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This is a question Beautiful but Bonkers

I used to see this girl from time to time. Face of an angel, body of a goddess, great in bed. The only downside was her emotional state. When she wasn't crying, she was screaming. Violence was never far from the agenda, and I finally called it quits when she sat down in the middle of a busy street, drunker than I thought possible, howling like a banshee and swearing at passers-by.

What kind of lunacy have you put up with in the name of lust?

(, Fri 17 Nov 2006, 13:31)
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easyJet pest
Not beautiful - it was me - but I was bonkers. Worth the read I reckon...

Flying to the south of France years ago, I met this girl in the check-in queue, who I'll call Kate. I chatted to her quite briefly, but checked her out: 5’10”, long blonde curls, a really shit-hot curvy figure, very justified low-cut top and pretty, even without the make-up (which would’ve taken a while, I reckon). Anyway, had a bit of banter, got to the desk, got my boarding pass, pissed off to the lounge and thought no more of it.

Later, after I’ve bagged my window seat, Kate wanders along looking for her spot. I catch her eye and she recognises me, smiles (cue ‘woo!’) and asks me about where her seat was. I was able to tell her that “there aren’t any numbered seats on easyJet, you just sit down” - thank you Stelios, for once - and she plopped herself down next to me (cue ‘hell yeah!’). We had a great time, chatting away constantly and getting on really well. It was a clear day, so she even seemed impressed with my spoddy knowledge of the English countryside. She told me she was a lawyer working for a big retail group, and while she was in no way showy, it transpired she had flats in Manchester and in London and was taking the helicopter to Monte Carlo when she got to the airport $¬) so, the dates would be fun. She even felt familiar enough to roll up her trouser leg to show me a scar on her knee from an operation (cue magazine in lap - well, I could see an inch of her lower thigh).

We landed, and I asked if she had a pen and paper (I had none - doh!), and she just handed me her card and said “let’s hook up back in London.” Fair to say, I contend, that this was a result. We even parted with a hug and kisses on the cheek (facial).

Back in Blighty, I gave her a ring, she answered, remembered me, was pleased I rang and suggested we meet up the following Saturday for a day - that’s a whole day - in town (cue stadium roar). Cut to the following Friday, and I was back at work, with a pesky new mobile in my pocket. I’d yet to set it to vibrate, which it needed to do because I was working all evening around very noisy trains. Also, I’d been single/celibate for over a year and didn’t want to tempt fate, so I bit my tongue hard when I told a mate what I was doing the next day. Sure enough, two missed calls and a quick chat later, and Saturday was off because her flat in Manchester was damaged because of - get this – an earthquake (Beeb article).

This is where I got the nutty bug. I ‘phoned her perhaps five times over the ensuing weekend, leaving a couple of messages, and fired in some more unanswered calls over the following week. I was hopping mad about losing out on my first date in ages to a supremely rare seismic event, so eventually I ticked a few more stalker boxes by looking up the number of her company’s office in Manchester. Within seconds I was on her extension…

Kate: (very stern) I really don’t feel comfortable with you calling me at work.
Me: Well I called you a few times…
Kate: I know, I know. Look I’ll call you later
Me: Perhaps you shouldn’t call at all
Kate: Well OK then. Bye.

Me: (months later) Why the hell didn’t you wait a bit rather than behave like a randy Alsatian sniffing a bitch in heat?

Length? She never got to decide, or be gentle like I know you’ll be.
(, Thu 23 Nov 2006, 16:29, Reply)

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