I climbed up the ivy to her bedroom window, swung myself in...
...and dropped a bunch of roofies into her drink. Hiding in the wardrobe for long enough to watch her imbibe the lot, I then led her to my car and stuck it up her without a condom. Once she was pregnant it was as simple as explaining that if she wouldn't be my girlfriend I'd remove, kill and eat her unborn foetus. Simple as that, really.
(rampants, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 15:42, 1 reply)

Well it was not about asking out........

Well it was not about asking out butt… Its long, but cathartic so please bear with me.

Anyway when I was younger and at Uni we used to practice debate in a proper association with competitions and all that. At one national debate competition I spotted a very nice girl, blonde, curly hair, minion and all that (also the rare smart type, I discover later). So I ask my friend Y: who’s the girl? Don’t bother he answers. Why? It’s X’s. X being another good friend of ours (with a proper mad gf back home). I tried to get her attention but didn’t work the way I hoped. So last day, in a hurry to catch the bus I drag X out of her bed. Nice view.
Fast forward six months, another competition. Is she coming, I ask? Yes. Up we go, me and Y.

This was not planed.
First evening (or the second, couldn’t tell), huge amount of vodka+tonic drink from a vase in Y’s room. Said girl was in a room with another girl, which Y wanted to take care of. Y was in room with another mate and I was in a third room. The bloke who was supposed to share the room with Y got sleepy and went to sleep in my room. Y started kissing and hugging with the second girl, room colleague of the girl I fancied. Then it hit me. I propose that we go out and leave the two alone to enjoy the rest of the night. And since I don’t have a place to crash anymore it is obvious that I should sleep in her colleague’s bed, in her room. Being a bit under the influence she agrees. So we get in the respective room, and she goes to the bathroom the change.

I was left alone. The room has two separate beds and I’m thinking how the hell m I going to do something under the circumstances without being obvious on my intentions. So then I proceed to move the furniture in order to have the beds together. It has never occur to me that I cannot be more obvious than that. Said and done. She come out of the bathroom (wearing a shirt and panties) and is a bit stunned by the new arrangement. I move the beds in order to have more space I mumble. She looks and me and reluctantly says: ok. The rest is history, we been together for 3 years. The of course she moved to some other country (fucking Italians).
X friend had a smile when I told him what and how happened and we went for drinks.

So it wasn’t exactly about asking out but about moving in. It always makes me smile remembering how silly I must have looked after moving the furniture. Happy days!

rhatanu hates to grow up!
(rhatanu, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 15:17, 6 replies)

Excuse me do I know you?
Yes that is what my now wife and mother of my child asked me first time we met!

Was at uni many many years ago, week to go until graduation and the real world, yay, travelling and all that no worries. Go to a party with a mate and there's a load of first years, some I know. Ok so it turns out that we had the same circle of friends and had encountered each other a couple of times. So there was some validity to the question, not just a chat up line.

Anyway I walked her home, well she did have a nice arse and a lovely face, she invited me in...said no (must have been very pissed) but I did say 'have a nice life' what twat says that???

Amazingly a house mate some how got her phone number a day or two later so called to apologies for being the said twat.

Drink or two...and now nearly ten years later...maried, mortgage, kid, all from a really crappy chat up line.
(bluehamster, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 15:08, Reply)

Ok....
Back when I was 16, I was up at the Edinburgh festival. I'd met a few techie types whilst doing work experience, and ended up meeting most of the comedy circuit at the time. It was fucking great, going to every house party and being plied with all sorts of booze and narcotics. And then I met Mick.

He'd sat down next to me in a bar, and we had instantly clicked. You know how you just start talking to someone and everything else melts away? Well, tht was the two of us. Only one small slight issue- he was 38. But we were mates instantly, and that was all that mattered. We spent the next week glued together at every party.

At the end of our week together, I was trying to shake off a bloke who I'd snogged drunkenly earlier on and who was telling anyone who listened I was his girlfriend, and Mick was being persued by some blond thing who was adamant that he was the one for her. He'd tried to get her into a quiet corner to tell her about his (fictional) wife and three kids, but she pulled him into a toilet cubicle. After shouting for the bouncer, the two of us legged it.

We went to another bar until we were kicked out at 4am. I had a train home later that day, so we walked arm in arm around the city, just talking (still just mates here). After a few hours, he asked me if I fancied him.

"Fuck" thinks I, stupid 16 year old me has ballsed up this friendship. Because I had fallen for him so hard over the last week. I hadn't even thought I was capable of feeling this much about a single human being. And I was doing my damndest not to show it to this incredible man, because with a 22 year age gap we couldn't honestly be more than mates, right?

However, I make a point not to lie. "um, kinda" I saucily replied.

"Good. Then I guess we can be mates that fancy each other then"

(Bear with the flirting, neither of us are any bloody good at it. I still have no idea whatsoever if someone's interested in me)

We had a coffee. We walked down to the meadows and lay on the grass, and watched as the sun rose. And then we leaned towards each other and had the shyest, most gentle kiss ever.

