b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Dates Gone Wrong » Popular | Search
This is a question Dates Gone Wrong

Ever gone on a date when "she" turned out to be a male university lecturer in his 50s who tucked his shirt into his Y-fronts? No, me neither. Tell us how it all went shit-faced.

(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 13:13)
Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Everything that could go wrong DID go wrong
Let me take you back through the mists of time to 1992. I was still living in Essex, as someone had to do, and was at the time employed by the Essex Water Company. I also did a little bit of work in a local boozer for some extra beer money. One day, while working at the pub we are introduced to our newest bar maid, her name is Jenny, she is stunning. Small, petite, a brunette, intelligent, pretty and we get on like a house on fire. Now, I get on with a lot of women, but I am not God's gift when it comes to looks and I never normally get up the bravery to ask someone out as I can pretty much predict the answer without having to resort to asking Mystic Meg. Anyway, Jenny and I continue to get on during our regular shifts at the pub and then one evening I sort of mumbled a "wouldyouliketogooutfordinnersometimeitsfineifyousaynowhichyouprobablywillasIamsuchafatuglycunt.." But quite amazingly, she said yes. I was completely spazonkled by this outcome and delighted. We arranged the following Thursday, when we were both off work for the evening we would go out.

I finish work as early as possible, get home and shower and shave and preen my grotty plumage for all its worth, desperate to make myself look presentable and even slightly attractive. I go outside and get in my car. The battery is stone dead. The car is going nowhere. My only other possible vehicle to use was my works Essex Water Company van - a rather soiled shitty Ford Escort. Not really the image I was hoping to portray, but it would have to do. So I drive over to Brentwood where she lived, windows open the whole way hoping the smell of water company tools, fags and sweat would not be too overpowering when my little darling climbs in. The road she lived in had speed humps all the way down it, which I wasn't aware of, and as I turned into it I went over the first one a bit too fast and there was an alarming metallic crunching noise from under the van and the exhaust started growling like Tom Waits with a chest infection. The roaring van arrives at her front door. I knock and she appears. A vision of total loveliness. My heart genuinely skipped a beat and I mumbled something like "youlookgorgeousyouarebeautiful" etc etc. Her smile was dazzling, but it receded somewhat when she saw her carriage for the evening - a shitty mud caked Essex Water Company van. I apologised and explained about my car. She seemed OK. So off we went. I drove over the first speed bump and the entire exhaust system dropped off the undercarriage of my van. I stopped and apologised. I climbed out and ran back behind the van to pick up the mangled wreckage and threw it in the back of the van, my hands now covered in black filth. Her smile had gone, and in her hands were a big bundle of grot mags. And not just Razzle or Escort, but the sort of grot mags you need to order under a plain brown cover. Total and utter filth. Mostly nothing to do with me. One of my co-workers of the name Nigel was a complete pornoholic and collected this sort of scuff on a monumental level. I had no idea he had left some in my van which he sometimes used, and in the glove compartment as well, which Jenny had innocently opened while waiting for me to retrieve the exhaust system. I made some sort of bleating claims of innocence and threw the filth in the back of the van, but the gleaming smile had gone and she looked like she did not believe me at all. I re-started the van, but the deafening roar of the now completely fucked exhaust system was enough to induce nose bleeds, so Jenny kindly offered to drive us in her car. As I helped her into her car I managed to get a big black smudgy hand print on her pristine white top. I had booked a table at what had once been a very nice Italian restaurant in Chelmsford. When we got there it was clear things had changed. It was shit. The music was deafening and of the Italian brand of electro pop where everyone seems to go "Bingi-bangi-bongi!" a lot. The waitress had horrendous BO and kept leaning over both of us, letting us enjoy her aroma to it's full extent. The food was shit and the whole place was populated by gurning teenage fuckwits eating pizza and shouting at each other. We drove back to Jenny's house in stony silence. She did invite me in for a coffee, and then proceeded to sit and talk to me, like I was a five year old, explaining how sometimes you can like someone, but you can only ever be friends. Understand? Hmmmm? Friends? Almost like a social worker explaining housing benefit to a client not playing with a full deck.

I drove back to my place with an exhaust system that sounded like 15 Concordes all taking off at the same time and my heart sinking to the soles of my boots. To cap a fine evening off I got stopped by the Police on the way home due to the loud roaring sound of my fucked exhaust. I was surprised to find when I got home that my house hadn't been hit by an asteroid.
(, Sun 7 Sep 2014, 16:50, 50 replies)
It was all going so well...
It was a cousin's wedding in a Chateau in Strasbourg. After the banquet I somehow peeled off with a lovely lady guest, and we walked and chatted gaily throughout the castle grounds - I even managed to ride one of the wild ponies that were wandering about, which well impressed her in a Hugh Grant way. When we kissed in the moonlight, it felt magical.

Later, as we approached our hotel, we were walking hand-in-hand through the medieval cobbled streets of the old town, heady with romance and anticipation, and I trod in the biggest, runniest, dog shit imaginable. I subtly tried to scrape it off by doing humourous Frankenstein/Hunchback of Notre Dame impressions, but this only created the impression that I was a twat, who smelled of dogshit.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 18:44, 6 replies)
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 11 Sep 2014, 9:33, 21 replies)
took a young lady to see Jurassic Park
back when I was in college. Decided to go for a grope, she was up for it, and we were snogging like horny students do in the cinema (yeah gross I know) and stuck my hand up her top and located her nipple and decided to give it a tweak.

After a few moments of this and no obvious reaction, I asked her 'You not liking this?'

She said 'your twisting my tit wart, my nipples more to the left'
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 10:27, 6 replies)
In my days of singleness after my divorce I had a date. We met at her house as she thought I was 'up for it'.
All went well, dinner and then sexy fun times after. All was well, her daughter was away at her ex-husband's place, we made absolute pigs of ourselves as only middle-aged people with drink and drugs can*.
I was getting myself a mid-second-shag drink from the fridge, stark naked and fully tumescent when the front door opened. I hid behind the kitchen door as her daughter came in (she'd had an argument with her dad and come home in a taxi at 3 a:m) and ran crying to her mum.
There I was, in the kitchen, ready for yet another bout of very VERY rude sex, listening to the object of my 'affections' placating her distraught daughter - 'yes, he's a dick, yes it's OK you've come back, no there isn't anyone here' etc etc.
Once the daughter had gone to bed a loooong time later the object of my lust came downstairs with my clothes.
'You'll have to leave, don't make a noise'
'OK, I'll go but how the hell do I get my car away silently'?
'You'll have to push it far enough away so she doesn't hear you drive away'.
I got dressed and left. It's not easy to push an automatic Volvo. I did it though.
Never did get the second shag.

*Viagra and cocaine make a great combination.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 22:54, 25 replies)
Many years ago I had a bird that had a bar through her nipple
She was proper into dried fruit. Like a dried fruit maniac. She was mental for those mixed bags of nuts and dried apricots and all sorts.

