! Out of my arse comes a jet of scalding hot brown liquid, I'm in the middle of the street with shit running down my legs... distract her! Managed to make some weird game of walking behind her, pushing her ahead of me with my hands on her shoulders.. we get to the hotel, get the key, nobody has smelled anything, but the bellboy hasnoticed my now two tone shorts... shove her into the lift, pretend i forgot something and let the doors close before I can get in, sprint up the stairs, beating the lift, burst into room, strip fully naked, shorts and boxers into bathroom bin, bin out on window ledge, 20 second hosedown in the shower, and she's banging on my door, puzzled...
Let her in the room, she sprawls on the bed while i put some tunes on the laptop.. and she starts banging on about Canada again.
That was the last straw... I just want to get the sex over with and fall asleep, so I jump on her and rush through some rudimentery foreplay, just get the tip in when the door starts being knocked on, and they won't give up... get out of bed to find the bellboy wanting to return the bin full of shitty clothes that had fallen from the window ledge down in front of the hotel entrance...
Now it stank of shit. We both agreed that we were actually really, really tired and should just maybe go back to sleep in our own rooms.
TL;DR Shit myself in the street, still nearly got a shag.
(Ol' Ginger Bastard a role model for the children, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 13:02, 11 replies)

Not technically a date. More a kind of fig.
So there I was - walking back from a boozer in Brighton to crash round a mate's place, drunk as three lords gaffataped together, happily staggering down the middle of the road at around midnight, with Chris, and his then girlfriend. Each of us was jabbering away slurred gibberish, as you do. Then - a woman's voice shouts out to me "LAURENCE!!!"
Now, Laurence is not my name.
It's my friends name - and I look nothing like him.
I look round, and it's Jules, a girl I've met quite a few times (we even went in the same group to Glastonbury twice) but don't really know that well.
"LAURENCE!" She screeches at me, "Laurence! Hi! Wanna come back to mine?!?"
Er……yes? My drunken mind says, and then my face, so I end up going off with her to her flat. But only after my mate's girlfriend gives me a parting look that, even in my addled state, clearly says "are you SERIOUSLY going beck to this psychotic, mad goth's house when she's mistaken you for someone else?"
Anyway...
Back at hers - I go and have a much needed piss.
When I come back out into the living room, she's got some music video channel playing, with a video from the everyone's favourite "band you love to hate", U2 playing. And Jules is kneeling in front of the TV, topless, with her nipples brushing against the face of bespectacled twat Bono.
And she stayed there for the duration of the song - then the next song, and the next song - with no reaction to any of my questions at all . . that’s all she did.
Rub her nipples over the TV.

I woke up in her bed (edit- Where The Sheets Had No Stains) in the morning fully clothed.
She went to work.
I met her for a pint after work the next day and it was staggeringly awkward.

She did, however, eventually find Laurence.
They made a weird couple, but a couple none the less.

For a fortnight.

TL;DR - I watched, in drunken fascination, a goth with amphetamine psychosis, who thought I was someone else, rub her nipples over a TV screen for about half an hour.
(SigourneysBeaver took off and nuked the entire site from orbit on, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 11:14, 4 replies)

Asked the rather cute swiss girl that lived in the flat next to mine
if she wanted to go out some time.

"Sure" she says. "How about the cinema on Saturday?"

Well, I'm not a big cinema fan, wasn't really up to date with what was on, but I got two tickets. Playing it safe, I went for the Steven Speilberg film that was on.

Yup, first date, Schindlers list.
(username failed moderation, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 10:58, 16 replies)

This is a repost, but I think it bears retelling:
I was just 13, and my French exchange student chum was - in my eyes, at least - unutterably cool. He liked U2, could name several other bands, didn't smile when he had his photo taken, and could dance - boy could he dance! I could just about move from foot to foot, looking embarassed. He could spin 'round and do the robot and everything.

There was to be a disco in our little Somerset village hall, and we were allowed to go to it - oh joy! There would be, I told him, girls there. He just shrugged Gallically, and I said that we could probably get some cider as well, at which he shrugged, Gallically.

