It should have never have gone so far...
Oh the amount of things I have started without finishing. If only I was more persistent in persuit of my goals. In my life lie many unfinished things:

Relationships, a job re-grade application form, a bathroom, to-do lists, diets...

It's summer 2005, I'm 21 and not as fat as I am now. I'm living in a houseshare with my best friend and partner in crime (now sadly deceased) and each weekend we regularly lead each other astray by encouraging the imbibition of copious amounts of vodka and massive drugs. It's a Saturday night and we're out in Liverpool with another friend, Amanda. Former housemate pulls a dodgy geezer who she knows from work, he has trainers on and can't get into the bars we want to go to. Housemate makes the executive decision to take him home to bounce on him leaving Amanda and I to continue our evening. We carry on to our favourite bar characterised by its notorious loose drunken women of all ages and its meat market ethos. It would be a bad night out if you didn't get your arse pinched as a mimimum.

There were many nights my former housemate and I had spent dancing the night away imitating the moves of the more aesthetically challenged with blatant disregard for the likelihood of us getting chinned. The disregard probably aided by the false sense of invincibility awarded to use by the ingestion of massive drugs. One night we were so cheekily mocking a nearby dancer that we giggled to ourselves that we were going to get battered. Forgetting the football chant of "you're going home in a st john's ambulance" and needing something with an equal amount of syllables I shouted to my former housemate over the din "YOU'RE GOING HOME IN A COMBINE HARVESTER" which had us in hysterics. Anyway I digress - I'm getting nostaligic.

On the night in question Amanda and I are dancing / drinking / smoking in the usual combination and decide to get a last drink in at the bar before we got turfed out. In an effective bid to rid the bar of punters they switch the fluroescant lighting on. This reveals everyone as the sweaty mess they really are and kills the atmosphere. We're supping our last drinks when two bouncy scousers rock up at the bar offering the promise of a "party". Not wanting the night to end we shrug to each other and agree to go to the "party". As the more savvy of you will have guessed by now this "party" turns out to be the four of us. The high of the evening is rapidly disspating for me as I realise the more attractive (more accurately described as less ugly) of the two scousers has really hit it off with Amanda leaving me with the unappealing charms of his friend whose name was Tony.

Tony was a merchant seaman with the kind of Liverpool accent and painful humour that in combination make your ears bleed. He was also a permatanned, lime green Ben Sherman wearing short arsed little fucker. I'm fake smiling through his bad jokes though the realisation of how dire the evening is to become hasn't yet filtered through the alcohol. We stop at a 24 hour boozery and pick up some brandy and vodka. We arrive at Tony's house and the "party" commences - Tony puts some banging choons on and we drink some more. Amanda and slightly-less-repulsive scouser are getting like a house on fire. Tony's overtures are becoming slightly more obvious. I excuse myself to the bathroom. Upon exiting the bathroom Tony is waiting for me outside, casually leaning, propped on one arm across the width of the landing and cunningly blocking my exit path. Not wanting to be rude I effectively limbo under his arm to get past. Tony invites me to see his home gym that he's immensely proud of. He shows me into a laminate floored bedroom with a weight bench and a few free weights inside. The walls are green woodchip. I pretend to be impressed.

I quickly escape back downstairs to find Amanda necking Tony's friend on the sofa. I cough loudly. They separate themselves and we carry making small talk, Tony arrives back in the living room looking a bit sulky a few seconds behind me. "Excellent," I think "I've made it really obvious I'm not intersted and he'll politely leave me alone".

Ha.

Tony invites me to sit on his knee. I decline. Amanda is sleepily leaning onto the shoulder of her new soulmate and he's stroking her hair. He's giving Tony the secret signal to leave the room. You know the almost imperceptible nod of the head. I'm getting annoyed and anxious, not wanting the conflict of telling Tony outright "Look mate you're a fucking minger of the highest order, your skin is orange. You're not funny and I have no interest in sliding down your pole". Tony invites me to view his newly decorated bedroom. I sigh and look at Amanda with what I hope comes across as a "you owe me" look and allow myself to be led upstairs to "view Tony's newly decorated bedroom". Once inside the room Tony is bragging about his dado rails and in the three seconds it takes me scan the room and turn back to face him he has completely removed all of his clothes. They must have been fucking velcro sealed. He taps the the bed next to him and signals for me to sit down. I try and quell the rising vomit and burp indiscretly behind my hand. I excuse myself to the bathroom again.

