best way i ever got asked out (and it's a good one, too)
several years ago i was out on a run (because i used to run), and i was doing an out-and-back sort of thing. about two miles in, i ran past a girl who was walking towards me on the same side of the road, and i gave her a little wave and "hello" as i went past. she seemed sort of interesting so i ended up thinking about her for awhile as i ran. several miles later i was coming back, but on the opposite side of the road (because, as i understand it, you should be facing oncoming traffic), and in the same area as i saw her, i noticed a styrofoam coffee cup, standing upside down on my side of the road. i thought it was kind of weird, but ran past it. then, for seemingly no reason, i turned around and went back to it. there, written on the side in pencil, was "jogger, if you find this, and are a musician, write to- such and such email address." so when i got back, i did, because i sort of was. we hung out a few times... actually ended up having a couple slightly out-of-my-ordinary romantic adventures, though nothing too major came of it. but still, pretty good story right? she was pretty cool, in retrospect... though i don't prefer the term "jogger."
(schnurricane forgot his password, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 6:50, Reply)

Eejit foxy01
This goes out to all those shy teenagers who may have wondered: how many times can I spurn the advances of the most gorgeous girl in town before she begins to hate me?

Well, apparently, about five.

At a party when we first meet, aged 12: Err.. I'm not a very good dancer. Dance with your mates instead.

At fair, aged 13: Err.. I don't think the top of the big wheel is the right place for this.

At her house, aged 13.5: (in response to the question) Err.. I don't think I can go out with you. I've been hurt before.

Mock 'fighting' on my bed aged 14: Err.. I think I need the toilet.

At a nightclub aged 16. Err.. I'm seeing someone else (lie).

Cut to two years later and I'm working in a pub when girl in question comes in with a rat-face boyfriend and blanks me the entire night.

Summed up: arse biscuits.
(foxy01, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 3:49, Reply)

How I learned to get THEM to come to YOU.
I got my lip pierced back in 2005:



A year later I was flirting with this girl from class when it occurred to me that a) she was really into me, and 2) she mentions how much she really likes my lip ring a lot...

It made me think, you know what? I've had comments on it from OTHER girls that I thought maybe I had a shot with.

You may have noticed the background in that picture. I work in a research lab. So I did what I do best: I formed a hypothesis and designed a way to test it.

HYPOTHESIS: Any girl that mentions my lip ring will totally make out with me.

EXPERIMENT: Proposition every girl that mentions my lip ring. If they bring it up, apropos of nothing, and say "hey, I like your lip ring" then respond with: Well, if you want to give it a spin, I'm looking to maybe get into some trouble later. Then just go from there.

RESULTS: In three years I have made out with 100% of the girls that have mentioned my lip ring. EVERY. SINGLE. ONE. Only once has the girl not been attractive to me, but damnit this is science, and I had to do it to be sure.

CONCLUSION: I have a shot with any gal that compliments my lip ring, or even goes far enough to feign interest in whether it hurt or not (nb: not one bit). I don't know why this is, but I imagine that for whatever reason, it's not universal. Some gals think it gives me a "bad boy" image, some gals are into me for other reasons and are looking for something nice to say as a subtle green light for me to make a move, and some gals aren't really interested at all until I make a bold move, which in itself impresses them.

SUPPLEMENTAL DATA: I had a dude once ask me about it at a dinner party. I told him about this idea and the people in attendance were all amused. I later had a gal pull me aside, smirk, and say "so hey, I like your lip ring..." That's when I knew that this was the single best $40 I've ever spent.
(jessemoya, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 3:46, 32 replies)

Pea Roast
t was night and outside, there fore it was also dark, and the teenage bad advice was camping with 100’s of other teenage people. Most satisfyingly, around 30% of them didn’t have willies and where rumoured to be of those mythical beings, TEENAGE GIRLS!!