We got there, and the DJ was at the other end of the empty hall, the music was pumping, the bass line thumping, the lights were glowing and there were THREE girls, sitting at a table, near the DJ, near the speakers.

Well, obviously they needed chatting up, so we flipped a coin, and I lost.

Being English, and being a gentleman, I took a long swig of cider, and squared up to my duty.

I strode down the middle of the long hall towards the girls, the music pumping, the bass thumping, the lights glowing.

I got within shouting distance; the music pumping, the bass thumping ... I knew I was in shouting distance, because one of the girls turned 'round and shouted

"NO THANKS."
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 10:52, Reply)

Nothing like efficiency
Few years back having done the divorce thing I was back on the dating scene. After a few false starts I met a lady online and we were quite chatty so arranged a lunch date on Sunday.

We met up at a local cafe in a park, went for a walk and chatted a bit then decided to hop in her car to go a local pub for lunch.

All was ok if perhaps a little neutral and conversation laboured at times.... perhaps to her bearing little or no resemblance to her profile picture taken years before but that just seems to be something girls do on dating sites???

Anyway, lunch over she drops me off back at my car, we say goodbye and she drives off. I'm getting my car keys out of my pocket when my phone beeps with a text message.

"Thanks for lunch but I don't think there is any attraction between us so we'll leave it there."

Somehow she'd managed to write and send that txt, while driving a car, in the 15 seconds it had taken me to wave goodbye and get my car keys out of my pocket!

Was a bit of a relief really as I was mentally wording something similar.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 10:39, 1 reply)

My first ever snog
During the school disco at the end of 1st year of 'big school' Heather told my mate Steve that Anna had said that Rachel wanted to snog me. Steve told Warren who told me, and I passed back the message that it was ok and I'd see her in the park opposite after the disco. Then I got a message back to say that she'd only come if her mate Sue could come too, but Sue wanted to snog Richie, so he had to be there as well.

After a lot of messages passed back and forth it was eventually the end of the disco and I went to the park with Richie, and sure enough there were Rachel and Sue. We stood under some trees smirking at each other, wondering who would make the first move. Eventually Rachel got fed up, marched over to me and mashed her lips against mine then grabbed Sue and stormed off. Richie stood staring at me. "Cor, what was it like?" he asked. Before I could answer, Ivan, who had been spying on us, fell out of the tree with a yell.

Next morning the story was around the whole school and people were teasing Rachel so badly that she hid in the store cupboard during Home Economics and cried. My mates told me I should go and console her " 'cos she might let you feel her tits". So I went into the cupboard, but she told me to piss off and kicked me in the goolies.

Not a great date.
(Smale is stuffed, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 10:22, 6 replies)

Once
I went on a date with this girl I'd met through work. We were making small talk and she told me that she had in fact been born on 29 February, thus informing me that rather than enjoying a classy and entertaining evening with a 28-year-old colleague, I was in fact sipping alcoholic beverages and nibbling dry-roasted clagnuts in the company of a seven-year-old! Needless to say, a member of Her Majesty's Constabulary was seated at the VERY NEXT TABLE and heard everything. Quick as an Accord off the lights, before he even had time to whip out his handcuffs and lash me to the mainmast, I leapt from my seat bellowing "ADMIRAAAAAAL ACKBAR!" and belted him in the Twin Towers.

I didn't even get his number.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 10:20, 3 replies)

It all came flooding back...
It was the mid nineties and life revolved around a grotty dark low rate nightclub at their indie night (Happy Wednesdays @ The Winter Gardens, Milton Keynes). I would dress in my favourite black denim and a music t-shirt then go to drink as much watered down booze as I could and enjoy the music.

I'd always been a bit shy in approaching girls but was quite outgoing with mates and always enjoyed a night out. This particular night I obviously in high spirits, chatted up a girl, got a snog and went home happy.

I woke with words ringing in my ears that I had to phone before 11am and found a name and number scrawled on a scrap of paper on my desk. Annette. It didn't ring a bell so I cast my mind back and remembered the slender brunette I'd kissed the night before and was only too eager to chuck some clothes on and go and find a payphone. Yes kids, once upon a time we didn't all have mobiles, it would be another 4 years before I got one of those...

