Tequila has a lot to answer for
I've been seeing my current boy for a few months now and it had been confusing me that I couldn't actually remember how we'd ended up getting together- he's my best friend's fiance's best mate, so obviously I knew how I had met him, and I also knew she had sent me an extremely excited text a week or so before to tell me he fancied me and I had subsequently realised that, yes, I fancied him too.

That taken into account, strangely, neither myself nor my best friend could remember any kissing or groping or anything of the sort having gone on over the course of the previous evening to suggest that I would end up having sex with him in her flatmate's bed. Mind you, the memory loss could be easily explained by the voracity of our tequila consumption that night.

Eventually, drunk again, I plucked up the courage to ask him how we'd ended up sleeping together.

'Well,' he said 'we were sharing a bed because it was the only one free and, don't get me wrong, I really wanted to sleep with you, but since nothing had happened all night I assumed you'd just go to sleep. But then you started groping me...'

Ah, I'm just an unstoppable slut then. Marvellous.
(clumsyeloquence is a girl, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 13:53, Reply)

Ooh I've just remembered
Will you go out with me

Back in school, aged 12-13 probably, me and my cool-as-fuck (read geeky lunchbox and
parka brigade) mates were hanging round our usual spot in the canteen, sweating from
running around in our parkas and discussing the contents of our lunchboxes (the
Tupperware kind) to determine what swapsies might be for the having when, in bounds a
lad I had been mates with on the first day of school but on whom 'popular' status had
been conferred from the 2nd day onwards thus only renewing our friendship when
homework-based emergencies presented themselves to him. Geebag.


I got my revenge on him a few years later when he threw a party and was in need of
music. My mates and I had become reputed tunesmen and had a nifty little trade running
in bootlegs and compilations amongst the audio-challenged. I didnt show up and he had a
music-free party having to resort to local radio to try to stir things up amongst the
'pretty' and 'popular' types.


So, back in the day, in bounds yer man to the canteen,

"Baz", he says, "Didnt you say you fancied (the prettiest girl in our year in school)?"

"Yeah", says baz, embarrassedly, already resigned to his fate of never getting his
greasy mitts on her goodies.

"She fancies you too!", yer man says.

"Fuck off!", says I, in disbelief.

"No, no, baz. I'm serious. She's outside right now! I told her I'd come and get you!"

Baz clasping his lunchbox, restores his trusty parka to its rightful place on his
skinny, horny body and marches determinedly towards his humiliation.

I'm a pretty straightforward kind of fella. I have no truck with flirtation, hints or
subtleties. If I want to establish a fact, I go and I establish it. There is a funny
story regarding this quality I possess and an angry lesbian I must tell you one day.


So, there she is (the prettiest girl in our year in school), standing there in all her
finery; her hair in a lopsided ponytail (think Napoleon Dynamites girlfriend - this was
the late 80's), her precocious breasts pushing through her Ralph Lauren Polo sweater
(She was a rich girl. I was (am) a poor boy (drunk)), her red label blue Levi's denim jacket barely able to close against their pertness, her puffer skirt struggling to cover her
rapidly sweet-ass-bootifying behind and tight (nylons for septics) - free legs revealing
a horizon (the one I imagined of her lying) of flawless pale skin to her brilliant
white plimsolls (I believe the young folks call them 'keds' nowadays).


"L", I said (for I can not write her whole name lest my humiliation should be renewed).
"Yer man says..."

And she cuts me off, "oh fuck off!" and runs away...

I gave chase lest there be some misunderstanding.

"L!", I said,

and picture if you will, a 5ft nathin' skinny kid with a pudding bowl haircut wearing a
parka and clutching a lunchbox giving pursuit,

"WILL YOU GO OUT WITH MEEEEEEEEEEE?"

Cue MUCH laughter and baz, clueless, innocent, turning, returning, perplexed to his
mates in the canteen who did not laugh but who did not prevent me either from
humiliating myself and me wondering why would yer man play such a cruel joke and how many poor, innocent, horny little boys had fallen for it already such was the venom in 'L's rejection to my entreaties.

Ah, school - thank fuck that bits over.

rafter
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 13:40, Reply)

The bottom line...
...I was running a disco and commented to a mate that the bottom of a young lady queuing to get in was rather attractive.
He introduced me to her.
She liked me.
We started dating.
Got married three years later.
Still married 21 years on.

She still has a really cute bottom.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 13:26, Reply)

LAST…
week I decided that I wouldn’t do any posts trying to be last…and in honour of DiT’s B3taday wish…here’s a normal one instead...

Ladies were always difficult to communicate with when I was younger.
Although petrified of rejection, I once took a chance with a pretty young thing from school.
S he told me that she didn’t want to ‘ruin the friendship’.
That was total bollocks. She just didn’t fancy me. I was gutted
?

Sad, but true.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 12:32, 6 replies)

re-post mother licker
now a song that has been good to me over the years........
I had my first girlfriend, aged 9. She was the cool girl at school. I danced with her mate at the disco. She dumped me, What’s the best thing to do? Not just to leave it, not just to utter “ I’m well out of your league anyway ,doll” and tell every one I had felt her boobies. (I was 9; boobies were a big deal. especially to her. She was the only one to have any.*) Oh no, I sang a shitty, cheezy pop tune to her. In front of the whole school, during a fire drill. A school that’s over 1000 pupils. What was the sound track to one of the most gut wrenchingly, arse hole tightningly, cringe worthy moment of my pre-pubescent life?
“ Babe I love you soooo, and I want you to know,
That I’m, gonna miss your love,
The minute you walk out that door”
(Feel free to join in! Any one can enter this nightmare!)
“Please don’t go, please don’t go, don’t goooooooooo, I’m begging you to stay, please don’t go.”
That song plagues my nightmares. I still see her now and again, and she still mentions it. In reply, I remind her that I am still well out of her league, then tell everyone I felt her boobies.

Bad taste on so many levels.
Any one remember who sang it?


* Apart from Iqubal the fat Asian guy. Man-breast factor 5.
(Jeeves, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 12:15, 4 replies)

The non-verbal way of doing things.
In my past two posts, I have talked about asking someone out verbally (by writing), but this time, it was done mostly by body-language.