Anyway, relevance is irrelevant at this point of the story. My missus had a cracking pair of knockers and I always thought that having one done and not the other kind of made her walk with a bit of a limp, so she was going to get the other one done, as we walked into the tattoo parlour she dropped her dried apricots and dates....shock fucking horror! I tripped over and fell straight onto the machine that puts holes in you, I tried to take control but it had a mind of it's own and I ended up piercing my own mouth.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 21:16, 2 replies)
I met up with a bloke called Norman in a pub once, cos he’d told me he could get cheap lobsters.
He got me very drunk, admitted he had no access to lobsters of any sort, and tearfully asked me to fuck him.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 11:46, 15 replies)
I shat myself on the Central line
I never discovered what the underlying cause was. Norovirus, food poisoning - who knows. Not that it matters.

The train was quite busy and so I thought anonymity would be the perfect cover for a cheeky fart. But no - fuck. All was not right with the world. I glanced at the map in a panic, trying to figure out where we were - I could jump off at the next station, pop to Marks buy a 3-pack of briefs and be good to go again. It wasn't to be though. As I moved towards the door, the feel of my trousers against my legs told me the situation was far worse than I had previously hoped. Time to call a full retreat.

I sent her a text saying there had been some family emergency - and we didn't meet up again. At least on the way home I had the whole carriage to myself.
(, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 10:02, 12 replies)
I hope Dr Skagra dies in a fire.

(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 16:37, 26 replies)
Expanded on a repost.
A good seven or eight years ago, I was in a bit of a post breakup slump. When I got a text from a female friend-of-a-friend that I'd previously turned down through being not single, I unsurprisingly perked up. Drinks, she said. Given I'd spent the last month or so drunk and had hazy memories of her being short and cute, I agreed instantly.

The night we were due to meet I set up shop in one of my local pubs, reasoning that if I went somewhere most of my usual crowd didn't it would be a bit quieter and I was less likely to get invaded and/or cockblocked. I'm pretty thankful I made that choice, though only because it meant nobody saw my shame. I was midway through my second pint of Guinness, wondering when my petite, cute friend was going to turn up, when the door opened. I glanced up, clocked an eyeful of some foul beast so large as to have her own orbit, shrugged, and looked back to my pint. It obviously wasn't her, she was far too oh fuck she's sitting down.

Of course it was fucking her. She'd just eaten half of the Cherry Bakewells in fucking Bakewell since I'd seen her last.

Not being a complete cunt (only a medium one), I got a round of drinks in. I figured that I could have a pleasant chat and catch up before escaping. She got a round of drinks in. I figured that we could chat a bit more, it was early still. I got another round of drinks in. There's still time to get in to town. She got more. I got more. Drinks were had. Fuck me it's midnight, the pub's kicking out, and I'm arseholed.

"We going to go fuck or what?" she leered. I slurred something in reply and we shambled down the street vaguely towards my house. It took a long time, because it hurt her to walk. She could only manage a snail's pace. Unfortunately I didn't sober up enough on the walk to realise this is a warning sign a mile wide. Regardless, I got home and did the deed, despite the Guinness; on the plus side, she was fucking filthy. Passed out.

When morning rolled around I woke up with a splitting headache and a beached manatee in my bed. I did the polite thing and got the fuck out of my room because I couldn't deal with seeing that thing so early in the morning. She was deaf in one ear (rolls of fat in her ear canal?) so didn't hear me get up, thankfully. I popped down to the corner shop and availed myself of bread and bacon, because I was a poor student and apparently didn't have any food in the house. When I was cooking the bacon the smell made me nauseous, so I dumped all six rashers that I'd bought into one sandwich and presented it to her. She woke instantly and devoured it without hesitation.

I had to wait until I was sure my housemates had gone to work before I figured it was safe to shoo her out. Five minutes later she was outside my window, calling in. "WHEN WE FUCKED LAST NIGHT I LEFT MY PHONE IN YOUR ROOM".

I lived opposite a primary school. It was break time.

I still can't eat smoked bacon.

tl:dr; Bloke fucked fat bird, bacon causes flashbacks.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 13:55, 19 replies)
Grill, Interrupted
Early 90s, on a Sunday afternoon train from Manchester to London, I paid the extra tenner to stretch my legs out in First Class and found myself sitting opposite a very attractive Asian girl. I fancied the pants off her the minute I saw her but didn't rate my chances.

Anyway, we got chatting and got on like the proverbial house on fire. Same sense of humour, same books, films, music - you name it, we bonded on it. Quickest three hours of my life and I was genuinely sorry when the train pulled in to Euston. But it was a foregone conclusion that we would exchange phone numbers and so she arranged to come over to Greenwich and we'd go out for dinner.

She worked somewhere in the City - can't remember what she did but I knew that refolded Mexican food wouldn't work and I'd definitely have to pull the stops out on this one. So I got a table at a new place that had just opened and was certainly not cheap.

She arrives, it's lovely. I have champagne chilled in the fridge, we go for dinner and... fuck me - it's like I'm being interviewed for a job. Actually, worse - it was an interrogation. Over dinner I am grilled (no pun intended but I mean grilled) about my job, my prospects, my salary, my finances, my pension - you name it, she went through it with a fine toothcomb. It was one of the most off-putting experiences I've ever had and by the end of the meal I just couldn't wait to get rid of her. All my erotic dreams of moustache-twirling seduction evaporated into a Money Box Live-type impotence. I walked her to the station and saw her onto her train home. Never called her again.

(She told me over dinner that her ex had just moved out one day and only told her by answerphone, which was by any standards a cunt's trick. Part of me wanted to excuse her undoubted paranoia and understand her need for security. The rest of me wasn't at all surprised.)
(, Sun 7 Sep 2014, 2:27, 12 replies)
Bad dates?

Star Wars.
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 19:58, Reply)
Noctu's post reminds me:
I took this married girl out on a date once. Don't ask, weird circumstances. It was her choice of venue - some 60s themed diner that I'd never been to before. It was a very nice night out (apart from this girl kept vanishing to the toilets more often than was necessary, sniff sniff, say no more) and we had a great time - the burgers were great and the milkshakes were fantastic (although a bit expensive).
There was actual interesting conversation (which she seemed to like), some dancing, which she seemed VERY keen on (must have been the aforementioned comestibles, eh!?!) but she was surprisingly competent, to be honest - and I'm a bit of a mover myself, so I know what I'm talking about.…
As is the way, one thing led to another, and we ended up back at her place.

Her and her husbands place.

Now, we'd had a great time, she was pretty - witty, slim and had a devilish steak in her a mile wide - I fancied the hell out of her! But she was obviously totally off limits - she was married for Christ's sake…and also quite fried (I was a little hammered myself, to be honest).
Could I curb my temptation?
"Did I WANT to?" was the question…
I had to run off for five minutes to sort my head out. I was in there if I wanted! Totally!! But could I / should I?


Turns out that wasn't a problem - when I went back into the living room she had passed out cold - almost dead - literally.
I drove her to a mates who helped out reviving her - but that utterly ruined the night - completely killed it. Still, saved me from doing something I shouldn't!!