Annette answered the phone and was eager to see me again. She lived in Newport Pagnell, about 7 miles from me, but would be visiting her friend that evening who lived less than a mile away. Plans were set and we were to meet that night at her friends house before going out for the evening.

My day was spent flitting between excitement and anguish, unable to concentrate on anything I was home early and sorted out a suitably clean set of clothes, pocket of money and car keys. Then made my way to our rendevouz.

Anxiously I made my way up the garden path to the front door and briefly closed my eyes to remember the gorgeous girl I was meeting, satisfied this was probably the best thing to have happened for months I pressed the doorbell. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears...

The door opened.... There stood a pear shaped ginger girl perhap an inch taller than a hobbit and no better looking. I opened my mouth to say "Hi, is Annette there please?" but before the words could come out she excitedly greeted me and I had one of those TV flashback moments.... a flashback in which I snogged the brunette, went to get another drink lost my bearings, went dancing and ended up snogging a ginger hobbit... called Annette.

To my credit, or perhaps shame, I went through with the date. Took her to a pub she liked and spent too much of the time looking at her and wondering what the hell I was drinking the night before.

EDIT: Annette, very sorry but if you read or hear of this tale at any point then I confess that our short lived "relationship" was based on a case of mistaken identity.
I would perhaps have a touch of guilt or remorse if it were not for the fact that the night I had enough and we split up you then spent the night with my flatmate, something for which he felt sufficiently awkward that you may recall the following morning we jointly arranged a taxi for you and went out to sail a giant 16 man inflatable dingy down the river to Caldecotte Lake then went to the pub.
I can however say that getting wet in the the cold dirty lake was still more enjoyable than getting wet in the short pear shaped ginger.
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 9:46, 5 replies)

a pearoast...
T'was September 19th 2009 (that's 'Talk Like A Pirate Day'), and I had a date with the lovely Wendy. And so, off I drove to Cambridge to meet her, parked up, met up and a great evening was being had.

At one point, Wendy went off to check out the facilities and I sat there wondering why everyone was dressed as pirates - then it dawned on me :)

And so, if you really want to make an impression on a date, I suggest the following:

1) When your date returns from the loo, talking like a pirate without first explaining why causes some confusion...
2) At the end of the date, failing to find your car in a car park (even if it is a big green Galaxy nicknamed 'Shrek'), spending 10 minutes going up and down levels then finding it parked not 10 feet from your date's car doesn't put you in a good light...

I lost the bloody thing in long stay parking at Stansted one time too - how can anyone lose something that big and ugly? Twice.
( snee held his breath since, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 9:37, 1 reply)

Love will tear us apart
love lack of seats

I took a girl to see a movie expecting at the very least to get to squish some tit at the back of the cinema

The cinema was so packed that there were few seats available. She sat way to far away for tit squishing. I sat next a fat sweaty woman in her 40's chomping her way through a bucket of popcorn the size an overnight suitcase

One the bright side I did manage a grope before she had to catch her bus (the girl I took not the fat lass)
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 9:21, 3 replies)

i was very excited to go on one particular date. A gentleman had called me at my workplace
and wanted to meet up to discuss a few things on the d/lo (whatever that is) and it all sounded very mysterious, especially when he said he was a head hunter.

So, I gets myself all pretty and turns up at the fabulous 5 star hotel in London town, apparently they even had a 44,000 litre salt water swimming pool. Met my date the head hunter and that's when it all went wrong. A head hunter is someone who seeks out people for jobs with competitors where you use your extensive contacts to further the competitors business for which they offer you large sums of cash. Not anything to do with oral sex.