I was still shy at the time, but not as shy as I once was. However, I was starting to develop an unhealthy taste in masochism - in particular, I liked being whipped. To be honest, I wasn't sure if it was genuine masochism or a form of self-harm I inflicted on myself as a punishment for having spent so long being shy and missing out on many things in life. I was still a virgin at the time. Even asking for sex seemed beyond reach. Being whipped was something that only existed in my fantasies. I did own a whip of my own and would often give myself a good whipping. However, it would quickly get painful and I would find it hard to whip myself any harder. Only another person could take me past my pain threshold. Needless to say, I kept mum about the masochism fetish.

So one night, I was out at a nightclub. Usually, I went out with my mates. They had more luck with women than I did and would often pull easily leaving me all alone feeling sorry for myself. I enjoyed the music though so it wasn't all bad. Tonight was one such night. I was finishing off my pint and scanning the dance-floor. All of a sudden, someone caught my eye. It was the equivalent of a record-player needle being dragged across a record.

"What have we here?" I thought to myself as my eyes honed in on a girl in the middle of the dancefloor.

She was petite but a bit chubby. Not chubby enough to be cuddly, but she looked really cute. She had shoulder-length blonde hair tied in a ponytail and wore glasses that just added to her cuteness. She was wearing leather trousers, and a short leather top that exposed her pierced midriff. For some reason, I associated that leather look with Sadism. Not only was she cute, but she might just be into whipping. Her dancing just radiated "I want sex" but it was as if she was speaking to deaf ears. "Why don't those morons answer her?" I thought. Then it occurred to me - I too was one of the non-listening morons. With this realisation, I thought "Oh fuck it!" and got my behind onto the dancefloor.

I didn't know what to say, but I was enjoying the music (it was Shaggy's Oh Carolina), so I was dancing like a dancing thing. I moved just behind her. I had no plan, but there was the tiniest hope that she'd notice me.

In fact, she must have noticed me. I could occasionally feel her bum touching my leg. This was probably just accidental so I kept dancing. However, her fleshy buttocks would keep on making contact with my leg. Surely she couldn't keep having so many accidents all at once. I thought "what the hell!” and moved closer to her. This amazingly had the desired effect. She was having more and more 'accidents'. In fact, I could even fell the concavity of her bum-crack on my leg.

I also noticed she had a lovely scent. It was her pheromones, not her perfume. My cock was starting to gradually inflate. It wasn't stiff, but felt nice and tingly. She must have been telepathic. At this stage, she leaned forwards slightly, lifted her arse up a bit and ground it against my crotch.

My dick was gradually stiffening. That small area of her crotch seemed to have a life of it's own. It was as if all her focus had gone to that small area. At this time, I did not know much about the female anatomy (but even then, I knew the gap between the legs extended to the hairy bit, but that's besides the point) so thought the fanny was at the front nestling amongst the hairs - not between the legs. "Why would she be rubbing her perineum against me?" I wondered. But a few seconds later, it suddenly occurred to me - the centre of the grinding was happening on my increasingly stiff member. "Could it be that that was where the fanny was located?" With that thought, my willy quickly reached it's full length. While this was going on, she was adjusting her crotch grinding to cover the new bulge in my jeans. "She must be able to feel it expanding!" I thought to myself. “I wonder how that's making her feel, knowing it’s because of her?”

This went on for a while. Not a word was said between us. At first, I was thinking the shape of her crotch was due to the seam of her trousers, but then it occurred to me. This might actually be the outline of her labia that I'm feeling. And then, I thought that were it not for the clothes, I could just slip it in there and then. I just wanted us to be whisked away somewhere private leaving our wearerless clothes to collapse in a heap on the dancefloor. My hard stiffy was twitching like mad. She could feel it and she must have known damned well how I felt and what she was doing to me. By now, I was on autopilot. My hands reached out and started stroking her tits from behind. I had ever touched a pair of breasts at this stage, but even so, I instinctively knew that I had to caress them and not squeeze them, even though I always imagined I'd squeeze them. She did not seem to react in any way. "This is a good sign" I thought. Because I was stroking them slowly, it gave me some time to explore. I was facing her from behind, so I didn't locate the nipples immediately, but soon found them. They made conspicuous bumps in her leather top, and my fingers focused on the nipples - gradually circling around the base of the protruding bumps and occasionally stroking the tips of the nips.

This was getting too much for me. I could feel the vinegar strokes. And then, it happened. I came. The warm glow in my crotch quickly translated into a warm stickiness in my pants. The transition was so smooth it seemed natural. Unbeknownst to her, she had just given someone their first ever given-by-another-person orgasm. My virgin cock was starting to deflate. Soon after, the grinding stopped. I wasn't sure if she realised what had happened, or because the DJ put on a different song.

"Your place or mine?" She whispered. These were the first words spoken throughout the encounter. And then she winked at me. It had never occurred to me before just how sexy a wink could be. Even though we had practically been shagging on the dance-floor, the wink was still sexy. However, two things were on my mind. I had just come. Could I go for a "round 2"? Also, I was starting to think "But what if she stuck her hand in my pants? Ew!". These thoughts weren't doing my focus any good.

Without thinking, I just blurted out: "My place. I've got a whip".

"A whip?" she said. "Why would we want a whip?"

All of a sudden, I came face to face with my masochism. There was no hiding it now.

"I like to be whipped" I said.

"Oh my god! That's Sick! SICK! I could never do a thing like that!".

Without warning, she walked away. The music was still playing in the background, but in my mind, it was blocked out. I had ms-judged her. Not only was she not into that sort of thing, but it repulsed her completely. I just wanted to kick myself using one of those contraptions you see in cartoons with a boot attached to a piece of string that you pull to kick yourself in the arse. I was not in the mood for any more dancing. I just went straight home.

When I got back, I was feeling sorry for myself, so I sat down and whipped myself. When I reached my pain threshold, I cried. I wasn't sure if it was the pain from the whip, me messing up at the club, or if I was just frustrated at being unable to pass my own pain threshold. This continued until I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up. I was still holding the whip in my hand. I had what could best be described as a whip-hangover. I was aching all over from the whipping I administered myself, but inside, I ached more. I had done this so often that the aching no longer felt painful, but my mind still hurt. Who was this mysterious girl? I didn't even know her name. I decided to name her 'Carolina' after the song we were dancing to. It was now breakfast time. I placed a pot of yoghurt down onto the table next to the whip. The composition of the resulting image formed an interesting juxtaposition in my groggy mind. Feeling desperate, I wondered to myself...

