You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » My Worst Date » Page 5 | Search
This is a question My Worst Date

I have horrible memories of a blind date where, desperately grabbing something at the last minute, I wore an enormously long scarf so she'd recognise me. I looked like a twat, it was clear she thought so too, and we stood saying nothing for 15 minutes in a pub before running away.

What's your worst date experience?

(, Fri 22 Oct 2004, 9:59)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Keep it in the family.
Asked a cute girl out, Natalie, when I was 16 and she invited me to a dinner party at her place whilst her parents were out for the evening.

Went round, felt distinctly uncomfortable in front of her sloany mates, and thought it best to drink myself sociable with Pernod and Blackcurrant.

Proceeded to get absolutely shit-faced and, at some point in the late evening when I suddenly got the urge to call God, ran upstairs to her bathroom, sprayed purple vomit absolutely everywhere and collapsed in a heap.

I was just at the point of blacking out in the bathroom when the soothing sound of my girlfriend-to-be starts speaking to me and her gentle, tender hands help me from the floor. I'm in such a state I can't open my eyes. The same hands steady me up the stairs and into the spare room, and then help me get undressed. "Last chance, man," I think so without stopping to focus, turn round and ram my tongue down her throat for a good 10 seconds or so. We break off and I begin to drunkenly suggest we have a play together on the bed. The girl says it's not a good idea but I won't take no for an answer. I squeeze her arse for a bit and have my hand patiently removed. I go for her norks and get in a bit of a squidge before my hands are patiently removed. I give up at this point when I realise that I'm literally seconds away from blacking out, so I lie back and decide to let it take me.

The last thing I see as my eyeballs focus for the last time and my lids begin to droop... is Natalie's gorgeous Mum turning out the lights.

The next day I was greeted with an amazing hangover, a scouring pad and some Jif for the toilet I had to clean, cheeky smiles from her Mum, dagger style glares from her daughter and looks of total pity from the boy she'd spent the night getting off with whilst I was puking. The one-way ticket to singledom was welcomed at this point.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 15:06, Reply)
Doggy style
Sorry - one more!

While getting plastered at one of Salisburys ever popular Rugby Club discos during the late 80’s early 90’s I was lucky enough to be set up with pretty cute goth girl. She’d come down with one of my friends and they were planning to camp in the field nearby instead of heading back to Winchester or wherever. Anyway, half a bottle of vodka later and we’re in her sleeping bag in the middle of some field. ‘Can I lick you?’ she asks. ‘You sure can!’ was my eager reply. She then proceeds to lick me. Like a dog. All over my face. I can’t quite remember how long this went on for but I do know I blacked out, only to wake up with her still licking my face. It had started to rain by now and the tent wasn’t up and looked like it never would be. Time to walk home. I still get pangs of guilt for not letting her stay at my place but I just couldn’t face the look my parents would have given me upon introducing her mascara streaked face the next morning. My friend never mentioned the evening for some strange reason.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 14:48, Reply)
Norway - nil points!
Same bar as the Japanese girl but ended up going back with a Norwegian girl we used to work with. She was quite nice but I realised far too late that she couldn’t hold her drink. At all. Now, I’m sure that Danish girls and Swedish girls rank pretty highly in the stereotypical fantasy shag league but have you ever wondered why Norwegian girls are no-where to be seen. It’s because when they’re drunk they sound like a dolphin with Tourettes. A more annoying squeal you couldn’t possibly imagine. We were thrown out of two taxies on the way to south London purely because the drivers couldn’t stand her voice. The fact that she was shouting and had become very upset about something that had occurred in the hallucinogenic bubble that surrounded her head that she called reality didn’t help either. We arrived at her place. She punched me full in the face. For nothing. To this day I don’t know why she did it. I asked her a couple of days afterwards and she denied it happened. I must have fallen over apparently. Anyway, finally got indoors, tended to my bloody nose and proceeded to drink half a bottle of gin. Are you coming upstairs she eventually asked. You are fucking joking aren’t you!?. It didn’t help that after telling my mate about this, he told everyone about it at our staff Xmas party. I then spend the entire evening being shouted at by Flipper due to my ungentlemanly conduct
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 14:48, Reply)
I think I'm turning Japanese
Oh God, where do I start? Ok first one was while I was working in London. Went out with a work colleague after work for a few beers and a couple of games of pool. Being around the St James area there were usually some pretty good looking women out doing the same thing most nights. We never really managed to talk to any of them though as we were mainly concerned with drinking as much as we could. Until this one night when three Japanese girls asks if they could play pool with us. To cut a long story short, many drinks later and sitting in some bar of Leicester Square one of the girls leans over and starts kissing me. Great! We seem to be getting on well and she agrees to come back to my place ‘for coffee’. All is going well at this point, - very well. The taxi ride back involves more kissing and the promise of better things to come. We get back to my flat, head straight for the bedroom and get straight down to it. At this point things start going bad….very bad. My flatmate nosily bangs open the front door with a couple of mates, all of which are swearing very loudly in that way that blokes do when they’ve had a skilful. Cue Japanese girl looking a bit worried and asking ‘Who’s that?’ ‘Don’t worry’ I say, ‘It sounds like my flatmate. I’ll go and tell them to shut up’ Now, the light comes on and in my semi-undressed state, the Japanese girl sees the tattoo I have on my back/shoulder. More shouting from outside my room and in the space of 5 seconds she has convinced herself that this was all planned and we’re going to gang rape her. I’m standing there thinking WTF!?!, while she climbs out of bed and opens my window ‘I’ll jump!’ she screams. I lived on the third floor. Now, being confused with some sort of Yakuza rapist isn’t something that has happened to me before – I panicked. However, I’m sure you’ll all agree with me that the solution to me predicament was one of magnificent genius. I went into the kitchen, found the biggest sharpest knife I could find, went back into the bedroom and said ‘Here, have this. If anyone tries anything you can stab them!’ I can still picture the scene now, her almost half way out of a third story window, in her underwear, with those scared stiff, rabbit in headlights eyes staring back at me and holding an 8 inch carving knife. ‘OK!’ she says, hops off the windows, smiles and says ‘Come on, let’s go back to bed!’ That night I slept with a Japanese girl in my arms while she held the knife in her hand, on my chest. Weird thing was though we went out with each other for six months. Until she told me she was married to a pilot in the airforce. Shame really as she was pretty good fun.

