Men are a bunch of bastards, Chapter 835
OK, bear with me, gentle readers. I hesitated a long time before posting this, not least because if the fact that it has been posted on the interwebs became known, my life would become a very fetid and stinky place for a very long time. So, in time-honoured tradition, some details have been changed to protect the guilty, but the essence remains the same.

A little while ago I was on the verge of breaking free of what can only be described as an abusive relationship. It wasn't her fault, really, as she'd had a bit of a strange upbringing and didn't apply the conventional rules for being in a relationship, but still, the psychological damage was there for the offering to anyone who stepped within intimate range. I'd returned to my home town, having shacked up with her for about six months before realising there was no way it was going to work, and had gone out on the town to celebrate my fresh status as a single man. Several months later, I was going out with a greenhorned girl several years younger than I (mid-twenties to my early thirties), after having sworn that I would play the field and not settle down with anyone for a good while. The fact that I wasn't over my previous love, combined with the fact that my new love wasn't right for me for a whole range of reasons too tedious to be contained within this margin, meant that the new girl and I ended up officially splitting about six months down the line.

I say "officially" for a reason: in true bastard male fashion, I continued to see her and sleep with her for numerous weeks whilst in the very process of trying to renew my relations with my original love, who to her credit had expended enormous efforts to remedy the problems that had made me flee in the first place. For several months I saw Girl 2 during the week and Girl 1 at the weekend, neither suspecting that I was still in contact with the other.

The climax (fnarr) occurred one evening after Girl 2 turned up on my doorstep in tears one evening. I'd had a few beers on that particular evening, so rather than send her packing and concentrate my efforts on rebuilding whatever relationship I might have had with Girl 1, I invited Girl 2 in and was very...sympathetic. Half an hour later, and halfway through the sympathy, my mobile phone rang. Girl 1 wanted to know whether I had seen Girl 2 recently. What I neglected to tell Girl 1 was that I had unplugged myself from being conkers deep in Girl 2 to answer the phone, and had replugged myself in during the conversation. "No...haven't seen her in ages...I really want to see you again...", all while buried up to the nads in Girl 2.

Bonus bastard points: that was the night I introduced Girl 2 to anal. Yes, I have no soul; what did you expect? I'm ginger.
( .Yeti., Tue 21 Jun 2011, 0:50, 7 replies)

So did Girl 2 enjoy sporting a strap-on and giving it vigorously to you?
Oh. You meant she was the receiver. My mistake.
( flake has nothing against your right leg, Tue 21 Jun 2011, 1:14, closed)

You are Ryan Giggs.
AICMFP.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Tue 21 Jun 2011, 8:44, closed)

I wouldn't mind some parts of being Ryan Giggs.
The money, to begin with, plus the general fitness at 37.
( .Yeti., Tue 21 Jun 2011, 10:26, closed)

Who exactly did Girl no.2 think you were on the phone to? Or were her ears too muffled by your massive bollocks to hear anything you were saying?
(DBS, Tue 21 Jun 2011, 16:31, closed)

She knew perfectly well.
It did nothing to increase my esteem in her eyes, either.
( .Yeti., Wed 22 Jun 2011, 10:09, closed)

How
did you get two girls to sleep with you - hair dye?
(Clit Ninja is having a white space party!, Wed 22 Jun 2011, 10:08, closed)

Hair dye, smoky jazz clubs and sparkling wine: the cocktail of champions.

( .Yeti., Wed 22 Jun 2011, 10:11, closed)