» Against Your Will

Not long out of uni and off with my boyfriend on out first holiday together..
We were more culturally inclined than sunworshippers, and poor with it, so we were quite pleased to find a nice cheap deal for the boat across to Belgium for a few days of beer and architecture.

Two days in and it was clear, most certainly in the case of my other half, that beer was winning the day. And night. And well into the next morning. We'd done (fucking) Bruges on the first day as it was just up the road from the city we were staying in and had kinda ticked 'culture' off the list. So beer it was. After getting rather 'tanked up' on the local paint stripper my previously mild mannered boyfriend became rather, er, sexually suggestive. Now whether this was a previously unaired peccadilo or whether he'd always meant to bring it up, I have no idea, but it went well beyond the realms of what I personally would consider normal. Or even a turn on. Or hygienic.

Safe to say, my shock was clear for him to see and he fled into the Belgian night with a mix of drunkrage and embarrassment. I returned to our hotel room for a lie down and a wind down to await his return (his pissed state would aid rather than hinder his return so I wasn't worried). A few hours later he returned with a look of shame in his face and confession on his lips. He'd apparently wandered off into a particular 'area' of the city which, fortuitously for him, could provide the very needs he now knew would NOT be forthcoming from his girlfriend. So with a heavy heart and a lightened wallet he told me the whole story. I was kinda in love with the freaky pervert, so I forgave him and we spent the rest of the holiday pretty much sober.

There are many things I'll do for my boyfriend and many I wont, but at least he knows that if I wont do it a Ghent whore will.
(Thu 31st Jul 2014, 14:20, More)

» Weddings Part II

Always the bridesmaid
I was once appointed Chief of Bridesmaid Operations of Honor or whatever the fuck menas most important person after the bride and groom at a wedding (best man can fuck right off). Now, I wasn't in chagre of the rings or keeping the Vicar sober but I did have one vital responsibility (apparently) that I failed in miserably. 'Keep the bride presentable'

Now, I ask you, is it my fault that, with ten minutes to go till kick off, the bride developed a rampant case of the shits? Would that we had a disabled toilet to hand with the requisite space and,er, propping-stuff-up poles. But no, the archaic country church the happy couple chose provided merely a tall shoebox space that threatened the occupancy of a single bridal bumcheek, let alone the complete arse and metric fuckton of unecessary lace that was enough to spare blushes in another dimension.

And, again, is it my fault that said Bride was born without the necessary Mr Fantastic arms to do the post-pebble-dashing duty? NO. It was left to me and a Crystal Maze worthy assault course of porcelain and lace with a shit-encrusted 'jewel' to ensure the bride wasn't walking up the aisle with the leftovers of her own generous 'aisle' flecked all over her lacy derriere like a rejected Stone Roses album cover. I failed and Bride of Frankenshite was born.
(Mon 17th Nov 2014, 15:15, More)

» Dates Gone Wrong

This could've done for last weeks question as well.
It was toward the end of a not-too-bad first date with a friend of a friend and we were making plans for a possible second meetup. The year was around 2004 and my date was a budding screenwriter/shelf stacker with nice eyes, a decent haircut and all his own teeth. Total second date potential right there. He suggested going to the cinema the following week and the conversation went something like this:

HIM: "Fancy the cinema next week, 51st State looks pretty good?"
ME: "They're showing that? I've already seen it"
HIM: *laughing* "Ha, I doubt it, it's only been out in America and doesn't start here till next week"
ME: *not liking being laughed at* "Er, I bloody have seen it. I rented it with a friend last year"
HIM: *smugly* "No you didn't"
ME: *gritted teeth* "Yes. I. Fucking. Did"
HIM: "Yeah? What happens in it?"
ME: "Samuel L Jackson wears a kilt and sells drugs to Meat Loaf in Liverpool or something. I'm hardly going to forget Samuel L Jackson in a fucking kilt am I??"
HIM: *facepalm*

No second date and I still haven't seen 50 First Dates.
(Thu 11th Sep 2014, 9:33, More)

» I spied on someone...