Sorry for length etc etc
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 14:47, Reply)
Yeah.
You leg breaking bitch. :(

heh. x

Just kidding. You know I forgive you.

Edit: EEK.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 14:37, Reply)
HEREPES?
You poor bastard.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 14:30, Reply)
Hmmmm
Met girl. Fit. Took her home. I gave her head. She gave me Herepes.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 13:56, Reply)
I'd adored this guy for three years..
.. and when he finally said he'd (Noctu) come visit, I was full of glee! I couldn't wait. He turns up, comes back to my house, and we get on pretty well immediately. Hour or so later, we head to The Gloucester in Brighton with a few friends. Cue much alcohol. MUCH alcohol. He soon realises he needs more money, so me and another mate accompany him to the cash point. Running like loons through the streets, winding in and around the pretty moving cars in the road, leaping like cocaine addicted lambs.

On the way back, he's still skipping about, running in wobbly circles around alarmed people, laughing manically. In one of his dances, he falls toward me with his arms lovingly outspread. Not so bad, you might think.

Being drunk and automatically defensive, I shoved him away, thinking he was going to knock me flying.

He flies up into the air with a shriek, spins and twists in an impressively gymnastic manner, and then crunches down like a sack of concrete onto the kerb. Me and my friend laugh at him, assuming him weak. ....We ended up carrying him back to the club, where he proceeded to grimace and down more alcohol at an alarming rate. Find out four days later I'd shattered his ankle. :( Remarkably, 9 months later we're still together. :) Not necessarily my worst date, but not the best planned one. Didn't help that a friend of mine was also blatantly attempting to pull him. Biznitch.

(His brother, bless his heart, has since told one of his friends that I'm a 9 foot tall shebeast who threw Noctu against a wall when I first met him and forced him into dating me. I think the guy still believes it.)

Edit for reply three posts up: Only because I'll break your other ankle if you don't. x And cut off the nookie. However good.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 13:52, Reply)
I was ginger.
Well it put all of you off. Pseudo-racist twats.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 13:38, Reply)
My worst date...
...that wouldbe the time I took a girl home and had to apologise for the length.

