French Exchange
No, that's not a euphemism, I was actually on an exchange trip.

The whole experience was utterly nightmarish, I was quite accomplished at speaking French so was somewhat surprised that they placed me with a family who spoke exclusively in Italian.

Things did not go well.

I washed in freezing water the whole time. I was a veggie, they knew this and agreed to provide veggie meals. The first meal they presented me with was beef. I wasn't a veggie any more.

The only words spoken to me by the mother in a language I understood were "I can clean your bra yes?". I said no whilst slowly backing away.

The one and only shining light in this entire shitheap of a trip was the fact that my boyfriend was there too. There was a party planned every few nights and we managed to get a bit of drunken fumbling done, without ever finding anywhere private enough to get on with it properly.

As this fortnight in Hades finally came to an end, I was bursting with teenage hormones and gagging to get down and dirty with him. He might have been a bit of a geek, but he could fuck for Team GB and the thought of it was making my stomach flip over like there was a little man trampolining in there.

The final big party was at the Posh Girl's house, I scoped it out as we entered; large grounds, summerhouse, clumps of trees - right, plenty of places for us to get going here. Brilliant.

The night goes well, with teenagers doing what they do. We drink, we smoke, we toke, we might have done the macarena.

A few bottles of horrible French bier later he slides over to me and asks me if I wanted to come outside with him 'wooooooooooooo' says my mind 'Yes please' says my mouth with a wicked little grin.

He takes my hand and says, "Brilliant, Concorde is scheduled to fly over any minute and no one else wanted to come outside to see it with me"

and so my dreams of outdoor filthiness were shattered, mind you it taught me not to go out with a fucking Air Cadet.
(Bliss/Full up to the brim, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 17:20, Reply)