home made valentine
Primary school, valentines day. I had spent the previous evening making a valentines card from paper and many red crayons. I shyly gave it to the red haired girl who's name I can no longer remember and is now probably the mother of 30 children, fat and blousy (Irish catholics, god loves 'em!).
5 minutes later I was being beaten up in the toilets by her 'boyfriend' the towns only black kid.
The next romantic encounter was one year later at middle school. She and her friends chased me round the playground, caught me, pinned me down and I was forcibly 'snogged'.
Then she beat me up a couple of days later because I really really wouldn't go out with her.
There is a patten emerging.....
(godisdove I like cheese, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 22:48, Reply)

2 in 1
When I was a young and emotionally stunted cockwit, I had a friend called W with whom I would fool around at parties. She felt more for me than I did for her, and eventually I lost all my friends over the issue.

After most of a year, everyone calmed down enough for us to start getting on again, and W and I saw 2007 in snogging one another senseless. I still didn't have the stones to actually ask her out (despite the fact that not doing so was probably going to get me thumped). On the night of her 18th birthday it became clear she was getting a bit worked up by the fact that I was -for lack of a better phrase- using her. Again. It was now or never.

She had to duck out to take out some money, so I volunteered to go with her. Cue much eye rolling and looking angry from friends who were also getting a bit pissed off. We got to the cash point. By now I was almost blacking out from stress (first time I'd ever asked a girl out, at age 18. Oh the shame).

Me: "Listen, W. I... you... I've always really liked you..."

My throat froze solid. I probably looked like I'd been kicked in the fork. The words just wouldn't come. Thankfully she had the brains to figure out what I meant, and she kissed me as her way of saying yes. Score.

Over the next 8 months or so she prised me out of my shell, gave me confidence I never knew I had, and generally fixed my life in every way. 3 months in I told her I loved her, while we were lying on our backs looking at the stars and treetops in a park at 4am. She said it back. Then a friend of ours vomited behind us.

Unfortunately, I had to cock it all up by kissing someone else while hammered. I got a thump for that (off W).

We didn't see each other for a couple of months, but we were still so smitten despite everything that we could barely cease talking for more than a week. Just after New Year 2008 I was invited to stay with her at uni for a few days: the first time I'd seen her since the day I gave back her stuff.

She met me off the coach. It was raining. We got Chinese food. It was like we'd never been apart. We went back to her room. There was nowhere to sit except the bed.

20 minutes later we're lying in said bed, a healthy glow about us. I looked her in the eye, no longer afraid.

"W... I still love you."

She cried, I very nearly cried, it was beautiful. We've been together ever since. Only 9 months, but it's still going brilliantly. She's perfect for me in every way. We decided today (at 5am) that if we ever get married, we'll have Tim Minchin's 'If You Really Loved Me' and 'You Grew On Me' played at our wedding. I've grown up that last little bit enough to stop taking risks ("seeing if I can get away with snogging Girl X" being typical of my old behaviour) and keep faithful.

Length? 18 months if you don't include the 3 months apart.
(bad1dea, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 22:33, 7 replies)

In Prague
an Albanian dwarf chased me down the street after I'd ordered a pizza slice from him in broken czech. This is because he assumed (correctly) that I was British.

'will you be my girlfriend?' asked the small man.
'erm, no' responded I.
'ok, will you be my wife then?' asked the small man.
(trying to run away) 'erm, even more no' responded I.
'I just want a British passport!' said the small man.

Needless to say, I suddenly lost the ability to speak english ('Ich jsem uno Skot!!'), and backed away slowly from the despondant Eastern European midget.
( ascorbate, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 22:15, 7 replies)

Gay nightclubs and the perfect gentleman...
Our eyes met across the dance floor of a gay nightclub. I was on a night out with some friends, and he was... well... I'm not entirely sure what he was doing in there, but anyway.... After a few hours of being the only straight couple in the club I played my best line and we left the club together, hand in hand.

Outside, he flagged down a taxi.
I got in.
He closed the door behind me and waved me off into the sunset....
I went home alone, confused, sexually frustrated, and wondering what just happened!

A few days later, I agree to meet him for a drink in a bar in town.
I arrive.
We drink, talk, kiss, but still he can't be persuaded to come home with me.
I go home alone once again, still confused, sexually frustrated and starting to think there might be something wrong with me. Or him...

We repeat the above a few more times, until some weeks later, he comes to my house to cook me lunch and to prove that there is life outside of vegetarianism (he's French - they don't understand the concept of not eating meat!)
He cooks (salmon, and it was delicious - his plan worked perfectly!)
We talk, eat, kiss, and all is going well. I'm confident that this is the day that I'll get what I've been waiting for all this time.

That is, until my housemate walks into the room....

There is a look of horror on both of their faces.
She makes her excuses and goes to her room.
He makes his excuses and leaves the house pretty sharpish.

A few enquiries later, and I find out that my new acquaintance works for my housemates mum. Ok, so maybe that time it was just too close for comfort... but still, I'm alone once again with those familiar feelings of sexual frustration. Argh!!!

We did eventually manage to get it together after a few more weeks of sexual frustrations, and four years later, we're still together and very happy.

I later found out that he was actually just playing the part of a gentleman on each of the dates which I had considered to be 'non-starters'. Being an English girl, I'd clearly forgotten that existed and had just assumed that he didn't want to sleep with me....!!
(etak, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 22:11, 1 reply)

john
many moons ago, i was invited to my friend's engagement party.
i held a deep dislike of her chosen mate, he would time her when she went shopping, pick his nose and then attempt to shake your hand, make you feel decidedly unwelcome and report her to the police as a missing person with "mental difficulties" if she was out of the house for more than an hour.
however, this was the man she had chosen, so i decided to bury the hatchet and go along to wish them well.

