Female Tale of Man-Trapment
Well, Dave was his name, and he was in the final year at uni (and I was in the first, thus he was cool). 'I must snare him!' I thought, in my wicked female mind. I'd known him for about six months, the odd little smile, etc, and I was getting fed up. I wanted him for mine!

The plan was set to make sure he was mine. On the Monday pre-snaring shopping went ahead. You think us girls just 'happen' to bump into you looking lovely? Bollocks. A range of seductive yet non-sluttish day clothes were purchased (tight jeans, breast-enhancing t-shirts etc - no cleavage - all part of the master plan) and a killer outfit for the Friday night (tight black trousers, black silk corset, buxom cleavage)

All went swimmingly (a little TOO swimmingly?). On the Tuesday I went out for 'Quiz Nite' at my local. Dave was there. Dave smiled. Result. Wednesday I went out to a vodka bar and had a little dance with the girls. Again, Dave was there. He was a bit drunk and wandered over to give me his number and mumble something about my hair (I hope it was nice, and not 'arrgh! there's rat piss in your hair!'). This was steamrolling ahead!

Thursday (night) I texted him and asked if he was going to the club Friday. He was. Excellent.

Get all dolled up, wear a small black shirt over my corset. Have a drink or two in the local then move onto the club. When Dave is spotted, master plan kicks off. I pretend to barely notice him (girls: devious) then took off my shirt to reveal the corsety goodness within (girls: sexual predators). Then I walked off to dance with my homosexual malefriends (Dave didn't know they were gays somehow, despite the silver trousers). Jealousy is an evil thing and had the desired effect. When I went to the bar Dave came over and bought me a drink. We chatted, etc, and he kissed me. Victory is mine! I thought, as I contemplated the near £100 (a lot of money to a brassic student) I had spent achieving this kiss.

We went back to his place for a coffee (a real one not a shagging one) and kissed some more (coffee never appeared, the devious bastard (girls: hypocrites)). Obviously playing the long game, I didn't try it on nor allow him to - I'm not a good girl, I'm just a good bad girl. We're all crafty bitches really. Thinking of the wonderous relationship I had so craftily sped into life, I asked him if he wanted to go out and see a movie the next day. His romantic reply?

'Oh sorry, I can't, I'm going to Peru for six months, trekking'.

The BASTARD. You'd think he would have mentioned it before (say in the hour and a half of chatting before he went in to kiss me?!) but oh no! He was going in for the kill!

MEN! You are all EVIL LYING BASTARDS!!!
(Northern Lovely, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 11:30, Reply)