"Will yoghurt whip me?"
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 11:26, 15 replies)

I got chatted up and quite possibly for the sake of some ladette kind of wind up.
I hardly ever get chatted up so I was suspicious from the start.
There was a gaggle of loutish girls at the bar and I sensed that they were trouble.
There was a lot of giggling amongst the group and one of them approached me.
She wasn't nice at all, she had a massive nose, so big in fact that she could've smoked a cigar in the shower and not get it wet.
Her opening line was "Do I know you? You look like someone off the telly." followed by a glance back towards her mates with a smile.
My reply was "No, but you look like someone off the telly."
"Who?"
"Cyril Sneer. Bye."
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 10:37, 5 replies)

erm...
last?

EDIT: Come on inside and join the 'last' party.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 9:54, 13 replies)

Ooh, a big one...
It was April 2007 - me and Lee (RIP mate) were in the bar having a few beers having watched a football game earlier. My leg was in a cast so I was waiting for the bar to close so the manager could give me a lift home.

About 10pm a couple of women stagger in, totally pissed up. They got drinks and sat at a table on low stools.

Lee and I noticed them only after they'd BOTH fallen off the stools and were lying on the floor giggling.

I wandered off to the toilet to make room for more beer. As I came out of the toilet, I noticed one of the 2 drunkards was talking to Lee - she scampered off as I came back to the bar.

"She's well into you mate." Lee said, "She wanted to know your number."
I looked over at the drunkards and said, "Well, give her the flirt divert number - I'm not into pissheads."

And so he did.

For the next week, I thought nothing of it, then, the following Friday, I was in the bar again, playing the fruit machine when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around and there she was (soberish this time).

We chatted a bit and I found myself drawn to her long dark hair and green eyes. Her smile was like an electric shock - making my heart bang uncontrollably.

Her friends were leaving so I gave her my number - she promised to call.

For the next few days, I waited for the call - it didn't come.

My cast came off my leg, leaving a nasty open wound where the plate had been put into my ankle - this meant I was at the doctors every couple of days getting it cleaned and dressed. On one occasion, I went to the supermarket up the road to get a few bits, and who walked in? yup, it was her. I smiled at her, but just got a confused look back.

Saddened, I finished buying a few things and went back to work.

Couple of days later, I was walking through town, when I heard someone call my name. I turned round to see H running up to me, "I THOUGHT it was you I saw the other day," she said with a huge smile on her face, "I didn't recognise you without your cast..."

We chatted for a bit, then she had to go back to work - I gave her my number again (she'd lost both the flirt divert number AND my real one). This was a Thursday I think.

On the Sunday, I was once again in the bar, having had a mammoth drinking session with a mate who decided at 9pm he'd had enough and was going home - I decided to carry on and proceeded to get absolutely shit-faced.

Coming out of the toilet at about 10.30, I barely had time to register a small, dark haired object running towards me before H literally jumped into my arms and started snogging my face off like there was no tomorrow.

Turns out she'd been out with friends and hadn't stopped talking about me so her friends, pissed off with hearing nothing elses, took her to my local in th ehope we'd get together. We did - that night we sat in the bar drinking Sambuca chasing it with bottled beer, sitting so close it was like we were one. We went from there into town where we drank more and more until both of us could hardly stand.

We ended up back at mine that night - no sexy time, just talking and cuddling - I felt like I was in heaven.

Next day, she got a taxi back to her place and I went to work. Got a text from her mid morning saying how she's enjoyed the night and wanted more of the same (and more of the other *grin*). Texts and calls went back and forth all week - everyone commented on how happy I was looking.

The next weekend I'd sworn to be sober, so I ended up home completely sober until I got a call from her at 1am - could I come to the Priory (a dive in town).

10 minuted later I walked into the place - first time I'd ever been in there sober and I instantly realised it was nothing more than a meat market.

Found H and we started off where we'd left it previously - my mate Lee had pulled her friend, her step sister had some guy so we all decided to go back to hers.

She'd booked a taxi so we waited for that, Lee and his shag buddy had gone off, saying they'd meet us at H's house.

And so it ended up all 3 couples ended up at her place (huge house) and the sounds of frenzied shagging filled the air. Lee was energetically trying his best to push the bed through the wall (so it seemed) with absolutely no rhythm - this made H and me (all cosy in her king size bed) giggle like kids.

The first time we made love/shagged/fucked like monkeys, was awesome - as was every other time.

After a couple of months seeing each other every day, her staying at my place or me at hers most nights, I realised I'd found my soulmate - we talked about everything and were so comfortable around each other.

We went to V Festival and spent the next week travelling round the Peak District - the first holiday I'd had in probably 15 years.

The next 3 weeks we were totally inseperable - I was practically living at her place, only going home to change clothes and goto work. Everyone who knew us commented on how we were like a married couple.

This carried on for over a year, we went to Spain together in June and had the best time ever.

And then, when we returned, she dropped the bombshell: "I think we should just be friends."

My world fell apart - I was gutted.

3 months later, I still hurt. She's my best friend but I have to try to put distance between us in order to get my head straight, but not a day goes by without numerous texts and calls from her. I'm crap at reading signs (don't hint - just tell me), but I'm starting to think maybe I should pluck up the courage to actually ask her out (something neither I nor her did).

And so, to remain (vaguely) on topic - should I ask her out? if so, how the hell should I do it? Waveform festival is coming up, maybe I should get some tickets and see how it goes or am I just heading for another fall?

Life - where's the fecking manual?

Sorry for the length - had to get it off my chest...

and breathe...
( snee held his breath since, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 8:34, 6 replies)

Another attempt at asking someone out in writing
Following on from my previous post, I just thought I'd let you know how my writing love-messages skills have improved over the years. The year was 2001. The Internet and text-messaging had made huge strides into our everyday lives. I had been trying Online Dating for some time. Eliza (not her real name) was the third woman I met in the real world through the system, and the second one I developed a crush on.

Because she lived in a different country (it was somewhere in Europe), we did not have much chance to see each other. I visited her in her country and came back to England wishing I had never left (the crush took some time to settle in). I really wanted to see her again but did not have an opportunity to do so.