i arrived at the party at 8, expecting it to be in full swing.
what i didn't expect was to be the only guest to have shown up.
we sat, drank, smoked and made stilted small-talk for an hour or so.
suddenly, thankfully, the doorbell ramg. my friend jumped up to answer it, leaving me and her vile beau sat watching red dwarf(yes, it really was that dull).
she returned to the "party" a minute later and uttered the words "smash, this is john." i looked up at the man who had entered the room with her. it took a few seconds to register in my brain that i was unable to breathe. he was tall, slim, striking; already grey and quite a bit older than me, but with an air of total confidence that would have seemed cocky in a younger man. the air between us seemed to burst into flame, although i could have been imagining that part.
introductions completed, he sat down opposite me and began to make pleasantries with our hosts.
my eyes, however, did not-could not-leave his face.
i spent the next hour or so giving monosyllabic replies to my friend's questions, my mind completely awash with feelings of lust for this ageing adonis.
finally, i remembered that i'd promised to meet my cousin in the pub(she was a barmaid) for a drink, so i made my excuses and prepared to leave. to my surprise, john stood up and grabbed his coat.
"i can't allow a lady to walk around at night without an escort, can i?" he grinned, taking my arm. i almost fainted there and then.

the walk to the pub was short and silent, my mouth was far too dry for words to be formed. as we stopped outside the door, he turned to me and said "if your cousin isn't here, you will come back to the party, won't you?"

and then he kissed me.

tingles of electricity raced up my spine, hotwiring my brain and turning my legs to water. never before or since have i been kissed like that.
by the time my brain was functioning again, he was already walking away, back to the party. i wandered into the pub in a complete daze, no more capable of rational thought than of flight. conversation with my cousin proved impossible, so it was decided that i should go back to the party.

i arrived back within half an hour, to discover that there were still no more guests. i didn't care, though, john was still there.
he walked me home when i left an hour later and kissed me on the doorstep, before asking for my number.

what followed was the most wonderful, intense, passionate 9 months of my life. unfortunately, like most things that seem too good to be true, it was. i learned from our mutual friend, she of the obnoxious fiance, that john was married. not only married, but a father to 2 young boys.

my world was turned upside down. what should i do? confront him? tell his wife? carry on as if nothing had happened? all of these options swirled through my head constantly. due to the fact that i was head-over-heels in love with him, i did the only thing i could: i told him it was over. he begged me to reconsider, telling me he loved me more than life itself. he asked me why i was doing this, but i couldn't tell him, couldn't give him the chance to make excuses that my love-fogged brain would desperately want to believe. it was the hardest thing i'd ever had to do, but it was the right thing to do.

that was nearly 15 years ago. i still think about him almost every day, the way he kissed me, the way he held me, the way he would stroke my hair and nibble my ear after we'd made love. it hurt like hell to lose him, but would i do it all again? you'd better believe it!

apologies for length, i had no idea it would be this long when i started writing it.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 21:50, 4 replies)

How I met my beautiful girlfriend
About 3 years ago I moved to a lovely town called Burton in Bournemouth. I'd been purposefully visiting a shop that employed a very beautiful girl who would later become the ladyfriend of mrmonkfish.

Weeks pass by without me having the courage to act on what my innards are telling me to do, and the best I could do at the time was mumble incoherently when asked anything by her, you know the type of thing, avoiding eye contact and such.

Anyway, I'm on my way back from playing footy and I pop in the shop with a bit of coaxing from my mate Ant, I finally get the courage to ask out my favourite shop assistant with the best thing I could think of:

"Hi, Would you want to go out for a drink? It would be nice to see you when you're not taking money from me" to which she giggled and said yes, awesome! This I didn't expect, so, completely flabbergasted I left with a smile on my face, forgetting to ask for a name, or a number, didn't tell her my name or number, just left. Bloody idiot!

So I had to take another trip to the shop a few days later and introduce myself, this time a bit more successful and we're still together now. Aww, bless.
(mrmonkfish yolo420weedwizard, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 21:37, Reply)

I will never forget the shy girl
who was helping man a stall at the church Christmas fayre, when I was but a young slip of a Brownie Guide.

"I like your brother, i'm going to ask him out!" she whispered to me. I was confused.

The girl guide uniform betrayed that my brother was in fact, my sister with a severe pudding bowl haircut from mum.

The poor girl guide fled and we were left to man the stall ourselves.
(Mrs Ballunatic counting calories, not votes., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 21:07, 4 replies)

I was an alcoholic anorexic
and he was a manic depressive. We'd met at the unit he was sectioned at when I went to visit my best mate. They were on day release, and we all walked to the nearest Starbucks to drink tesco value vodka and cappuccinos.

He had a psychotic moment. The tequila came out. We walked back to the tube station together.

"I've got a condom" says I "fancy a fuck?"

"Alright then" quoth he

With the moon setting in a starry sky, we drunkenly pulled our trousers down and fucked on the bonnet of a nearby car.

I thought the evening could not get more magical- I was wrong.

I boarded the train with my inebriated mate.

"Did you use a condom" she purred "it's just he's well skanky and he's probably got everything there is going"

But we had, as he had cared for me. I just knew by the way that he'd drunkenly slipped out then apologised, and asked me to sort it out for him. He was special.

We left the train at Camden station. I fell down the stairs. My mate fell too, then threw up over herself. I wiped her as best I could with her scarf, and were then escorted from the premises.

We left the kindly staff the most fitting present we could think of.

A half empty 2 litre bottle of White Lightening.

Magical.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 20:56, 14 replies)

text messages 24.08.08
First post.. been an ardent reader of the mailing list (according to my gmail) since Issue 140: "Happy clappy baby donkeys".

the previous night to the following text messages we had been discussing going through an entire day speaking only in rhyming couplets, I'm sure you're all familiar with the idea though I'm not aware of where it originated... only lines 1 & 2 have been modified, slightly.

I should warn you of some mushy-wushyness:

~~

You're really awesome by the way
Just something I thought I ought to say

Your rhyming couplet made me smile
I'll have you know I like your style

You know its been exactly a month since I first saw you smile?
Would you like to go out with me for a while?

Sure with u i'd like to spend more time
(this is a filler i have no rhyme)
Where it'll go is anyone's guess
but it'll be fun so my answer's yes

I'm pleased to hear your answers yes
I like you lots I must confess
your presence seems to soothe my stress
and without you I'd be much less

Its clear to me you've won this game
When compared my lines are lame!
Though ill add you're exaggerating to make a point
While I'm multitasking you're prob only smoking a joint*

I'm a poet and I didn't know it
but these lines are shit
I must admit my brain is weary
Can I give you one more query?
Can we speak in normal sentence?
This rhyming is a true penance

I think we agree this game is done
and I for one will say you... Did better.

