Fucking trains
Always late, aren't they?
( idonthaveafunnynickname Drink-Aware? Sure. I'm aware I want another drink., Fri 6 Jun 2008, 17:09, 3 replies)

Missed out on losing my virginity
Used to go to a nice little youth club where I started seeing a girl, literally, we were only about 10 or 11.
Now this girl already had a bit of a reputation, but to be honest. I was too young to really know what this all meant.
After a couple of weeks of amateur face hugging she decided it was time to step things up a notch so asks me to meet her in this secluded spot where she was going to show me something.
By this time my mates had started taking this piss, I was young and should be playing football and vandalising things, not getting it on with some girl. Peer pressure got to me and I decided that yes, although I had agreed to meet her I didn't say I wouldn't bring my friends along.
Off we trundle, and my mates stay just out of view whilst I walk on to the rendezvous site where I'm greeted by the sight of my young lady sans top.
I don't know what to do. Do I try and get some action? Do I even know what "action" is, I'm only a fucking child? All i know is that my mates have been taking the rampant piss out of me. So I go for plan C....

Plan C
Get her to dump me by:
1.Turn tail and start running.
2.Pass through mates screaming "Lisa's got her tits out"
3.Leave girlfriend (now ex) in pile of tears as all my mates run over to see her tits
4.Wonder if I did the right thing as my mate Dan ends up losing his virginity to her after comforting her for the next few weeks. It now takes me 3 years to lose mine.
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 17:04, 1 reply)

completely off topic
I've just realised that this is my last b3taday of being in my twenties!
(happylittletulip helpless and delicious, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 16:59, 32 replies)

DUMPED BY TEXT...
I’m not proud of it but when I was about 17 I finished with a guy I was seeing AND living with, by text.

It’s a complicated story and I’ll explain it the best that I can.

When I was 17 I had nowhere to live and was put up by an older couple that I knew (I say older – they we’re late 30’s but that was 20 years on me at the time). I didn’t know them so well but I worked with the guy, Mark, and they we’re a fabulous, kind couple that put me up for a few months during a difficult time.

They we’re fond of setting me up with people they knew and often the candidates we’re not so suitable and a fair bit older than myself.

Eventually they introduced me to a 30 something guy called Steve and me and Steve started dating. It’s wasn’t a whirlwind romance really, just one of those stop gap kind of relationships. Things we’re going okay until Steve lost his flat about 6 weeks into our relationship and Mark and Rachel offered him to move in with them also. As they had a two bedroom house this meant that Steve and I we’re inadvertently living together.

I put up with things as I had nowhere to go and not enough confidence to tell any of them that I wasn’t into this guy enough to be living with him after 6 weeks.

In the end I took the cowards way out and dumped him by text. I was as nice as possible but that doesn’t excuse it.

I left all my things behind and never looked back.

Understandably I lost the friendship of my kind friends and have felt guilty about my cowardice ever since. Gutted
( DUMBLONDE is a rubber lover girl, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 16:44, 13 replies)

Aime
I decided to leave her after, well, after, cough, you know, that type of sex. As I withered in her, and wondered how long the perfunctory kissing on the back of the neck would have to go on for, I found a profound sense of boredom. It wasn't with the way her body lay on the sheets, or the way the sunshine shuffled uneasy through the blinds and cowered from the corners, it was just the sense that I could see my future mapped out - islands of intimacy, and shopping and drugs and her friends in a sea of grey glooply despair. I didn't know what I wanted to do - still don't - I just knew I didn't want this. I hated the way her hair fell on her face and I hated the way she put her legs over mine as we slept. Like she owned me, or wanted me to own her.