Three months later, it was Valentine's Day 2002. As a symbol of defiance against commercialism, I decided to not buy anything and instead, write a poem from the heart.

Unlike the letter from the previous post, this poem got delivered.
_{The poem is contained in the first reply to this story.}
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 2:57, 4 replies)

Back in the days of yore
If you roll back a few years there was a time when I wasn't this happy-clappy chappy that I am now. Just over three years ago I was in a bit of a rut.

Why you ask? Well, it had been two years since my last relationship (i'll refrain from calling it serious because it wasn't, it was a farce from beginning to end) and i'll spent that vast majority of that time persuing women who showed a vague interest in me for a few days/week only for me to realise just as I was about to get very close to them that they showed a vague interest in all men. Yep, they were slags.

Well, i'd reached the point where I simply couldn't be arsed anymore so I decided to follow my mates and spend nights out in town getting very drunk and not bothering with lasses. Since these were the days when straightened hair and drainpipe jeans had yet to hit the woeful theme clubs of Newcastle I decided to change my look to fit in with my mates. My waldrobe soon began to fill with gaudy, popped collar Henley's t-shirts and ridiculously expensive charva-chic jeans. Basically I was turning into the type of cunt who wore denim strides with dress shoes.

I'd spend my night out around Newcastle and Sunderland with my mates, eyeing up women but never persuing them and getting drunk to the point where my legs didn't work. Deep down I resented having to pay through the nose for a bottle of bitchpiss and not being able to have a conversation with my craicless mates because of the noise level but I kepted up the charade. Why? Thinking back i've no idea.

Enter Nikki, a beautiful woman who was a friend of a friend (not the ones I went on the piss with, another one). She was good looking, confident, witty and just a bit older than me. We got on like a house on fire although I didn't think much of it. My time away from the female species had killed the part of me which found conversing with those I was attracted to uncomfortable. I fancied the arse off her but she was unattainable in my eyes so I didn't worry about it.

After a few nights out a whole host of my mates went for a Christmas Eve piss up down our local. Nikki had been their for a while when I strolled in and she slapped me on the arse as she dashed past the bar to the tab machine. Again, I thought nothing of it. The night continued and we moved from pub to pub, Nikki parking up next to me every time we picked our seat in our new venue.

Then it happened. After a few glasses of wine for her and a few pints for me we kissed. Funnily enough it happened just as one of our mates was encouraging us to squeeze together so he could get a photo, so the Kodak moment was captured on camera.

A fortnight later she got scared and tried to break it off. We clearly weren't over each other as we'd ring each other every day just to argue. A few weeks later we decided to try and be amicable about the whole thing and went down the pub with a few friends. We got talking and even though I longed to be with her I ground my teeth and tried to save face. "I'm over you", I said to her. I knew it had hurt her as she went quite for the rest of the night and as I was halfway home I got a phonecall with her sobbing her heart out. She wanted to give it another try. I said yes.

Three years later and we're still together and very much in love. I'm back to being the old Right Bollock and she loves me for it.

Sorry about the length.
(Peter Sutcliffe's Right Bollock, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 1:43, Reply)

My story for this week
is a long one of epic proportions which I don't have time to write, so here instead is a sub-plot that's sort of related to this week's QOTW. Regular readers of my posts will remember 'Veronica' - the star of this story.

First, a bit of background. Aged 16, I was very shy. Although I had a small number of friends at school, on the school bus, I didn't have any friends at all. The school bus journey was about an hour each way. At the time, I wasn't an 'open' person, and felt nervous about joining in a conversation, so spent the entire bus journey keeping quiet. This distanced myself from the cluster of other kids sat near me, and it had the effect that they would take the piss out of me on occasion. At it's worst, this was low intensity bullying, but sometimes, it was just as if they were 'trying too hard' to break down my emotional barriers - it seemed well meaning but they couldn't resist taking the piss at the same time. I just wasn’t ready to open up and forcing me to do so didn’t help. Amongst them was an Italian girl called Veronica (not her real name). She only started at my school just a few weeks after this phase of intimidation started, and ended up sitting next to me on the bus. She seemed friendly at first, but soon, couldn't help falling in with the patterns of the other kids and was amongst those teasing me.

This seemed to go on for a few months. The intensity of the teasing did dwindle somewhat but I just did not feel like reaching out to the others around me. For the last few months, I dreaded the bus-journeys. Veronica would occasionally talk to me when the others were paying attention elsewhere, but most of the time, I was isolated in my own mental barrier.

One day in June 1990 (Wednesday June 6th to be precise), the bus was unusually empty on the way back. This was because several school-trips were going on simultaneously, and some kids got to go home on an earlier bus. About 2 stops before my stop, it turned out I was alone with Veronica. Thanks to someone who got off at that stop, the two of us were already talking. For once, she was dead serious. She was telling me about how she felt guilty for not talking with me. She managed to get me to admit that I was shy and I told her how nervous I felt on the bus journeys. I saw a serious side of her I had never seen before. For the time it took to get to my bus stop (she got off at the following stop), I felt like I could talk to her about just about anything. She had well and truly gotten me to open up.

She did not come to school the next day, and by the time she returned, things were back to me being my normal untalkative shy self. It was as if nothing had ever happened. I still did not feel like talking to anyone - even Veronica. My brain started whirring in action. At first, I just thought she was taking the piss, but it later occurred to me she might actually have been trying to flirt with me a few times. I was wondering if I might end up falling in love with her (or even vice versa), but this brief experience did not push us over the edge.

This went on a few more months. I did not get another opportunity to be alone with Veronica. By then, it was the new school year, with new seating-arrangements on the bus, and I was sat in a completely different part of the bus, so didn't see Veronica much. However, it was when I attended a teenaged house-party (which was a rare occurrence for me) where Veronica also came that pushed me over the edge. Even though we hardly spoke at the party (although I did come out of my shell enough to dance to MC Hammer, Vanilla Ice and Young MC), in the days after the party, I fell for her and fell hard. Seeing that I still associated her with the kids who took the piss out of me (although not so much by then), developing a crush on her made me panic somewhat.