~~

*I was, she was at work. Mwah!
(mrkpwnz yes sirree bob, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 20:38, Reply)

offtopic but I needed to tell you this one...
A little off-topic and I've already posted mine, but I thought I'd share what just happened literally a minute ago.

Currently filling in an online interview for a new job, the question was...

"What makes you feel proud

Think about something significant that you have achieved at work, a project or piece of work that made you feel really proud. Briefly describe it below."

My GF read the above question and quipped this gem:

"When I go the toilet and use only one sheet of toilet paper afterwards."

As I'm sure you all know, I've found The One.

That is all.
(billybobbean is still trying to make it QOTW's best of the week, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 20:32, 2 replies)

Cheeses and me
Cheeses of Nazareth decides he fancies my pants off one day at his work (he used to work for a big charity for whom i volunteered), nicks my personal email address of their DP protected database and sends me flirty emails and his phone number with a promise not to send inappropriate drunken texts from the pub. He lied.

Now we have a baby cheeses and we're really very happy. Love is great.

Length - not as long as his sound engineer hair
( Animanga, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 20:25, 2 replies)

Somewhat orthodox.
I was at a particuarly hedonistic and debauched party and I approached a girl and said:

"You, me...... bestial congress?"

It certainly worked.
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 19:39, 5 replies)

I cant believe it actually worked
If I give you 17p will you show my your knickers!

Classy, aint I?
(ShaftManlike, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 19:05, 1 reply)

Statuesque
In uber-shite and now defunct club, Zeus.
"Have you finished with that cigarette?"
"No, why?"
"Because I want to stick it up that Statue's arse"
I couldn't believe it worked either...
(upthecity, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 19:03, Reply)

B3ta Cherry Poppin...
And lo it was many moons ago that I found myself in the 7th circle of hell; AKA Amadeus night club in the chav birth place horror story that is the Medway Towns. A club that is far from home and non-extortionately priced public transport. A club of Rohypnol, underage girls in low-cut fanny-skimming, backless, frontless polyester, sovereign rings, Mackenzie, florescent drinks and a DJ who insists on yabbering over the top of the God awful choons about Stacey's 18th Birfffday etc. You're getting the picture.

Anyway I think I was about 17 and standing in the queue to drown my sorrows in said brightly coloured alcohol, hoping to numb the pain of being here in the first place. I say 'queue' but it was more of a stampeding heaving mosh pit of youths desperate for more brain cells to be killed. And so I was separated from friends, on my own and unable to move in the midst of goons and sweaty armpits. And it was while I was in this situation that I suddenly felt my arse being groped heavily; in a shockingly intimate and scary way; strange hands moving precariously close and around my very private parts. I turn round sharpish to confront El-Sleazo (who is practically salivating and playing with his member) and tell him to piss off whilst looking/feeling totally disgusted and violated. Does he back off according to my wishes? Ha! He immediately does exactly the same thing only with more gusto. I squeeze out of the queue/pit and back to my friends, sober as a judge and quietly weeping.

Apologies for slight off topic-ness but the current Mr ElDoofus seduced me with booze and persistence and there is little else to the story. Gents take note: sometimes the hands-on approach is effective; but please opt for a good old fashioned slap on the bum and not a full on arse molesting whilst your victim is unable to move. Not nice.

First post, long time lurker. Be gentle :)
(Eldoofus, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 18:29, 3 replies)

just before i met my current beau,
some lad tried to guilt-trip me into going out with him by following me into the toilets, going down on one knee and actually begging.

needless to say, i did not oblige!
(keeIey, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 18:21, 1 reply)

Badly tricked by my father
being a young'un and colourblind (and hayfevered) i could not tell that the flowers my Dad had brough back from the garage were pretty much on their last legs. I hated flowers, did't know they were bleeding colour as they decomposed - flowers do look like that if you can't really tell what colour they are supposed to be!!

I then used them to ask out my fixation - the amply-boobered Emma(This was the first of 4 Emma's, all which ended oddly - and apart from an 18 month Sarah(ah!) in between were consecutive).

I wandered down the road, wet look gel in place, shirt open to reveal #no# chest hair at all and flowers in hand.

I ring her bell, her Dad (ex RAF and an asshole to boot) opens the door. I ask for her and he politely gets her for a change.

I hand over flowers, and ask if she would like to go out with me. It took so much to do that reverse walk of shame that having completed it i was on cloud 9, ready and expectant.

She shrieked and screamed at what an asshole i was and the flowers were as dead as our fledgeling relationship and slams the door in my face as she binned the flowers. I was decimated.

It was then i went home, in a teary 15 year old rage to find my Dad laughing "Well she wasn't right for you, she's been twisting your head..blah blah blah"

"No - she had been letting ME twist HER Tits".

He might have been right. But, it for any-gods sake - DO NOT interfere with another mans prospects.

I never twisted those titties again.

As a reprise to this, i got a message from her on friends-reunited. Whether as a joke or not, she remembered me fondly and the marathon tongue-a-thon (and her first grinded out fully clothed orgasm - i thought i had suffocated her!) and actually said she had a wonderful start to her sexual life which has carried on with a very strong libido.

By then, i was/am happily married and about 300 miles away to boot. GRRRAAAArrrrggggggh. Dad, what have you done........................

This wakes me up with a cold sweat sometimes, as i remember her, and curse my dad in equal measure.
( bazza van der trance , ooh baby baby, baby baby. Get up on this., Tue 2 Sep 2008, 17:29, 4 replies)

This is the tale of a mate of mine
Which has to be posted really.

I've got an aussie mate who works as a performer over here, but as anyone who's tried to get a visa will know, it's bloody hard. Due to the nature of what she does, she has to carry her props on board with her, which is always fun to explain to customs....

To cut a long story short, she was looking for a husband. A bloke who'd be willing to move to Melbourne for a year, live in her mum's empty house by the sea whilst she finished her studies in oz. We'd been on this mission for a year or so when my other half mentioned it to the guy he works with.

This guy had a brother who had recently split up with his girlfriend, and wanted to get away for a bit. So we gave our mate his details and left them to it.