The young people had travelled from all over the state to attend this bloody great camping extravaganza and much mingling was had. Late on the second night gathered around a random campfire, the very social and horny (that horny feeling only a virgin teenage male can know) bad advice was making friends with a bunch of lads from a place far far away from his home. He had chosen to make friends with this group as they had in their crew girls that where only their friends and from simple observation it appeared no one was attending their crutch caverns.

One talkative spritely young thing made a general announcement that she need to “go wee” but, didn’t want to go by herself as she was scared of the dark. As her dude friends suggested she take a torch or just fuck off in general (they where not nice boys I started to think) she appealed to bad advice to escort her to the camp area set aside for absolutions. And because he was toeyer than a roman sandal and prepared to take any and every possible chance to be in the single company of a female, he agreed.

As they trotted along the darkened bush path she gibbered at a 1000 miles an hour on random and unconnected subjects until arriving at subject of watching people piss (oh, for she was all class). A proposal was made by the bearer of nubile young breasts that if she could watch bad advice drain the vein, she would let him watch her twinkle tinkle.

After a stunned grunt in the affirmative, they stepped off the track into a small clearing and bad advice produced what to this point had only been hand cranked and released the yellow stream.

“It’s too dark” she exclaimed, “I can hear you but, I can’t see you, let me shake it for you” clearly she knew how this process worked. Her arms encircled his waist and gripping the root of the love muscle proceeded to give it a shake that sprayed drops of bladder juice in a 30 meter radius and near detached it from the body but, after a few seconds of shaking, the internal inspector rose to full and glorious attention in her nimble hands to be rewarded with a few fast yet jerky pumps. She stepped out from behind him and her shadowy outline was visible in the dark, the sound of her zip resonated amongst the tree’s and she crouched down then whistle of water under pressure through a small opening played like music to his ears but, she was right, it was too dark to see much more than outlines.

“I forgot the paper” she giggled naughtily.

“I have a tissue you can use” offered the iron rigid bad advice.

“I should just wipe it MYSELF?” she asked, with a slight harshness sneaking into her previously light sing song voice.

“well it’s not going to wipe its self now is it” offered the very logical yet very stupid bad advice, while wondering how he could ‘bust a move’ on this possibly interested sweet young thing.

She arose from her crouched position, pushed the now damp tissue back into his hand and strode back to the path and back to the fire, her fear of dark seemingly evaporating in the heat of her, in bad advice’s eyes, unexplained anger.

I often think back to that dark night of camping and sometimes I ponder what might have been but, generally, I think to myself, you stupid stupid stupid stupid boy.
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 3:42, 3 replies)

Shane, the long haired rocker.
Back when I was at the local Further Education college, I was studying P.E. - this was before the arthritis kicked in and I became a spacker.
There was a boy on my bus who used to smile at me every morning, and he was an art student. He was DROP DEAD GORGEOUS, and he was a long haired rocker.

At the time, I was training for a canoe trip down the Yukon River in Canada, and needed some art work doing for a specific fundraiser.
My 17 year old brain thought it would be a good idea to ask the long haired rocker to do it for me, and lo, he actually talked to me and did the artwork I needed. By this point, we were getting along really really well and I was smitten with him. I'd go home and think sexy thoughts about him and as I'd just discovered masturbation, my nights were heaven!

I was sat on the bus one day shortly after he'd done the work for me, and was coughing like mad. He came and sat next to me and uttered the immortal line:
"Hi, my name's Vic(k), would you like a chest rub?"