From that day we have been inseperable. I was still at school- I had to deal with having a boyfriend older than some of the teachers, he had to deal with every one of his mates asking what the hell he was playing at. But we've stuck with each other, because there is no way I can be without him. When we're apart, it hurts so much. I never knew that I could feel so much for someone that just lying next to him would make me gasp with the swell of emotion. He's my best mate, my rock, and the best fucking lover in the whole damn world.

We've been together for just over 5 years now, and people do accept us for what we are these days. We've been living together for almost the same amount of time. We worked together for 3 years so that we would never be apart, and now we both work from home together. Every day I look at him and feel more in love with him, and he tells me the same all the time. We honestly can't go more than a day apart before rushing into each other's arms again. We have no secrets.

Regardless of other people's judgements, follow your heart. Because 5 years ago we knew this wasn't some simple "lets be together because we're bored". There is no way I'd be in a relationship with this age gap if I had any choice, but that's what Mick is, and I love the wisdom he brings to me, and he loves the clarity I give to him.

And he still keeps me up til 3 every night :D
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 15:04, 17 replies)

First love (warning: contains scenes of a nauseating nature, for which I apologise)
Not current, but my first true love. I have touched on this briefly here: www.b3ta.com/questions/craphotels/post115607

It was the school French trip, around Easter 1984 I think, and I was sat behind a couple of girls with my mate. One girl I was particularly attracted to – ahhh, she made my heart skip, and my larynx unable to utter anything other than “nnnnyyyooourrrnghthpt” owing to the dribble reflex that kicked in not long after I first set eyes on her….

Anyway, I fancied her rotten, but it appeared she was more interested in my mate, so I shyly retreated and let them get on with it, so to speak. Returning from the trip, she moved away, and that was that. Little did I realise that when I started college some two years later, who should also be there and staying in the halls of residence, but the object of my desire from way back (or, more accurately, Rothbury; as that was where she had moved to). And she was even more stunning than ever. I had no chance.

One evening events conspired to leave us sitting alone together after some other halls residents had decided to go and play pool or something. So I tried to engage her in conversation: “You don’t remember me do you”?

“I’m not sure; you do look a bit familiar”.

“Berwick High School; French trip. I sat behind you on the bus; and on the last night there was a group of us decided not to bother with the disco and stayed in the dorms getting drunk. You got off with my mate…”

“Ahhhhhhhhh…. Yes, now I remember”. The ice was broken, and we talked. And it transpired that she had actually fancied me rather than my mate, something that took me aback. But I held back on asking ‘the’ question, even though now it seems pretty damned obvious that she was flirting with me. Like I said in a previous post, I’m something of a spak-knuckled incompetent in these situations…

The next night we went for a drink with a few others. The 10:30 curfew cursed us as we left the pub early in order as to not get locked out; however, once it had been established that we could, in fact, get served, the Elephant was a most-nights thing.

After about a week of this, I found myself walking home with her, the others having moved on ahead. We still had a bit of time, so we sat down on a wall and talked. Small talk, inconsequential stuff that soon tailed off into awkwardness and faint embarrassment. We sat there, alone in the dark for a bit. Then; “We’d best get going, it’s 10:20”, I remarked.

Pause. “Yeah, we’d best, plus I’m getting cold”.

The combination of 3 snakebite and blacks and the cold air must have hit her, though, and as she went to stand, she fell back onto the wall. I managed to catch her and prevent her from tumbling over into someone’s garden hedge. She gazed into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity, and for once in my life I didn’t shrink back from the situation that was unfolding itself before me. I gazed back, drew her closer, and kissed her.

“I was wondering when you were going to do that”, she said.

I grinned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind. Will you go out with me this time”?

“What do you think”?

I grinned again...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:53, 4 replies)

hmmm
just noticed the name of the thread URL:

www.b3ta.com/questions/gooutwithme/

Gout with me?
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:49, 1 reply)

"How did you get your current flame to go out with you?"
I rolled around on the ground until I was extinguished. Drop and roll, as we were taught as kids.

...oh, hang on, I think I misunderstood...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:46, 11 replies)

How did you get your current flame to go out with you?



... *ahem*...

*Whistles innocently*
.
.
.
(josef fritzl is sporting the spring/summer '09 folder look, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:36, 12 replies)

I set my luggage on fire
at Warsaw airport. By mistake, with a huge hotrock from a poor quality European budget cigarette.

Since at the time I was attempting to hail a cab in a country where I couldn't even read a roadsign, with my back to my suitcase, and since it was night time, and about minus 15, I had completely failed to notice the telltale smell and smoke.

I suddenly heard an odd noise, and span around to find this beautiful young woman jumping up and down on my suitcase. I assumed she was pissing about, Jackass-style, for the benefit of some nearby mates, and started to launch into a whingy tirade of 'knackered traveller just off a bad flight'-style abuse.

But she then quickly pointed out the burnt hole in the top of my case, and the yellow scorch mark on the sole of her white slip-on shoe, and said in the coolest accent ever, 'y'know, I fink it is a good job you got ov the plane when you dit,' - which, once I'd clocked what had happened, made me laugh a lot.

We shared a cab back into town, went for a drink, met up the next day, and ended up spending pretty much the whole week together, on and off. After a year of repeating the meet-up (sans baggage fire) every couple of months or so, either here or back over there, she moved to England full-time to do a Masters degree, and we're currently shacked up in central Manchester.