They emailed each other, brother is up for it in theory, but will have to meet up with her next time she comes back to England.

He meets her at the airport. They drive to a hotel and don't leave for a week. Although they were planning to have a cheap civil ceremony, the two of them have ended up falling madly for each other and had a huge wedding in Australia and have now been married for 2 years, with kids in the pipline.

AND she's got her visa.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 17:18, Reply)

The first time a girl asked me out.
Amy said to me:
"Will you go out with me?"
I replied with:
"Err well I will just have to go ask my mum."
And so I rode home, leaving her speechless.

I thought she meant to go visit somewhere. I was only 7 :)
(Miggyman, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 17:10, 2 replies)

No drug taking occurred during this story
it was my 24th Birthday and I was celebrating in a pub with a load of friends, and their friends of friends, twas a cracking night.

at the end of the night I was royally drunk as you can imagine and my mind turned to sex and even though my FB I went to a friends wife's friend and said the immortal line that follows: "I wanna fcuk you and I wannna fcuk her too but I heard you might be able to get some spliff so can I fcuk you?" she said yes, I burped in her face and 3 years later we were married.

never got the spliff, she phoned her dealer and he was in India and we were in north london.
(Starzy had a headache on, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 17:10, Reply)

jenny clump
I was an unpopular boy at school. Cursed with acne and a mother who made me wear knock-offs from the market, I was the least likely to ever have a date with a school fellow. Even the bad-smelling kids from the council esate had girlfriends, although that might be called incest these days.

So I decided on a bold strategy. I'd simply ask every girl in my year on a date. Statistically, there must have been be one who would say yes. Naturally, I started with the most attrective ones - the ones I'd been jissing my pants over for years. But they said no. Or rather, they said they'd rather rub shit in their hair than speak to me, let alone go on a date. It wasn't that I was spotty, thin and dressed in Tracey Austin trainers - it was because I was unnattractive and a dickhead. So at least it wasn't personal.

After a few weeks I was down to the beasts - that's to say the girls who looked like root vegetables rather than humans. They smelled bad, their hair leaked oil and even dogs were wary of them. But I had made my pledge and approached Jenny Clump (real name).

Jenny was not goofy in the conventional sense. She was goofy in the 'dental hall of infamy' sense. Her top teeth here almost horizontal and as big as a horse's. She couldn't close her lips over them, and they had lichen growing on them. But most people didn't notice her teeth because she was clinically obese and smelled like an old stilton wrapped in used toilet paper.

"Would you like to go on a date with me?" I asked tremulously. And of course she said yes. Despite my desperate situation (my wanking arm looked like Popeye's compared to my stick-thin other arm), I realised that my only chance was to use this first and only date to put her off.

We went to the cinema. It might have been ET, I can't recall. I recall that she had to pay for two sats to accommodate her vast buttocks. I recall that the whistling of her breathing over that plateau of enamel irritated me throughout the film. I even recall her clamping my hand bewteen her bare thighs and the chunks of popcorn I found there (we had no pocorn with us).

The kiss was bad. Not bad in the sense of technique, as such. But her two front teeth were up my nose as her pork-scratching-dusted tongue lashed around my chin. I made a polite grab for her breasts, but they were at stomach level and that didn't feel right. She had brought condoms and it looked for a moment like I might actually have to lose my virginity.

Fortunately, as we left the cinema, she was tranquilised by a zoo recovery team out looking for an escaped bison and I was able to slope off home as they lugged her body into a flatbed. It was awkward for a few weeks after that, but I did finally get a date a blind girl from a local school.

She thought my dress-sense was cool.
(frankspencer, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 17:08, 2 replies)

Oh Tess (Update - see page 2.)
***Warning - contains no peril***

As some of you (from off-topic) are aware, I met my friend Tess for a walk with Henry (my surrogate son, and dog) on Saturday. This is the story of the event.

We walked, we held hands, we talked about everything and nothing and then I started speaking to her in my truly, truly AWFUL Danish and she asked:

"Did you learn Danish for me?"

To which I replied ...

"Erm, yes".

She kissed me. I kissed her. She kissed me again. Henry jumped up on her (he NEVER does that) and snogged her. We hugged.

We went for lunch and I spent most of the meal with my tongue in spasm (due to my being unable to speak in case I blew it - burst the bubble of absolute amazement that I seemed to have landed in).

Asked her at the end of the meal if she'd go out with me, despite everything (everything = me being mentalist, me having all of the social skills of a badly built clam, etc). She said (and these words will stay with me for a LONG time):

"I thought you'd never ask".

Woo!

Edit: Tess just rang me (1658). We're off to Denmark this weekend.
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 16:54, 14 replies)

Fate, Tokyo-style
WARNING: Contains mild peril, adult themes and a happy ending.

What follows is a series of unlikely events that happened to me a few years ago. In the summer of 2005, I was still a fresh-faced IT graduate working for my first investment bank. An opportunity arose for one person in the combined global teams to visit Tokyo for a six-month secondment to work on a large project.

After a short battle of wits with my colleagues in the USA and Germany, I was selected from a pool of ten or so likely candidates. The stage was set for half a year in crazy Tokyo.

A few weeks before I was due to fly out to Japan, another graduate from the New York team entered into the fray. She only wanted a piece of the project, which meant there was now awkward inter-office politics to deal with. My spineless manager ended up conceding three months so she could also spend some time in Japan. Three months in an exotic country was still better than nothing so I agreed to continue with my flight as planned.

July arrived all too soon. On the day of departure, my mind was buzzing with nervous excitement. I’d had a fantastic summer of festivals spending quality time with my friends and family. Bouncing up the steps into the regal surroundings of Virgin Atlantic’s ‘Upper Class’ cabin (corporate expenses are excellent), I slinked into the seat, complimentary champagne cocktail in hand. I stuck out like a sore thumb. All the other passengers in my section were aging businessmen in grey suits. My incongruous appearance and my buoyant mood seemed to catch the attention of a pretty cabin crew girl. She kept brushing past my arm and making none-too-subtle eye contact, so I threw caution to the wind by taking every opportunity to flirt outrageously with her. I think the bubbly helped too. A few hours later, it paid off. The lights went out for the night portion of the flight and she made good on her promise that if I needed “anything at all” she would “make my flight more comfortable”, courtesy of an extended tour of the Upper Class toilets. ‘Virgin’ Atlantic my arse…

Upon landing at Narita, properly worn out after the best flight I will ever take [cough], I felt like the whole world was at my feet. My confidence levels were unassailably high as I checked in to the luxurious hotel my company had provided. I switched on the TV in time to watch London win the Olympic bid and abandoned all hope of getting any sleep. Instead, a night out to celebrate my ‘spawny-git’ luck seemed more appropriate.