I lay there for a while, going "mmm", wondering if it was too early for the vodka in the freezer. It was either always too early, or never early enough. She rolled over and held me and I could see the sun on her perfect face and the two red rosy spots high on either of her cheeks. There was a layer of sweat on her forehead so I stroked it with my hands. I could wash them later much easier than the floral pillow cases which she had bought at Monoprix before Christmas. She sat up and lit a cigarette. I watched the smoke spiral up to the ceiling, as if it couldn't bear to be inside her, either. I was frozen. I knew she'd get up and dress herself after the cigarette. I hated the way she dressed so casually, so matter of factly in front of me. The callous intimacy. I couldn't bear to watch it. She'd just stand up and pull her bra on and then bend down and pull her pink knickers on and then put her jumper and jeans on. She was taking something for granted which I hadn't realised I'd given.

The plans I devised grew more outlandish, and for a while I was seriously, seriously contemplating faking my own death. In the end, I decided to start off more gently - whispering another girl's name in my faked sleep and then going "ooh yeah". I did this for a few nights, but she slept on regardless, doubtless cos of the cheap French red wine and the expensive Moroccan hash. Once this failed, I decided to hire an actress. I'd get a drama student or something and while *** was out, I'd get the actress round and pretend, somehow, to be in love with me when *** came back. I didn't know how much an actress cost, so to be on the safe side, I started stealing money from her. When I pissed all that up the wall, I decided to tip off the drug police that she was a drug dealer. All the while this was going on, she'd drape herself around me, or tell me she loved me, or kiss me, and every time skin touched skin, I felt the infinity between the intimacies.

One day we were sitting with friends around the big table in the flat. We'd had crusty bread and ham and cheese and an ice cold white wine and I could smell the fresh coffee percolating, and I just looked at her and said "Do you know what? I fucking hate you". She made a sound that sounded a bit like the coffee machine. A sort of hot spluttering. Well, that was the end of that. I ended up crying myself to sleep in my empty bed for a month or so afterwards.

What a cunt. Fuck it.
(sirolimus, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 16:39, 10 replies)

Um....
I sort of hooked up with a girl one night in a nightclub; she wasn't prettiest girl by any means (she resembed a Cabbage Patch Doll with glasses ffs), but I was legless at the time.

The following week myself and the lads are back in the same club and I'm playing an arcade game in the corner while swigging some cheap lager-piss. Me mate mutters "Jeccy, DON'T TURN AROUND."
I didn't stand a chance. Like the twats we all are I spin around at hearing this and see Cabbage Patch Doll looking back at me. Ohfuckohfuckohfuck. I spin around and carry on playing the arcade game, a bead of sweat appearing on my forehead.
She walks up behind me and taps me on my shoulder. I turn around and she homes in for a kiss.
From nowhere I bellow "Urrggghhhh, arrgghhhhhhh, AAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!" in the poor girls face.
I get the slap I deserve and she storms off while my mates wet themselves laughing.

I did buy her a drink later though and apologize, I'm not a complete twunt.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 16:35, 4 replies)

Was it just me?
Or did the server try to dump anyone else here a moment ago?

Ha! I'm clingy and persistent. I won't be dumped that easily!
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 15:57, 27 replies)

For everyone who has been dumped
Have some chocolate

news.woolworths.co.uk/dairymilk/

Yes it's real
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 15:33, 9 replies)

Touchy Italians
Well i'm not sure if I unconsciously tried but I got dumped by a fiery Italian ex (all of two months) and when I (stupidly) asked why this was the email I got. Hummn, so many mistakes...

Read in a heavy Italian accent…

I need a guy that makes an effort when he meets the girl, he shows that he fancies her even if they've just met, he doesn't turn up with a jumper on their second date, and def he doesn't always get there late.

I need a guy that is mature and doesn't see a "responsibility" to buy a pot or a glass, not to mention a house, why would you do that at 30!? Oh yes and maybe a less "popular" bloke, because at the end of the day, and now we know it for sure, all the so called "friends" that he catches up with so often are just exes. Well done.

I need a guy that wants to spend time with the girl and gives minimum attentions to her, not that checks out all the girls that come in the pub and looks back to check them better and doesn't even realise that it's such a lack of respect, as well as wearing an ipod when he's with her.