Bitten hard by the love-bug and the panic bug, I decided to make an exceptionally bold move. I would write "I love <Veronica>" on a table in the main lunch-hall at school and hope she'd read it and guess it was me. As an extra hint, I deliberately replaced the 'I' with an 'eye' - a sort of visual pun so she could guess it was written by one of the English kids (there were five language streams in my school), but 'love' was replaced with a love-heart to make the bit about guessing my nationality that tiny bit more subtle. And so, when I had a free period, using the cover of my maths homework, I secretly scribbled my masterpiece on the desk. And thus was my first attempt to ask her out. However, my plan had three major flaws:

· Vandalising school property with graffiti is frowned on - even in the pursuit of true love.
· My handwriting was (and still is) very characteristic and just about anyone could have recognised it (but nobody asked me about it).
· The following day, I would develop a massive crush on another girl who was at the same party - her name was Soleil (not her real name).

Needless to say, things did not progress. On the desk next to the graffiti, there appeared some more graffiti, but not only was it written in Italian which I didn't understand, but it was written in non-permanent ink so it didn't last long, and I never acquired whatever pearls of wisdom contained within. Needless to say, she didn't guess it was me (or at least if she did, she kept it quiet).

Fast-forward five more months. Things were pretty much the same. The intimidation/pisstaking from the other kids had died down to almost zero, but I hardly noticed - I was thinking about Veronica so much that nothing else seemed to matter. After letting it get to me for some time, I decided to put my thoughts on paper and let her know in a love-letter (bear in mind, this was before the days of text-messaging, and e-mail was restricted to academia and tech-companies).

I thought it would look more sincere if I wrote it out by hand (that and doing it with handwriting made it seem less likely to be someone else playing a cruel prank), but having had no experience at being a romantic, I decided I'd avoid the old cliché of a huge pile of screwed up balls of paper sitting next to a dustbin by writing the letter on a word-processor running on my trusty Atari ST, printing it out and then writing it out by hand. Gotta love that backspace key!

So I set about typing it out, and to my complete amazement, I actually succeeded in composing a letter that explained the way I felt and attempted to ask her out. By today's standards, it's not very romantic (it came more from the brain than from the heart), but I was impressed that I had managed to churn out what I had done, and it just goes to show that if you're passionate about something and you put your mind towards it, you can accomplish things you never thought you could do. Having succeeded made me glow all that much warmer when I thought about Veronica because I felt I was closer to asking her out than ever before.

I printed it out, copied it out by hand (having done a bit of research into graphology, I deliberately made the slant of the letters vertical to make myself look sincere, although in hindsight, should have made it slant forwards instead to make it look passionate), signed it, and folded it up so it was more compact. The plan was to sneak it into her school bag when she wasn't looking, hope she'd find it and read it without anyone else discovering it. I had absolutely no idea whether or not she'd take it seriously. Would she tell her friends and let it all blow up in my face? It was a risk ... a risk I was willing to take - so I decided to take it.

The day after it was ready was a very tense day for me. I kept thinking I might have had an opportunity to sneak it in her bag, but either thought someone may catch me in the act, or I just didn't have the guts to do so. For once I was on the offensive. I looked as nervous as I was, and my friends asked me why I looked so tense, but I did not have the guts to tell them (at this stage, I had kept my crush to myself). I was not able to overcome my mental block and did not manage to sneak it into her bag. This pattern repeated itself for the next few days. Her bag remained letter-less.

The letter was written 17 years ago. Up until now, nobody has seen its content, but now, my dear b3tans, you are privileged to be the first ones to see it in its entirety.
_{The letter is contained in the first reply to this story.}
( mistaspakkaman and the inedible shifting caterpillars, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 0:17, 3 replies)

Felt the need to get this off my chest, sorry...
The first time I met Mr. Rinder (who will be called Thomas from now on) was about 4 years ago now, at a party. A mutual friend introduced us and although I had never seen this guy before in my life, he was quite drunk and clung to me for what seemed like hours. The happiness I felt when I finally managed to get away from him is hard to describe!
A year later we pretty much knew all the same people, and he and I striked up a conversation through a message board all these people were on about words that sound good. We regularly sent each other long lists of words, until one day he suggested that we go out for a drink and a gig that evening. I had just gotten out of a painful relationship and wasn't looking for anything outside of friendship, but off we went and a great time was had. The minute we started talking we couldn't stop, although the bar was filled with people we both knew we basically ignored all of them and only had eyes for each other.
Since that day we were pretty much inseperable, although I was still in high school and he worked (we had a ten year age gap between us) we saw each other every day, usually just talking for hours on end or listening to The Velvet Underground over and over again. (Especially the self-titled album, in case anyone cares!)
After a while it became clear to everyone but us that there was more happening than just 'being friends'. One night I invited a friend over to Thomas' place so we could all watch a movie together, Thomas and I were sitting underneath a blanket when suddenly our hands found each other. Much fumbling ensued and although it was raining cats and dogs outside, as soon as the film was over I kicked my friend out. It was initially awkward until we literally jumped each other's bones a few seconds later... I never really left his house again.

We were together for two years. After a few months we moved into an apartment together and redecorated everything, bought new furniture, we intended to stay together forever.
Unfortunately not everything works out the way we want them to, I suppose. I was in a dark place with my personal life at the time, I dropped out of school, was very depressed,... We lived together but he basically supported me, and although I wanted to work, everything I tried just turned out wrong.
Because I was so unhappy with myself I was constantly wondering if I was enough for him and if I maybe shouldn't find someone else. We talked about this very openly and he was very understanding, I never did anything to hurt him though.

Although I was very depressed I still did help him with a lot: I gave him his confidence back after his ex had smashed it to pieces, I encouraged him to find a new job and eventually become self-employed, I motivated him to do another course at uni during the evenings,... And he tried to help me to, but I guess I didn't want to be helped.

The last two months of our relationship were a hell: all the trust was gone, neither of us had ever cheated but it felt like it was only a matter of time. We hardly spoke anymore, did more and more things on our own, and eventually we just had to break up.

The night we broke up we spent five hours crying in each others arms. He told me how he wished we could meet again in a few years time and maybe we could actually be together then, in better circumstances. I told him how I hoped we could still remain friends, because since the day I met him he had been my best friend, my partner, my support in everything I did.