The next morning, I dragged my jetlagged, hung-over carcass into the office and managed to stumble through breakfast, meet-and-greets and a full day in the office. I’d barely slept for 48 hours which combined with +8 hours time difference meant I was essentially sleep-walking for most of the day. My moment of clarity arrived at about half past five in the afternoon as I was checking the day’s news. A story was breaking in the UK that morning about a series of power problems on the London Underground. Apparently, several transformers had exploded…. simultaneously… on different stations and lines… during rush hour.

Oh fuck… please no....

One look at the map of the explosions confirmed what was glaringly obvious to everyone except the BBC. It was a co-ordinated attack on London’s transport network. My mood changed quickly, from one of blind shock to total relief. Two of the stations were on my normal route into the London office at about the same time that I usually went to work. Had I not been in Tokyo, there was a strong chance I would have been directly involved in the Liverpool Street or Aldgate blasts. As the enormity of the events was being absorbed, my feelings of relief drained away as concern mounted for my friends in London.

The Tokyo office was full of British ex-pats who crowded around the TV screens. The phone lines were all dead in London so it was impossible to confirm if our colleagues, friends and families back home were okay. We went downstairs to the bar and watched events unfold. My body and brain were too fatigued to adequately reconcile what was happening, and so my spiral of decline began.

I recall very little of that evening as I ended up getting horribly pissed. The next week or so was much the same as the isolation from anything familiar and comforting began to take hold. I spent the daytime ambling through the working day and the evenings drinking, puking or engaging in meaningless sex with any trollop who would have me. Sometimes all three at once. As fun as that may sound, it was as close as I’ve been to a living hell. I lost all respect for myself and was seriously considering going home.

Then my brother arrived for a ten-day visit. He and an old school friend had both been made redundant so they’d decided to capitalise on my free accommodation in Japan and take a cheap holiday. I barely saw them for the first few days as they went out every night, but it was the boost I desperately needed. Just seeing familiar faces again restored my composure, so I started the working week with a renewed desire to catch up with my lagging project work.

About halfway through the week, I arrived back in my flat after work to find my brother, his friend and two Japanese girls sitting in my living room sipping green tea. I learned that my brother had managed to seduce one of these girls the previous night and had spent the night at her place, frolicking as young people on holiday are wont to do. He takes after his older brother … The other girl was a friend of my brother’s conquest.

Keiko (for that was not her name, but it will do) also spent the night at this girl’s flat as all the trains had finished for the night, then she’d tagged along with the others the following morning. She was quiet, but she seemed to enjoy making conversation with me while the other three chatted amongst themselves. There was *something* about Keiko that I found quite bewitching…

That same day at work, I’d been given a new mobile phone, but my phone book was empty. I asked if I could take Keiko’s number as she seemed warm, friendly and, most importantly, she spoke good English (I couldn’t speak Japanese at all back then) so it seemed like a smart move. After a short while, the girls said their goodbyes and I sat and listened to my brother’s shameful boasting (as I said, he takes after me) while pondering my brief but jovial encounter with this mysterious and enchanting girl.

I couldn’t take my mind off Keiko. She was so unlike the other women I’d met so far in Japan, so delicate and feminine, adorable in every way. My usual tactic would have been to attempt a quick one-night stand but I didn’t want to tarnish her with a cheap fling. Unusually for me, I just couldn’t find the courage to call her. I was suffering a mental block that placed her tantalisingly out of my reach.

Friday came and my brother and his mate went home. I felt a little sad to see them go, but their visit had repaired my self-esteem so in the evening my work mates and I went out into Roppongi and we had a *massive* night out in town. I wobbled back into my apartment at 7am in the blazing sunshine of a summer Saturday morning and collapsed face-first asleep on my sofa. At around midday, I crawled the short distance to the kitchen, poured a glass of water and fell into my bed.

You know when you get woken up in an unusual way, sometimes things just don’t make sense? Well, the first sensation I remember was wondering why I had a wet face… don’t get any nasty ideas though. It turned out to be the glass of water I’d rested on the shelf behind my bed. The reason I was wet was because the contents of the glass were splashing to and fro. I sat bolt upright as it dawned on me what was happening…

A FUCKING EARTHQUAKE!

Dealing with a massive hangover is hard enough, but when the entire world around you is shaking like a shitting dog, it’s difficult to work out which movements are real and which are self-induced. I crab-walked across my room, braced myself in the door frame and watched plates and glasses tumble out of my cupboards. The ‘quake was terrifying and seemed to last ages, but eventually, the shaking subsided. I got dressed quickly, picked up my phone instinctively… and saw just one number. I pressed the ‘call’ button and waited for Keiko to pick up.

“Very big earthquake!” she squeaked at me down the phone. I stammered back my rubbish attempt at Japanese “Hai, sugoi eartho-quako!”. She giggled and my heart fluttered. We were excited and edgy having just experienced this awesome natural display of power, but talking to each other was providing a soothing effect for us both.

I asked where she was when the ‘quake happened and it happened to be in the local cinema not more than a ten minute walk from my apartment. I agreed to meet her for a coffee so we could recount our experiences, but I was secretly just pleased to be seeing her again. About nine minutes later I was opposite the coffee shop and I found Keiko sitting there, waiting for me. When she noticed me cautiously watching her from across the street, she smiled in a way I will never forget. It was a radiant, sunny smile that made me forget all about the earthquake. I knew then that I was smitten with her.

We spent the rest of the day just hanging out together. Later that evening she came round to my apartment and we watched DVDs together after I enjoyed a meal she cooked in my tiny little kitchen using the remainder of my unbroken crockery. Unusually for me, rather than trying it on, I walked her to the train station and watched wistfully as the carriages pulled away. It had been a long time since I’d felt such strong emotions for anybody and I was perversely enjoying that long-absent yawning in my stomach.

