Not what it said on the tin...
A couple of years ago (just after the Mad Saffa but before the current Mrs. Devil), I was desperately seeking... Well... Anything, really. All I really wanted was someone to curl up with, but failing that I’d have settled for a good old fashioned shag.

Now, I’ve never been very good at walking up to girls in bars or clubs, I don’t have any ‘lines’ or ‘moves’, so the likelihood of me ever meeting anyone was (at least it seemed so at the time) diminishing rapidly. I just knew that I’d end up old and alone. With cats.

One of the guys that I worked with, it turned out, was a Salsa instructor. He suggested that I go down to one of his classes with him – I could meet women and not have to go through the pain of stilted introductions! Bonus! Never one to pass up an opportunity to look like an octopus coming to terms with the hokey-cokey, I signed up.

The lessons were good. I found that I was actually half way decent at it, and welcomed the fact that after the class had finished, the girls came and asked me to dance (I was one of the only guys who didn’t grope them in the close holds... Hey, this is Croydon after all)! Things were going swimmingly.

And then, a new barmaid started working in the bar. She was short, about 5’ 1”, thin, and looked a bit like a pixie. That’s OK with me, I like the Elvin look. There’s a touch of the Kylie Minogue about her. Having found my new confidence, I start talking to her. When I go to the bar I make sure I get served by her, and it gets to the point that she actually starts fighting off other barmaids to serve me. We carried on in this little routine for a few weeks. One night, while handing me my change in the little tray, she grabbed my hand, leaned over the bar, and kissed me.

Well. That’s a first!

We organise to go out the following Monday evening.

As the day came around, I put on a crisp new shirt, had a shave, and made sure all the important bits were washed and ready for action. On with the lucky boxer shorts, a splash of scent, a brush through the hair and I was good to go. Meeting her at Covent Garden tube station, my dream began to become a little frayed at the edges.

Out from behind the bar, she had changed. She was very thin, and had ‘made an effort’. She wore a silver silk dress, a purple wooly cardigan, and a beret. Not a problem, I can live with strange dress sense, in fact, it’s quirky. I like it.

We go for drinks, and within seconds her hand is snaking its way inside my trousers. To cut a long story short, we went back to my place. Falling in to my room, we began to frantically undress each other. At her request, the lights went out. I have my arms around her, and notice that I can feel her bones moving beneath her skin – she really is very very thin. I began to worry that I might break her. I unclasped her bra and, while still kissing her, dropped it to the floor.

THADUMP!

Hang on. A lacy bra shouldn’t make that sort of noise. Hands move from a tiny waist, up a flat stomach, up to... Nothing. Not even two peas on an ironing board. I have no problem with small boobs or flat chests - I’m a legs and bum man but I HATE CHICKEN FILLET BRAS! (Ladies, you are all beautiful. Big boobs or small boobs. Long legs or short legs. Flat belly or pot belly. Just don’t lie! Be proud of what you’ve got! I am not Gok Wan.)

No problem. She’s very enthusiastic, so let’s carry on. I remember myself just in time and tell her that I’m really, really not looking for a relationship. She agrees. We hop on the good foot and do the bad thing.

Thus follows a day of 25 text messages, 14 ‘phone calls all telling me that she knew I didn’t want a relationship, but she thought we could work well together. I reaffirmed my point – it was fun hanging out with her, but I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship yet.

The next salsa lesson came around. I’d made a group of friends there, and was dancing with one of the girls. The barmaid came storming over, tore us apart, slapped the girl I was dancing with, slapped me, shouted “HOW DARE YOU? I thought we were SPECIAL!” and ran out.

I didn’t see her again that night. I arrived home to a text message saying “I can’t blieve ud do that in front of evry1. Mayb we shud leave it. C u l8r.”

So I was dumped when I didn’t even know I was in a relationship, and by text speak too.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 11:39, 6 replies)

Haha!
Mental!

*clicks*
( Bert Monkeysex is waiting for the mods to delete him, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 11:47, closed)

Never one to pass up an opportunity to look like an octopus coming to terms with the hokey-cokey
You get a click for that alone!
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 10 Jun 2008, 11:51, closed)

Well
with such callous disregard for the poor skeletons feelings, I mean dancing, at a salsa night! What were you thinking! You clearly got what you deserved.

Loved the hokey cokey line too.
( Bazongaloid, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 11:56, closed)

Definitely a click
for the hokey cokey line ... and the thadump - brilliantly descriptive of the noise.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Tue 10 Jun 2008, 13:47, closed)

what i want to know...
...is how she reached over the bar to kiss you when shes only 5'1

one of those wee kick stools like in woolies?

click
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 13:54, closed)

Click
for "thadump" alone :D
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Tue 10 Jun 2008, 18:29, closed)