Then Bruce Willis machine gunned me to death in his own toilet.
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 11:04, 11 replies)
Hello sweeeties! My first ever 're-post', originally posted under 'Bad Dates':

You've all heard of Torchwood, right? Well, I was employed by them for a while several years ago, as a consultant on temporal anomalies. Pay was crap but the sex was fantastic. One night I was out on the lash in Cardiff with the team and I ended up in this cheesy nightclub with Captain Jack. We were the only ones standing as our metabolisms were able to cope with the vast amounts of alcohol we had sunk, everyone else had given up and gone home. So Jack and I were in this club, it was an 80s retro night, and it was packed with pissed, pilled, sweaty humans. Jack and I surveyed the masses like farmers assessing pigs for slaughter. One female in particular caught our attention: an obese, ugly munter dressed in dayglo pink several sizes too small. All the other totty in the place was stunning, so her hideousness stood out all the more. She was drinking and dancing and partying with the utmost unselfconscious abandon. Despite her grossness, we began to admire her. Good for her, we thought! Then Jack began to arse about, saying, ‘would you’, etc. We began to wind each other up mercilessly and it escalated into a bet. We tossed, and when we got back from the toilets, tossed a coin, the bet being: heads, Jack takes the moose back to the Hub and fucks her; tails, I take her for a journey in my TARDIS (it was working back then).

I lost.

So I approached this beast, Jack’s derisive laughter echoing in my ears, and introduced myself.

‘Hello. My name is Doctor Skagra.’

The creature squinted up at me with suspicion. Facially, she somewhat bizarrely reminded me of Peter Gilmore out of The Onedin Line crossed with Millie Tant out of Viz. ‘Hullo! My name’s Dawn’, she bellowed.

I grinned, hoping that I looked terrifying. ‘Would you like to come for a trip in my time machine?’

Dawn’s eyes bulged and fizzed like frying eggs. ‘Coo! It’s a date!’

And so I led her by the (warm, slightly sweaty hand) out of the club, trying to ignore Captain Jack Harkness who was by now writhing on the floor foming at the mouth with larffter. The cunt.

As I led her through the night-time streets of Cardiff, she produced a Pork Pie from her handbag and set to it with grotesque gusto.

We reached my TARDIS which was disguised as a dustbin outside Burger King, and entered. I had to adjust the dimensional relativiser so that Dawn’s leviathan bulk could pass through. As she clocked the incongruously massive interior, she gaped in wonder, almost dropping her Pork Pie, bits of processed meat and pastry falling from her maw to the floor where Tidge and Tadge, my tame Cybermats, cleaned it up.

‘Fuck me!’ she gasped.

No chance of that, I muttered to myself as I set the controls to random, not caring where and when we went on this ‘date’.

I watched as she trundled around my console room (which was a nice blue/white ‘aqua’ colour scheme), firing off moronic questions like ‘how much this cost you?’, ‘what’s that going-up-and-downy thing?’ and ‘where’s the bog?’

Fortunately, the journey proved to be short as my TARDIS locked on to co-ordinates and began to materialised. I didn’t recognise the co-ordinates – in retrospect, I should have done a quick scan before going out, but I just wanted this over as soon as. ‘We’ve landed,’ I told her.

Somehow, Dawn managed to speak between big bites of her enormous Pork Pie. ‘Munch! Munch! Oooh! Munch! Where?’

‘Let’s see.’ I activated the scanner.

Dawn was still intent on the remains of her pie, and I shuddered as I watched her lick greasy flakes of pastry from her chubby fingers.

I returned my gaze to the scanner, and my hearts sank. ‘Oh, no,’ I muttered to myself. ‘Have I got time for a quick spatio-temporal hop?’ But a quick check of the power gauges answered that. My TARDIS needed at least an hour to recharge its Artron energy before it went anywhere, or anywhen, else.

Dawn, having finished devouring her pie - and already presumably thinking about where the next one was coming from - picked up on my subdued mood. She lumbered around the console, rudely shoving me away from the scanner. ‘Hoy! Where are we then, mush?’ she grunted.

I rubbed my arm where Dawn’s considerable bulk had hit me. ‘Somewhere tasty.’

Dawn had now seen the view on the scanner screen. Her jaw gaped, and thick strands of saliva dribbled from her pendulous lip, pooling thickly on the console. ‘Wuuuuuuuuuuuuugh!’ she groaned in ecstasy. ‘Wuuugh! Waaagh! OOOOOORGH!’

The screen showed a rolling landscape of hills and valleys composed entirely of glazed pastry. It shone like burnished gold under a bloated sun. I closed my eyes. ‘Of all the places – Ginsters’ World!’

‘Open the doors! OPEN THE DOORS!’ gargled Dawn through a throatful of drool.

I activated the door controls, once again adjusting the dimensional relativiser so that Dawn’s leviathan bulk could pass through. There was a brief lull, then the sound of steady, contented gorging. It sounded like a sty full of starving catarrhous pigs snout-deep in slop.

Feeling nauseous I stepped out of my TARDIS onto the scrumptious surface of Ginsters’ World. The sunlight made me squint and the smell of cooked meat in jelly inveigled its way into my flared nostrils. ‘The whole planet is one enormous pie,’ I muttered. Dawn was on her knees, oblivious to anything but filling her face, which was buried in pastry, meat and goo.

‘Watch it, if you eat too much, you’ll set the planet off its orbit.’


Then something glinting in the middle distance caught my eye. I moved closer. It was a metal pole, about four feet high, with two triangular flags fluttering at its top. I turned and ran back to Dawn, who was now waist deep in pie, podgy legs waving in the air.

‘Dawn! We must leave. NOW!’ I grabbed her feet and pulled but she was far too fond of her food to let go.

And it was too late anyway.

Three stocky, helmeted figures appeared from behind a massive Scotch Egg. The leader raised a wand-like weapon, and wheezed: ‘You are now prisoners of the glorious and strategic Sontaran Empire!’

Bollocks. Bugger. BALLS! Sontarans! ‘What are you lot doing here?’ I glanced around at the tasty terrain. ‘It’s not as if you need to eat, is it?’

The lead Sontaran stamped and snorted. ‘I am Commander Skunt of the Sontaran Strategic Sn... Strategy Squadron,’ he hissed. ‘This planet is of vital strategic importance.’

Meanwhile, the other two Sontarans were tugging Dawn from her gorge-hole. ‘Waaaaaa!’ cried the fatastrophic femme fat-ale. ‘Lemme GO!’ She sprawled ungraciously on the glazed surface of Ginsters’ World, her face a suffused gurn of thwarted hunger.

Commander Skunt glared down at Dawn and then up at me. ‘Who are you and what is your purpose here?’

I folded my arms. ‘My name is Doctor Skagra, this is Dawn, and this is turning out to be the date from hell.’

Dawn had by now clocked the Sontarans. ‘Eeeeee! Oooooo! MONSTERS!’ she shrieked. She clung to my leg and farted in fear.

I waved my coat to dispel the malodorous miasma - but the Sontarans seemed terribly affected by the pong. They staggered around spluttering and stomping and gasping for air.

I frowned. There was something different about these Sontarans – but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. ‘Well done, Dawn!’ I said, dragging her to her feet, a feat which took all my Time Lord strength. ‘Whilst they’re disoriented let’s leg it back to my TARDIS!’

But the Sontarans had recovered. ‘Lieutenant Vart! Lieutenant Vadj! SEIZE THEM!’ bellowed Commander Skunt, his eyes glowing redly through the slits in his domed helmet.