Funny, the more I tell that story, the more I can't believe it's actually really about me. I must be the luckiest hapless luggage arsonist in the universe.
( grey kid is breakdancing to save a community centre, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 14:25, 2 replies)

I still can't believe the stupidity of this...
I was after this guy playing the hard to get approach, when that failed , I finally asked him out, he said he couldn't go out with me because he was going to Germany for six months soon and it wouldn't work out.

Fair enough, I agreed, but as I had known him for a while, I asked why he didn't bring up he'd be leaving for Germany soon?

HIS ANSWER???

"Honestly? ....I was hoping to get you into bed before I left, but I thought you wouldn't wanna bang me if you knew I'd be off to Germany soon so I just didn't mention it incase I had a shot..."

I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, he then asked me this:

"Soooo err.... I was guna say wanna come cinema with me tomorrow, but now you know, dya fancy a shag instead as a sort of goodbye thing?"

First time I've been truly speechless in years.

I politely declined when I got my voice back.
(trippeh, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:59, 4 replies)

Almost on topic...
We had been going out, to use the parlance of our times, for a couple of months and our young love was sure to blossom into something rare and beautiful.

We walked hand in hand back to the bus station, as we had each Sunday evening for the past few weeks. Her old man was finally willing to allow her to stay for the weekend after my mum had lied that she would be safely tucked up in the spare room; armed guard on the door and land mines making impossible any desires I may have to sneak in there in the dead of night.

"Put her down mate, or I'm going to leave without her" the bus driver 'joked' before 'playfully' closing the door and starting the engine.

He finally relented after some jovial door banging, and she climbed the steps and took her seat at the back of the bus, allowing us a last wave and a happy smile before she was whisked away in a cloud of diesel smoke.

I swivelled merrily on my heel, feeling like the king of the world and strode purposefully and directly into the side of the bus shelter, bringing me swiftly back down to earth with a disgruntled bump and a sore forehead.

Fortunately she was already too far away to be alerted by the jeers of the nearby chavs, but my young ego was sufficiently bruised that I only mentioned it to her after we split up a few years later.
( Moey, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 13:38, Reply)

The hockling contest: my version
following this...

www.b3ta.com/questions/gooutwithme/post233347

May bank holiday, 2003. It was the Orange festival on Newcastle and Gateshead Quayside, and Tourette's and I had been dating for a couple of months, but they mostly consisted of food, alcohol, or both. This was different, as live music and sunshine were to be added into the mix. And Moloko were headlining. I like Moloko, and think that Roisin Murphy has a voice to die for. So it seemed like a perfect idea.

We set off at around lunchtime, the journey there being somewhat stifled by my ex missus phoning me from London to panic about her friend not being there to pick her up from Heathrow as she was off her box on coke (her friend, not my ex). "Erm, what do you expect me to do about it"? was my helpful response, adding that it wasn't really my problem and could she not just get a bus or a cab to meet her?

Anyway, we arrived, and grabbed a bite to eat before sauntering along the Quayside. We took a trip across the Millenium bridge, ostensibly to have a look in the Baltic Art Gallery. However, the long, snaking queue put us off a bit and we decided to enjoy the sunshine and some more beer instead. A perfect day so far.

We took a slow stroll back over the bridge, blissfully happy. Then she asked if I wanted to play 'Kate and Leo'. I must have looked puzzled, so she explained.

Why not?

She went first, gargling phlegm like she'd been doing it for years. Head back, she suddenly shot forward and ejected a globular lump of hockle. It arced gracefully through the air; little bits of spittle and green catching in the sun's rays, before entering the water with barely a splash to settle on a rusting bicycle beneath the surface.

I was impressed; it looked like a 12-footer. My turn next.

I had observed her technique; and noticing that it seemed to be pretty efficient decided to copy it. Head back, gargle, and flob... It was going well, but not as well as I had hoped - probably a slight head wind had blown up - but it still entered the water perfectly straight, its trail remaining vertical as it silently entered the murky depths. Had that piece of flob been Tom Daly, it would have been a gold medal winner for style and technique.

Alas, my effort only managed about 10 feet (that head wind, you know) and I gallantly conceded defeat.

We walked the rest of the way back over the bridge to meet my friend Charlotte and her sister, the sun glinting off our spittle-flecked chins. I turned to look at her, and then stopped.

"Why are you walking funny"? I asked, eyebrow raised.

She just smiled enigmatically. I'm sure I heard a squelch though.

Moloko were excellent, by the way
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:44, 9 replies)

I might try this 'Match.com' you all seem to go on about.
It may get me laid more often.


Edit: But you have to pay for it! That's practically prostitution, that is!
(Half of Stephen Fry's right buttock pissed on your dog on, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:43, 3 replies)

A first date story (part one)
"Great, meet you at the Tate Modern for five thirty x" read the text message.

To be honest I wasn't sure what to expect, I wasn't even sure if it was a date or merely a means of us getting to know one another, for we were supposed to be sharing a car on a long road trip a few weeks hence. It's nice to know that you're compatible with your travelling companion beforehand, no?