A few days later, Keiko and I met up again and went out in Tokyo for a proper dinner date. Afterwards we went out in town but by the time we wanted to go home, it started raining unbelievably hard, so we waited it out. The rain refused to stop –Tokyo typhoon season is like that— and again, all the trains had finished, so we made a dash for a taxi back to my apartment. We were both absolutely dripping wet, so I offered her a towel and said she could get changed into one of my shirts while she waited for her clothes to dry. Deep down I was hoping for more, but I still didn’t want to risk spoiling the magic we were generating together. After about five minutes of getting changed in my bedroom, she stepped out, still with wet hair (one of my biggest turn-ons) wearing just two items of clothing… my home town football top and, as I was to later discover, a pair of sexy silk panties. I was in heaven! After much kissing and cuddling, I asked her (in badly broken Japanese) if she wanted to spend the night together.

She looked at me with those beautiful brown eyes and softly whispered one word:

“hai”.

-----------------------------
EPILOGUE:

Keiko and I stayed together as an item for the remainder of my trip, but I had to go home in September. It was too much to bear for both of us, so Keiko ended up visiting me in London a month later. She then decided that she wanted to stay with me in the UK, so she moved here in early January 2006 and she’s been with me ever since. We got married in January 2007 and we’ll shortly be moving back to Tokyo so I can repay her commitment to me with my own tour of duty.

So there you have it. A series of seemingly unconnected events, not unlike the movie Magnolia, which culminated with me meeting my future wife.

And the best part? It’s all true.
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 16:45, 11 replies)

I used to feel cheated

Whenever I watched the telly, and there was some drama about single Mums. Not only did they manage to attract good looking men so easily that they’d usually have to beat them off with a stick, but the blokes they ended up shagging weren't put off by their kids (and the kids never interrupted their noisy lovemaking sessions) and after a slightly awkward afternoon at the park, they’d all be one big, happy family (unless it was one of those murder stories, in which case, all of the above, but ending in bloodshed).

In RL however, us single Mum's are provided, free of charge and gratis, with a large tattoo on the forehead which says "Single mum: Keep away" and a large bell attached to an unattractive hat which tolls loudly as we lumber down the high street, to warn the men of the parish to keep away.

I've had washing machine repairmen, window cleaners, gas meter-readers, catalogue deliverymen all come to the house and behave impeccably; true gentlemen. None of my childrens' teachers fancy me and none of their friends' dads are available or, it would seem, interested in a little bit on the side.

So, where to meet men? Well, at work of course. The one place where I am more "K" than someone's mum. The one place where I can display a modicum of control, professionalism and competence, in my own right. The main problem being that I have the misfortune to work in HR for a London borough. I know that people hate HR, and they're not alone, I do too.

It's a thankless job, but someone has to mess up the interviews, get payroll details mixed up and produce handbooks with updated policies on the need to be 'age blind' when recruiting for new posts - as well as race, gender, disability, sexuality, religion, and weight blind.

And do the training.

His name is Jason and I fell for him before I even saw him - honest! I spoke to him on the phone a few times when I was setting up some problem solving training. He had a soft northern accent, which is fairly rare around here, and which I couldn't quite place until he said "book" and it came out as "boook" - Stoke-on-Trent. He also had a smile in his voice which I found infectious. He worked in the planning area of the council but was a specialist in problem solving and was coming to us on a six month secondment, to roll out the techniques he'd learnt to various areas of the organisation. I was his main point of contact.

There is one good thing about working in HR: you have contacts. As carefully as a hunter, I stalked my prey - never getting too close, never getting up-wind, always playing it cool. Well, that was the plan, in reality, I rang Katie, a woman I knew in planning, and invited her for coffee. No need to say more - she knew there was a reason as we weren't good buddies or anything, just long acquaintances. As we sat down in the canteen later that day I could see she was dying to know why I'd contacted her. I tried a little small-talk but she told me to stop messing about and cut to the chase.

"So, this guy Jason," I said, "I'm going to have to be working with him quite a bit for the next six months, and, I, just wondered, what he was like." From her face, I could tell she could read my mind as clearly as black pen on a flip-chart.

"Well, he's very good looking!" she started, grinning like a fool and checking my reaction, "and he's single".

The next day it was raining but I got up as soon as the alarm went off and made sure the kids got up early too. I dressed carefully and put on my best undies - not because I thought anyone would see them, but just because they made me feel more sexy. I always dress smart for work - unless it's dress down day - but I tried the 'soft and gentle but smart' approach that day - a knee-length summer skirt, white with a motif of large black stylised leaves and a soft, yellow cardigan and flat black shoes. I was running ten minutes early by the time I saw the kids off to the bus stop which meant I got to my desk relaxed and calm. The meeting was 9.30 and I thought that I was pretty well prepared.

I wasn't, not for what followed that morning.

As I said, I dressed smart - that was the dress code. Suits and ties were not obligatory for men, just smart casual, but many of the older men did wear suits every day. Jason though wore cargo trousers and a rumpled, casual striped shirt, open over a surfer-type t-shirt and red tennis shoes. He had a necklace of small beads, his hair was gelled and looked sun-bleached and he had a couple of days' stubble on his face. He was getting on for 6' tall and he had a lovely smile. He must have been in his mid to late 30s. As he walked through the door and scanned the office, everyone stopped what they were doing and gawped. It wasn't so much that he was a very good looking man, but more the contrast to the few men that usually came through that door.

"Hi, I'm looking for K," he said [loooking] "I'm Jason."

I sort of put my hand up and waved, as my mouth seemed not to work in its fallen-open state. I cleared my throat "Jason, hi, I'm K". I stood up and as he neared my desk, I leaned over to shake his hand, making sure I leant over a little further than necessary. Hey, if you've got them, flaunt them, and I've got them - three times a breast-feeder notwithstanding.

"Look," he said, "I specialise in getting people to think outside the box and come up with innovative solutions. What do you say we go to Costa Coffee for our meeting?"

