Nearly got sent to the salt mines for this one
As I'm so old, this occurred way way back in the early 80s, when there was still a country called Yugoslavia, which was still in its own way part of the Communist Bloc. When I say "in its own way", well being on the Adriatic coast it encouraged tourists from Europe to visit and was of course dirt cheap. So naturally my family went there for two weeks and stayed at a coastal resort called Porec. So far, so boring.

For a 14 year old lad there was absolutely nothing to do 95% of the time, the 5% of the time that was slightly worthwhile was the "entertainment" every evening, which consisted of a local band doing covers of fairly naff music whilst wearing an approximation of Western clothing.

Every evening, whilst my parents were probably getting pissed somewhere else, I would sit on my own and watch the band, idly wondering which of all the females in front of me would get it, given the chance. Ladies, you don't know how horny a 14 year boy old is. It's beyond funny, beyond tragic. The sexual urge at that age has elements of monomania that Hitler would dismiss as being over the top; combined of course with zero chance of fulfilment involving another human being - plus at that time there was no Internet p0rn and not even Channel 4 and their naughty films.

Finally after 10 nights of sitting alone every night, nursing an erection beneath the plastic table, not even with the prospect of a good tug to look forward to later as I was sharing a room with my little sister, I plucked up enough courage to walk over to the table of the German Goddess.

I had been mooning over her every night. She was just...well, female, and pretty, and sat every night with her mother who was obviously in retirement from the Waffen SS. She sat there, the antithesis of my good self as she was confident that every night, she would be approached and would have the delights of dancing to music which made Black Lace sound like the Philharmonic.

"Plucking up courage to ask her" makes it sound like a spur of the moment decision. In fact, planning this approach and building up the psychological momentum to do it was akin in my hormone-addled mind to base-jumping off Everest with a parasol; failure was almost guaranteed, the cost of failure - the walk of shame back to my table - incomprehensibly high. Never in my life has the expression "like a moth to a flame" been so apt.

And when the sweating, stammering me finally walked over to her table, I didn't even get the honour of a personal rejection. I don't think she even looked at me. No, her mother, Himmler in disguise, looked at me with unconcealed loathing and shook her head. She probably started shaking her head the second I left my table and started the 20 yard walk to their table (this all took place in an outside patio area in the hot Croatian night). Hell, a satellite-mounted thermal imaging system would have seen me approach, blushing so hard it's a wonder the heat seeking missiles in nearby army bases didn't go off.

That night I learnt two things - what the walk of shame felt like, which seemed to go on for slightly longer than the Long March of the Chinese (look it up) and also how quickly lust and desire turns to bitter ashes once it has been thwarted. I'm not a violent man but all the passion inside me turned to rage in a second. Typing this out I now see where my anti-German sentiments which I held for a good 20 years after this incident spring from.

On the table I returned to was a glass Coke bottle, a glass, and an ashtray made of foil. Fuming, steam probably coming out of my ears, I sat down and crushed the ashtray in my impotent fist.

Within moments, a Slavic waiter loomed in front of me. In cold fury, he asked me what I had done with the ashtray. I couldn't understand what the issue was - it was nothing more than a mince pie holder with grooves on it to hold a cigarette, value approximately 0.02 pence. I offered to pay for a replacement, holding out around £1 in dinars, but this was not apparently the correct response. As well as being a vandal, I was now trying to use my filthy Western wealth to bribe a decent Socialist worker.

I was then marched through the audience by the waiter, just in case my recent humiliation had not been enough. Brought in front of the manager, I was told that destroying hotel property was a crime, and my parents would be informed on the morrow.

Eventually, the situation was resolved with of course a good old English handshake between myself and the manager, and frequent promises never to do such a dreadful deed again.

That was my last family holiday.

I went on to be fervently anti German and anti Yugoslavian for some years.

I lost my virginity somewhat late.

Apologies for length, but I haven't contributed for ages - so on average, it's not that long a post.
( I_Was_Mordred, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 8:17, 3 replies)

Haha, love it :D
You've got a great writing style
( LemonEntryMyDearWatson This time, Moriarty, the hand is on the other foot, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 8:31, closed)

In comunist russia
the ashtray crush you!
(Obi wanker nobi Its not a bug, its an unexpected feature, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 12:10, closed)

An epic of Spanky-esque proportions
A well-deserved click.
(Pope Jamiroquai III, Sat 12 Dec 2009, 20:54, closed)