The accidental spy
or stalker, I guess. It was a pleasant calm day at the seaside the other week, the winds were only forcing us to walk at 45 degree angles to make slow forward progress and the spray of the sea was getting battered over the seawall to sprinkle salty snowflake-a-likes into the red-cheeked faces of those stupid enough to be out doing some post Christmas shopping. That would be me and some visiting relatives then.

We took a detour into an arcade to cut through to the main shopping area and I held the door open for a man getting blown in the same direction. He had a moustache, a stupid hat and zero fucking manners. He half turned when I mumbled "ignorant cunt" a bit too loudly when he failed to say thanks for holding the door open and then carried on his way. From then on it seemed everywhere we were going he was too, just a few steps ahead, and I think he noticed as he kept giving furtive glances behind him. We even popped into McDonalds and there he was coming out of the toilets as I went in. In one shop we passed on escalators going in opposite directions and I swear he did a comedy double-take.

As we headed home along the less blustery but now pissing it down promenade I spotted him again a good block ahead of us. Not wishing to put the shits up the old fella again I bundled my cohorts into the nearest newsagents/cheap tat shops to give him time to reach minimum safe distance. Can you guess who was in there buying The Sun and some baccy? I gave out some kind of maniacal short shriek of laughter followed by giggles that wouldn't stop as hat guy fled in terror, now condemned to a lifetime of checking over his shoulder for the deranged seaside stalker woman.
(Mon 6th Jan 2014, 9:32, More)

» Housemates From Hell III

Cosplay House
During my final year of university I moved into a new house after a strained situation at the last place I was staying (never date a housemate). It was a grand old Victorian terrace with large rooms and just one other occupant at the time. He was John, a shall we say big-boned scouser who was rather quiet and shy. The first few weeks of it just being the two of us rattling around the large house were fine as our paths rarely crossed apart from the occasional bout of smalltalk in the kitchen. A few weeks into the term and the landlord had managed to dredge up three latecomers to fill the remaining rooms. They turned out to be three girls that had met during freshers week at the society fair (or whatever you call it) and ended up looking for somewhere together.

They seemed alright and we ended up decamping to the local pub on a few occasions. John was asked but would always have some excuse, although I think he was rather intimidated and ill at ease in the company of four rather loud and raucous females. One day they asked me if I fancied going to one of their society meetings, which turned out to be some sort of Dungeons & Dragons roleplay thing. "Oh, like the cartoon the unicorn?" I said. They never asked me again. The more into their society they got the more things around the house got weirder. I was used to hairs in the bathroom sink but now it was bright orange hairs in a sink stained Star Trek alien green. And the suggestive looks I got from the neightbours whilst hanging out my jeans on a washing line strewn with slave girl bikinis and "fuzzy britches" were not fun to endure.

The final straw came the night of the ComiCon (I forget the actual name). To the girls this was the Oscar night of their cosplay world and the weeks leading up to it were a cavalcade of hair-dyeing, sewing, scrubbing and possibly smelting. The night was to involve the usual merchandising. meet and greets and autographing that goes on at these things followed by a special night at the local nightclub, where you'd be sure to find Arthur Dent dry humping Lara Croft on the dancefloor to 'Star Trekkin'. I was working in a different nightclub at the time so I wearily returned home to a couple of revelations. 1) BY some miracle, John had been coaxed out of his room to join the other three at the event. 2) He really can't handle his drink. 3) He apparently had a crush on one of the girls (dressed as Chun Li for the occasion. 4) He REALLY can't handle his drink. So I arrived home to the sight at the top of the stairs sat outside Chun Li's room of a chubby scouse Klingon clad only in white skimpies and some heavy duty boots, tears streaming down his make-up darkened face lamenting "I've got me pants on now please let me in! I loves ya Chun Li! I did it all for you!"

The story as replayed the next day was that John had got blind drunk at the nightclub and the three of them had steer a barely conscious Klingon through the streets to home, deposit him in bed, and hit the hay themselves. After half an hour Chun Li heard her door creak open and Scouse Worf stumbled in naked (boots only), pumping away at his 'bat'leth' and making it very clear he was in the mood for some spinning bird kicks. He was never seen again and his parents turned up for his stuff a few days later.
(Fri 13th Mar 2015, 9:31, More)