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- a member for 15 years, 7 months and 21 days
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- has posted 3 stories and 6 replies on question of the week
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» Public Sex
As a teenager...
I was having many-a-fumble with a local farmhand. Being 15 and living in t’country, these generally took place outside, the tops of bale-stacks, fields, copses…you get the idea.
The village I lived in at the time consisted mainly of a large theological college with expansive and lovely grounds. Thusly I could often be found bouncing up and down in a clump of trees on the outskirts of said gardens.
Then one day I was found,
by the President of the College and the Bishop of Oxford, who were having a post dinner stroll and discussing ecumenical matters.
Worst bit about it was probably the fact that the President was very good friends with my Dad.
It still makes me cringe now.
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 14:58, More)
As a teenager...
I was having many-a-fumble with a local farmhand. Being 15 and living in t’country, these generally took place outside, the tops of bale-stacks, fields, copses…you get the idea.
The village I lived in at the time consisted mainly of a large theological college with expansive and lovely grounds. Thusly I could often be found bouncing up and down in a clump of trees on the outskirts of said gardens.
Then one day I was found,
by the President of the College and the Bishop of Oxford, who were having a post dinner stroll and discussing ecumenical matters.
Worst bit about it was probably the fact that the President was very good friends with my Dad.
It still makes me cringe now.
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 14:58, More)
» Public Sex
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.
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 17:20, More)
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.
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 17:20, More)
» Letters they'll never read
Dear Head of ****** School, Oxford
Your staff is by far the worst organised, most useless bunch of bitter old fuckheads I and my daughter have ever had the misfortune of dealing with.
Your inability to correctly enter my mobile phone number onto your database fifteen times in two years became a running joke in my family.
Your threatening to expel my daughter for something she hadn't done was a spectacular illustration of your ineptitude. I could understand it if there was confusion over who had done it. There wasn't. My daughter had to take it upon herself to go to the teacher who witnessed said incident and ask him to tell you what had happened because you hadn't bothered to gather a single piece of evidence before booking the expulsion meeting. I can't even begin to fathom what thought process was gone through to just randomly pluck a name from the air and blame her for it. You utter utter shit-for-brains.
The teacher who you had received dozens of complaints about, who unraveled in front of our eyes at a parents evening, had to hit a child in the face before she was disciplined in any way.
The head of the PTA took his own child out of your school.
You decided that my daughter should be placed into the bottom set for every single subject. We could never get a justification for this from you.
When we moved her to a different school, she was placed in the top set in all of her classes within the first term. She is taking AS level subjects during her GCSE years and she is happier (and healthier) than she ever was at your vile stinking cesspool.
I have nothing but contempt for you and 95% of the people who work for you. I hope you all die in a grease fire.
(Wed 10th Mar 2010, 17:35, More)
Dear Head of ****** School, Oxford
Your staff is by far the worst organised, most useless bunch of bitter old fuckheads I and my daughter have ever had the misfortune of dealing with.
Your inability to correctly enter my mobile phone number onto your database fifteen times in two years became a running joke in my family.
Your threatening to expel my daughter for something she hadn't done was a spectacular illustration of your ineptitude. I could understand it if there was confusion over who had done it. There wasn't. My daughter had to take it upon herself to go to the teacher who witnessed said incident and ask him to tell you what had happened because you hadn't bothered to gather a single piece of evidence before booking the expulsion meeting. I can't even begin to fathom what thought process was gone through to just randomly pluck a name from the air and blame her for it. You utter utter shit-for-brains.
The teacher who you had received dozens of complaints about, who unraveled in front of our eyes at a parents evening, had to hit a child in the face before she was disciplined in any way.
The head of the PTA took his own child out of your school.
You decided that my daughter should be placed into the bottom set for every single subject. We could never get a justification for this from you.
When we moved her to a different school, she was placed in the top set in all of her classes within the first term. She is taking AS level subjects during her GCSE years and she is happier (and healthier) than she ever was at your vile stinking cesspool.
I have nothing but contempt for you and 95% of the people who work for you. I hope you all die in a grease fire.
(Wed 10th Mar 2010, 17:35, More)