I went back to my parents. When I called him the next day he didn't want to speak to me.
It's been five months since we broke up and although I was actually relieved to be out of such a painful relationship the first month, it hurts more and more every day. He's had a new girlfriend for a few months now, which makes it even worse is that I know he was in love with her for a while long before he met me. I've gotten my own life back on the rails completely, am going back to school and working a lot while also having time for my own hobbies, but it feels so meaningless without him. Every day something stupid happens and I wish I could tell him about it. I can't sit in a bar without thinking about what happened when we were there together. I can't use my computer anymore because he gave it to me as a gift for my birthday. I can't cook anymore because it makes me think of every meal we had together. I suer as hell can't listen to the Velvet Underground anymore... Every time I think it's getting better, it suddenly takes a turn for the worse.

I miss him so much and I'll never be able to tell him. He asked me to meet up two weeks ago but I can't be just 'a friend' to him, then I'd rather be nothing at all. I just hope all of this will someday pass, I find it very hard to imagine at the moment. If I just find someone half as great one day I'll consider myself very lucky indeed.
(St. Dymphna, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 23:05, 3 replies)

A year ago...
It was the night before I moved away to uni and was annoyed that over 6 months of subtle flirting with my best friend had got me nowhere.

So, after drinking enough tequila to tranquilize a small horse I proceeded to er... make myself clear. He called me a tease and then burped in my face until I kissed him.

Then he told me that he saw no point in going out with me because I'm a slut.

He soon gave in =)
(snow15white wants some lithium, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 22:19, 1 reply)

Janet
Ah, Janet! My first true love!

I was 21 years old, she was 18. It was the very early 90s and Cinderella and Poison were racing up the charts. My home town's population on a Saturday night was made up of rockers, pretty boys, moshers, bikers and the odd Goth. We only smoked Marlboro (only lit by a genuine Zippo); we only drank Newcastle Brown. The guys (myself included) wore long hair and bikers' jackets; the women looked like Heart. They were halcyon days!

Janet was the friend of a mate's girlfriend and seeing her for the first time was truly love/lust at first sight. Pretty in a pale-skinned English Rose kind of way. Amazing smile, deep blue eyes, petite and innocent. Smoking body.

Trouble was, I was away at Poly at the time and saw her one weekend when I came home to visit. Now, like many B3tards, I was shit at chatting up girls. All previous attempts (both of them) were unmitigated disasters (laughter and "fuck off" in that order). So, I did what any normal nervous, big-haired 21-year old rocker would do: I talked to her friend. She was a mate's girlfriend, so easy to do.

I got back to Poly and managed to get her home address, where I penned her a tome of such beauty and poetry that I was sure she would be mine.

I returned home and Janet was out with all her mates. I loved her! With an air of cockiness and ill-deserved swagger that can only be achieved with about three bottles of 'Nukey' I approached her all casual. My chat-up line had been honed for weeks. It brilliant in it's simplicity. I said "Did you get my letter?"

Confused look.

"What letter?"

Arse.

Then I fumbled around for what felt like an eternity trying to explain what the contents of said love note were. She didn't make it very easy for me and looked at me with an expectant smile. It turned out that some git had given me the wrong address (I probably shouldn't have asked her ex...). My heartfelt plea had been delivered to a women's hairdresser's up the road.

Still got a result though: asked her out, she said yes, I uncomfortably lost my cherry a couple of months later, she finished with me two days short of a year later.

Young love eh?
(Ghostlight, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 21:57, 1 reply)

Whilst wainting for Sister Sledge
at Glastonbury dance tent '04 a nice young chappie (bloke #1) came upto me and started to chat me up. I was very flattered but i was buzzing at the time and i thought it would be very nice to invite him to watch me pee into a bottle (using a ladies peeing device). He just stood there agog watching me peeing away -pubes out and all. He was very kind to hold the bottle for me until we got back to the tent and i am hoping he disposed of it appropriatley. As i said i was buzzing at the time so i was very happy when some other chappie (bloke #2) came along and started massaging my back. Bloke #1 got the hump and got all upset with me all i could reply was "you should see the way i shit" i danced off and never looked back - what a biatch.

Something i did learn though always pee in a litre bottle to avoid overflow on the fingers.......
(Amanda Votchkiss is suffering from a touch of plague, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 21:21, Reply)

Never accidently suggest inbreeding!
I get made fun of about this to this day.

After a very nasty breakup, my friend, in a good-hearted attempt to cheer me up, introduced me a single guy she was friends with in our local.

He was hot, I couldn't thank her enough!

After chatting to him for quite some time, somehow the conversation got to what parts we were from in Ireland (last names, our accents, we added it up) he was from the same county I was from and was amazed to hear how large my family was (those horny catholics...)

WHAT did I fucking blurt out?!

"Oh my God! Chances are we're most probably related-"

You know when you say something daft when you're chatting someone up, and the mood almost auidibly drops?? THAT HAPPENED!

My friend looked at me as if to say "you...plonker..." and proceeded to tell me what a bloody stupid thing that was to say, later in the toilets!

We ended up just being friends if anybody cares...

Lesson? If you think you have a shot with somebody, never, under any circumstances suggest they could be your long lost cousin! The practice of inbreeding, it seems, is still frowned upon no matter how drunk somebody is.

Silly silly...
(trippeh, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 21:01, 2 replies)

We were about 16
Just at the age when you start drinking stolen spirits from your parents, hanging out with girls and generally acting like twats.

We were at a house party, and if you weren't paired up in some corner snogging some girl (!!) you would be drinking vodka straight until you spewed (probably about 50 mls worth)...

While the tunes were pumping, one of my friends - I call him Ian - happened to be quietly licking the face of some big fat Heifer in the corner, while most others were drinking away and conversing.

JUST as one song ends before changing onto another, we hear the immortal lines:

(nervously)
"...can I touch yer muff?"

Cue much pointing, laughing and crying...
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 20:20, Reply)

English charm and sophistication at its finest
For some reason, I appear to be bizarrely successful with my drunken attempts at seduction.

A few years ago, the (now former) object of my affections and I were at the same post-club party, at which I'd managed to secure one of the bedrooms (a perk of being good friends with the host). The traditional approach of striking up conversation and sharing a drink didn't occur to me. Instead, I annhilated a few naive gentlemen at a variety of computer games, held back a friend's hair while he was copiously sick, and then walked back to the living room, where my victim awaited. Popping my head round the door, I uttered the now classic line...