I need a guy that talks to the girl, not by email but when they sit in a bar, in front of a glass of wine or a meal, and at least asks her a few questions, just to get to know her a little better, maybe about her job, her family, her whatever. But of course when he's interested only in her body or fun and sex why would he have to bother?
(CornishStanley can't post hyperlinks, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 15:32, 4 replies)

Just go you Russian Freak
"I don't love you"
"I don't like you"
"I slept with your best mate"

None of these work on russian women
( SiX and his hat, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 15:27, 4 replies)

Unflushable
As shameful as it is to admit I had a girlfriend who put up with the most attrocious bad behaviour and still kept coming back for more. At 18 it is quite a thrill to realise that you have such power over another especially after being the 'dump-ed' on previous relationships. I cheated on her (twice with her room mates), didn't show up for dates, called her whilst drunk/stoned at stupidly early hours of the morning, insulted her Dad by calling him a 'Tory-cunt' and a 'Nazi', criticized her music taste, went on holiday with friends and didn't tell her. I even went with her to one of her friends parties, got wasted, acted like a total knob, stole her car keys(and her car) and left with another girl but still she came back to me.

She finally dumped me.

Why?

Because I accidentally ran over a squirrel.

That was already dead on the road.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 14:39, 2 replies)

*Hangs head in shame*
Now I know you all think I can do no wrong and that I'm a good girl but unfortunately I have dabbled in a little wrongdoing.

Many years ago I was having a fling with a younger guy I worked with. He had a girlfriend but to be honest he was cheating on her left, right and centre. It was just a bit of fun and we knew it wouldn't go anywhere as we were like chalk and cheese, nothing in commom apart from sex and a laugh.

9 months pass and he tells me that he wants to stop seeing me and be faithful to his girlfriend and make a go of it. Okay says I, I'm fine with that and I was a little dissapointed but happy for them none the less.

2 weeks pass and I find out that he has started seeing the new girl at work. A small hippy type girl from Isrial. Even less in common with him than I had. I was livid, and threw the queen of strops. I'm not an emotional type but I let the floodgates open this once and cried and shouted and kicked off big style. I was completely floored by the fact that he had lied to me about this when there was absolutely no need to. We weren't partners, he had seen other women as well as me and I felt we could be truthful with each other.

This girl then finds out that he had been telling her *private* things about himself that he had told me, most of which were probably lies anyway. On finding out that he's a bit of a slut she goes bonkers and goes to get an aids test. She then goes and tells the boss, (his dad), about their relationship and about her aids test and then she left.

In retrospect I have no idea what I was doing or what I saw in him but on the plus side, he got into a lot of shit, admitted regretting dumping me and I lost a stone in weight.
( girlinthehole, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 14:28, 35 replies)

Nice
If there is one thing that I cannot stand, it is the old line that begins 'You're a nice guy, but ...... '.

I know I'm a nice guy, and I certainly don't need a reminder to that fact, and sugar coating the inevitable blow is tantamount to giving me a lollipop before cracking me over the head with a 2 by 4.

So in future, just say what the problem is, rather than trying to justify hurting me by a weak-ass attempt to soften the blow.
(UncleChuckles "Cthulhu fhtagn", Fri 6 Jun 2008, 14:24, 4 replies)

Oh God
My last boyfriend was like trying to shake off a fucking cling on. It was terrible , I tried everything.
He was just so clingy and irritating, it really bugged me especially when he ate food in bed, onion rings and a cornetteo to be specific. I tried farting in bed to maybe put him of me, he said it didn’t, he just liked the fact that I could be comfortable round him. I tried just giving him the brush off which ended in 27 missed calls and 16 txt messages, this is after about 10 hours.
I started to think I’m never going to get rid of this weirdo, I started getting a bit unsure about the whole situation when he offered to have my dinner ready for me 'for when I get home' home? Home? When I get what? What was that? (Little red flag going up here) I don’t live with you my friend, I know you a week!
Anyway the result was, I just got that pissed off with him, I went on a three day bender and when I was drunk enough to not know what I was doing I text him telling him 'I don’t think it is working out' lol and switched my phone off for the remainder of the bender. Seriously cruel but very kind.
(conzo21, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 14:18, 2 replies)

The story of broken legs man
Again, not particularly proud of this and wouldn't do it again, but I wouldn't allow myself to be treated like that again, so it's a moot point.