She was worldly, interesting and judging from her pictures, not unattractive either. We'd exchanged messages and texts, mostly quite harmless although I did detect the slightest hint of ambiguous flirting, which served as an unambiguous icebreaker. I chose to read nothing into it.

Despite this, I was a little nervous - as I would be about any kind of first meeting - but I tried to put it out of my mind until I actually turned up to where we were meeting. The days of spending hours preening while my mind is churning over and over with "whatifshedoesntlikethesmellofmyaftershaveohmygodwhatdoidonext!" are thankfully long behind me. With maturity comes confidence and all that. I merely shaved, dressed smartly and headed for the railway station, the chilled December air calming my mind as I breathed it in.

One garishly lit train ride and a jolting clatter underneath the city on a superannuated tube train later and I found myself exiting the station and walking across the blackened Thames toward the Tate Modern. I sought some comfort in the anonymity granted by staying in the shadows as I paced across the steel bridge. There is something about first date nerves that makes me want to remain in the background and out of sight, less some well-wisher pick up on my obvious nervousness and trample on my calming solitude with a carelessly uttered "Good luck mate!". It's happened before in the past, therefore if I'm appearing sufficiently pensive for a stranger to comment then I'm courting disaster for the actual event. Call it mere superstition if you like. At any rate, my Mp3 player is serving the dual purpose of distracting my mind and turning away any enterprising well-wisher.

I send her a text saying "Just walking over the Thames, see you in a minute x" before immediately cursing my stupidity. How could I walk over the Thames? How badly punctuated was that? She must think me a fool.

Yes, my dear readers my dreaded nerves were beginning to make themselves felt.

I stood outside the gallery for a moment, pausing to contemplate my next move. I took my mobile out of my pocket and took a deep breath before dailling her number. "Hello!" I announce cheerily, "I'm here, where should I meet you?".

I was not sure what to expect. I imagined clipped, upper middle class diction spoken in soft tones, with faint cracks in the voice betraying her five year seniority of me. Perhaps she'd speak like a nineteen fifties school-ma'am, with a passing hint of Joyce Grenfell? Maybe the words would be spoken in sharp, rapid-fire delivery?

"Hello!" came the response, revealing warmth and a slightly folksy accent "Just head up the escalator and you'll see me on the second floor".

I walked towards the gallery, passing through the double doors and a smiling security guard. My eyes were scanning the upper floors through the glass to see if I could recognise her standing there. My eyes danced over people. People of all shapes and ages, some smiling, some talking animatedly some staring at the centrepiece exhibit; a large crack built into the floor, the symbolism of which should be obvious for such a blatant and voluminous piece. Was it bravely drawing to the observer's attention the growing gap between rich and poor in society? Was it trying to comment on the direction that modern life is taking and the resulting strain on our lives as we attempt to adjust? Was it merely an attempt to be ironic? Whatever, the milling crowd was comprised of people, some displaying obvious wealth, some dressed simply, some wearing outrageous hair and glasses and some like myself wearing none.

As the escalator rose to the top of the stairway my eyes fell on her. The first thing I noticed was her shock of uncorralled curls, falling about her face and all over the place. Her hair was exquisite, worthy of exhibition space of its' own, hair that knew no boundaries or limitations. She stood, talking into a mobile phone and pretending not to notice me, her rosy-cheeked face smiling as she spoke. I walked around her and waited, looking over surreptitiously noting that she was smartly dressed in an expensive looking tweed jacket, a skirt and wispy black and white neckscarf. Oh yes, she was a very striking woman indeed, I could not help but smile to myself as she looked at her phone bleeping into life notifying her of my text. With that, she turned, looked up and smiled...
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 2 Sep 2008, 12:35, 17 replies)

Jhonen Vasquez wrote....
We're told to accept the fact that life goes on and that nothing is forever,

NOTHING

But I don't want to accept this!!

I don't want to see it all as just a dead thing before it dies!!

I HAD SOMEONE!!

I HAD SOMEONE BEAUTIFUL!!

The world still spun around in all its arbitrary fury,

But I had someone to hold tight to

SOMEONE BEAUTIFUL!!


AND I F*CKED IT UP!!! I DID EXACTLY WHAT I NEVER WANTED TO DO!! I TURNED IT INTO SOMETHING COLD AND WEARY!!

Now,

Screaming in fear I hold tighter but she squirms away

Pushing me off

And the faster I run to catch her, to hold her the faster she runs to escape, the more she recoils from my touch.

Dreaming of a world that has stopped dreaming of me.

Going away driven by the more desirable idea of new dreams and I don't seem to be accepting it.

AND I DON'T WANT TO ACCEPT IT

I DON'T WANT TO GET USED TO LOSING THE FEW THINGS THAT MAKE ME FEEL!!!

I SAW THE FILTH BUT I HAD SOMETHING!

