Inspired by the story on the BBC about the girl who had to throw her poo out of the window because it wouldn’t flush, Bearsy’s near fatal incident with some extra strength viagra (other potency pills are available) and numptyboi’s tale of being deceived by his mate and and ending up trying to bed a biffer in a trash heap, I want to hear about Sotonians disastrous encounters with potential suitors, to reminisce on a time when we were free and single and playing the numbers, or recent events if you are still actively on the market. We can dress this up as relationship advice if we want but I’d rather just read funny stories. Names and locations can be changed to protect those who cannot refute said funny stories.
I will of course offer up a tale of my own…
A few years back I was on a stag weekend somewhere in the UK, we were dressed up as lifeguards, after copious pints and far too many jaegers, I find myself on the dancefloor of a club, sandwiched between two lovelies, I make my move on one of them and we are soon smooching, soon after that I am in a taxi on the way back to hers, I have not said farewell to my friends or informed them where I am being coerced to.
About 30mins later we are at the house of my potential conquest, by now I have realised my conquest is in her late forties (not a problem in itself) and we are not allowed upstairs in case we wake the kids. I am not deterred. We get comfortable on the sofa, I make the mistake of accepting a drink. We are now in talk mode. She is recently divorced. She has not been with another man in over 20 years. Her expectations are high.
I manage to get the conversation into sexy mode again and we are back to smooching. I am still very drunk. My little friend is not waking up, she takes this personally. She starts whisper/shouting at me and accusing me of not finding her attractive and demanding to know what is wrong with her. I manage to calm her down and we are back in talk mode. I have not made things better by talking. We are now back to whisper/shouting mode. This pattern continues over the next 30mins and I am now sober and inwardly panicking. We mutually agree to cease and desist all further attempts at getting jiggy. She flaunts away up the stairs and i get on the sofa.
I do not sleep. The heating is not on (it is mid february and we are way oop north) and I daren’t go upstairs. My fancy dress consists of short-shorts, t-shirt and flip-flops. In my state of fatigue and confusion I take off my t-shirt to use like a blanket. I am no warmer. I also realise I gave my phone to my friend as I had no pockets, no rescue is coming.
At around 7 she comes back downstairs and cuddles up to me. I wonder if she has remembered the events of last night. We start smooching (I now am wondering if I remember the events of last night), my little chap is more alert and I am still contemplating trying to seal this deal, alas she is about to get the kids up for breakfast and off to football. She calls me a taxi.
Mr taxi man promptly arrives, my little friend is still quite alert and cannot be concealed, mr taxi man finds this funny. On the journey back I cannot remember the name of the hotel, just that it is in the city centre. We drive around the city centre for a bit, in which time I have regaled mr taxi man with the full story, it feels good to share my traumatic experience with a sympathetic ear. After a short while I remember the name of the hotel, it is not far says mr taxi man. With my cashcard tucked in my shorts, we find a cashpoint and I get mr taximan £40. He drives off into the morning mist and I breathe a sigh of releif that I am safe. On the drive back home I am made to tell my friends the story twice, and quizzed on the details for what seems like hours, but it’s ok, because I am safe.