"That sounds like a very fine idea to me," I said plucking my jacket off the coat stand before turning back to my desk and bending down to pick up my bag from the floor. "If anyone needs me, I've got my mobile," I told the others. Jason was already holding the door open for me.

We found a free table with a couple of low comfy chairs around it and put down our coffees. I was feeling light-headed as I discreetly(ish) crossed my legs opposite him. We both sat back and looked frankly at each other and laughed.

"Shall I say it?" he said, "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"I've been waiting for this moment since I first spoke to you on the phone," I replied. “and I’m not convinced that I’m not still fast asleep in bed and dreaming.”

He nodded, "I could tell you were a wonderful person from your voice, but I had no idea you'd be such a beautiful woman too. So, what was it you wanted to get out of this meeting?”

“Well, the original idea was just to touch base and lay down some ground rules for the way we’d operate over the next few months, but now I’ve seen you I guess what I want to get out of this meeting is dinner…unless you’ve got a better idea?”

So, that was my chat-up line.

Four days later, with the kids spending the weekend at their Dad’s, I invited him for a late Friday night meal at my place. We both played it steady at first; he opened the wine, I finished the cooking. He chose some music, I told him to make himself comfortable and pour two glasses. I fell into his arms and then we were kissing like there was no tomorrow. We only broke away when I smelt scorching food coming from the kitchen.

I turned off the cooker and went back in to find Jason, who was half lying on the sofa, sipping his wine. “Dinner will be a bit delayed,” I informed him, “but I think I’ll be able to keep you entertained in the meantime.” I undid the buttons on my blouse and dropped it to the floor behind me. Then in a fair imitation of Pretty Woman, I knelt in front of him, undid his trousers, eased them down, along with his pants and then took him gently in my mouth. He reached down to cup my boobs, which were nestling in their soft bra, either side of his cock as my mouth slid up and down its length. As I felt the pressure mounting, I slowed down, and started using just my tongue, slowly left and right, ratcheting up the pressure until he blew.

By this time, my nipples were hard and as sensitive as a fat girl on the first day in a new school. Being at least five years older than Jason gave me a confidence I didn’t know I had. I stood up, and pulled Jason’s hands so that he was standing too.

“Would you undo my bra for me?” I whispered in his ear, turning towards the sofa. He did, and as the clasps came undone, I leaned forward, spread my legs and eased my skirt up to show him that I was wearing stockings. Then I moved round so that I could lean over the arm of the sofa and I felt him pulling my pants down. He knelt down and started lapping at me as I spread my legs further, raising a knee up onto the arm of the sofa. He knew what he was doing and it had been so long since I’d had anyone do that I was coming in what seemed like seconds, he kept on going as orgasm numbers two and three followed soon after, then he stood up and I could feel him gently easing his length into me with his hands holding onto my hips. I pushed back onto him and he started really moving. By the end we were both grunting and panting and shouting and as he came I gripped him with my internal muscles, not wanting him to ever stop.

We didn’t get up the next day (apart from a prolonged session in the shower) until late in the afternoon, when I got some food together to keep our strength up. Later, we went out for a walk and had a cheap pizza and Chianti from my favourite local Italian before heading back for ‘dessert’.

That was a month ago and we’re still at the amazed stage. He’s not met the kids yet - to be honest, I don’t want anything to spoil things yet. I know they have to change, will change, but I’m not ready for that yet, and Jason agrees. I’ve told the kids that I’ve met someone and that they’ll meet him soon, but meanwhile, I’m quite enjoying working for the first time in years.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 16:31, 10 replies)

Is it only me?
My past 2 relationships have stemmed from meeting ladies online, both met randomly from friends of friends and hit it off well.

My lady of the moment is such an amazing girl, cute, sarcastic and abit filthy - It's been 2½ years now and I can't imagine being with anyone else. First time we met she launched into a hug and I ended up asking her out whilst we were spooning, clothed though I am romantic after all... hah

Off Topic from here on out.

But the sad thing is I can see if any tragedy did befall this relationship I would most likely meet my next potential partner online before meeting with them and hitting it off.

See this is where I wonder if it's only me. When I used to head out with a futile attempt to 'pull' I would be upstaged by 1 of 2 possible types of males.
Now I would say I'm in the middle of the spectrum, I like my stereotypical masculinity (short hair, real ales & ciders, understated clothing) but I also like to take care of myself (using face & hair products, keeping an up to date wardrobe and keeping fit).
But if I headed to a normal pub/club I would always luck out to the 14 stone guy built like a brick shit house, skin head and squeezed into a FCUK shirt (this was a few years ago); and if I went to the indie more alternative clubs I had to put up with being turned down for arrogant, long haired fuckers with sparkly shoes and cardigans drinking a blue WKD.

Now as you can imagine I got abit fed up and instead used nights out to dance like an idiot and have a laugh and search for companionship in other places; I just never understood why I needed to either shovel protein shake down my throat or spend all my money on my hair in order to impress drunk women.
(Vikingheadache, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 16:27, 4 replies)

CHCB, up a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G
I may come across as a complete and utter shameless hoor but I am actually quite discerning and, in truth, I didn't even have so much as a snog with a real boy (posters of Christian Slater don't count) until I was 16.

He was 18, one of the cool types (as cool as you can be in a one-horse town where the horse is a donkey and the donkey is dead) with a Keanu Reeves floppy haircut and a Public Enemy badge sewn on to his denim jacket. I was a nerdish, lanky redhead in oversized Heavy Metal t-shirts and Doc Marten boots.

There was competition, for sure - competition over him, not over me. My sister and her friends were wetting their knickers at the sight of him too. I had no female friends - hell, I barely had any friends - so I had nothing to lose except my self-respect, dignity and virginity.

And then, finally, it happened! On the way home from a party, nine people jammed into a Renault Clio, he and I ended up sitting in the boot. He began to stroke my hand and I was in such a state of complete excitement that the nine mile journey had me at the peak of excitement, not that I knew what an orgasm was, or indeed how to work the situation so that I had one.

Two days later we all went into the woods. We were running around, messing about and generally spoiling the tranquility when he and I decided to climb a tree. There, 15 feet off the ground, he wrapped one arm round a branch, another around my waist, said "if you fall, I fall" and leant in for my first kiss, which turned out to be one of the most perfect kisses I have ever experienced. I floated out of that tree, I was walking on air, and over the next three months I learned the unparalleled joy of cold hands on warm skin and how to explain away my muddy knees when I got home.