"Dave, I'm going to bed. Are you coming?"

...and walked off. He ended up running after me, and we dated for over a year.


A few months after he became the Former Object of My Affections, while in a bar I encountered a rather attractive young man, who struck up conversation with the traditional chat-up line of the time - "Cheer up goth, have an IrnBru" (some of you may remember the advert to blame for this). After celebrating our meeting with the mixing of vodka and lemonade, we ended up talking about injuries, whereupon he told me about a recent knee injury, no doubt expecting sympathy.

He was quite surprised when I simply informed him that "That's ok, I'll just go on top, then".

We dated for a few months, decided we didn't want anything serious, and he's now one of the best friends a girl could ask for.


My worse half and I had a much classier start to our relationship. After meeting at a house party, we met up a few times and got to know each other a bit better. I instantly knew there was something special here - we hate the same things and people, and both use the same internet forums and websites (clearly a boy of good taste).

On our third post-party meeting, he turned to me and asked me to change my 'relationship status' on the internet.

We now live together and have kittens, and we're still as geeky as ever. Last night, we went to a party and spent half of it messaging each other using our mobile internet. His computer's better than mine, though.
(DyingOfTheLight, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 20:00, Reply)

oi!
*shouts in a skywards direction*

how come the message board has all this additional cool buttonery...

Add friend, Ignore, Hide, I like this!, Reply

can we get this too please

click to vote
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 19:26, 10 replies)

Yum
Typical friday night loytering in the streets causing mischief and I had somehow ended up with a a group of people including a skanky girl from the dodgy end of town. I watched in awe as this scene unfolded:

Her: I'm f*uckin starvin but Iv spent all my money on cider!

Random guy she didnt know: If you shag me ill buy u a pie..

Her: Ok


That my friends is romance!.. Needless to say a relationship didnt blossom out of this. It was about 5 years ago. She was 14 at the time and now has 2 kids. Lovely stuff.
(i should have joined myspace, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 19:17, 2 replies)

Violence really is the best way to go about things.
So, junior year of high school I had been crushing on a guy for quite a while. Not really sure why at this point, considering he looked disturbingly like Henry VIII, but that's not the point.

I was very obvious, apparently, but I still thought I was being suave and coy when I asked him to take a walk with me one night. We talked about random things while I shamelessly flirted and he acted as he always did, and finally I told him that there was something I had wanted to do for a while. He didn't really say anything, so I just sort of jumped up and pecked him on the lips (I'm a bit short).

He didn't respond, I freaked out, and we kept walking. I asked him if he liked me, he said yes. We kept walking.

Then I looked at him and said, "If you don't kiss me again, I'm going to punch you in the face." So he did.

Not strictly asking out, but that's still how we got together. Lasted a month, ended in a mess, but how it started still makes me giggle when I think about it.
(Mreek, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 18:48, 3 replies)

Proposing.
I had my proposal to my now wife all planned. It was nearly Christmas. All of London was frosty white. I'd heard that there was an outdoor ice rink in Covent Garden Market with a Christmas tree. What better place to propose?

I had the ring. I had a plan. I managed to get her to agree to go up to Covent Garden.

When we arrived it was the singlemost piss-poor attempt at ice-rinkery I had ever seen. For starters it was HEAVILY branded by Absolut. Then it was its pitiful size. About fifteen feet by ten by my estimation.

And the Christmas tree? It was clear perspex in the 2D shape of a bottle of Absolut, glowing gently blue.

Cunts.

So we went home. We sat on the floor of her flat watching "Michael" with John Travolta, meaning I ultimately proposed with the line "This film is shit. Will you marry me?"
( collapsibletank procreates, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 18:36, 3 replies)

I shat onto my her out of a hotel window in Bracknell
I had accidentally locked myself inside a second-floor chair-storage cupboard on my way to a conference being held at the hotel, I shouted and banged but nobody heard me. Eventually nature took over and for some reason I decided to make a mess out of the window and onto the plant beds below. I hadn't realised that this was sometimes used by hotel staff for impromptu fag breaks and in the time between checking the coast was clear and getting into the right position she'd leant against the wall to enjoy a quick B&H. She was horrified of course and furiously marched upstairs to find the culprit, obviously I was pleased to be free and very apologetic as you can imagine. I offered to pay for new clothes, a hair-cut and to buy her dinner as an apology, somehow she accepted - we hit it off and have been together for 17 years, married for 14 with two kids.
(Chopper3, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 18:31, 4 replies)

actually
While I remember. For all you single chaps out there - stumbled across this one by accident.

Camping with the boys at Glen Etive - my good self and some of the usual suspects from the digital team (I was given honorary membership given I could cook and the fire NEVER goes out when I’m around).

On the second day after an EPIC night's drinking, pills and fireworks we are steadily drinking through the day - White Russians for breakfast though. We’re not savages.

Suddenly, quite bizarrely a white van stops in the single-track road a hundred yards or so behind us. Door is flung open...

"Lads! Party tonight at the old boathouse at down the end of the loch road"

We all look blankly at each other and the van full of blokes screeches away

As sun sets we hear a low thudding beat drifting along the loch

doof doof doof doof

Erm, maybe we should check this out.

as we meander along the track I spot a really pretty flower and pick it - then another. I start lagging behind.

"for fucksake spimf what the fuck are you doing - hurry up"

by the time we get to the old boathouse I have by complete accident a really nice bunch of Scottish wild flowers

turns out there are a bunch of 20 folks there with a generator, decks, a cobbled together PA and a huge bonfire - all raving away.

I ambled straight up to the prettiest girl there and said "hi these are for you". To be honest i suddenly i felt a bit of a tit standing there with a bunch of handpicked flowers while 'Smack my bitch up' was battering my lobes - I just wanted rid of them. Now i should also say I am quite happily ensconced with Mrs. spimf and was therefor only mucking around.

fuck. me.

boy did it work though. I guess the added aspect of not trying helped, but damn it had an effect.

I didn't know women could actually swoon. she turned to her friends and said..

"look what this lovely guy has done, he picked them for me"

within minutes I had three really cute girls - considerably younger than me literally sitting at my feet giggling and laughing as I regaled them with my usual pish. My mates seemed to think i had suddenly turned into as darren put it "James Bastard Bond"

soon I was enjoying a rather splendid neck massage while I ran my fingers through another girls hair (I was pilled up again by this point) I think this is the only thing that saved me from a good shoeing from the boyfriend of the one whose hair I was stoking.

