It's not all bad on t'internet, but...
I met my fiancée off of the interweb, so miracles can happen...BUT, I have been through a fair few loonies and heifers before I got a winner.

Numero Uno was the barmaid: "Excellent", thinks I "free drinks a-plenty for me and a bit of rumpy-pumpy to boot, what could be better?" We email, we chat on msn, we agree to meet. Now, have you ever had that sinking feeling when a girl walks into a bar? You're sitting there, all scrubbed up and waiting for a girl in a black coat and a really fit blonde walks in...then goes straight over to her boyfriend at the bar...and that's when you see the *other* girl in the black coat. The one who vaguely reminds you of someone, but you can't recall who. Let me tell you it's not Elle Macpherson. Oh no.

So far it's going badly, but being the public schoolboy I once was, I do the honourable thing and buy her a drink. "Let's go to a party - my sister's throwing one - it'll be fun". I agree, on the basis that a house party has witnesses in case she tries anything. Make note to self to get own drinks in case of Rohypnol dosage. Get to party - it's not the student orgy I was expecting. Oh no. It's her sisters' birthday. At her parents' house. I get introduced as "he's the One". Cold sweat starts to run down my back. Can't get home as last train has left. Bugger. Back to her place. meet her flatmate, who is on same site. Why couldn't I have got her? she's pretty, blonde and evidently up for it...bugger. Drink more to console myself. Flatmate wearing nowt but t-shirt - sitting opposite me, flashes her bald mimsy. I get the horn. Barmaid figures this is her cue and violates me. Hard. At one point she bent my Old Chap double - she was bouncing so hard my balls felt like a fat kids' Space Hopper. Feeling used and not a little abused, I make my excuses and leave. Decide I'll have to sleep on platform at Victoria and discover I have left my wallet at her place. Too scared to go back....at which point, the flatmate appears with it in her hand, having followed me. She gives me a hug, offers condolences and hands me a piece of paper with her number on it "in case I get bored". So not all bad, I guess. Still felt like Ned Beatty at the end of Deliverance, though. Sue Pollard - that's who the Barmaid looked like. Now you can see why I am still scarred by it...

God knows why I went back and tried again, but I did and met The Fat Bird who didn't so much drive her Mazda MX5, but more wore it like a skirt, the bird who had just served 18months for fraud and was likely to be doing time again soon as she'd stolen the money for her house from the mortgage company she worked for(but, in fairness, was a great shag and who let me be the first up her dirtbox), the Geordie lass who smelt of fish (don't ask, just don't) and the bird who was 15 years older than her photo, had a bald spot and wanted me to use the blunt end of a baseball bat as an anal dildo on her (I didn't stay long after I finished the first drink - I actually ran through the kitchen and out of the fire door).

Moral of the story? Like the real world there are a lot of loonies, weirdos and ugly women, but occasionally you'll get a blinder. When you do - don't mess it up. I stuck to that and we get married in December...w00t!

apologies for length, but my length is nothing compared to the girth of the mx5 owner...a tonne and a half at least...
(Chad, Thu 13 Sep 2007, 23:21, Reply)