AYthangyou.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 13:16, Reply)
slice my beef
took my now wife to a carvery restuarant for our first valentines day - it's all going well until the chef carving seems to take a shine to us and begins tells us about his knife collection. We can see it if we like. We decline, politely, and spend the rest of the meal trying to avoid his attempts at eye contact.
Kills the horn stone dead. Mr. wiggly sad.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 13:06, Reply)
I
had a girlfriend who lived in Dublin when I was living in London and I arranged fly over to meet her. Lunch was planned and she was eager to meet me off the flight. On the flight however was a beautiful and off duty air-hostess who started talking to me and then offered me some whiskey out of a bottle she had bought in the Duty Free shop. I got ratted and we talked and talked. When we were on the ground I could hardly walk and just as my girlfriend came up to meet me this other girl kissed me and said out loud "See you later". Arrrrgggghhh!!!
Anyway, smelling like a brewery I went from there to a frosty lunch, ordered more drink, stuck my elbow in the steak and proceeded to knock the plate off the table. When I finished trying to pick everything up from the floor I discovered that I was sitting alone..!! What was the name of that girl???? (Sigh!!)
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 12:47, Reply)
Dutch courage
If you've got a couple of hours to kill between the end of work and your date, and you're looking for a way to calm the nerves, its probably not a good idea to spend that time in the pub downing Stellas. I turned up late and very drunk. After about 15 minutes she came to the conclusion that I was incapable of doing anything other than slumping in the corner and grinning like a loon so she left.

I had a great time, but oddly enough I haven't seen her since...
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 12:34, Reply)
I drank the fingerbowl...
...while out on a first restaurant date with a young lady.
It was my first time at a Chinese restaurant, I was young, nervous, and when the waiter put a little dish of lemony water on the table I naturally assumed it was for refreshment.
Oh how wrong I was.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 12:33, Reply)
Oh, the folly of youth, etc.
We met in my local club and I asked her to come and meet up a couple of days later. She was a good girl fresher, a little shy, away from home for the first time. So when I got there with the flu and also coming up on some surprisingly strong pills, my eyes rolling back in my head, she, um, ran away. Harsh.

Not a great story really, just a bit sad.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 12:12, Reply)
There's a serious pattern forming here...
Age 17, "gifties" course in Oxford, last drunken night, object of desire has copped off with perfect male specimen.

Hence I cop off with her mate, who is a far superior form of human being all round, just not slim & cute.

Some time pen-palling, then Uni leads to a Lacuna in correspondance.

A few years later, while in pub with woman who was shortly to become bearer of my offspring, I choke on my Old Peculier (steady, it's a beer), as the Grauniad's problem page has a letter from said former pen friend advising a teenage girl about coming out as a lesbian at University.

Thankfully, I saw the funny side, and we're back in touch now... I'm still a little upset she didn't mention the lesbian thing at any point in our correspondance though.

"B3ta: Lesbianizing the country since 1991"

Apologies for gratuitous use of the word "lacuna".
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 11:57, Reply)
Worst date EVAH. (Long)
Jennifer (name changed) was a cute, elfin 16-year-old whom I'd been admiring at school for a while. I was 17 and horny, and had the use of my dad's Mini. So I asked her out on a date, and to my delight, she agreed. I secured the use of the car, and drove her to the local city. We went to the cinema, then for a couple of drinks, then I took her to my friends' house (to show her off). It seemed to be going OK, and we were getting on fine, but the couple of times I tried to take her hand, she withdrew it.

In the car on the way home she started rambling about stuff that didn't make too much sense, and then told me she could "help me with my problem". I asked her what she meant, but she didn't give me a straight answer.

Then I hit a cyclist.

It was dark and pouring with rain, and the cyclist had been coming round a roundabout with no lights. Luckily I had stopped before entering the roundabout, so I was only doing about three miles per hour when I hit her, but still she rolled spectacularly up the bonnet onto the windscreen, then back off again onto the ground. I jumped out of the car and the cyclist's friend ran up to me, smacking me round the head and calling me a "fucking bastard". I ignored this and helped the cyclist up. I offered to take her to hospital but she declined. The bike seemed to be OK. I gave her my number, apologising profusely. The whole time Jennifer was sitting there in the passenger seat with big bug eyes.