Dawn and I found ourselves gripped tightly by strong three-fingered alien hands and marched towards the giant Scotch Egg. Dawn seemed hypnotised by the giant snack, and began drooling copiously.

‘Sorry, Dawn,’ I said. ‘That’s NOT a Scotch Egg - it’s a Sontaran battle cruiser.’

‘That is correct!’ spluttered Skunt as we passed into the shadow of the gigantic ersatz egg.

‘But why does it look like a Scotch egg?’ I wondered aloud.

‘It is a strategic disguise,’ rumbled Skunt, as if that explained everything. As they neared, a hatch opened in the breadcrumby skin of the Sontaran ship and a ramp descended. Dawn was shoved onto the ramp, a Sontaran boot prodding her ample behind. She waved her arms in the air and wailed: ‘I wanna go a pooh!’

I was going to fucking murder Captain Jack when – if – I got back to Cardiff.

Inside the Sontaran battle cruiser, it stank. I wrinkled my nose. ‘I don’t know what’s worse, the whiff of your guffs or the smell of stale Sontaran jock-sweat.’

‘My bum feels funny,’ wailed Dawn in answer. I frowned. Could she think of nothing but her digestive processes?

We were shoved, harangued and prodded up against a wall by the three growling Sontarans. Dawn’s jowls wobbled in fear. The Sontarans removed their helmets. Dawn screamed at the sight of their toad-like faces and potatoey heads.

I, of course, didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Well, now you’ve got us, what are you going to do with us?’

‘You cannot be allowed to interfere with the Sontaran strategy,’ gurgled Skunt, fat pink tongue licking thick black lips. ‘Therefore you will be strategically executed!’

‘Quick, Dawn, let another one off!’

‘I can’t! I think I’m constipated!’

‘But you said you wanted -’

‘I know!’ wailed Dawn, ‘But I caaaan’t! I’m all bunged up!’

The three Sontarans raised their weapons.

‘Scream! And prepare to writhe, and die!’ roared Commander Skunt.

The ends of their weapons began to glow red.

A flicker of something caught my eagle eye. ‘Wait!’ I yelled, stepping forward and raising my hands. ‘There’s a traitor in your midst!’

‘Shut up!’ roared Skunt, steam hissing from between his teeth.

‘It’s Vadj!’ I shouted, pointing.

Skunt and Vart turned to look uneasily at their comrade.

‘He’s gorn all glowy!’ cried Dawn.

It was true – Lieutenant Vadj was suffused with an eerie glow, like an intergalactic Ready Brek Kid, only green. He began to change...

Skunt and Vart grunted in alarm and stepped backwards, levelling their guns at Vadj. Their comrade had now morphed into a gigantic blobular ball covered in fine white hairs, like a giant gooseberry. It pulsed with an eerie inner green light and blue sparks crackled across its jelly-like surface.

‘Oh my God what the HELL is that?’ wailed Dawn, clutching my arm so hard that I winced.

‘A Rutan scout,’ I explained.

Skunt and Vart simultaneously fired at the alien intruder. Sizzling beams of red energy jetted from the ends of their weapons and plunged into the Rutan - but it just fizzed, absorbed the energy, and crackled angrily.

‘Your weapons are useless!’ warbled the Rutan in a voice that sounded both electronic and soupy. It surged towards us, flailing its tentacles and casting off blue arcs of energy.

Dawn shrieked, and farted. A look of mixed relief and terror dawned on her face. ‘I’m unblocked!’

Vart, rather ironically, gagged at the smell, and staggered towards the advancing Rutan. Blue energy found him and the Sontaran warrior was instantly fried to a crisp.

‘Run!’ I yelled, shoving the choking Skunt and my malodorous date deeper into the bowels of the disguised Sontaran ship. It was dark, dank, smelly, and laced with curving circular corridors paved with grating that clanked beneath our feet.

Skunt was frothing in anger and exertion, his face a mask of anger. ‘Betrayed! BETRAYED!’ he bellowed.

I skidded to a halt and bustled Skunt and Dawn into a side-room. It contained Sontaran laundry, and stank even worse than the rest of the ship.

‘We must join forces to neutralise that Rutan,’ I said. ‘Agreed?’

Skunt nodded, his piggy Sontaran eyes burning red. Skunt grimaced. ‘It would be the strategic thing to do.’

‘Great!’ I rubbed my hands together. ‘Now, how are we gonna get rid of our blobby friend?’

‘What if,’ panted Dawn, a look of dogged monomania on her sweaty face, ‘I set light to one of my own faaaaaAAAAAARTS?!’

I shook my head. ‘No, the Rutan would probably enjoy that.’

‘I would rather your companion did NOT emit anything further from its anal orifice,’ rumbled Skunt, fixing me with a baleful stare.

‘I can’t guarantee that,’ I muttered, gazing ruefully down at the perspiring lump .

Skunt shoved me aside. ‘Honour demands that I face the Rutan scum in single combat.’

‘Oh, that good old Sontaran honour. Always got to face your enemies, because of your probic vents – the small hole at the back of your necks through which you take in the energy that sustains you,’ I added, for Dawn’s benefit. Not that she seemed to care - she was busy exploring her fingernails for pie residue.

Skunt shoved me aside, roaring in anger. ‘Raaaagh!’

‘But you haven’t GOT any probic vents!’ I cried, pointing at the back of the Sontaran Commander’s collar. ‘I knew there was something odd about you! You’re not Sontarans – what are you?!’

Dawn screamed as Skunt picked me up by my lapels. ‘I AM a Sontaran and I will prove it by strategically destroying my enemy!’

So saying Skunt chucked me into a pile of Sontaran vests and stomped away.

I extricated myself. ‘Now, Dawn – your silly plan about igniting your farts has given me an idea.’

‘Has it?’ said Dawn disinterestedly, intently examining something she’d found under her thumbnail. ‘Oh. When can I have more planet pie?’

‘Not now,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘We need to find the Sontaran armoury.’

‘I’d rather find the canteen,’ chuntered Dawn predictably.

We set off warily along the corridor, and found the armoury. I armed myself with a grenade launcher, reasoning that should be able to blast the Rutan into little jellified bits – and deal with Skunt, should that became necessary.

A green glow shone creepily somewhere ahead. There was no sound of battle, only a fizzing crackling noise and a smell akin to fried pork which made Dawn drool incontinently.

We turned the corner to see the Rutan, still in its sparky blobular formation, poised over the charred body of Skunt, ready to deliver the death blow.

I immediately fired the grenade launcher at the Rutan. It plunged deep inside the gelatinous mass, then exploded. There was a weird electronic howl and then green gloop everywhere. It was like the aftermath of a bizarre alien bukkake party.

I tossed the grenade launcher to the floor and walked over to where Skunt lay. He was still alive – just.

‘We got it,’ I said softly. ‘Honour is satisfied.’

Skunt grimaced. ‘Thank you... Doctor Skagra. And so – I die... but... my mission is accomplished, and the Rutan host will never know the secret.’

I coopied down beside the dying clone warrior – not noticing Dawn slip away. ‘Yes, what WAS your plan? Has it got anything to do with your un-Sontaran lack of probic vents?’