And the noise in my head with all its voices, repeats one thing, incessantly

More than anything else,

"Im so sorry. Im so sorry. Don't let go of me now. Dream of me. Don't let me wake up"

But I know that it is only noise

Sh!t

Someone beautiful


*I likes it for its poetic beauty and its exactly how I felt about an ex when she dumped me, lets call her Emily cos thats her name*
( Peej, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 11:59, Reply)

At Legless' request: The Hockling Competition
Our first date was the classic Italian meal. A few weeks later, he asked me out to a music festival (involving beer of course). It was the Orange Festival at the Quayside in Newcastle (a favourite romantic spot of mine). Moloko were headlining (as opposed to Malaka, which is Greek for “wanker”). It was a May “Bonk Haliday” and a beautiful one at that.

I was so attracted to this man, in every respect; physically, intellectually, emotionally. Our senses of humour were on the same (sick) wavelength, our tastes in art and music bleshed beautifully….. Best of all, we both had these interlocking body parts which were most compatible. Mmmmmm. He could make my clopper fizz with the slightest raise of an eyebrow.

As we strolled hand in hand over the Millenium Bridge, the perfection of the moment overwhelmed me. The sun was shining, my gash was frothing. My heart was filled with pixie dust and fluff; so ecstatically happy, I had a metaphorical coat hanger in my mouth.

We stopped on the bridge to lean over and smell the rank yuk of the River Tyne, and to count the dead bicycles in its depths. I’ve always been a soft romantic at heart, and suggested we play “Kate & Leo”. He was not familiar with this game.

“You know, that scene in Titanic, where he teaches her to hockle?”

“You want to spit in the river?”

“Oh, it’s more than just spitting – getting it right is an art! Let’s see who can zonk the furthest!”

Revving the phlegm in the back of my throat like a Harley Davison, I swung my head elegantly to the right and backwards, carefully calculating the angle of trajectory….. THDOOOOK! My spittle arced gracefully, twinkling in the afternoon sunshine. 12 feet, not bad.

His turn. PHOOOOT! 10 feet – fairly impressive for a beginner. We continued for a while, until our mouths could produce no more. Time to be sensible, and hunt for refreshment. Moloko were warming up and the smell of hotdogs beckoned. Fingers entwined, we made our way to the beer tent, me glowing like the Ready Brek kid, my heart all warm and fuzzy.

www.b3ta.com/questions/gooutwithme/post233433

*EDIT* His version is up there a bit ^
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 11:56, 6 replies)

Agnostic's Life
Bit of a long un, so I’ll apologise in advance.

Last year, I was in a comfortable relationship with a girl we shall call C. Been together for over a year and a half, but then things started going wrong. I used to get really annoyed that she never came out, all she did was complain, and then get in a mood when I complained.

Eventually, enough became enough, and we split at the start of September 2007. It was at this point the truth started to become clear.

The reason she never came out, is that I never invited her out.
The reason she seemed to always complain, is because I rarely listened (something I still do now)
The reason she used to get upset when I complained, is that by the end it seemed to be all I did.

In short, it was my fault that the relationship ended.

About a month and a half previous to these events, my best friend had moved to live in my parents house with me, while we finished organising, and we waited for the house to be ready. During this time, my relationship with my girlfriend became very one-sided. I never made the effort to call her or text her anymore, we’d only see each other at most 2 times a week, when we only lived 10 minutes walk away from one another. My reasoning for this was that “I’m spending time with David, sorry.” That was my answer almost every day, even when he wasn’t there (Don’t ask why, I still don’t know).

I was under stress at the time, but it’s no excuse (Was lining up to get my first house away from my parents)

At this time, an old internet friend of hers started to flirt with her again, it wasn’t something that ever bothered me, he lived in America, and didn’t stand a chance with her. However, there was one major difference between me and him. He was there for her, I wasn’t. I only found out that they were talking again through a mutual friend who didn’t want us to split.

When I heard, I decided to take a chance, and went up to her house with a bunch of flowers, to try to show that I could still be a good boyfriend. For that day, I was. However, the next day, things just went back to the way they were before.

We lasted just shy of another 3 weeks, which made things a little difficult as we were organising a panto together, which was uncomfortable for a while.

However, the worst part was when, only 3 weeks after splitting up (and still regularly speaking as friends) she asks whether I think it’s too soon for her to move on. I decide to do the best thing, and tell her that as long as she’s happy, that’s the most important thing. I find out the next day that she has a new boyfriend, and (without trying to sound too melodramatic) my world fell apart.

For the first time in nearly two years, I became pretty damn depressed. I made it worse by convincing myself that she was only doing this as a rebound from me, and that if I asked, she’d take me back.

Didn’t work. Crashed and burned. Only thing that saved my sanity that day was a mate who was the only one who actually recognised how I felt, and took me for a 3 hour pint and chat. Not once did we talk about her.

I then had to face the two of them every week, as he was also involved in the pantomime. They were never cruel, never rubbed it in my face, and were always polite enough to not be as couply as they’d like while I was there.

After a couple of weeks, I make the active decision to put myself out there again. Found a girl who made me laugh, and I got on with well. Cacked myself giving her my phone number, unfortunately she misread it, and so we only actually spoke again by chance, as I thought I’d scared her off.

We then arranged to meet up for a drink, and what followed was the best night I’d had in months, just laughing and laughing. At the end of the night I resolved, I may be attracted to this girl, but if this is how we are after only meeting a couple of times, I’d rather be mates (which we still are now).