Broken legs man and I first met when I was an impressionable 14 year old at YMCA day camps. He was tall, handsome and a whole year older than me. Very charming and outgoing, he went to the local posh school, whereas mine was a highly sought after comprehensive 2km away. He was going out with the camp bike and I was left to the role of best girl mate.

We met up again each summer, sometimes seeing each other during school time if our paths crossed, him looking very smart and cool while I was reduced to blushing and gibbering like a freak until I was 17, but then his mother died and with all the best intentions we lost touch for a while until I went to uni.

He spotted me in a pub back home where I had a new found confidence in myself, lots of friends, four years training in kickboxing, a decent haircut can do wonders as well as good skin which had been the bane of my life until then.

We hooked up and all was good for a few months until for reasons unknown he decided to systematically destroy my life. Not by major things that would be noticed by others, but little things like saying I looked fat in some clothes I liked - I was a size 12 at this point, but lost two stone at his behest, pointing out my weaknesses like intolerance for stupid people, how I should be nicer to his friends - not sure why as they were never nice to me and how all of my friends were shit and didn't like me.

Over the course of two years he basically broke down all my defences and made me feel like crap. He then slept with one of his hideously ugly friends and gave me an STI - not one of the horrible permanent ones thankfully, but enough to be pissed off about. I had no idea at this point that was how I'd got it as he made me think that I had it and passed it onto him. So we split up for the summer and missed each other inbetween burning doses of pain administered by nurses. He got back in touch with me and I jumped at the chance of getting back together as although I'd had plenty of other offers, I was infatuated with the little fucker.

Turned out he didn't have any treatment for his dose of nasties and within a week I was showing symptoms again and wondered why. One of his (nicer) friends took me aside and told me broken legs man had slept with another of their friends and then bragged about how stupid I was as I didn't realise. He then went on to tell me that my initial suspicions of him taking smack on a regular basis were in fact correct and the way he mashed up his chin a few weeks before was not in a car accident, but his dealer seeking to teach him a lesson for not paying up on time and sleeping with one of his bitches.

Armed with this information, plus some other stuff that I'm not going to discuss here I went to see him and when confronted, he laughed in my face. A swift roundhouse brought him down, a couple of punches broke three ribs and a few well times stamps broke his legs. One below the knee and one above the knee. The rising smell of fecal matter necessitated my exit, but not before hocking up a greenie and depositing it on his face.

Aside from everything else, if you're going to cheat on me, make it with someone better looking, not a chavvy minger with shit for brains as that's just insulting.

Apologies for spitting as it's just not ladylike.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 14:17, 71 replies)

my last girlfriend
was a ginger vegetarian who hated all sport and only listened to house music. I didnt have to try hard organised a saturday afternoon BBQ followed by watching the football then went to watch a band. I got dumped the next week. So happy. Although the evil carrot munching harlot still has my boosh box set, some really nice dior shades my mum bought me and a hoody. I see her daily on our walks to work. Its got to the point that we now have "our own" side of the street to walk on.
( SteveFrench Cardio is for homo's. do you even lift bro?, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 13:53, 2 replies)

Accept my contrition at slight off-topicness; I beg your indulgence.
I was the perfect girlfriend.

It required the suppression of so much of the natural vileness of my personality, but for a whole year, I was. I was in love. I was patient and kind, and I gave him space to do whatever he wanted. I wouldn't get huffy if he went around without me, or forgot to call. I even agreed not to see him at all for several weeks while he took his exams, so as not to prove a distraction, though I let him know I'd always be there if he needed me. It was a really difficult thing to do. We lived very near each other, I had exams too and I was stressed out and a bit lonely. I missed him terribly, but I was really careful not to let him know how much. I didn't want to put any more pressure on him. For nearly a month, I counted the days until he finished his exams and we could be together properly again. I planned it all out. The day before, suprisingly, he called and asked if I had time for lunch.

