Happy Christmas

           Happy Christmas everyone! Slightly unfortunate episode last night at our neighbours’ Christmas dinner, but I won’t be able to enjoy today if I start reliving it now, but promise I’ll fill you in in the coming week. Incidentally woke up this morning to find our dog having sex with my stocking at the end of my bed, so at least someone's getting some action. Every cloud...

Say Hello To My Little Friend

         The phrase “turn around and bend over” is one that most men would prefer to go through life without hearing. In fact I’m confident if you went back through the history books you’d struggle to find many men who’ve has obeyed this command without seriously regretting it in the morning, or adopting a monumental lifestyle change. Unfortunately, in the bedroom, no one is higher on the obedience scale than the man who hasn’t had sex for a while, which incidentally, puts the man who hasn’t had sex at all somewhere between a gimp and a Labrador.

            

        Thankfully however, this not my story, which means it’s probably not really my story to tell. But I found it a valuable lesson on the levels of personal sacrifice that you can justify to yourself in the pursuit of sex. So I’m going to tell it anyway.

            

         The build-up to this particular incident looks fairly mundane on its own, and pales considerably in comparison to the incident itself so I’m not even going to bother describing it. Suffice it to say that the housemate in question (who will remain nameless) had managed the admirable achievement of pulling a really very attractive third year girl on Monday night, and had jumped at the chance to go home with her. I remember standing open mouthed in  the smoking area that overlooks the entrance to the club and watching as he accompanied her to the taxi, making a point of saying goodnight to everyone he recognized in the hope that they’d see who he was going back with.

           

          He left the club looking like a dog with a new toy, tail wagging, tongue hanging out, mere inches from cocking his leg over her to mark his territory. So you can understand my jubilation upon seeing him walk through the front door only hours later looking like he’d just seen his granny in a retro porn film. As it transpired this third year girl had slightly more planned for their evening of lustful passion than my housemate had imagined, and after the usual foreplay had run its course and my housemate must have considered his lad points as good as in the bank, she uttered those chilling words.

            

           He says he thought about it for a second or two, but like I said, being on a bit of a dry spell himself I imagine the thought process was fairly short; This girl might have sex with me... ‘How far would you like me to bend over?’  He recounted the story to me in much the same manner you might expect a hostage to describe the events of their incarceration. His eyes really did tell the story, and I imagine his backside had a pretty compelling version of events as well, as he refused to sit down.

            

           It seems he’d had the pleasure of being introduced to a personal acquaintance of the girl but the introduction was not made face to face. Without wanting to get too graphic it sounds like it would take an impressively sturdy jewellery box to contain these particular beads and one would be remiss in wearing them in public.

            

            My housemate never got the fairy tale ending to his almost perfect story, but did come home feeling ever so slightly more like a fairy. 

The bigger They Come, The Harder You Fall

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The Pledge

                I’m a university student about to start my second year, I’m 20 years old, athletic, not bad looking, 6ft 1 with dark hair and blue eyes.  And I’m a virgin. Those are the bare facts and figures, I wish I could sugar coat them with a few dirty stories of bi-monthly blow jobs and what not, but as it happens, my sexual experience extends as far as a rather unpleasant hand job from a rather unpleasant girl, in my first year at university.

            I’d also love to tell you that my persistent virginity was born out of some deep religious commitment or a determination to wait for true love, but the truth is that until recently I thought abstinence was an anti-firearm movement, and my current parameters for true love consist of a pulse, two X chromosomes, and some seriously low expectations.

            I do maintain that I’ve been unlucky when it comes to getting “on stage” for the big show but something always seems to go wrong in the wings. I won’t deny there is probably a certain degree of stage fright knocking about, but I promise you, my over-used hand on heart, there is nothing I want more than to tear up the stage with a willing female co-star. And as you’ve probably deduced, the audition process for that particular role is anything but tough. In fact it’s safe to say that a will to audition on its own would almost guarantee you the part.

            As traumatic as that infamous hand-job was, I can’t really claim that my lack of sexual experience comes from a scarring bedroom episode either. All I really remember from that night was getting back to her room in our halls of residence, mildly drunk but nowhere near enough for what was about to ensue, being told in no uncertain terms that I was “not going to get laid” – a piece of news I feigned mild surprise at, as though it would involve my night taking a dramatic turn from the status quo – and then... the teeth.

            I hadn’t noticed in the club, but the girl had a set of gum nuggets on her that would have looked very much at home between the lips of a prize thoroughbred. Anyway, this alarming grin appeared at the exact moment she began to unbutton my trousers, leaving me with the alarming sensation of having my underpants raided by a deviant clown.

            I’ve since learned that what I endured that night was not what one might refer to as a textbook hand-job, but at the time, as I sat there scouring her room for a handy rape-whistle and trying desperately not to look into her teeth, I thought I was just being wet. So I sat it out, gritted my teeth while I was jerked off by what can only be described as a combination between a ban-saw and the Cheshire Cat. And I don’t care how fucked up Wonderland was, Alice never had to go through anything that painful or disturbing.

            But as I said, although temporarily horrifying, the experience did not scare me away from sex at all, something a brief glimpse at my browsing history will quickly confirm. Put simply, it just hasn’t happened for me yet. But this is going to change.

            I turn 21 on May 13^th and I am determined to do so without my virginity. Obviously it’s not a lack of determination that’s been holding me back, but certain other factors are about to come into play that can only improve my chances. Most importantly I’m about to move into a student house which, among other things, will be a far better environment for getting myself and potential partner(s – hopefully) in the mood. If I told you that my first year room had no straight edges, not for any aesthetic reason but because the architect nicked the plans from an eastern European penitentiary where  straight edges were considered a suicide risk, you might get some idea of the detrimental effect the setting had on my nervous attempts at bedroom flirting. It was, in essence, like trying to seduce a girl in a tampon factory.

           
            I know people say it’s impossible to spend a year at university nowadays and not get laid, but I did it, in fact I wrote the fucking manual on how to do it. However, this year will be different, this year will be better, because by May 13^th of this year, this virgin... is checking out.