I went to parties for the next couple of months, always looking for any possible female attention, nearly got some on Halloween, when her ex turned up and dragged her away for a dance (ARGH!)

Finally, after 3 months, the new year rolls around, and I’m invited to a party by the above mentioned friend. There, I meet a girl who seems a good laugh, good looking, and someone whispers in my ear that she likes the look of me too. Unfortunately by this point, she’s so pissed she’s falling off the furniture, so I figured it wouldn’t be the best time to approach just yet. Ended up chatting to her later on, got her number and my first kiss in months! Headed home, walking on air.

Then I managed to cock that up too, by being too forward, and not thinking about what I was saying. However, my viewpoint here was, I’ve done it once, I can do it again, and walked away with my head held high!

Three weeks later I see a girl, who I knew through friends. She’s come over to my house to see my housemate, as they had a good laugh the last time they’d met. I was in a furious mood after an argument with someone over something. After calming down, I spent the next couple of hours chatting to her. Ended the day with another kiss and another phone number.

We chatted a lot over the next few weeks, over both emails and texts.

Then, one day, I was off work ill, it turns out she’d given it to my housemate, it hadn’t affected him much, then it passed to me. She offered to come over and look after me, even agreeing to feed me marmite on toast :D

One thing led to another that day, and I was on top of the world again. A couple of weeks later she asked whether I actually liked her, I answered in the positive, her response was “So why haven’t you asked me out yet?”

“Hmmmm….good point. Will you go out with me?”
“…I’ll let you know”

ARGH! WOMEN!

Handily, she only made me stew 24 hours, and we started going out the next day, 23rd January.

It’s been 7 months now, and I still want to wring her neck half the time, she admits she wants to push me down the stairs at least once a day, but we love each other after all!

My advice to you all is this – Get rejected as soon as possible, it doesn’t half help!

Length? Ask her ;)
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 11:38, 3 replies)

SMILE!
I'm sure I've posted about this in the past, but I can't find it so I'll tell it again....

Like all normal people I'm not confident about my looks.

I'm always of the opinion that *everyone* is prettier/slimmer/fitter/taller/etc. etc. ad nauseum than me.

However when I look at photos of myself taken ten years ago I'm amazed at how normal I look because I certainly didn't feel it at the time.

Anyway....some years ago I was stranded in a night club - I'd gone with a cousin (female this time) and she'd disappeared off to snog her boyfriend and smoke with her mates. I didn't know her mates (I was visiting at the time) and I didn't smoke either.

So I was left wandering about - too shy to just start chatting to someone, too nervous to just start dancing on my own and too scared to fight my way to the bar and get myself a drink.

I was left with one option - to try out what the wise words of Cosmo had told me....

Catch the eye of someone and smile.

So I looked around....

I tend to be the type of person who while not necessarily having the correct attributes nonetheless still behaves as an Alpha Female. I briefly played for a local netball team - well, just the once actually. I have very well developed sense of competition - I *will* win (in my head). Unfortunately I can't catch or throw and when I run to tackle someone I often end up knocking them or myself over.
In short I'm a bit of a liability when it comes to competitive sports.

So, I've established then that *in my head* I'm an Alpha Female however in the real world the only thing I excel at is talking the hind leg off any four legged animal you may care to mention.

All of this meant that when I scanned the night club I was not looking for someone with a kind face* no. I was looking for the very best looking man in the place that did not have another woman welded to his side.

Because to be honest, what did I have to lose?

I was stuck on my own in a place I didn't know for the evening. I'd never see any of these people again.

So sod it, I thought. Find a hot one.

I looked around the room and there was a man who could have been Colin Farrell's better looking brother.

I stared at him.

I sent out those telepathic messages,

"Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!"
thank god this was before Kath and Kim but I can assure you that the Aussie accent is now saying this in my head

He turned his head, caught my eye and I dealt the killer blow....




I smiled





And he smiled back.


Then he came over.
Then he asked to buy me a drink.
Then we went to the quiet bar.
Then we chatted over drinks.
Then I discovered he had an awful affliction...

up close he was unable to lift his head to meet my eyes.


He was cursed with Boob-o-Vision^TM






EDIT The Happy Ending - as requested

While still fixed upon my breasts he managed to ask me back to his place.

There was also some face sucking involved - you know the adverts for Lynx that are currently showing, the creepy ones where the bloke's eye works independently - one on the girl, the other on his sweaty pits...Well they were based upon this man - he managed to both kiss me and peer down my cleavage...

Sorry, heaving cleavage, that was glistening with sweat and just cried out for a tongue to run down my full globes to my pert pink hard nipples.

I asked him what his job was, he replied,

"I'm an international drugs runner"

And at that moment the pulsing that had begun deep within me and had been edging towards my gushing pussy (yes, I had my cat with me, it was in my handbag) suddenly dried up.

I laughed in his face - I couldn't help myself so ridiculous was his claim.


I got a taxi home alone.

And stroked my poor wet pussy there instead.