Dated for about 6 months, but it was the best pickup line ever!
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 3:36, Reply)

Rebound My Arse.
Summer 2008, and I'm working in Margate's premier (read: only) gay bar, dating a seemingly delightful young man, who we shall call J.
J starts going a little bit off the proverbial rails; bizarre disappearing acts, violent outbursts, peculiarly timid threats of suicide (yes, we've all been there).
Through the duration of our relationship, a charming girl of 21 (assigned the name G) was being less than subtle about her intentions for me, and her disgust at my relationship. She made me laugh, I found myself growing very attracted to her, and we hit it off very well.
All of a sudden, totally out of the blue, I get dumped on the way home from work.
Text message.
No explanation.
Zilch.
Nothing.
Nada.
So there I was, upset, if not utterly heartbroken, and I find myself talking to this young girl, saying how I felt and such, when I find myself staying at her gaffe for the evening.
It was wrong of me.
It was stupid and incompassionate, but yes, by sheer perseverance and breaking down the brick walls of 'we really really shouldn't', we ended up having extremely hot, animalistic sex.
Score 1.
And yet, which amazed me as my 20 year-old brain was/is still not developed in tact or subtlety, I didn't feel that this was the end - the inevitable post-ejaculatory response of lost interest/'I really fancy a pizza' didn't arrive on cue, so I sensed something more.
Had I secretly fallen for this girl whilst in the (albeit stunted) throes of another relationship?
Two days later, an awkward 'should we?' was mumbled, and so it was.
And here in December 2009, Mrs. FX and I are still happy, very much in love, and she can still put up with all of the things which make me a bit rubbish.
I personally think it speaks volumes for my awesomeness that I have just proved that awkward, mind-addled fumbles with someone you barely know can result in success.
So just remember that, kids.
Don't turn it down.
(MessFX, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 3:36, 1 reply)

How I learned that you should ALWAYS go for it.

I was 16, she was 15. I was one grade ahead, so I figured I had that working for me. Also, I was the new kid the year before, and that was also in my favor. She knew who I was, but we had never had an actual conversation.

We were at a dance. Not together, but we were both there. I made the mistake of telling a friend of mine that I had been admiring this young lady from afar. She was attractive, but not outrageously out of my league or anything. So my friend made me go ask her to dance. And I mean MADE me. I remember she pinched me on the tricep and it hurt like a kick in the balls.

I hope that at least once in all of our lives we get to experience timing so perfect that you'd swear you were suddenly in a cheesy movie.

This high school was small: 250 students. We were in a small auditorium, and she was right in the middle of it dancing with some friends. Dim lighting, colored lights and decorations, everyone dressed up - the usual, you know? I'll never forget how this all went down.

JUST as I started to walk towards her, the music changed and a slow song came on. I watched her as I approached - all of her friends paired up and she looked around for someone to dance with...

"Uh, hi Katie. Would you like to dance?"

PERFECT delivery. Just a little touch of endearing nervousness, and very simple and straightforward. I smiled and held out my hand.

Her eyes went from my hand to my face. She looked like I had just asked her for money. She laughed - ACTUALLY chuckled! - and said "Nice try." And walked away. Just like that.

I stood there in disbelief and didn't move. She walked out of the small auditorium to where the refreshments were, just outside. I didn't want to awkwardly follow her, so I gave her a head start. I just stood there, in the middle of the dance floor, not dancing and trying not to look at anyone around me who might have heard the exchange.

I was absolutely humiliated. And you know what? It passed. My past self took one for the team so that my present self doesn't have to wonder what could have been. It turns out that having gone for it and failed spectacularly is WAY better than having WISHED I would have gone for it when I had the chance.
(jessemoya, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 3:07, 1 reply)

Mortifying.
I was 15 and secretly in love with a girl from school called Helen Shackle. She had everything I could ever want in a woman - she was beautiful, witty, she played classical piano and had breasts like great big pickled onions. (The shape, not the smell). I loved her.

Anyway, I'd noticed one day that she was humming Duran Duran's "Save A Prayer", so I hatched a plan to woo her by proving I was a fellow Durannie. (I wasn't, I actually thought Le Bon was a great big puff. I was a fan of the enormously-manly Frankie Goes To Hollywood at the time. I know. Let's not dwell.)

Anyroad, the next day I saw Shackles in the dinner queue and skillfully-maneuvered myself into position right behind her, where I began whistling Duran's "The Reflex" in her direction, in an attempt to spark her interest.