Skunt gargled and coughed. ‘Yes. I... we... are a glorious offshoot faction of the Sontaran Empire. Years ago, on an expedition to the Noodlesphere, we discovered the joys of food. Sensual pleasures... pies... pasties... crisps... cakes... ice cream... CURRY! We augmented ourselves so that we could obtain sustenance from food rather than raw energy.’

‘Sontaran epicures. I’ve seen it all now. So THAT’S why you were so affected by Dawn’s farts! Normal Sontarans don’t eat so they can’t taste or smell - but you can!’

‘Yes. Your companion’s rectal emissions are poison to us.’

Skunt gurgled in pain and his three-fingered hand clutched my knee. ‘Sontaran... High Command... saw our actions as heresy, and exiled us. They call us the Shame of the Sontarans.’ Skunt grimaced in anger. ‘And for decades we have been searching for this place – the gourmand’s Nirvana, the fabled Pie Planet, Ginsters’ World.’

‘And now you’ve found it, it’s too late – you’re dying...’

Commander Skunt’s eyes gleamed redly for one last time. ‘Not too late! I – I have summoned the rest of the Sontaran Strategic – SNACK Squadron, and they will soon be here!’ Skunt hissed and grinned.

‘Well in that case I hope you don’t mind if I’m off,’ I said, but Skunt didn’t hear me. He was dead.

I stood up and left the ship. The giant Scotch Egg cast a long shadow, in which sat Dawn, steadily gorging.

‘Our work here is done.’ I gazed up at the sky. ‘And I hope they make it.’

‘Who makes what?’ blurted Dawn through a mouthful of pastry and meat.

‘Come on.’

‘No! I’m staying here!’

I was tempted to let her stay, but I couldn’t leave her to the Sontarans, even nice ones, so I dragged her kicking and screaming towards my TARDIS.

It was a losing battle until I had a bright idea. ‘Look, I promise to take you to, um, Cadburia, Planet of Chocolate!’ I cried.

Dawn immediately ceased her struggling, and scampered grotesquely into the TARDIS.

I followed and set the fast return switch. As the central column began to rise and fall, Dawn turned to face me, her eyes glassy and bovine, her scoop-jaw glistening with dribble. ‘Well, come on then! The Choco Planet! I’m still hungry, you smarmy tosser!’

I ignored the insult and smirked. ‘No such place. I made it up!’

Too late, I realised my mistake. Dawn launched herself at me, snarling like a rabid boar on heat. Thinking quickly I activated the localised dispenser scoop and teleported her off my TARDIS to Rassilon knows where. Hopefully somewhere safe, I didn’t really wish her any harm.

I returned to Cardiff a few hours earlier than I had departed and had to hang around until I left. I watched myself enter my TARDIS with Dawn and felt like shouting out a warning, but that would have buggered up the timelines, or something. I went back to the nightclub where Jack was waiting for me, a big grin on his stupid face, so I gave him a Chinese burn, the cunt. Then we went back to the Torchwood hub and had bum fun with Ianto. I was Lucky Pierre, so after all that the evening ended rather well.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 15:06, 24 replies)
have a repost from 2008 because you love it, you dirty dirty bitches
"my friend evie went on a first date on saturday night with a guy she really, really likes. she was very nervous, but it all went swimmingly well.

so well, in fact, that when they were walking romantically along waterloo bridge at the end of the night (most romantic views in london? arguably yes!), he tipped her chin up, put his mouth on hers, hands cupping her face and stroking her hair, and kissed her. she said it was magical, an amazing kiss, lights of london spread out before them, stars twinkling, his mouth warm and firm on hers, knees buckling...

then, as they finished kissing, he pulled slightly away and looked deep into her eyes.

and what did evie do in response? drawing in a ragged breath, heart pounding, she announced:

"eeeees niiiiiiice!"

in her best borat voice. why? why?? she has absolutely no idea. all she knows is that he folded her into the next orange-lighted taxi and hasn't texted or called her yet.............."

2014 update: the date that really went wrong was the one where she met her now husband. i miss her love life disasters, i really really do.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 14:38, 10 replies)
Repost, but I think fits:
So I was trying to get to do sex to a girl. She was quite the prick-tease, I was to find out, but for the time being, we were just getting drunk together.

"We should go back to mine" she said, raising my trousers, "but first let's have a drink in the The Fox".

As we walked there, both a few drinks under already, she took out some prescription pills and took one - "They're for my epilepsy" she explained, "Would you like one?"

"You're alright" I said, remembering a previous encounter with the spontaneous taking of prescription drugs with horrid accuracy.

"Oh go on!" she giggled, "All my friends do - they just calm my epilepsy, but they say they make you really nice and mellow ... very ... sensual ... " she said. I would like to point out that in previous discussion she'd hinted that not only was she not averse to, but quite keen on a little back door action.

"I dunno ... " I said, playing the part of unquestioning, sex-starved student to a tee.

"They're really good" she said, popping one in my mouth slowly, letting her fingers trail my lips.


I remember being kicked in the stomach - sort of gently, but repeatedly.

"Oi!" said God, "OI!"

Something sounded like a radio crackling.

"Fuck it" said God, "Let's just get the fucker out and get fucking closed"

I was flying. Beautiful, cold air on my skin. My arms hurt, but I was fine, flying through the cold night, refreshed - lovely.

Then my face hit the floor with a crack. Oh well.

God came back, this time with a kinder, softer tone, "You alright, mate? You from the college? I think he's from the college"

"I am indeed from the college" I instructed them, "I wonder if I could trouble you for the loan of twenty pounds with which to hire a public carriage, that I might hoof off? I hope that my mate Dan's awake, and that I might spend the night on his floor, as I know his liberal attitude to accommodation will be prevalent, and he lives not far from here. Would you mind? I would be most obliged."

"I dunno" said God, "Isn't he a mate of Dan's?"

"I AM a mate of Dan's!" I said, "As I instructed you! Now, twenty pounds, if you please!"

The summer passed, and soon the cool of autumn was making me shiver.

"Dan, mate? Yeah. You got a mate with a red mohican? Yeah. Yeah. Well he's outside The Fox and he's ... yeah. No. He's proper fucked. Yeah. Yeah OK - you what? Oh mate - yeah sure - yeah OK mate. Yeah that's cool."

I remember noting that Dan had grown a beard, and looked handsome with it. A small chap but deceptively strong, he swore at me profusely for some reason, and there was something to do with a blanket.

The morning arrived, and with it breakfast of tea and a sausage sandwich. A trip to the park to enjoy the mid-summer sun was arranged, and throughout it I alternately shivered and sweated, and occassionally pulled myself to the bushes to dry heave. In the afternoon I managed to get back to mine, where I spent two days in bed flitting from consciousness to sleep, with no real distinction between them. I could not focus for a week on whether or not I existed beyond mild physical discomfort.

I never did get to have sex with the girl.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 15:39, 7 replies)
repost from 20th Oct 2011

I met a girl on Match
she looked pretty, she came across bubbly. We agreed to meetup for some drinks.

I put on a nice shirt, jeans, shoes.

I arrived at the bar (actually a hotel) and waited with a beer.

Then she arrived, dolled up to the max. 6" stilettos, shiny pink mini dress, Brunette hair done to the max. She was stunning, but in a trashy Jordan kinda way.

She looked alot like a hooker.

We chatted, I drank, she drank more ( i noticed drinks seemed to evaporate in front of her).