*the kind you want to slap
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 11:29, 6 replies)

Love across teh Interweb
I met him online, on an Internet forum. A chance email turned to a flirty gaz. Flirty gazzes turned filthy, then meaningful, then meaningful and filthy. Neither of us was getting any work done, so busy were we checking for that flash of red signifying new messages. We had to up the stakes to phone calls, then those clichéd words: "maybe we should meet".

We met at Easter in an icy station in Hereford following the most nervewracking train journey of my life. We ate rock cakes in a lay-by and went walking in the snow. We were talking so much that we got lost and had to pick our way back in the dark across an extra six miles to the car. We drank tea instead of the two bottles of wine we'd brought. The next day we trawled the book shops of Hay-on-Wye and it felt like we'd known each other forever.

Over the course of a couple of months I fell head over heels. I knew this could be something. I knew I'd commit voluntary monogamy for him. I knew it could be the closest thing to happily-ever-after I could get.

Unfortunately, once you work up the courage to use the words that you never use lightly, the last thing you want to hear when you say "I love you" is the response "er, blimey".

So, I traded all that hope in for a bit of reality, and instead of happily-ever-after I've gone for happy-right-now with someone else. And my cybersuitor? Well, the interest kicked off in the Stalking QOTW, we had a lot of fun during Guilty Pleasures, part 2, things got a bit edgy during What's the hardest you've tried to get dumped?, and now he has posted his side - and his feelings - in this Will you go out with me? but he's since deleted it and that doesn't really surprise me.

Enzyme, you're a profound emotional retard and your timing sucks but you've got me as a friend for life.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 11:25, 10 replies)

Like a house brick
Not me, but a friend...

Late at night at a festival, he unleashed the following awesome chat-up routine in his full-on welsh brogue.

"Listen love, you're not much to look at, but quite frankly neither am I. Do you know what the shocker is, and do you fancy coming back to my tent?"

Astonishingly, it worked like a charm.
(Pickettywitchfinder General, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 11:17, 1 reply)

Married for 17 years
She moved into my office while I was on annual leave and stole my lovely window seat with views of the car park.

Disgusted at the behaviour of the new girl, I did what any enraged junior civil servant would do: I stole her shoes and locked them in my desk. Things went downhill from there and we ended up going out after I accidentally won her in a raffle.

Who'd have thought that an office prank would end this way? I'm sorry, right?
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 10:47, 3 replies)

futher to Evilscary
i reckon single guys - like myself, douse themselves in what i like to call cK Despiration.

When i go out i must stink of it.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 10:45, 3 replies)

over the years
my friends and i have all been the recipients of crap chat up lines over the years. some more memorable examples being:

most romantically, to my friend zara from a biker in mcdonalds: "want to ditch this lot and go and get some scran?"

most predictably, to my friend lou in a nightclub: "have you got the time? yes well, have you got the energy?"

most disgustingly, to me, from a group of middle aged hippies in newquay: "how old are you darling? 17 phwoooooooooooooooooooar, i'd like a bit of that, fuckin' hell, 17, imagine that"

actually, even more disgustingly, to my friend evie, from a truly vile lad she'd been snogging before sobering up a bit, after she said sorry i can't kiss you again, i've got chewing gum in : well go on then, give us a bit of it"

most humiliatingly, aimed at my friend zara FROM THE GUY WHOM I'D JUST BEEN SNOGGING, wow, who's your indian mate?????

more as i remember them, there's been hundreds over the years!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 10:33, 2 replies)

Sverige
Well, here goes. This story may get a bit confusing, all names are real and it makes me look like a bit of a twunt (because I am). I offer no apologies. It’s long, it’s boring and I want it out of my system.

Back in 2005, I was working in my gap year to save up some money for uni and signed up to work for two weeks to work on the tech crew at the National Student Drama Festival. Was great fun, had my first proper same sex shag (more than a kiss and a quick fumble), made loads of friends and generally just had lots of fun.

A little while after a small group of us were chatting over IRC when a person who had been to previous festivals signed in and asked for some help with her PC. We entered private chat and found ourselves chatting more and more, moving over to MSN and then phone.

Around this time some workmates and me had arranged to go to Ibiza. Jody offered me a spare bit of floor where she was staying in London to save me having to get a bus at 4am from Oxford down to Gatwick. I never quite made the floor, and the rest as you could say, is history….




Or maybe not. 16 months down the line, a few things have changed. I had quit University at the behest of my mother to save me from a course that I really, really didn’t like which had driven me to the combined releases of cheap whisky and self harming (I’m much better now. I prefer expensive whisky and you can hardly see the mess on my leg). I was living back at home near Oxford with a job in the delightful nearby town of Didcot. Unfortunately, Jody was at this point living in Scarborough, but we still made the effort to see each other as much as possible, usually every other weekend and occasional weeks.

I had stayed with her for a couple of weeks over her birthday and while we generally had a good time, something just wasn’t ringing true. Her attitudes towards things were changing, and not in a way I particularly wanted to do, in addition to finding the way she treated her mother just… well, embarrassing (very rude and obnoxious).

I decided to make my feelings known, as Jody was always ready to chat about the relationship – we were very open with each other, with few secrets. It’s the only way you can do long distance. I told her my feelings, she sat and listened, we discussed and I said I’d take in to consideration how she had been brought up and how her life was changing, and she would try to be a bit more understanding of me and other people.