You can guess what comes next.

He had tried, he said, to 'let me down gently' by not spending any time with me or texting or calling over the last month. Seems that, naive creature that I am, I had actually thought he wanted time to work. I remember exactly how I felt sitting on the bench looking out over the river; men say nothing hurts worse than being kicked in the balls, and we can't possibly understand. I disagree. The light-headed rush of sickness, the adrenalin surge, and then that crunch of pain spreading out like a gathering wave until your hearing goes funny.

But I didn't want to burden him with all that. I kept it light. I said I hoped we could still be friends, being as we were in the same friendship group anyway. I think we actually shook hands. I don't remember the walk home, but I remember lying on my bed a few hours later, just staring at the ceiling, unable to take it in.

I had thought that was as bad as it could get. But over the next few days and weeks, more and more information started to filter back to me; more and more idiosyncratic little pieces of odd stuff that had happened in our relationship started to add up. Then it emerged. He had dumped me in order to get back with his ex, girl who had made his life an utter misery, and I - who unless you patient readers haven't cottoned on yet, was helplessly in love with him - was just an extended rebound fling. A shameful sort of affair, to be looked back on with embarrassment. Of course, he didn't admit as such. He denied it, but the game was up when she (in a gesture born of complete spite, since I never met her) emailed me pictures of them kissing taken whilst we were still together. I had to glean all other bits of information from our friends, all the while smiling and chatting and keeping up the pretence of nonchalance. Nobody likes a moaner.

Eventually, though, I cracked and in the gentlest possible way, confronted him. And he lied. He lied so much that I still don't know what to believe, and any good memories of the relationship (and of the friendship we had before that) have been spoiled by the feeling that none of it really has any integrity. He lied until he was found out, and then lied some more for extra lie-ey goodness.

For my part, I couldn't take it. Judging it best to beat a dignified retreat, I packed up my life and left the city I'd loved. I've been back to visit since and the thought of accidentally running into him is a dread strong enough to make me feel physically sick. I took the first job I found and moved to London with complete strangers. For long months I was so short of confidence I couldn't look strangers in the eye. I mistrusted other people around me. I felt embittered and cynical and I hated myself for it. I felt unattractive and old and past it at 24. I felt like ultimately all that mattered to men - even supposedly intellectual and alternative men like my ex - was looks, as the girl he cheated on me with was psychotic, clingy, stupid, immature, and generally a complete knob, but very pretty. I don't know when this will end, but I do know one thing. If he had had the balls to be completely honest with me and admit that he still had feelings for his ex, he would have saved me months of mental torture I wouldn't wish on anybody (except, now, possibly him.) I would have avoided all the self-doubt, suspicion of others, massive hurt and poor life-decisions that resulted from being fibbed to in grand order, all because he was too much of a coward to do the right thing.

I don't know if I'll ever get back to the person I was before, not really. I'd like to. I think I was better then.

Length? It was a year ago today.
(jennymnemonic, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 13:45, 16 replies)

Immigration Song
A couple of years ago I ended a very gruelling 18 month relationship (see here for details). We knew we weren't good for each other but kept shuffling back like a pair of rutting zombies. However, this story does not concern G, but the lass who followed.

Upon finally calling time with G, I found myself short on friends given that G had done all she possibly could to drive a wedge between me and pretty much anyone else I felt I could confide in. My phone wasn't exactly ringing itself off the hook with messages from friends so I jumped at the chance when someone asked me for a date.

Anyway, the lass in question (henceforth known as "M") was very nice. Nice personality, nice smile, nice appearance, probably the living embodiment of the term nice as opposed to outstanding or riotously funny or compelling persona.