She then decided to tell me all of her history (bear in mind this was more of a meetup and see what you think of each other rather than a date)

Lord help me her history.

She told me she was a stripper in Manchester (half my brain at this point went into celebration mode, the other went into a mild panic. Not GF material, but a hell of a shag on the cards?), and that she used to date a of Head of one of the largest gangs in Liverpool. Alarm bells are starting to ring here.

I had just finished telling her a charming quip about how my car isnt fast, but its a nice runner. But, in return, and quite off topic I was now proceeding to get smashed in the face with facts about her history.. and not nice facts. Bang one after another!

My mind wandered about how out of the norm it was to divulge such secrets to what i was - a complete stranger - a stranger you are looking to date. He has bought you one drink, you have known each other for 90 mins.

"...and then I tried to commit suicide" she said, as i connected back into the conversation again.

"What? wow", I tried to act sympathetic, but I knew I could bolt.. if I wanted to. But hey, Id had a few pints and I couldnt be @rsed, plus I hadnt had s3x in ages, and well, I felt lucky.

"yeah I tried to commit suicide, when my sister found me..just in time apparently,. but don't worry, this is all well behind me" she laughed - nervously.

"really?" I asked. Well done, "when did this all happen?" I asked, wondering if it was suitable to change the subject yet.

"2 months ago"

*Alarm bells intensify the ringing*

I made my excuses and finished off my beer. She gulped her Double vodka.

"Ok, well, erm, I better get a cab, nice meeting you" I was nearly home and dry, it was an interesting night, not one I want to revisit, I felt kind of embarrassed. What a odd one.

"Lets share a cab" she proclaimed, "you can meet my friends!"

oh dear - I thought. I knew we would find it hard to get a cab from where we were. She knew I lived just beyond were she was going. I couldnt get out of it.

My cab turned up. She just got in, without me agreeing.

She held my hand.

I noticed the stench of cheap perfume. she continued to off load her history, then laugh at how silly it all was. It wasnt. It was scary.

We arrived in Birkenhead - she grabbed my hand, paid the taxi man and proceeded to push me into one of the nasty town bars. Chavvy isnt the word. Where everyone is wearing Lacoste, and rockport shoes, heavily gelled hair, with bottles of VK orange in both hands. Happy hard core bellowed out from all directions.

I got a becks and made it to the edge of the dance floor. The girl found me and proceeded to snog my face off. Wow. This is now becoming difficult. She likes me, and Im scared of her. I am now involved with a nutjob. Who, Im scared might still be suicidal, whom me saying fuck off to, might send her back into Suicidal oblivion.

I just wanted to leave, but every time, I tried, she would grab my arm and introduce me to one of her Scally mates. eventually I convinced her I was in work the next day (which i was, like i said - this was meant to be a simple met up - quick bevy and a chat). I left. Exhausted.

i then performed an excersise akin to an assasin cleaning up a murder scene. destroy all evidence etc

I then copied the text I received from another unsucessful Match.com girl I had met a few days before, talking about "not right for me, you were really nice etc, good luck" sent it to her and deleted her from my phone.

Nut job.
(, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 23:34, 55 replies)
Not proud of this one.
Going back about 20 odd years. I was young, single, lived alone and had a fairly fluid financial situation. Due to this I *sometimes* found myself in predicaments where I might meet a partner in one evening and end up bedding them before sun-up. Don't you judge me you filthy cunts! I am a man of good moral fiber. Now.

One such evening I met Marion. She and I hit it off and after much libations we strolled/staggered back to my humble abode.
The following morning after some slightly less strenuous than the night before's drunken effort, morning delight and a warm breakfast (I lived above a cafe and knew the owners well) we exchanged numbers and promised to call, when she did mention that she was living with her mum who could be a bit chatty so beware of that if I called. We both knew I wouldn't.
Ahh, the 90's. Remember when you could give someone a phone no. and they couldn't get your life history based on that?

A few weeks later I was at a party held by my mum's next door neighbors for their musician son - celebrating his first album launch. I was enjoying the cold imported beers from the cooler when I came across an attractive older woman called Nina (my mums neighbor's son agent - maybe 20 odd years older than me). She was well shaped in all the right places and was wearing a fitted red dress and very nice black stockings. As I was by then living in a shared house with 3 other blokes, when she sensually purred into my ear that we could get going I got the the cab to head to her place. That night my Mrs Robinson and I pretty much explored as much of the sexual spectrum that we both felt comfortable with. Suffice to say not an orifice was left untouched and both parties fell into a drunken slumber well satisfied.

The following morning after a slightly more gentle bout of rumpy-pumpy I got up in the nick and availed myself of the ablutionary amenities. As I was siphoning the python the bathroom door opened and in strolled Marion from a few weeks before. I tried to shout and cover my shame and she fucking bolted. Moments later I was dressed and in the kitchen headed to the door with my polite but hasty goodbyes when Nina had to introduce me to her daughter Marion.
We locked eyes, I turned and left and never saw either of them again.

tl;dr - I fucked a mum and a daughter and despite it being a fantasy for many men, it wasn't good.
(, Sat 6 Sep 2014, 10:29, 14 replies)
In which I became her online dating disaster story... Don't date tired.
Oh god, how can I condense this one adequately.

So, I was tired, overworked, over-travelled but managed to cram in a quick coffee with a simply lovely girl I'd been chatting to online.

She was just awesome. Retired catwalk model, recent PhD, now lecturing in her field at Oxford. Sharp, penetrating chat, funny, keenly down to earth, stratospherically beautiful. The perfect 10.

she asked a very leading question about what I thought about Dawkins, which I tried to swerve the populist response by referring to a friend who had him as his tutor and had a bit more insight into his outlook.

Except said friend had died, in the most pointless and tragic way, and I got a bit distracted and ended up, in part through some pent up emotion and part no doubt simple exhaustion, sitting there for about ten minutes in floods of tears.

She was awesome. She held my hand, gazed quietly at me, bathed me in sympathy and understanding and made me feel like everything was OK. Then she stood up, looked me coolly in the eye and said "so what would you like to do now?"

Exhausted, drained, I simply said "honestly, I want to go to bed and get some sleep".

SO I walked her home, said goodnight, and went quietly off to a dark corner to kick myself in the arse for about 3 hours straight for being the guy that cried on his first (and last) date...
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 17:16, 6 replies)
Painful memories
Back in the old days, before I grew to look like a discarded mattress, I was quite adept with the ladies. Given that I'd had 19 years of miserable celibacy, I was delighted (and not modest) about this.

So one night, bolstered by several bottles of fine brown ale, I boasted that I could bed the next young lady that I saw, regardless of her attractiveness or boyfriend status.

This was before rohypnol, so I was going to rely on my charms.

The next woman I saw was impressively busty and showed a great deal of interest in my sauciness, as indeed was her friend. For reasons that escape me I introduced her friend to my compatriot, Jamie.

One thing lead to another and before I knew it we were in her place, passions running high. Which is when things took a turn for the worse.

Being 19, I immediately set to work on freeing her impressive bazongas. What I found, to my horror, was that her astounding hourglass shape was only accomplished by the application of an industrial strength corset. After a deft move from yours truly, her body was freed of its constraints and returned to its natural shape.