I sit on the toilet and curse my stupidity. How the hell have I got myself into this mess. Fuck fuck fuck fuck I repeat silently to myself. I have two choices either a) sleep with Tony or b) cause a scene. I make the only sensible decision: to sleep with Tony. I was far too tired and worn down by constantly swerving his advances to deal with any more conflict. With resignation I remove myself from the toilet and make my way back to his bedroom. Tony's now lying in bed provocatively leaning on one arm, huge gold chain around his orange neck. I sit on the edge of the bed and hang my head and feeling like I'm about to spew all over his recently fitted carpet.

"What's the matter babe? I thought you were feeling dead horny"

The natural response would have been "NO FOOL! I am not horny I've merely been too pleasant to assertively reject you". Instead I say "Not really, no". Tony looks crestfallen that all of this evenings endeavours might not pay off for him. "Come and have a little lie down, darlin" he croons at me. I trudge around to the other side of the bed and get under the covers fully clothed and shut my eyes tight. Tony slides across the bed towards me. I can feel the warmth of his breath on the side of my face. I grimace and turn over onto my side. Tony spoons in behind me and begins to grope my boobs. I squrim and recoil. Tony stops, sighs and rolls over onto his back.

I dive out of the bed, barge into the living room where fortunately both Amanda and her new guy are asleep on the sofa. I shake Amanda roughly awake and tell her that we're leaving. Amanda looks at me guiltily. "Sorry Fireyfox," she says. We collect our belongings and hurry out onto the street where we flag down a passing taxi.

Let this story be a warning about how much worse this scenario could have been. I don't think anyone should be ashamed of having consensual one night stands but always beware of what you're getting yourself into. Never be too much of a dickhead like I was to say "NO". Luckily Tony might have been an idiot but he wasn't a rapist.

Sorry for lack of eventual funnehs.
(Fireyfox is prepared to change, Thu 24 Jun 2010, 23:07, 6 replies)

Going to put my voice to this
Have gotten myself into similar situations in my long distant past.

Many many thanks to all you non rapey guys.

Women, you learn to stay mentally competent eventually. Don't learn the hard way.
(posthumous mince is tiptoeing through the tulips, Fri 25 Jun 2010, 2:34, closed)

Er... you're welcome...?
and thanks for not being an axe-murderer.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Fri 25 Jun 2010, 9:01, closed)

Non Rapey....
I like this, and you are welcome.
(Obi wanker nobi Its not a bug, its an unexpected feature, Fri 25 Jun 2010, 11:15, closed)

Erm... thanks?
Being thanked for not being rapey is like football fans being commended for not starting massive fights in the stands i.e., you shouldn't get credit for not doing stuff that you shouldn't be doing anyway.

That aside, well done for making a graceful exit. Despite not having appalling sex Amanda still owes you for what you did go through!
(flimflam_machine, Fri 25 Jun 2010, 12:30, closed)

A tip to women everywhere
Men are not good at taking hints. That goes double if the hint is for something we don't want to do, and triple if we're drunk. Hence, being nice to a drunk bloke who's decided he'd quite like to shag you, is rarely going to work.

Don't worry about 'offending' us - put us straight at the earliest opportunity, and only an utter cunt will take it the wrong way. In your situation, saying "Sure, we'll come to a party, but only for a few drinks" or "Yeah, OK, but don't get any ideas" won't offend anyone, but does stop you from worrying about whether you've 'led a guy on' later. The 'leading on' is not my words by the way - this is advice I gave to a female friend after she slept with a total creep because, in her words, "at first he wasn't really *doing* anything I could have a go at him for (sitting close, stroking hair), and by the time he started going too far, I felt like I'd been leading him on because I didn't stop his earlier advances"

Don't worry about it. If you're not interested in sleeping with us, but don't mind hanging out for an hour, say so, but say so early. Those amongst us just out for a good night will relax a little and stop trying to get into your pants. Those who are looking to get into *someones* pants will leave you alone.

Unless they're cunts. Which apparently a surprising number of us are.
(bblgoose, Fri 25 Jun 2010, 13:33, closed)

This really is
Excellent advice. I could have done with your sage words during that summer.
(Fireyfox is prepared to change, Mon 28 Jun 2010, 10:32, closed)