It worked. She slowly turned round, looked me straight in the eye, and said in full earshot of the rest of the dinner queue, "Do you mind not whistling, your breath fucking stinks.".
(Leemondus, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 2:19, 1 reply)

It works
Show me on this doll where you'd like me to touch you.
(waxdart hello., Fri 11 Dec 2009, 0:58, 1 reply)

'Poetry'
Written by me in a Valentines Day card to the object of my (teenage) affections. No need for any explanations here, the body of work speaks for itself...

"There is a young man with big feet
Who wants to go out with Louise
He hasn't the guts
To ask her upfront
So please, will you go out with me?"

Needless to say, it tanked. The sheer humiliation has left those words imprinted on my brain for all eternity.
(Stuffed Chimp, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 0:55, 1 reply)

Since I can't sleep...
You just can't be nice to people anymore!

Walking home from work one day, in a generally good mood, I made a fatal error!

I smiled. At a stranger.

I didn't think anything of it. To me, it was a greeting/acknowledgement, not an invitation. So I smile and make eye contact for a split second with the nice Arabian man, go upon my merry way.

Four steps later, I'm grabbed by the shoulder and spun around by this man, who I'd thought was human but was now evidently a rapist and a murderer and a mugger and all the other bad things you think about in that split second. Turns out, he really liked me.

He decided in that moment of eye contact and friendly smile, that I was pining for a man like him. Got to give him credit for actually making that jump. Anyway, after making me nearly wet myself in fear, he introduces himself and tells me he is going to walk me home. I told him that it wasn't necessary and I was perfectly capable of walking myself home.
But no, he then follows me all the way home. It was dark, and cold and there was no one to look beseechingly at for salvation.

He tells me he loves my breasts in my ever so sexy work uniform. I have beautiful eyes, beautiful hair, and a nice personality. If his idea of a nice personality is cowering in fear and a quavering voice trying not to offend him so as not to get attacked, then I feel sorry for any girlfriends he may have had.
He kept asking for my phone number; I kept telling him I didn't have my phone on me. He then somehow got me to agree that I would meet him at "this street corner right here at 3pm Saturday so we can go get drunk and have a good time".

Maybe it's a culture thing, but being told that if I'm not there he'll go to my work(he's seen my uniform under my coat) and get me... well it isn't really a turn on for me.
Neither is being told I have massive tits. Yes, I'm perfectly aware of that. I have to put them in a fucking bra every morning and carry them around all day. Thanks for telling me though.

If you want to get a (nice) girl to like you, you don't have to make them feel like a goddess straight off. Just get on with them, make them aware you find them attractive. The glances and looks and appreciative comments are fine. Grabbing a girl by the shoulders that you don't know, in the dark, when she's on her own, and then proceeding to "walk her home" whilst getting closer and fondling her breasts with your eyes... You may get a female, but you won't get a lady.
(becky_bubbles, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 0:48, 4 replies)

Used on me and yes, it worked
Starting a night shift on a geriatric ward, my regular nurse assistant didn't show up. 20 minutes later a 30 something lady walked in and whispered in my ear - "I'm Kelly, I'm really tired and really stoned, haven't slept for 2 days".

When the day staff left, she lay on her side on the couch, pulled her uniform up and took her knickers off.

"I don't care where you stick it, just wipe me when you've finished"
(wallynothere rnot without protection, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 0:22, 8 replies)

Not exactly chatting up, but…
I was on the final leg of a week of too many flights (Bristol - Vancouver - San Francisco - Toronto - Heathrow - Vienna - Budapest - Vienna - Heathrow) and was absolutely shattered. I'd been going through the craziness of Vienna airport and wasn't appreciating that the delay to my flight meant that I was going to be stranded in London due to missing my coach back to Bristol. I'd just had a nap on the flight from Budapest and was barely conscious and not in the chattiest of moods.

