10 May 2014


Sometimes I feel like the film The Hangover and the subsequent sequels was just someone following me around London with a camera phone.

I hit it hard a few weekends ago and managed to somehow convince a guy to make the voyage back to mine for one of the worst blow jobs I have ever given. Seriously, it was like I was eating an actual banana. He then asked if he could stick it in my ass and I obliged him.

Now let's make one thing clear here: he had a big dick, not the biggest I have ever had, but when you combine that with the fact I was not really match ready for the sticking in part, it felt like I was being fucked in half by a fence post.


I decided it was not advantageous to me nor my anus to continue with the proceedings so told him stop, to which he pulled off the condom and wanked himself off until he came on my chest.

Who said romance was dead?

We fell asleep and what felt like moments later I awoke with a headache that started somewhere around my asshole and ended somewhere around my frontal lobe.

I staggered into the loungeroom pinballing between door frames to find the blanket I normally keep at the foot of my bed strewn across the sofa and the glass of wine that was left from the night before strewn across loungeroom floor.

I thought to myself, that's odd - did the guy I brought home sleep on the couch?

My flatmate Andrew came out of his room upon hearing me questioning out load the mess in the flat.

"What happened to you last night?" he said somewhat gleefully.

"Err not sure. I picked up some guy...sorry if I woke you up when we came home."

"You didn't wake me when you came home, but you sure woke me up this morning."

"What do you mean?"

"All I heard was you screaming I'M TIRED and then pretty soon after that he left."

"Huh? Shit, I have no recollection of any of that."

Shortly thereafter a textual message came through from an unknown number that simply said "Hi! Nice meeting you last night! Hope you had a good night!"

Was that him? I assumed it was, after all it was nice meeting me - he finished on my chest. I cautiously responded "Nice to meet you too. I'm not sure how we ended things? I hope I wasn't too rude and you recovered well. I am hurting today."

I rested in the confidence that I had put to bed any of the I'M-TIRED-rudeness and nestled into the sofa for some RuPaul's Drag Race season 6 fierceness.

At about 11pm as I was getting ready for bed another text came through from another unknown number that said "Last night was strange and made me feel weird."

Hmmm. Was this a friend's number I didn't have in my phone? I had recently lost my phone and all my contacts a few weeks before (on another drunken night out #pattern #problemdrinker) and was still getting texts from random numbers and having to ask who it was. I did a mental roll call of all the friends I had seen the night before: Andy, Ciaran, yep defo had their numbers. I even texted Ciaran asking if anything untoward had happened the night before - apparently nothing worth a you-made-me-feel-weird text. Was it someone I had met at the bar? Sure, I've had some weird experiences on nights out, but I don't start taking numbers and texting them the next day to tell them so.

I decided to sleep on it and popped myself into bed and drifted off to sleep. I awoke more concerned about the text message from the nameless person and rechecked my phone. I had no recollection of doing anything bad, but what if I did? What else could I have done?

I read the text message again and decided to respond to put my mind at ease sighting severe memory loss (actual truth). A few hours later this came through:

"You really don't remember? Well you left the bed in the middle of the night after screaming at me, then when you came back into the bed after an hour you asked WHO THE FUCK I WAS? And then said you were going to call the police if I didn't leave. All completely naked. Then you screamed I'M TIRED and hopped back into bed. It was all a bit frightening so I left."

Holy shit. I especially like how I threatened to call the police. Like it was a home invasion. Anus invasion.

I put the phone down and never texted him back. I decided it was best I didn't respond because any response would be an admission of guilt and could be used as evidence in the trial of blogger Project New Boyfriend.

That day I felt so embarrassed. Here I am writing about all the weird sexual encounters and all the freaky situations I have gotten myself into and I am just as bad - if not worse. Maybe the reason why I can't find a boyfriend is because the freak in me far outshines anyone else's freak and they're all, in some form or another, writing their own blog about me. It's scary to think that the one thing holding you back from meeting someone is you.

One question did remain though, who sent the other text? At about midday the unknown number texted back:

"You pulled the hot blonde guy! I was happy for you. I went outside to answer a call from a horrible horrible horrible guy who I was seeing for a while (which I shouldn't have done coz it pretty much ruined the whole night for me and made me sad the day after) then left. Lol you weren't rude. Did you drink a lot? We did. Did you have work today?"

At least he was hot.

1 comment:

  1. Have you thought about maybe laying off the alcohol? Seems to get you into a lot of trouble. Also ever think of having this on tumblr or something? Just curious


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