He then left me for my sister's 13 year old friend. I cried for weeks. Still, fortunately I had kept my treasured virginity intact for someone more deserving else.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 16:20, 6 replies)

Lots of cider and heavy metal!
It was I who bit the proverbial bullet and asked out the current Mr. Lucoire.

I'd gone to Birmingham to meet him, nervous as hell but there'd been a lot of flirting over MySpace messages/MSN and the like so I thought things would be ok in real life. Unfortunately, Mr. Lucoire and I are both horrifically shy.

Long story short: I went and sat in on his band's rehearsal and managed to 'make my move' (i.e. stealing a couple of kisses) before we made our way to Scruffy Murphy's (awesome metal pub in Brum - go there). We'd downed the same amount of cider, both probably wanting a bit of dutch courage before he pulls me onto his knee and kisses my face off.

I pull away and ask, rather drunkenly with a semi-Nottingham accent; 'would you consent to being my boyfriend?' (childish, but it worked).

To summarise: Cider helps, kids. I wholeheartedly encourage using alcohol to make you bolder.

Oh oh oh!!! *POP* aahh... free from the shadows. No more lurking for me!
(Lucoire tutted and shook her head in disbelief on, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 16:06, Reply)

For ages I had a crush on a fellow member of the Sex Pistols.
Eventually I told him "I fancy you, Rotten."
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 16:03, 2 replies)

God hates you and wants you to be unhappy
Apologies for the length, but the backstory helps to set the scene.

I used to work in an IT dept where the lovely Amy worked. She was a geek boys dream - into computers, gaming, booze and had what can only be described as fantastic uber-enormo breasts. I fancied her with a passion and had managed a few drunken office party snogs but, being a lame arse had got no further. This was not helped by the fact she was seeing someone; who we’ll call tw@tboy. Over the next couple of years tw@boy moved in with ‘my’ Amy and they had a child together. I begrudgingly accepted it just wasn’t going to be...

So I decided to go travelling for a while, quit my job and disappeared for a year. On my return I looked up Amy to say hi and see how things were going. Tw@tboy was gone and Amy had moved into a new house with her son. She was delighted to hear from me and asked if I would like to come round for dinner? She suggested I bring some booze and crash over being as her son was being packed off to tw@tboy’s place for the night.

Ohhhhhh yes…… for years I’d dreamt of a scenario like this and what was presented to me at this juncture looked like a green light to the inside of her pantaloons. I prepared myself. Booze was purchased along with house warming gift and johnnies. I think I even ironed a shirt and wore clean pants.

So I turn up nervous but excited; years of unfulfilled lust were about to be sated. She opens the door and let’s me in. She’s lost a bit of weight since I saw her last and looks fantastic. We catch up whilst she makes dinner. Then she tells me how glad she is I came round because she really wants me to meet her friend Kim who I will “really like” apparently.

Hmmmm…. this wasn’t in the plan, being setup with her mate. But whatever, maybe this will turn 3some-tastic and be better than I anticipated. It’s at this point, as somewhere in my head I am in a dreamland of drilling oil with Amy on her sofa, with a Kim bonus addition, that she hits me with it.

“Actually Kim is more than a friend”

I drop my premium continental lager on the floor.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while now, I’m so happy! She’s coming over in a mo’ and I’d love you to meet her”

Speak for yourself love! It takes everything I have not to throw some sort of childlike tantrum and storm out. There I am expecting some horizontal action with a bird I’ve fancied for ages, and she’s now telling me she drinks from the furry cup!

Quietly seething as we move to the living room I start to imagine what type of man hating dyke biatch has turned the lovely Amy to the other side. I wait for a short haired, dungaree wearing man-woman to arrive. The doorbell goes and in walks Kim, who can only be described as a blond bombshell.

Well we have dinner, Kim it turns out is not only gorgeous but a really nice person to boot (I hate her). I stay up late with Amy getting drunk quizzing her about her new love life before calling it a night and staggering off to my bed. Amy shows me to the spare room which is on the top floor, I lie in bed thinking through the evenings events and calling god a kent for hating me and wanting me to be unhappy. I had reached my lowest ebb. Then I hear something, movement, something like a small moan, then another, something buzzing, then a loader moan. To add insult to injury the girls were at it next door and I could hear the lot. I remember it was raining as I lay there listening to someone I really cared for probably being fisted. I can only assume it was god p!ssing himself with laughter at me.

Length? I don’t know, I only heard the buzzing.
(PabloMartini, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 15:53, 8 replies)

I have actually been asked out once at school.
Colin was his name and unfortunatly he wasn't very attractive. To be honest it stunned me for a while that I'd actually been asked out. I never envisiged it happening to me, so low was my self-esteem coupled with teh fear of boys. It was 1979 and I was 14. I was the first girl in school to get one of those new fangled perms that were all the rage and even though I was plagued with self-doubt about my looks, I thought I was quite cool and trendy looking.

Anyway, I told him that I would only go out with him if he would get his mate to go out with my best friend. My best friend was no stunner but ok looking I guess. I instructed him to meet up with us at my house on a certain day and time and we would go out together. But I had no intention of going out with him and neither had my pal with his mate. We gave them the right street but the wrong flat number.(we lived in a street of maisonettes).

The time came and my mate and I crouched down by the window of my flat and waited for them to appear. The came into the cul-de-sac and searched for the non-existant flat number. In and out of each building they traipsed with puzzled looks while we giggled and watched like the evil teenage girls that we were. Eventually they gave up and left and the next day at school, nothing was said.

I doubt it left them with a morbid hatred of women or some hang-up about asking out girls at all but I still think about whether I should have been so horrible and fer fuck's sake....I WAS ASKED OUT....BY A BOY....A HUMAN BOY.....ME....ASKED OUT.....SOMEONE WANTED ME TO BE THEIR GIRLFRIEND....AAAARRRRRHHHHHGGG!

So Colin if your reading this, I'm sorry for being a twat and I hope you've had a nice life.
( girlinthehole, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 15:48, Reply)