I went through the security at the gate and was greeted by a vision in red, an Austrian Airlines stewardess

Her: Reisen Sie alleine? (Are you travelling alone?)
Me: Ja (Yes)
Her: Dann hab ich ein Angebot für Sie… (In that case I've got an offer for you…)
Me: Tut mir Leid, bin dafür zu müde (I'm sorry, I'm too tired for that)

It was months ago now and I'm still absurdly proud of how my sleep-addled mind reacts to a woman trying to deal with an overbooked flight.
( Ungersven would support SpankyHanky's patreon, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 0:09, 2 replies)

least classy line ever
andy: take me home and punch-fuck me?
bloke: ok then.

it was his round as well the bastard.
(imallamallama looking forward to llamageddon on, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 23:42, Reply)

Fingers?!
Ok so it wasn't me asking them but them asking me. Said lass was scary, imagine chav-whale. Freaked the hell out of me.

Lass: Are your fingernails sharp?
Me: Umm what?
Lass: Are they sharp?
Me: Uhh no
Lass: Lets go out so they can get to know my g spot.
Me: I have a girlfriend.
Lass: Oh!? Offer stands for a week.

Scary. Just scary
(DeniedGuilt_AcceptedCake is fighting the urge to punch turtles, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 23:38, 2 replies)

A girlfriend from high school...
I was actually quite smooth this one time, which is odd, because normally when I talk to ladies I have all the conversational grace of an ADHD child with a mouth full of burning glue. I was fifteen, spotty and not terribly hot, but I was getting on well with a young lady named Anna. She was posh, we met a few times through a friend, we ended up in Starbucks on the sofa. During a conversation in which she was described as "mad", I looked her in the eyes and slipped in with "are you mad enough to go out with me?". She smiled back and asked "are you mad enough to ask?". It was cute.

It lasted a month. I dumped her because she looked like a man and dressed worse than anyone you or I will ever meet. Shallow? Perhaps, but I didn't like people mistaking her for my brother.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 23:31, 1 reply)

Surprise
I'd just been on a date with a nice young man, we got along quite well but i didnt see him as more than a friend. I walked him to the train station gave him a hug and said bye. Then i started to walk up the street. Id gotten up the street and round the corner onto an isolated street. As i was walking i could hear heavy footsteps behind me and i got a little worried so i began walking faster. The footsteps got louder and louder when i suddenly started to panic a little. I kept my hand tight hold of my bag and walked a bit faster. Then someone put there arms on my shoulders, i shouted and flung my bag round hitting the person and making them get off of me.

Then i realised.
The guy id just hit with my bag was the one id left at the train station. He looked at me and said
"sorry i just wanted to ask if you'd yknow want to um be my um girlfriend?"
Yep thats right he'd ran after me to ask me out.

After all that i still said no.
(stitched, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 23:29, Reply)

Scouse chat up problems
I'm sure it was on here I read about a likely lad chatting up a scouse lass with a choice chat up line

Lad: 'Was your dad a thief? Cause someone stole the stars from heaven and put them in your eyes'
Lass: 'Ya wha? Are ya calling wor dad a thief?'
Lad: 'Oh no, you misunderstand, I was...'
Lass; 'Are ya saying wor dad nicks stuff are ya?'
Lad: 'I'm sorry, I just was paying you a comp...'
Lass: 'A bleedin' thief is'ee?'
Lad: 'No, please it's just a misunder...'
Lass: '*punches*'
Lad: '*bleeds*, makes way home, alone'
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 23:27, 3 replies)

Some years ago
... I was out clubbing with my mate Joanne. We were stood next to each other at the edge of the dancefloor, swaying to the cheese, when a guy snuck up behind us.