In the dim light in her room she looked like a vast beige sponge, only less sexy than that sounds. I reached out a trembling hand (I assume she thought I was in the throe of passion) and gingerly touched her, finding out that she had the texture and consistency of a felt bag full of vomit.

What was I to do? Well, as a gentleman and a gentleman of 19 years at that, there was only one option open to me.

The next morning I crept from her room, battered and ashamed. I met Jamie on her landing and together we slunk from that Lovecraftian house of horrors and never spoke of it again.
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 13:01, 19 replies)
blind date party horror
a few years ago, my friend evie decided that a sailing club was a good way to meet men. happily ignoring the fact that she gets seasick in a bath, she duly crashed a sailing club party and she did indeed meet a man.

the first thing i knew about it, i was being told that i had to host a party, so she could get to pull him. my flat was volunteered because it is a good lay-out for entertaining. the sweetener: he had a hot mate that we could invite too. fair enough. and a party's a party. we decided to have a murder mystery party, as we'd never done that before (or since, come to think of it) and togged the whole flat up like a casino. everyone made a real effort, and the costumes were brilliant.

then there was a knock at the door. i opened it. there was a chav standing there in a ripped t-shirt and a baseball cap. this was evie's potential. he barged in, empty-handed, and helped himself to beer in the kitchen. "ahahaha your fridge says SMEG on it. your fridge has got smegma," he sneered. lovely. what a charmer.

half an hour later, there was still no sign of his hot mate, and we kind of needed to start the party. so we started with the ice-breaker, a pass the parcel drinking forfeits game, rigged to let evie get her first kiss. she slinkily sat next to the chav, and i deliberately stopped the music for her on the layer that said "cheeky snog for the person on your right". i thought she'd be pleased. but her face fell a mile. everyone else was clapping and cheering. i couldn't understand why she looked like thunder. until she headed towards me. yeah.... the chav was on her left, and i was on her right... spastic swipe. we settled for a peck on the cheek and much mockery.

then the door went again. i opened the door. there was a grandad standing there, blinking away under a teatowel. he brandished a half-drunk bottle of red wine at me. he smelled vaguely of vomit. after a minute, it dawned on me that this was the hot mate (his character was a sheikh, hence the amazing costume). w.t.f. i took the wine, murmuring, "you REALLY shouldn't have." and he snatched it back as soon as he had taken off his coat.

the actual party went well after that, apart from the fact that all our friends were wondering who these two dirty old weirdos were. and that the two weirdos drank half the booze between themselves. evie, blissfully oblivious, was getting on famously with the chav. my date was limping around complaining that his knee hurt from walking up two flights of stairs and shovelling pizza in his mouth.

at the end of the night, evie and the chav disappeared onto the balcony for a snog. it seemed to be going well, from what we could see of their frantically groping bottoms. we drew the blinds, and everyone was happy. my date was snoring on the sofa. then evie came back in. she didn't look that thrilled. i asked what the matter was. "nothing," she snapped. it turned out that the conversation had gone like this:

evie: so shall we go somewhere more private?
chav: sure. your place?
evie: what about your place?
chav: weeeeell, my girlfriend will be in bed, and she wouldn't really like that...

the final straw was when we woke up the next morning to start tidying up the carnage, evie announced that she had a tennis match at 9.30, and fucked off! there were no second dates.
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 10:23, 34 replies)
Dawn of the dead
Hanging out in a nightclub in Tiger Bay. Never smart.
I'd been sent to Cardiff to sort out some accounting issuesin the local office, by our parent company. My colleagues felt the need to show me some good old Welsh hospitality, and this mandated much time in the fleshpots of their nations capital. I did weakly point out that I'd have been perfectly satisfied by some cheese on toast, a few verses of 'Men of Harlech' and a blowjob from Charlotte Church but no, that wasnt their way at all apparently

So I'm out with a few people I dont really know and our local finance specialist, Dawn. Dawn's a big girl - but that didnt bother me as I had zero interest in her. I liked her for her outrageous sense of humour and real talent at a SAP terminal.

Many drinks were had. My eyesight began to degrade, and so did my opinion of Dawn, who I was beginning to suspect of not just taking aspirin.. and in fact of being the inspiration for 'Monster' by The Automatic. And of being colourblind. There's a place for dayglo synthetic polymers. This wasnt it.

But you have to be a part of the team if you want to keep your ledgers balanced. I discreetly switched to drinking tap water instead of neat vodka and joined in the thrashingly comical local dancing style while mentally watching the clock over the door and wondering whe it would stop being impolite to give excuses to depart.

The clock right over two somewhat past-it hipsters. One was a hugely tall guy in his mid forties wearing what looked like a pastiche of a pre-modern military uniform, the other slightly shorter guy in a black pinstripe suit and bowler hat, and constantly fiddling with what appeared to be a TV remote. Presumably high on shrooms and left his iPhone in his front room. Both of them winked at me.

I groaned and smiled back. Then snapped around as Dawn had got a grasp on me and was determined we should dance more. I put up with this in the interests of professional teambuilding for 10 mins or so then had the convenient need to relieve myself, and slipped away to point percy at the porcelain

While in there I was happily sitting on the throne with my phone, updating a somewhat horrified management accountant back in London on what was probably going on expenses, when I heard what sounded like someone having a massive asthma attack a few stalls away. I quickly buttoned up and dashed along banging on doors asking if everyone was ok

Ten minutes later, somewhat bruised, I staggered out of the loos with a newfound realisation of how dangerous it is to knock on a drunkards toilet door. Dawn was nowhere to be seen, the other hipster guy was smirking at me - I'd had enough and went back to my hotel room

I'd been there no more than five minutes when my ears popped as though the local air pressure had spiked. There was a loud thump, a gugling noise, then the wardrobe fell over and poleaxed me. Bang. Out like a light.

I came to in dawn's early light, lying like a spanged mong on the hotel's hard carpet, half covered with a wardrobe in several pieces, mostly pinned down by.. Dawn.


She came around after I'd wormed my way out and found a pail of water, but didnt make much sense. Something about a hipster in a blue box that groaned rang faint bells, but the rest of the discourse, regarding an edible world, a scotch egg that could be entered, green froggy men....

'Too many drugs Dawn'. I thought. but no actually I said it.

'But its trueeeewaaaaaaaghurrrgh..... I wanna go baaaarrrrrrghggghhhhhhhhh'

I was washed away across the room by a deluge of onetime pie.
And then she shat herself.
(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 16:14, 6 replies)
I once asked a girl to an Ethiopian restaurant, no doubt thinking my eclectic taste would result in us having sex
I made a last minute decision to change my trousers with ones that didn't have stains on the front. Unfortunately, the new ones didn't have my wallet in them. She was polite and gracious about having to pay for dinner, but this didn't extend to coming back to my place for a spot of fucking, or in fact, speaking to me again.
(, Sat 6 Sep 2014, 14:18, Reply)
Back when I was about 19 I had a job in a hotel bar in brighton
I had recently been promoted to a position where I would stay late, and discovered this had it's advantages, ie. an hours free unsupervised drinking.