"M" originally hailed from Sweden and as such was very fair of hair and skin and although she'd lived a few years in the UK she hadn't managed to erase a trace of an accent. She was very intelligent and well travelled, never bad things by any means.

We went on a few dates, took things relatively slowly and generally had a nice time together.

So why am I damning with faint praise?

Well, chiefly I suppose that "M" seemed to possess no discernible sense of humour. Despite having lived in England for twelve years, it was obvious that the concept of British humour was alien to her. I can't help but drop in puns of varying degrees of awfulness in conversation, which usually results in either a chuckle or a grimace. However, with this lass there was no reaction whatsoever. It was like dating a Vulcan.

I'm someone who needs humour to keep them sane. The world is a depressing enough place as it is without laughter, so I figured this liaison wasn't one for the long term. No harm in that, I'd just come out of a long relationship so I was open about the fact I wasn't looking to settle down. Fine.

However one incident for me was the clincher.

Every year, I hook up with a few mates at a local beer festival to shoot the breeze, drink beer and generally loaf about for a few days. I usually pitch a tent and sleep off my hangover there instead of trying to find my way home, so liberally lubricated with a few pints of ale and having conscripted the help of a couple of pals, I struggled to get my tent pitched in a race against time with ever darkening skies.

Having eventually claimed a tactical victory, I sent "M" the following message via SMS

After a great deal of effort I have finally managed to achieve an erection! All present agree that it's most magnificent and is the envy of the campsite. Fnar.

With that, I wandered off for more beer.

Ten minutes later, my phone beeped into life.

Are you mad? That's disgusting, how dare you share the details about what you get up to with other women. Have you no respect for my feelings?

Wha? Eh?

I tactfully explained that I was making a reference to tent pitching. No apology or explanation for jumping to conclusions was forthcoming so I resolved to stop seeing "M". The very next weekend, I drove over to her place and went for a drink explaining that I had matters I thought we should discuss.

"I'm sorry 'M'. It just isn't working out for me, I don't think that we have a viable future, as it appears fairly obvious that we're quite different personalities".

With that, she shot me the filthiest of looks, started to cry and remained absolutely silent. For an hour, I sat there not knowing what to do. I explained why I didn't think it would work out and that I hoped she'd understand. No response whatsoever...

I had enough and suggested that I walk her home. On the short walk back to her flat I asked if she understood what I'd explained to her.

"Yes, I understand".

Great, that's progress. However at the door, she stunned me with what she said next.

"Have you got plans this Christmas? I'd very much like to take you back home to meet my Mum and Dad".

What? Had she not heard and digested what I had said? I'd just explained that I didn't think we should see each other.

"But 'M', half an hour ago I explained that I don't think we should see each other anymore"

"Oh yes, but I thought maybe you would like to come home with me?".

Utterly dumbstruck, I bade her goodbye and left.

Five days later, my phone chimed into life

"I'm on the train up to see you. Can you collect me from the railway station?"

Wha? Stupidly I obliged, my response that I'd made other plans for the weekend went unnoticed.

Sure enough, I picked her up and took her to one side explaining that she was now my "friend" and that there was no "relationship". "Oh yes, I understand" she replied.

Now that weekend, I had arranged for a friend to come and stay. He had the lounge and despite trying to subtly explain to "M" that three was fast becoming an awkward crowd, she persisted. I'm not proud dear reader, but "M" and I ended up sharing my bed out of necessity for she had nowhere else to sleep. Now, I made damn sure I slept clothed and did nothing to take advantage of the situation, again explaining that seeing as we were "friends" that sex was very much not on the agenda.

At three in the morning I'm woken up by a large goods train that normally passes by my flat at this time. I can feel the place shaking gently as the heavily laden wagons cause the ground to tremble. However, there's something different this time.

I can't hear the "thrum" of the straining diesel engine.

With a start, I realised that the shaking is confined not only to the room, but the bed itself. "M" was none-too-subtly bringing herself to a manually induced climax in my bed.