He stuck his head between us and yelled down our ears, "I bet you LOVE IT when I do this..." and proceeded to goose us in perfect sync (more like an invasive sexual assault in truth because his hands ended up under my skirt and well between the cheeks of my arse - and he was far from gentle), then laugh like a twat.
Jo and I looked at each other, and then as one in a perfect ballet, she threw her drink over him and I stubbed my cigarette out on his shirt collar.
In unison we chorused, "I bet you LOVE IT when we do that...."

He didn't. He kicked off. The bouncers thought he deserved it though. As one of them pointed out, "If you'd have done that on the street, mate, you'd be being arrested right now. Think yourself lucky."

Take note lads - manhandling a strange woman's arse may get you hurt.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 23:10, Reply)

A mate once sent me a text
whilst he was in a club one night. He'd apparently seen a 'bit of a honey' at the bar and wanted me to supply a chatup line. So I replied back with

"Let's find somewhere quiet, you show me yours... and then I'll wank about it tonight when I get home"

He didn't say if he used it, but he did say he went home alone that night.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 22:56, Reply)

A mate of Mr Bin used the fantastic line of
"show me your cunt"
and it worked!
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 10 Dec 2009, 22:44, 2 replies)

Stalker fun
Vix0r's post a couple down reminded me of a few. I'm completely the same as her. I can't say no to the weirdo's. It's not out of a love for them or the attention. It's just... your brain shuts down and you just do it. And then spend the next year screening all your calls.

Stalker number one. My main stalker. He's called David and he was a regular customer at work. He used to come in with his kids and flirt horribly with me. I didn't flirt back and I didn't lead him on. Next thing I know, I have given him my number. Why?! Well I guess that I reasoned, that he seemed a nice enough guy and I had made a new friend.
So it carries on a bit. Alarm bells only start ringing when he comes in with his kids one day and says, within my earshot: "This is your new mummy".

WHAT THE FUCK?!

I back well away and keep my distance from then on.

Couple of days later I get a text. From his GIRLFRIEND. Oh dear. She rants and raves about how I'm a whore and a liar and how dare I try take her children from her. I don't know what's going on so I text back and tell her nothing is happening, and tell her what he had said. I'm called a liar again because "one of my kids has seen you kissing him". That never happened. I wouldn't touch him with a ten foot bargepole.
Now I'm threatened with the physical violence because "it's okay to call her a liar but I'm not to dare ever calling her kids liars".

So, end result a guy I don't like and was only nice to out of friendship has told his missus that I came onto him and tried to chat him up.

Honestly "this is your new mummy" is not a chat-up line that is ever going to work.
(becky_bubbles, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 21:45, Reply)

I suppose I'd better start at the beginning...
Vikki P - Work experience in year 10. Case number 000001

We knew each other from History class and both ended up at the same school despite having asked to go to completely different places.

She lived close to the school so we both went to her house for lunch, I was the socially awkward and cute boy who didn't eat his tuna sandwiches in her house for fear of making it smell of fish.
She was the girl my friends called "treetrunk legs".

It didn't matter, I was smitten.

We got closer in lessons, started hanging out out of school and became friends. At her gatherings we were all chummy, we even hugged AND held hands on the way home from drinking in the park. I really thought that something could happen.
She even threw a leaving party for me when she learned that I was leaving to move to Wales. Prime time for something to happen? I thought so too, until W got dumped by L and trashed the house. Twat.

Prom time came.

She asked me to go to the prom with her, I'm in thinks I! Her dad even gives me a cigar, drives us there and agrees to pick us up. I'm as happy as a dog with two dicks. We arrive at the prom and meet up with friends, dance in a group etc.

Lights go down.

It's the last dance.

Vikki appears, she's coming towards me.

She goes past me and dances with some twat called Anthony.
I hate him.

We head home in silence, I get dropped off and head home. She heads home to meet her on/off boyfriend (seriously, who calls their child Dudley?) in what is sure to be an orgasmic night of bliss for her.