I wasn't looking for any action but if I had been, damn those flowers did the trick!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 17:31, 8 replies)

Blast from the Past
Years ago, in school I had a good friend, we will call her H. we used to do loads together, sit next to each other in classes, mess around in school and out and generally were great friends. We sort of had the odd little kiss and cuddle, but never got together, mostly because we were such good friends, and it seemed like we had an awesome relationship without the need for all that soppy nonsense.

We remained friends throughout school and into university, going to colleges on opposite sides of the country but stayed in touch through text messages and phone calls. We used to make jokes about getting married and so on, and then we ended spending a half term together, just cruising around the country in her car and having a great time. On the last night, one thing led to another - we were a bit drunk - and we ended sleeping with each other.

Next day was like nothing had happened, and we were still great mates and she left to go back to her uni. It was then I realised how much I missed her, and how we had such an awesome relationship, and what I'd been feeling all these years was love! So I did what emotionally stunted boys do in that situation and got drunk and wrote her a letter proffessing my love, and how I was going to wait for her until after we finished university and that I thought we were totally made for each other.

Now I'm sure you know where this is going. I instantly felt like a complete idiot, having sobered up and realising what I'd posted the night before. So I wasn't really suprised when the response came back where H said that she didn't love me in that way, and that she couldn't be my one true love and so on and so on. So we never spoke again, much to my dismay and eternal regret.

The years passed and I tried to track her down to apologise and hopefully rekindle our friendship which was the best one I've ever had, but I couldn't find her. So I just resigned myself to the fact that she was gone from my life and I should stop pining and get on with things.

Now, just recently (nearly ten years later), she got back in touch with me. We have talked, and we have got a lot off our chests. But the upshot is that she didn't really mean what she wrote in her letter back to me, she just felt as though she was undeserving of my love and didn't know how to deal with it. She felt exactly the same about me, but didn't know how to admit it, and because she thought I hated her for turning me down, she had been too scared to get back in touch all these years. But now she has, and I haven't felt happier in all my days.

However, I am now married and with two children, all of whom I love dearly and unequivocally. But I'm completely torn apart by the feelings that have resurfaced. Obviously, because I'm not a cunt, I wont be doing anything reprehensible but seeing H again has stirred up a lot of forgotten emotion, and made me realise what's been missing in my life. But I am also very aware of the mind's ability to rose tint everything, and that I'm probably romanticizing everything I remember. But still, I'm in an impossible situation, torn between loyalty, love and security with my family, and the burn of my first true love back to haunt me, and wondering how things could be, or could have been.

And that's really the end of my story. This has been both the best, and the worst thing that has happened to me, and I write this to serve as a warning to all you quiet romantics out there pining over your unrequited feelings - Make sure you take every opportunity in love, and don't lie to your lover, don't hide from your feelings and most of all don't wait forever to tell someone how you feel, if you're sure about your feelings then dive in.

A broken heart will heal, but there's nothing worse than wondering how things could have been if you'd just taken that chance.
( BlueHaze Chutney. All good., Wed 3 Sep 2008, 17:24, 2 replies)

Beer was involved...
A friend and I sat down at the Ashton Court festival in Bristol with 24 cans of Blackthorn for a solid days drinking. 2 young ladies were sat in front of us with 24 cans of Stella, one of them turned around and said "Snakebite?"

9 years on and I marry her on October the 4th, yay!
(clowns_pocket, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 16:51, 2 replies)

Like you
I noticed her first because of her car. It was great. But every day, something would go wrong with it. She was always like "grrrr" and I was all "whats up with it today?". I used to have one of them, so I said I'd have a look. When I got round I thought she'd changed her hair, and she liked my cut - you know, sort of choppy. We looked pretty cool.

We both worked in restaurants, as wait staff, like, well until something else comes along. She told me she was in a band, I'd never heard them, but I'd heard they were pretty good. I told her to come on over to my place, well 'Gastro pub' after she got off shift and I'd get the cook to make something that I know she'd love. She was all, you know.

I went to her place - some guy was actually sleeping on the couch. She said it was fine. He pays rent. I'm sure theres some unresolved issues there between them. I'll have to get rid of him. She said it was all, you know, stuff.

I'd really like to keep this cool, casual, and she's so, so, just, 'earthly'. Do you know what I mean? I dig bohemian chicks but you know?

But I did like her. Its just that she never fucking washes and her place is a fucking tip.

Fucking hippy chicks.

And whats with the being naked all the time?
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 16:44, 7 replies)

Not me...
but a good friend who we can call C. This now classic line was delivered to a mutual friend, called L. Everyone except L knew that C liked her but obviously everyone being a quite a close group it could make things a bit awkward. He didn't mind, he really liked L. So he got some Dutch courage, walked up to her, and said...

"I'm a one hit wonder and you're the hit!"

I can't even think about it myself without cringing. I want to say something else but I don't think I can. There is no way to follow those words.

I'm sure he'd apologise for length but if he's anything like his dad it's small and ginger.
(Martin1337 was trying and failing to be funny at, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 16:25, Reply)

Kick back
The young me was working in a clothes shop and saw a stunning tall willowy brunette girl walk past and immediately fell in love. One of the girls that worked there egged me on to go chase her and say hello, I argued that it was a waste of time but their insistence boosted my confidence. 'Women love impulsive men' sez she.

Right I will do it.

Run out the front door. Fuck! Where is she? Run left down the street. See daffodils growing by side of road grab a handful and keep running.

Eventually see her and chase her down.

She turns and looks even more beautiful than I thought she was.

I hold out the flowers, smile and say 'these are for you'.

She looks me in the eye and says with such venom "fuck off you smarmy wanker".

So I did, tail between legs back to the inevitable 'what happened...' at work.

Now if you look at how I met my other half (posted below) I was a total drunken twat yet ended up with her; but when I behaved in what I thought was a romantic way I get full on abuse and my ego-bollocks crushed.

Years later still none the wiser - if any of you young people want advise don't ask me.
(Tugnut I got them all..., Wed 3 Sep 2008, 16:11, Reply)