I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that from that moment on I had to resort to less than subtle techniques to get the message across. A couple of weeks of ignored texts, unreturned phone calls and an eventual explanation that I needed the rest of eternity on my own did the trick. Sometimes being "nice" doesn't quite cut it.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 6 Jun 2008, 13:30, 7 replies)

Not my finest hour
And not I confess a very funny story either. My parting from my previous girlfriend is an abject lesson in twattish, immature stupidity.

I was 18 she was 16 and the younger sister of a friend of mine. To this day I don't regard myself as a shining beacon of maturity but nine years previously I was considerably worse. I liked having an attractive and funny person around all the time for sex on tap- but I also wanted to shag anything else that showed willing as well. What I should have done was admit this to her and go on my way, cock in hand to see what I could do. What I did instead was just see what I could get away with, initially without telling her and then involving her as well. To my shame, she followed me into a number of firsts.

Initial use of various drugs- err yes. Which led to;
Gaining of brown wings- yes
Threesome with an ex, ex girlfriend- yes
Threesome with a (male) schoolmate- yes
Taking photos that I suspect would land me in jail had I not since burned them- yes.

All of which was interspersed by random bouts of infidelity. Through all this, she stayed. Throughout, she related to friends that it would pass and I'd be more like a conventional boyfriend. More than any of the acts above, I am embarrased that she actually seemed to love me because looking back I certainly don't love the me from then.

Matters came to a head when she came up to see me at university and arrived on the saturday morning and had the door answered by a coursemate in my dressing gown. She'd paid to come up to university, she had been looking forward to seeing me and at a stroke, the reality of the situation hit home. The look I was given will probably survive the onset of Alzheimers. I feel shit just remembering it. She walked out of the door and we have not exchanged a word since- February 19th 2000.

I have since learned that she is has done very well for herself and her current boyfriend is a well adjusted and almost certainly not a cunt. I, in turn have been with Mrs Hatred for seven and a half years and have never once been unfaithful- perhaps I got it out of my system.

I've contemplated attempting to apologise but the longer ago those events transpired, the more I think I should leave it. I imagine she will be somewhat on the ball should she have to vet her daughters' boyfriends.

Length?- this went on for months.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 13:23, 10 replies)

Not proud of it
But I managed to get my fuckbuddy to fall in love with me. Not on purpose I assure you. We'd been in high school together, same classes and hated the sight of each other, but ten years had passed when he messaged me on myspace and looked pretty good in his photos.

So we hooked up on the understanding that I'd recently come out of a long term relationship and this was just playing. Or so I thought.

For my birthday he took me on a weekend away, I only went thinking of sex in different places, while he was thinking it was time to take our relationship to the next step - no not that step you filthy buggers! Whereupon he plied me with roses, chocolates, the full works basically and declared his love for me.

So I'm 300 miles from home, there's no public transport as we're out in the sticks and there wasn't even phone reception to call someone to get me. So plan of escape meant that I 'had' to get very very drunk, pretend to be interested in the much younger (but not so young its wrong) hotel owners son throw up on him in bed, tell him I wasn't interested many many times and demand he drive me home at 3am.

Poor guy still wanted to see me when we got back home. In retrospect I could have called a cab from the bar and gotten a train home, but he freaked me out.

He got off lighter than an ex that cheated on me and ended up with broken legs.
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 13:08, 2 replies)

getting over the one who dumped you
happens more quickly when you factor in the requisite post-dumping trip to the STD clinic to check they haven't kindly and benevolently showered you with some nasty crotch mould.

Getting swabbed and poked and stuck with needles and papered with AIDS leaflets is an amazing process of alchemy whereby grief and sorrow is rapidly transmuted into a lump of solid bitterness.

All that AND you get the adventure of a long, slow, bureaucratic wait amid the more conscientious hookers and junkies who somehow stare at you with pity.

