Music: Every 1's a Winner - Hot Chocolate
Oh my goodness I have been so rubbish at updating my blog recently. So much has been happening that I've hardly had any time to write about it - but it's all coming, very soon!
But here's a quick update: I binned Stephen off. He of the drunken snog in the club. After ten minutes of swapping spit and 100 stalky texts from him later, our one-sided liaison was over.
It reminded me of a very valuable lesson: I should not give my number out to wonky-toothed weirdos with a penchant for collecting restraining orders.
Anyway... What is it they say about learning from your mistakes? I'm sure we're all supposed to learn valuable life lessons during the twists and turns of our complicated lives. Especially when it comes to love and sex.
Except I'm not exactly sure that I've learnt that much. All these years on, I'm still making the same lapses in judgement and ending up dishing out my number to undesirables.
But why? Why haven't I learnt anything?
It's time to delve into my romantic past to try and find some answers. Oh yes. Buckle up and prepare yourself for the most embarassing rides of my life. Part 1.
1. Ginger Buns
I was 18, still a virgin and I wanted to get some sexual experience before I went away to university. I worked weekends at a supermarket in the fruit and veg department and had been lusting over David from the bakery for months. In hindsight I have no idea why, as he was pale, ginger and a bit of a chubster. Maybe handling all those bananas had warped my judgement, but he had something about him: a swagger and a certain look. He loved himself, and that confidence was attractive to the young, inexperienced me.
After several halves of cider one Saturday night out I ended up back at his place. His parents were away on holiday, and we got naked and fumbled round for a bit. I didn’t have a clue what to do or how to give a blow job, so I just licked his cock like an orange ice-lolly and he half-heartedly fingered me. All the time I tried my best to ignore his ridiculous ginger pubes.
The next morning he gave me a tenner for the taxi home and I left feeling like a really shit excuse for a prostitute. Not a great sexual awakening.
2. No shit, Sherlock
My first real boyfriend was Alistair at university. We got together after the first two weeks of term, in those heady, alcohol fuelled days of zero responsibility. I lost my virginity to him after about a month, and from what I remember the sex was pretty good. He’s one of the few men I’ve slept with who knew where my clitoris was - but it wasn't all plain sailing. Alistair had a weird condition. Well, OK, he had a plastic stomach and arsehole. One time after we had just finished having sex, his man-made man-hole got a little bit too excited and he shat in the bed right next to me. I suppose you can’t have it all. We were together for ten months, tissues on standby.
Now aged 19, my second year at university wasn’t the best year of my romantic life.
It started off with an ill-advised hook up at a house party held by me and my housemates. I ended up snogging a bloke called Mike who lived with my housemate Suzanne’s boyfriend. We ended up seeing each other for a couple of months, and I liked him because he had a clapped out Volkswagen Polo and drove me to the supermarket. He was a nice enough guy but we never really clicked. Mike was terminally boring and I couldn’t understand a lot of what he said due to his ridiculous southern accent. He wasn’t exactly a leader in the style stakes either. His hairstyle was worse than my pre-GHD frizzy mess and he insisted on sporting a centre parting and some really dodgy ‘curtains’. The sex was mediocre and he had a small penis.
4 Nik-Nak Knob
Now at the age of 20 and still in my second year of university, I was single for what turned out to be about six months. Six long, sexually frustrated months. One weekend I went to Liverpool to visit my best friend Nicola as she was studying at university there.
After a brilliant night out with Nicola and her friends I fell into bed with her housemate Luke. I was horrified by the sight of his dick as it was all knobbly and bent out of shape like a crusty scampi-flavoured Nik-Nak crisp. He tried to have unprotected sex with me, I said no, and then shat myself for a couple of weeks thinking that I was pregnant as his penis had brushed past my pubic hair. I was still pretty clueless at this point.
So far, so crud. Is it any wonder I am so f*cked up when it comes to men?
Next instalment, coming soon...