We set off for home again, but after a couple of minutes I was hit by delayed shock. I apologised to Jennifer and pulled over into a pub car park, whereupon I burst into tears. She put her arm round me (the only physical contact I ever got from her). Unfortunately, this was at kicking-out time, and a huge group of chavs came out of the pub, saw us in the Mini, and braying with laughter proceeded to pick it up by the wheel arches and bounce it around the car park.

My tears now turned to fear and anger, so I turned the engine and lights back on and revved the engine furiously, and eventually they let go, and we carried on back to her place. I dropped her off with nary a peck on the cheek.

She declared her lesbianism a couple of days later.

A few weeks after that she got off with a (male) mate of mine at a party. It was his loss, though: even though they didn't shag, she turned up a few days later at his parents' house at 3am, in bare feet, to tell him she was bearing his child. She started going through a genuine phantom pregnancy, and then disappeared. She was eventually picked up by the cops walking barefoot down the fast lane of the motorway, on her way to London to tell the government what she thought of them. She was sectioned.

I ended up having to pay for the repair for a dent in the bonnet of the Mini, buy the cyclist a new bike, compensate her for days off work, a taxi to the hospital, and a medical bill for a bruised finger.

I try to suppress the thought that it was the trauma of our date that pushed Jennifer over the edge, but it does occasionally haunt me. And I never got any.

Edited to add: on further recollection, I think I may have further compounded her mental problems when, after she refused to see me, I recorded myself singing a seriously awful David Brent style lovelorn adolescent song I had written ("I never should have touched you/'Coz you have the Midas touch"), and posting the tape through her letterbox. Oh the shame.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 11:52, Reply)
Divine intervention:
Oh, I also met a girl in a bar in Highgate who only revealed her mentalness when we went back to mine.

Mad Clue 1: Upon opening a packet of cigarettes, she stopped me from lighting up and blessed them all with a small bottle of holy water.

Mad Clue 2: She then told me that my Christian name was the name of her patron saint and as such I was her spiritual guardian.

Mad Clue 3: Rather than sit on a chair, she sat on the ledge in front of an open window many floors up in the building. (Not tempting, no, not at all.)

The irony of the situation was that her devout Christian Funda-mentalism had me praying for her to leave - by ascension or descension, just not at my hands.

Which she didn't until the next morning.

Praise be.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 11:13, Reply)
Captain Birdseye Bra
Oh the humanity. While at university there was a beautiful girl called Katie. She was truly stunning and took a shine after seeing me acting in a play.

So the date was set, she looked gorgeous wearing a black, low-cut, halter top. A lovely night was had and the horizontal hokey kokey seemed assured. Meanwhile, back at my house:

"How do you take your coffee?" I asked.

"Black, one sugar" she answered.

Hot water, just boiled in the kettle, was added to said cup of ingredients... only for me to trip over a housemate's shopping box - spilling scolding hot water over her exposed cleavage.

She walked home with two frozen chicken pies in each cup of her bra.

Oh the humanity. Still, thank you Captain Birdseye, for avoiding a costly burns lawsuit.

(And no, I never found out if the pies cooked on her way home.)
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 11:07, Reply)
Battered by a bouncer...
Ok... well this wasn't really a date but it's kind of relevent. I had been seeing this girl that I met in a nightclub, she was a bit pikey and ginger, but I was desperate at the time.

One night not long after I had met her I had gone out on the piss with the lads and ended up in a nightclub. Whilst strutting my funky stuff on the dance floor I noticed said pikey bitch on the other side of the dance floor snogging the face off some bloke. Phukit I thought no big deal, I've snogged loads of gals since I met her. 20 minutes later she proceeds to come across the dance floor and tries to shove her tongue down my throat. Not being in the mood to share I told her to piss off and pushed her (gently) away.

Next thing I know this big mutha of a bouncer has picked me up by the neck and is dragging me down the stairs shouting something about battering women. He literally chucks me out of the fire escape where I sit trying to work out what the fuck just happened.

Fuckin arse left big fuckin bruises round my neck where he'd grabbed me. twat.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 11:02, Reply)
Branding myself ...
I fancied this girl for about year when I was at school, she was 2 years older than me, and the sister of a good friend.

Anyway, to cut a long story short, she agreed to go out with me to the cinema, finally. In getting ready for the big night I had a shower, ironed my clothes and just as I had ironed my shirt I leant over the ironing board to turn the iron off. OUCH! I branded a massive upside down 'V' on my left nipple with the iron.

