Twice the pleasure
I have two tales for you goodly gentlefolk:

1:
First girlfriend. We were both fifteen. She was a Wimbledon ballgirl. It didn't last long - a month or two perhaps. She split with me after the first (and indeed only) time I got off with her. I think she mistook me putting my arms around her for, er, something else. Just as well, really. She had long, blonde hair that you could run your fingers through and get them stuck. It was _that_ frizzy. I remember being quite upset about it until my old man told me that Have I Got News for You was on.

2:
Second girlfriend. We were both 19. I fell for her on the floor of the University of Warwick's sports hall. Not the most promising of venues, I confess. We were both at a big student conference there, and were in the same year at the University of York. I had been turfed out of the place I had laid out (German tourist style) beforehand and ended up next to her. She fell asleep and, looking back, I think I fell in love with her then. I didn't really realise it, though.

So, I picked up the courage to ask her out on the coach back. Then she mentioned that hideous phrase - "my boyfriend." Fvcksocks.

A few months later, I heard that they were no longer an item. So, I asked her out, by way of asking her to do a graphology assessment for me, bizarrely enough. I was so nervous I had to write down and practice what I wanted to say ( I've subsequently framed it) She was rather taken aback, and asked for some time to think.

Foolishly, I thought I was in there.

I wasn't. The next day she turned me down. Her previous boyfriend had been a bit of a headcase, apparently. She didn't feel ready for another relationship.

I didn't eat for two days. I wrote out Radiohead lyrics. Nuff said.

Fast forward two weeks. I met her at a Battle of the Bands heat. We had a good natter and she agreed to go out to a club (of the alternative music variety) the following night. I didn't see her until gone midnight - I thought I'd been stood up. She had a decent enough explanation, although I can't remember what it was offhand.

The next day I saw her at the Amnesty stall. She asked to have a word with me. We went outside. It was the middle of February and was a little bit on the chilly side to say the least. We sat down. She asked me out.

Five and a half years later, this October, I took her to the same spot and proposed to her. She said yes.

Ah, almost forgot. Between me asking her out and her asking me out, I decided to take revenge on her previous bf. I got him super-soaked and flanned during RAG week. I eventually owned up to this a few months into our relationship. Her reaction? "But that wasn't him!". I'd put out a contract on the wrong bloke, poor bugger.

Girth? Length? You love it.
( Parmesan Quality b4 Quantity, Thu 20 Oct 2005, 23:52, Reply)