Should have really said something to her somewhere down the line. Oh well
(Evilweevil is covered in bees, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 21:41, Reply)

How to pull women
Two chat-up lines so sublime I have to share them despite their not being mine. These were deployed up near Aberdeen with no success, but much alcohol. If you want to re-create the first one, here are some cut-out-and-keep instructions

Step 1: Approach object of desires that you would like to do it with.
Step 2: Rub face with hands until (s)he asks "what are you doing?"
Step 3: Reply "Warming up your seat for later!" in enthusiastic tones.
Step 4: Nurse bruised face and find dignity wherever you left it.

The second one is not repeatable. A friend of my colleague was up to his eyeballs in whisky and so forth, and meant to complement a likely-looking lady on the acmed curve of her buttocks, but to show that he wasn't a bounder and a cad and only after her for her tidy bum, he also wanted to remark on the prettiness of her visage. Further to this, he was desirous to show off his cocksure confidence, and invite her back to the privacy of his place forthwith. This much he confided to his friend beforehand.

It would require some smooth talking. Needless to say, some wires got crossed somewhere in the language areas of his brain, and he came out with the Casanovan gem, "your face - my arse". Slick move, Johnny Smooth, but sad to say it didn't work.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 21:18, Reply)

I'm a girl, so they catch them off guard...
D'ya wanna go halves on a bastard??
Are you a single father? Do you want to be?
And the ever popular, 'Will you shift my friend?'

Very Irish chat up lines altogether. As you can obviously tell, myself and my friends are very popular in the local nightclubs.

I should clarify that to shift someone means to snog/french kiss/suck the face off the other person in these parts. But it is only really used when growing up, as a rite of passage some might say, in a youth disco when your friend is your spokesperson. It's a line to be used by teenagers, not by a group of twentysomething cackling drunkards.

*mmmmmmmpop!*
(hashorangutan is watching iCarly on, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 20:47, 3 replies)

Oh God, this digs up bad memories
Some of the most excruciating times of my life have centred around asking girls out.

People who know me now might be surprised, but I was a painfully shy teen - I suspect most of my brash exterior may just be an overcompensating cover-up to make sure some of the 15-year-old tragedies which still haunt my life never re-surface. Until this QoW, of course.

To excise a history which would otherwise have me curled up in a little ball and weeping like Gwynneth Paltrow on Oscars night, I will simply present the story of Asheley.

Asheley (I still remember the oddball spelling to this day) was sex appeal personified. Glorious secretary-specs like those worn by Michelle Pfeiffer in The Witches Of Eastwick, an enticing bob of hair, and a full-length school skirt that she only occasionally allowed to reveal a glimpse of perfectly-rounded calf. She was relaxed, chatty and used to do a pouty thing with her lips that drove me wild. I spent hours talking to her, and it was so easy. Not like talking to other girls that I fancied: conversation with Asheley was so natural, so easy, and we talked through a range of topics beyond most teenagers. Politics, books, theatre, nothing was beyond our expertise. She must have known I was at least interested. With the benefit of my wisdom, I know now I should have just kept up the chatty relationship and - one day - she would have succumbed. Instead, I chose to write...THE LETTER.

Heaven knows why I ever thought it was a good idea, but I asked out an unconscionable number of girls via letter in my teens. As is fairly evident, I have no problems with florid prose and I suspected a few Shakespeare sonnets might be the finishing touch. Obviously, no luck. I'm pretty sure one lass contacted the police about a suspected stalker, and another potential bedmate interpreted my letter as an intention to sleep with her Mum (really, don't ask).

Anyway, I swore things would be different with Asheley. I knew she was bookish, and a big fan of Black Beauty. I painstakingly read swathes of Anna Sewell biographies, cringing horribly as I did so (at the time my reading material of choice was good sturdy thrillers by Alistair MacLean). I carefully composed a letter from Asheley's very own 'Black Beauty', expressing my loneliness and very subtly hinting that I'd like an equestrian-minded female to come and be my stable-mate. It was, if I might say so, a work of genius.