I did not take the job nor get a blow job. Good job I did not take the job because the founder of that particular firm is doing hard time for a very, very large VAT fraud, Nasir Khan, The Accessory People.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 9:17, 1 reply)

I took a girl to the cinema to see Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Didn't get a shag though. Mainly because I was 9 and she had been married for three years.
( Peej, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 9:13, 6 replies)

I've told this before but it was such a spectacular disaster it mght as well have another go.
Popped out for a few jars and a friendly chat with girl I fancied.
Nothing serious mind, but testing the water and finding out how she felt about me.
She suggests cider, I agree - although I seem to have some kind of genetic problem with cider (my dad is the same) in that it makes my legs wobbly even when I feel fine.
Not wanting to make a poor impression on the "1st date" I get stuck into the draught cider, matching her pint for pint. She's a tall girl who can handle her drink and I feel good to be with her and after more than a few pints am feeling warm and happy.
At this point I pop off the barstool for a p-break and manage to get my foot caught in the bottom bar, falling gracefully over.
She laughs. I laugh too. I return feeling much better and resolve to go steady on the booze.
Too late, I've already had enough for serious damage to occur.
Realising I'm now in a bit of a pickle I suggest we leave and I walk her home.
No more than 3 steps outside the pub I fall over,

ON MY FACE.

She helps me up, we try again.

I fall over on my face on the kerb.

My sister arrives, laughs and calls a cab seeing that I won't get anywhere using my legs.
I stand and fall over backwards into the gutter where the rain runs down my collar.
I give up trying to stand and await my fate. I have been given a bag of frozen peas for my swelling face.
The bag of peas bursts open in the taxi and I'm soundly cursed by the driver. I care little for his predicament.

Time passes.

I awake in my bed and feel a bit rough. Standing slowly I walk towards the bathroom.
The duvet follows me. It is attached firmly to my elbow by a large crusty clot of blood.
I soak my elbow in the sink to remove the duvet.
A glance in the mirror reveals a face not dissimilar to the bit in Terminator where his face has been blown off with a shotgun.
I call work and tell them I'm sick, it's the truth.
I retire to bed a broken individual with a hole in my elbow like a cat's arse covered in ketchup.
One eyelid has split at the corner like an overripe fruit.

I no longer drink cider.
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 9:08, 4 replies)

Fucking Star Wars.
Pricks.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 9:07, 8 replies)

I was once taking a young lady out to somewhere special.
Don't have the time to tell the full story, but in the end they couldn't touch me because I'd recorded the policeman calling me a nonce just before I knocked him out with one punch so I got away scot free.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 8:50, 2 replies)

She came in through the bathroom window
so I called the police.

True story.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 7:50, 4 replies)

Online dating
So I have tried it, and so have lots of my friends.

I thought it seemed like a good idea at the time, at a time of singleness.

I had a couple of dates with eligible men, as you do. One in particular who tickled my fancy and who seemed like the kind of bloke I would get on with. He had a beard and was ginger so he was already ahead in the sexy stakes.
How WRONG could a girl be?
He was the most boring man I had ever met, all he did was 'umm and arrr' while staring at my tits. It's not like I had them out for the world to see, but it's hard to avoid them, but still. No effort at all to get on, so I made my excuses and left. Very quickly. It was a shame really as I was all fired up too.
Thankfully however I made it home to my flatmate who was still awake even at a very late hour.
She had a similar night, a blind date gone wrong, so we sat and chatted about it for a while.
One bottle of wine turned into 3 and we got to talking about what we wanted out of a date. We both agreed that we didn't want anything serious, just a whole lot of fun. Which led us onto talking about our previous sexual experiences.
Turns out, we had both had sex with other women, which I had NO idea about before we moved in together. I must admit it excited me, she was beautiful and had the most amazing body.
After a few hours and what turned into flirting, we found ourselves close, so close, and started to kiss.
God, she felt so good, her soft warm lips against mine. Her tits brushing against my hard nipples, I had all but forget my date earlier in the evening.
As she reached down to slide her fingers inside me, I whispered in her beautiful soft ear 'Fuck off you internet pervert, keep imagining this happens in real life after the awful bad date you just subjected a woman to. I have no doubt this is the closest you will ever get to a women, never mind 2, getting their clothes off in real life. Ever. Yeah? I'm looking at you, yeah you'
( Herb Alpert's Taxi Driver I have very beautiful lips, Fri 18 Oct 2013, 0:52, 10 replies)

Took a girl to the cinema
...turned out the film showing was Army of Darkness. I was so utterly transfixed by the utter brilliance of it all, I totally forgot about paying any attention to my date. She dumped me immediately afterwards.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 17 Oct 2013, 22:56, 11 replies)