All night she was giving me the right signals, and all I could think of was the searing pain in my left nipple. She obviously thought I was rude and wasn't interested. After that she never returned my calls. Whenever I went to my friends house, she ignored me, or there was always an uncomfortable silence. I tried to explain once but she just laughed. Nice.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 10:55, Reply)
reading festival 1994
first time my parents let me do anything like this - with a car as well - drove there with my girlf (a Ms Amy Mahon) and her two mates who i very nicley offered a lift to help ease the petrol money burden

she dumped me when we arrived - but instead of telling me, she buggered off with her mates and i didnt see her until i was due to drive her and her friends home two days later, by which time i had come down with scarlet fever.

it was the the most lonely and ill i have ever been. but i did see the Foo Fighters, and go crowd surfing to Hole.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 10:43, Reply)
Fetish Party
2 particular 'dates' spring to mind. (I'll try and keep them as brief as possible).

1) Another 'blind-date-gone-sour' experience: A girl who was a friend of a mate, and who only knew about me from reading something I'd emailed in reply to my mate's group emails, decided to invite me to the pics to see an 'arty' jean luc godard film. Although she werent that attractive, we got on well and after the film had a damn good chat over a drink or 2 in the cinema bar. I then stupidly took her along to meet some of my 'friends' in a pub, who immmediately started making fun of her looks and generally being rude, intimidating yobos. Eventually i walked the very annoyed and unimpressed young lady to the tube, and never heard of her thereafter. Wasnt actually my worst date, but I'm sure it didnt figure that highly in her list though.

2) About 4 years ago was out drinking somewhere on carnaby st one sunny summer friday evening, and got chatting to some most attractive young ladies. To cut a long story short, they were journo types and one of them wrote for the 'Erotic Review'. We got on well and later on she asked if I wanted to go to a party that night, which was being put on by the 'Fetish Times' in a big place just off drury lane. 'Crikey' I thought 'this could be an interesting night!'. Anyway I'm sure you can picture the party - lots of people showing off their 'crazy' sexual leanings in their attire, naked people being whipped on stage, and gimp-like men and women walking from table to table with paddles asking guests to 'spank' their botties. It was like a scene out of 'Eyes Wide Shut' or something...
All very exciting I'm sure you'll agree - but all I wanted to do was pull this girl and take her home. At the time I was probably highly intimidated by all this bizarrely explicit (and slightly comical) action going on all around us, but as the night dragged on it became clear that she was just going to swan around all night flirting ridiculously with people she knew and who had no interest in me whatsoever. So in the end, having drunk rather alot, I got tired and bored (no - I'm not sure why either!), made my excuses and left. Which left me thereafter wondering what might have happened if I'd stuck around and actually been a bit more sociable with these overfriendly folk. Forgot to ask for her number too.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 10:43, Reply)
Had to get this out in the open.
a few years ago, I started developing a relationship with a lady I worked with. We had only ever talked on the phone, as she was in a different office, so decided to meet up for a date.

Central london was the venue. See a few museums, visit a nice restaurant, and impress her with my cultured persona.

All went fine, before heading up to Kings Cross to to see her on to a train home. Due to train delays, there was a half hour wait, so I suggested we head to a bar for a swifty.

Walk into the first bar we find at Kings X, and I head to get the drinks. While Im stood at the bar, I turn round and see my date transfixed by something at the other end of the pub.

Its a live sex show, with two ladies getting over familiar on stage. The shame. The embarresment. Worked out fine though, as it turned out she was more of a pervert than I was.

Also. First ever date. Went to pizza hut. My date got a huge chunk of tomato wedged into the braces on her top deck of teeth, where it remained for the entire duration of the date. Put me right of snogging her, and she must have felt severely embarresed when she got home and looked in the mirror.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 10:27, Reply)
lets call her kitty
because that was her name. not so much one bad date, more of a string of them.

first proper night out, in the bar under centre point her handbag gets nicked. not too bad, but puts a damper on the evening because im broke and she has no money.

second date, her gay brother recommends requiem for a dream as a film to see. holy sweet infant baby jesus - the most depressing thing either of us ever watched.

third date, bah humbug, she actually talks me into dumping her, but i dont realise what she did for another eight hours. im still majorly confused about that entire evening.

odd girl. odd times.

i think she was on the rebound, but certainly not a lesbian.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 10:05, Reply)
First Meal At Girl Friends Parents Disaster
I still cringe to this day when recounting this - so I see this as a chance at cheap "board therapy"...