It certainly stops the reminiscing about the hot sex. For a while, anyway.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 13:02, 24 replies)

morris and doris
hilariously, my friend amy's 83 year old grandparents were actually called morris and doris. they had been together all their lives, having met at school and then married for 55 years. and so her mother decided to throw them a party for their anniversary.

morris and doris didn't want a fancy lunch. they wanted egg sandwiches and cheese and pineapple cubes on sticks at morris' beloved working men's club. eventually amy's sophisticated mother gave in and this is what they did.

towards the end of the party, morris tottered up to the stage. he wheezed over the microphone that they wanted to thank everyone for coming and then said that he was going to sing a song to his lovely wife doris, after 55 years. the band struck up the chords, morris grasped the microphone, and crooned as loudly as he could:

"PLEEEEEASE RELEEEEASE ME... LET ME GO..."




"we are not amused?" apparently queen victoria had nothing on amy's mum and doris...
( rachelswipe with a fork, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 13:01, 6 replies)

I've become the 'back-up-plan'
I work with two people who have been in a relationship for years and years. Anyways, they're going through a bit of a bad patch...and I've been dragged in.

It all started with a simple text from Ms Y, a good friend and colleague - 'I told X i was with you yesterday. I wanted some time alone'. Okies, I thought, that's not so bad. I told her as long as I don’t have to outright lie myself, she could use my name. Big BIG mistake.

It became more and more regular, we have having a wonderful time in fictional land! Meals, huge shopping trips, even a weekend away (I was actually sat indoors in my PJs trying to finish FF9.) All through this, she’s becoming much more friendly with another male member of the workforce. All the while poor Mr X (who is a really lovely guy) is believing all her crap and is quite pleased for her, thinking all this new girlie quality time ‘will be just the thing she needs!’. Thing is, we get on well enough to actually talk to each other, so he asks me how our fictional trips have been! I'm a bad liar and a worse actress. A couple of times she tells me about our fictional trips well after the event, including twice when we were meant to be out for the day when I was actually near where he lives and could very well have been spotted. Why she just can’t say “I don’t want to be with you” is beyond me. I think she’s hoping that he’ll get fed up with not being able to spend any time with her and move on.

It'll all end in tears. Probably mine.

(Not that I can be the judge - I once managed to get a guy to dump me by refusing to go on holiday with him. That one was quite easy.)
(Mogg Questioned her own sanity on, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 12:31, 3 replies)

I thought I'd finally done something so evil she'd have to dump me...
Who knew she'd be into erotic asphyxiation?
(swander, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 12:26, 3 replies)

Ok ready the mindbleach- aka threesomes are NOT always a good thing
Mr Kitty and I were having a good night with our sometimes girlfriend; stripping off and playing. We were mostly naked and having a great time (hadn't seen her in quite a while and we all seemed to have learned some new tricks).

Then she takes her skirt and panties off. Sounds like a good thing?

No. Not a good thing.

I'm watching as she's kissing Mr Kitty and slowly notice something wrong, very wrong.

Her thighs are streaked with pink and as she writhes back and foreward it's geting much worse and much, much redder.

EWWWWWW!!!! thinks I and warn Mr Kitty before the bed gets wrecked and I can never ever sleep there again.

In case you didn't get that, she was BLEEDING. From a bad place to be bleeding from when you are trying to have a sexy time.

We told her, she blushed and ran downstairs to the bathroom.

Good thinks I, this is over and we will never speak of it again.

Mr Kitty and I made grossed out faces to each other and started re-dressing.

Then she came back up the stairs, still naked.

We were puzzled to say the least. She must have realised as she said

"It's OK, I cleaned up. Why did you get dressed? We can still play."

We spent the night watching tv, she spent the night on the couch (and all of us fully clothed) and every time she tried to invite herself over after that we mysteriously had other things to do.

Not overly on topic, but aren't you glad I shared?

PS, can someone come up with a name for the incident? I thinks this deserves one as much as the bedshitter does, foul though the bedshitter was and grossed out as my friends are when I relate the tale. (BTW Rachelswipe,I'm still in awe you didn't kill him)
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Fri 6 Jun 2008, 12:06, 22 replies)