With trembling hands, I sealed the whole thing up in a powder-blue envelope, and casually sauntered around the corner to where Asheley lived. When I was 99% sure that no-one was home, I dashed down the drive, shoved it through the letterbox and ran like Linford Christie with a bulldog biting his goolies.

I sat at home and pined for three days. Every love song on VH1 (I really was a sad child) was devoted, in my mind, to Asheley. I used to lean on the windowsill, stare out and shed tiny tears as I wondered what she was doing. I was willing her to come cautiously up to our drive on tiptoe, powder-blue envelope in hand. Was she undergoing the same agonies I was? Did she have the same feelings of curiosity? Would my sexual experiences carry on being limited to a brief and unerotic fumble with Tracey, the town bike?

Eventually, my father forced me away from the rainy windows and dragged me off to play nine holes of golf. Two pathetically unfulfilling hours later, I dragged my grubby golf shoes over the doorstep, only to put spike-marks and mud all over a delicate, lacy-edged envelope...

Ohmigod! My heart literally leapt. There's no feeling like it when you feel your chest push you up with excitement and anticipation. I could barely breathe. I whisked the envelope up to my bedroom, inhaled deeply of the perfume that coated the letter (trying to ignore the overtones of local grass and dogshit), and - oh so carefully - slit the envelope open.

What Asheley had written turned me upside-down. I've kept it ever since, hidden from all future girlfriends and wives. Every now and then, when I've felt like I can't sink any lower, I've sneaked out this grubby bit of paper from a desk drawer and read through it a few times. It never fails to work. And I am sharing it, with b3ta, for the first ever time.

What did she say to me?

This.

...
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 20:46, 42 replies)

What timing you have!
The other day I was giggling away with my boyfriend that not many men seem to fancy me, but I'm glad that he does! No more giggling for me. The very next day I'm walking up deserted stairs when I'm stopped by a man who likes my hair. He seemed astounded by it and by asked if I was married. He shook my hand and got my e-mail address off me (I am NOT good in situations like this! How do you say "GO AWAY!" without being rude?!) so now I'm stuck trying to think of ways to make him not want to e-mail me any more. I'm trying to be as bland as possible and mention how very much I love my man in every thing I say.

Is there a trick to think of a polite, but negative, response when you're put on the spot like that and are so shy your mind just shuts down?
( vix0r was not Matthew on, Thu 10 Dec 2009, 20:42, 11 replies)

I hope I'm not the only one
As a nicotene addict at university I would regularly sit on the back steps of the biology building puffing away between lectures. One day someone walked past and asked if I had a spare fag, I was about to respond with my stock reply (no, I intend to smoke them all) when I looked up and came face to face with the godess from the second row. She was in my ecology class but with a 150 students in the class we'd never spoken. From the top of her auburn highlights to the bottom of her pert C cups, she left me speechless, there may have been drool.

I handed her a ciggie while my brain's speech centre crashed liked windows vista faced with a deadline. "You're a life saver, I'll pay you back tommorow" she said and sauntered away. Yeah right, I thought.

Next day, same place, she actually comes up to me offers a cig and we end up chatting whilst smoking. Within 2 minutes it's clear that she is so far out of my league it's not even the same sport. I know I've got no chance but I'll kick myself if I don't try.

I prepared to deliver the standard text.

"So how'd you like to get a coffee sometime?"... yeah, ok
"Oh, right, well no harm you know....I'll see you round" and then exited with as much dignity as I can muster.

It was when I had just got round the corner that my brain finally kicked in and replayed the conversation that I did a full body cringe. She had said yes, but I was too embarrased to go back. So I found a new smoking spot and sat as far back as I could in lectures.

I still kick myself when I think about it, but at least now I wait for a reply before running for my life.
(Bo Nidle Coming back in from the cold., Thu 10 Dec 2009, 20:31, 1 reply)