Picture the scene, first serious girlfriend; been going out a couple of months; getting to the "groping regularly in a very heated fashion indeed" part of the relationship; get invited over to her parents for the first (and, as it turned out, last) meal.

Mistake #1: Going out on the piss the night before with mates

Mistake #2: Getting completely f**king rat-arsed.

So, long story short, turn up at hers at about 11.00, chatting, bit of kissing and stuff, down to the living room (nicely decorated, quite expensive stuff) and: quite full of cooking stuff smells... which, to be blunt, are not sitting well with my hangover.

Told I am looking a bit "green", am I ok? "Oh yes, perfectly fine." I reply...

My girlfriend, looking concerned comes over to see if I am ok, ask me if I want to visit the bathroom - her Mum coming into the room, also looking concerned.

Now, have you ever got that feeling that everything is going in slow motion (you know, like Chariots of Fire) when the important bits about to happen; even though you are not quite sure what the important bit is? Well, if you have, you'll have some idea of how this played out for me both at the time, and in the following years:

Girl friend has arms clamped around me, and tells me she hopes I'll be ok... girlfriend wearing lovely new (and rather revealing) dress... (you can see where this is going, can't you...)

I reply... "Honest, I'll be ok in a min..." and promptly re-learn the meaning of projectile vomiting (having forgotten it since I was baby.)

Now (yes, it gets worse...) being the loving boyfriend type, I decide (in the vain hope this still might turn out ok) that covering one's girlfriend (and especially her new dress) in vomit is not: a) going to go down well; b) get any kind of additional after-dinner groping and fondling in; and c) be considered socially acceptable.

So (feel free to cringe at this point), I carefully aim away from her, somewhat failing, BUT, and this bit is quite important, actually improving my aim at her mother (and, as I found out later, their new sofa.)

To recap: instead of the nice, family oriented and romantic dinner with my girlfriends family, I actually ended up making the later afternoon (twas a Sunday) turn into a scene from The Exorcist (minus the possesion, oh and the crucifix fucking, obviously) and, mostly successfully avoiding my girlfriend's dress. Alas, not her shoes, her mother, the new sofa and substantial portions of the carpet.

I merely praise God that they didn't have a dog.

Strangely, we did break up within a couple of weeks (though I think she forgave me overall)... but I still carry the emotional scars.
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 9:53, Reply)
not so much a date, but...
was at a music festival several years ago, went on my own as my mate had bailed a few days beforehand.

met these two chicks and hung around with them for most of the festival, getting on increasingly well with one of them, much to the annoyance of her grumpy friend who whenever we'd get a bit touchy-feely would find various ways of stopping us getting too err... touchy-feely.

these included the usual nudging and attempting to drag her mate away for some reason or another, but as more alcohol was consumed her efforts increased to the point where i was about to snog this girl and we both had a drink poured over us by the jealous bitch.

wandered off to get another drink, and by the time i got back she'd been dragged off by madam sulk, never to be seen again...
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 6:35, Reply)
whats worse than finding a worm in your apple? finding half a worm.
so i'm in bed with this girl, she says that she's a virgin and that she's not sure if she really wants to go totally all the way, but would like to go for a test drive, so to speak.

long story short, she (or we, whatever) decide that for now she wants a taste test and will decide on a later date if she wants to finish.

so i try her on for size, 15 seconds each in about 5 different positions, then we (or she, whatever) are done. thats it, had to throw the rubber away and finish myself off.

worst date ever? maybe, maybe not. what do you think is worse, no f*¢k or half a f*¢k?

oh yes, and she decided that she wants to finish, but i've got to wait a month...
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 6:16, Reply)
ever see that movie "the ring?"
well, it was so scary, my girlfriend of the time nearly broke my hand.

frankly, i (unfortunately) don't think i've been on enough dates in my life to have any good bad date stories...
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 5:46, Reply)
what?
besides that time i thought it was a date and she didn't?
(, Mon 25 Oct 2004, 5:34, Reply)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1