Sadly, nothing really changed and I decided that I wanted to get out of this relationship. This is where the twuntary begins. I am very very very very very bad at breaking up with people. I mean really bad. I have no self confidence to be able to say the words, compounded by the fact I truly hate upsetting people. Enter Karen – a Liverpudlian dance teacher who was also my guild leader within World of Warcraft. She was like the big sister I never had – helping me with people, offering advice and just generally being a really good friend. She was also friends with Jody at this point, and knew of our differing views on the status of the relationship.

Karen herself was having relationship troubles with her partner, Phil. In truth, the only reason she was staying with Phil was because of their daughter. One night while we were both chatting to each other about our difficulties, I made a slightly risqué comment – nothing new from me – which she followed up with another one. To cut it short, I have never had cybersex before, and I’ve never had an affair before. I don’t want to again, it made me feel like the dirtiest, cheapest bastard you can imagine, and then doubled.

For some reason, it did have one positive outcome – I got up the courage to split up with Jody. She never found out about the affair, which I’m glad of from a purely selfish point of view as it meant I didn’t have to deal with all the recriminations. I continued with Karen for a couple of months, occasionally going up to Liverpool until I had a night of soul searching, and realised what I was doing. Instead of helping my friend, I was slowly driving her to split up with her partner, in the process hurting a very young innocent child. I called it off with Karen, left that guild and decided to enjoy being single for a while.

Almost as soon as I left, I got whispered by another friend, Amy. I’ll get it out the way – nothing had happened between us. She had been in that guild in WoW, but had left a few months before all this for reasons I had never really discovered. After chatting, I did discover the reason… Amy had also been having an affair with Karen. After doing a little digging, we discovered that Karen had had affairs with at least two other people before Amy, and had been having one with another guy, Andreas, while her and me had been having some fun. Gutted wasn’t the word.

Fast forward about a month later. I’m enjoying being single, chatting with friends new and old. Out of the blue came an MSN message from a person who was in my old guild, a young Swedish lass going by the name of Elisabeth who I had added to send her a couple of mp3’s. She was clearing out her contacts list, and wanted to check who people were before deleting them. For some reason we just hit it off, and were chatting every day, both and WoW and out. Turns out she was having some boyfriend troubles… and her boyfriend was Andreas. It was very, very hard for me to bite my lip and not say anything about what I knew – Karen and Andreas were still having their affair. I tried as hard as I could to help her win him back, a sort of payback for how I’d screwed other people over. Nothing happened at all between us except becoming firm friends and me trying to help her win back her boyfriend. Sadly, she found out another way, and was fair pissed off.
I stayed up most of the (work) night talking to her, trying to calm her down and not instantly phone Andreas up and dump him but to think about it and sleep before making any decisions. She finally took my advice about 3am and went to sleep, as did I.

I went to work the next day as normal, hoping she thought things through before doing anything. I left my phone at home so I couldn’t text and ask. I think it was because of this my mind started to run in circles. I couldn’t think anything else but Elisabeth and how she was doing… and then I realised I had fallen for her. I couldn’t tell her though. I couldn’t spoil her chance to get back with Andreas if she wanted. With a heavy heart I got home and checked my phone. New message.

“I don’t want Andreas. Throughout this trouble there has been one person who has stood by me and helped me. I want you.”

My stomach flipped. My heart stopped. I remembered to breathe before I began resembling an overly hairy plum. And so that I how I got together with my girlfriend.



18 months later, here we are. Well done for sticking with this tale – I can make even the finest Jasper Carrott feel like stale bread in the mouth. I generally fly up there every 4 weeks. I know Stansted airport backwards, and I think EasyJet have eaten about £1500 from me over the last year and a half, but it’s worth it. Once my college course has finished and I actually have some qualifications, I intend to move over there. Long distance is hard, but it’s worth it to see every time I see her smile when I step off the train from Copenhagen.

Thanks for having a read. Apologies for the boredom.
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 10:32, Reply)

I'm guessing in the last few days of this qotw
A lot of people will be pining- let me say this. Life is never as bad as you see it, and sometimes being single is the far preferable option, if like me you seem to attract nutters the same way Gary Glitter gets press attention.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 8:05, 2 replies)

Sadly...
I'm a 26 year old male who has never been in any sort of serious relationship. Fuck knows why, apart from my similarity to John Merrick, abysmal social skills and scruffy appearance, I should be a right catch.

No apologies for length.. No-one has ever stuck around long enough... First post, etc.
(wuckfit Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 7:56, 7 replies)

Unfair
I have never been without a partner since being about sixteen but have hardly been showered with offers from lovesick men on horseback either.

However, since getting hitched a couple of months ago the offers have been rolling in (no strings sex, sex with strings, etc). Why, sweet baby jesus why?!! It's sooo unfair!

Is it just me or does that happen to all marrieds? Do we give off special desperate hormones or something?

EDIT: Just realised the "sex with strings" thing reads like "tampon". Urgh.
(The Apeface Cherub is not a cunty-uber-cunt, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 7:25, 3 replies)