Not Losing Your VirginityThink back, way back, to when you were a spotty virgin.* It was all a bit overwhelming, wasn't it? I remember going to see a band as a teenager and standing behind a girl who I kinda liked, but who had been showing a lot of interest in a friend for the past week. She reached back and squeezed my leg.
I panicked. Brain decided that she'd clearly made a mistake and thought I was my friend: "Er, you've got the wrong bloke"
It was hours before I worked out what was going on.
So, tell us the stories of when you failed to lose your virginity - whether through your own ineptitude or simply because they scared the bejesus out of you.
* Apologies to spotty virgins out there. Wash.
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chthonic, Fri 27 Oct 2006, 12:13)
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I hate the little man.I hate the little man inside my head for many reasons but the main one is that he has a sense of humour I don't share. He seems to be driven to do the most heart wrenchingly bastardly deeds which are then blamed on me. Unfair I say, nobody could be that cruel or stupid but time and time again I am forced to take the blame for that little bastard inside my head. One example of this involves my virginity. I was at a party a few years ago while still virginified when a rather friendly girl I half knew started giving me the come on. This is rare enough considering I resemble a troll but more so as I was slurring badly and trying to drink from an unopened bottle of vodka. I at first dismissed it as drunken thought but when she grabbed me by the crotch I thought I might be in luck. So by luck or magic we ended up upstairs in one of the bedrooms the host had laid on for such a purpose. Her striping off, me trying not to fall over backwards. She looked at me with doe like eyes, buring with desire. I looked at her with wild staring eyes that were going in two directions at once. So, she said, her last remaining clothes hitting the floor, are you ready? I looked at her and tried to open my mouth to say yes. The little man got there first. Nah said the little man, tears of mirth rolling down his bastard cheeks. Nah, your not my type (though she was). And with that I turned on my heel and left, fell down the staris and ended up explaining the situation loudly and crudely to an audiance of onlookers as she tried to hold on to her dignity and enjoyed a year or so remembered as the girl who couldn't get an ugly Welshman to sleep with her. Amy, I'm very sorry but it isn't me it was the little man.
(, Thu 2 Nov 2006, 2:22, Reply)
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