Times with the girlfriend were very turbulant, and we were on an off period (She was fucking crazy, and somehow turned out to be the mother of my child)
Her most recent escapade at the time had involved her telling me she was killing herself (she had a history of self harm) if I didn't go back to her immediately, and as a young dumb naive teenager I dealt with it the only way I knew how, Large consumption of extremely strong alcohol.

So I was shitfaced cashing up, it was probably all wrong, but i'll never find out, here's why.

After cashing up I stumbled off on my way to the staff room to collect my belongings, when who should I bump into but my superior, however a boss of a different department. She was 38-40something in age and I had a schoolboyesque crush upon her to the point where I had masturbated over fantasies of her...anyway.
She noticed me drunk and told me to step into her office, I followed her and sat down ready for a bollocking. She asked if i was alright, I said yeah, but I needed to roll a joint to steady the ship (it definately doesnt work like that) As the words came out, I thought my job was gone forever.But she just told me I was naughty and gave me a cheeky look, but said go ahead. I began to skin up on her desk, all the while we were talking and getting on really well having not had much interaction before. When I had finished she told me she hadn't smoked in years and could she try some. We went round the back of the hotel and smoked it, If I wasn't a mess before, I had positively stepped over the line to the other side now.

I told her I needed to change out of my work clothes and go home, "No you don't" she said, and grabbing my hand she started pulling me out the main entrance of the hotel, "lets go out in to town" she said "it's been such a long time since I had any fun."
Fuck it, i thought, and off we went, still in uniform.

We started off in a cocktail bar in north laine, and ended up on the seafront within 3 hours. we were both absolutely steaming and stumbled arm and arm over the pebbles snogging intensely, I couldn't believe what was happening.
As we laughed and pissed around my keen nose gravitated us towards a large group of hippie types smoking marijuana. having smoked all mine earlier I asked if any of them had any spare, and they shared some joints with us. We lay together on the beach listening to the sea in a boozy smoky sort of coma, but regained our senses about an hour later.
Feeling like I was sobering up a little and feeling a pang of guilt for my mental (currently off) girlfriend I suggested we get some food, go to a taxi rank and head our seperate ways. She agreed.

After collecting our greasy kebabs we walked to the taxi rank, I escorted her into a taxi and bent down to kiss her and say goodbye. As I lent down she grabbed the front scruff of my work shirt and pulled me into the taxi simultaneously telling the driver her address.
Now things started getting really heavy and she went straight in for the blow job, I looked up and caught the driver smirking in the mirror, and decided he'd be ok with it, I was too drunk to feel uncomfortable about him watching. the driver told us we were nearly there and she got off me, and paid the cabby.

She took my hand and led me to the door of her flat, I was somewhere near the outskirts of the city. We bust through her flat door and immediately jumped onto her bed, as she took her dress off I could have melted, she had an absolutely amazing figure. Feeling more confident know and forgetting completely about the nutcase I showed my first signs of taking control, I teased her for a bit, and eventually penetrated her. She felt fantastic. We were going slowly for about 3 minutes before she came...and didn't she come, I found myself covered in liquid, something I had only ever seen before in porn as a 19 year old boy. She got out of the bed and went to the bathroom. I quickly wiped my hand in the gush and smelled it to double check it wasnt piss, it wasn't. When she came back I finished off, then very hurredly left, with ashamed thoughts of my crazy girlfriend making me feel very uncomfortable. I began to walk but was completely lost, and still rather sozzled. Eventually I got my bearings and walked about 2 miles home.

Upon finding my house I discovered I had left my keys in her flat, so I hailed down a taxi and rode it to my mates, it was getting light now.
As i got out the taxi I closed the door, rather amazingly onto my own head, which was now bleeding profusely, and stumbled to my mates door. I knocked but no answer. So with my bloody hand I reached through the letterbox and undid the latch, as I stepped in I found my freind in the kitchen looking incredibly dishevelled. Turns out he'd been on a wrongun bad trip for the last few hours which had heightened upon seeing the bloody hand reach through the letterbox. However the site of me with blood pouring from my cranium seemed to snap him out of it, the reality that his freind needed his help. He patched me up and we decided we'd just stay up another day as it was already light. We walked up to the hill fort above brighton and smoked all day, sharing our antics of the previous night.

I now have a scar on my head which always serves as a reminder of that random evening, I don't think I will ever forget the rollercoaster ride of lust, shame, pain, luck, joy and secrecy.
I never collected my keys, I never went back to work.
I found out several months later from a member of staff that she had got pregnant, and I shat myself (not quite literally), but I don't think its mine, the timings not quite right thankfully.

Er, apologies for the length, got a bit carried away and lost in memory.

edit: tl;dr ...Havn't really gone with the subject here either have I? whoops.
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 17:30, 17 replies)
I dated a medical student for a while
Really nice girl and I was quite keen. In the end it didn't work out, but anyway...

A few dates in, we'd gone back to her house and were getting intimate and she said something complimentary about my wee willy winky. I replied "And I suppose being a doctor you've seen a lot of them?". She said "Yeah, but mostly on dead people".

Bit of a mood killer.
(, Fri 5 Sep 2014, 9:51, 5 replies)
So back in the day when still living with parents I secured an empty house and invited a young (no not yewtree) lady around to see my (delete as appropriate - stamp collection, puppy, cock).

As I was about to 'tuck in' I remembered that my dad had asked me to record something on telly.

So I excused myself, saying 'sorry just have to set the video'... on my return she'd done a runner!!!

Turns out later she thought I was going to video our sexy beeezneez!

I mean really it was the eighties - you'd have noticed a giant camera and a top loading frikin betamax in the the room......
(, Thu 4 Sep 2014, 14:59, 1 reply)
I once was in a gay bar (mild simmering pearoast)
In Glasgow with a gay friend. Damn I'm hip, I thought. I'm not even quivering with fear. I'm talking with, like, total fags like they're real people. I'm totally seeing lesbians playing tonsil hockey. They both might look like Bobby Hill, but hey, two chicks, amiright?

I was drinking a pint of lager to assert my heterosexuality, as all the bummers were drinking spirits or from branded bottles. You know, like I was a real man. So when a young lady came up to me and said "My friend fancies you," I assumed her friend was a girl. So I followed her, and my glib superiority turned to horror when she led me to a bloke. Who was old. Like, about sixty old. And fugly. And who started spouting indecipherable Glasweegie at me. Dumbstruck, I accepted a drink and stood there trying to think how to escape without seeming a total dick. But after a moment or two I realised I had no obligation to this guy so I just said, "Er, sorry, I'm not gay, and I'm just going to join my friends". I felt like Niles in the Frasier episode when his dad has to make on that he and Niles are in a relationship. It wasn't the being thought gay that annoyed me. Evidently people thought that was the best I could do.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 13:05, 6 replies)
I used to see a girl every Friday.
She'd always stop my way, tell me a funny story and show me some amusing pictures. Reliable as clockwork.

Then she started telling me about this other guy, some ginger cunt who was controlling her...how he'd moved on to a new, wealthier model. Tacky and shallow.

Then one Friday, she stopped appearing in my inbox and I never saw her again.
(, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 20:41, 5 replies)
"You're home early."
"I puked."
"In the cab."
"On his dick."
(, Sat 6 Sep 2014, 9:47, 5 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 4, 3, 2, 1