Author Archives: sexatoxbridge

If there is one thing I have learned about dating it is this: never let your friends set you up with somebody. Inevitably, it will be said friends that break you up. 

It seems great at first “Oh, you’re friends with so and so? Me too! You like the Inbetweeners, drinking beer, and complaining about our mutual friend? Me too!!” It’s as if you’re immediately stepping into a relationship with someone you feel like you know, but, as it will soon be revealed, there are details about this person who “is perfect for you!” that probably shows how little the person setting you up knows you. If you hear those words from a friend, feign illness, fabricate an imaginary boyfriend or girlfriend, run, do whatever to get out of the situation. 

I have been set up twice now. Once by a female friend and once by Tom. Recently one of my best mates from oop north claimed he had a great guy for me. Said “great guy” burst into the party thirty minutes later, paralytically drunk, and almost fell on me. Twice. ‘Fanks for that! 

Setup No. 1: I have a friend who we shall call Pandora. Pandora decided that, four days after I broke up with The Ex (whom she hated), that she had the perfect answer, Russ (short for Brussells Griffin, a dog breed that had a name which was easy to manipulate into an actual name). Russ and I had met through Pandora a couple months before and I had thought he was very attractive. The feeling was apparently mutual, Pandora told me, as he had apparently told her. So herein lies our first problem, the he-said/she-said conundrum. ‘Oh really? He says he likes me? Did he? Did he reallly?’ I think skeptically in my mind. I mean, of course I’m attractive and funny, who wouldn’t be attracted to me? But I highly doubt he called her up that day with the kind of enthusiasm she portrayed about it. I later found out that she was indeed hyperbolising the situation. 

Anyhow, flash forward a few months and, because both Russ and I are single, Pandora thought it appropriate to conjure a forced social situation in which we would both be in attendance. A friend of a friend of a friend was turning 21 so we all had to go apparently, and as I was walking to the bar where we were to meet all I wanted to do is go home and wallow in my breakup. I turned a corner just as a boy was crossing the street ahead of me. He looked towards me and, lo and behold, it was Russ. 

“Hey! It’s (his name), right?” I asked. 

“Yeah, good to see you! How have you been?” 

And we spent the subsequent three hours attached at the hip. Matchmaking success for Pandora, to her credit. He bought my drinks all night, and around our third pub we made our way to the dance floor. 

“We’re the only ones dancing,” he observed. 

“And?” I asked. He kissed me. 

It wasn’t long after that we separated ourselves from the group and ended up back at his where we had some drunken sex then passed out. I woke up sometime in the morning to his wandering hands and we had sex again before falling asleep until sometime in the early afternoon. We woke up, had sex again, showered, got dressed, had a cheeky snog, then headed to the pub to meet up with Pandora and co. from the night before. 

“You’re wearing the same outfit you wore last night,” he noted as we walked to the pub. 

“So? I’m not sure it’s a secret that we went home together.” 

“That’s true.” 

We all sat in the pub, hungover and coming down from mephadrone. I’ve had better moments. We recalled the parts of the night before we could remember and they took the piss out of the love bites Russ had left scattered around my neck and shoulders. 

We eventually made our exit and outside the pub we said our goodbyes. 

“Well, it’s been fun.” I said. “See you around, I suppose.” 

“You’ll definitely see me, you nutter,” he said, then paused for a second as if to consider his next move. In one swift move he put his hands behind my neck and held me in place as he pressed his lips to mine. He pulled away then said, “See you soon.” 

And I did. I saw him very soon afterwards. We spent a weekend together, going to a concert then staying in bed all day recovering from the alcohol and drug induced stupor we had been in the night before. Then spending the next day watching movies before I had to escape his pleas for me to stay in bed instead of going to lectures. My skirt was a bit loose and he gave me one of his belts which is now stuffed in the back of a drawer somewhere, never to be worn by either of us again. 

Another weekend I went to his and in similar fashion we went out, got drunk, and spent the rest of the weekend in bed recovering. It was an interesting trend. Usually involving drugs and terrible hangovers, we were outside the realm of ‘healthy relationship’ status. He was a good distraction from the pain of leaving The Ex though and the drink and drugs dragged me further into denial as to how upset I actually was. 

“So I’ve been talking to Russ about you.” Pandora said over coffee one day. 

“Why?” I hate when people get involved in my business. 

“Oh, you know, just to see how it’s going! I think you guys are so cute together.” 

“We’re not really ‘together.’ Just having a good time.” 

“You guys are so going to be a couple.” Pandora gushed. 

“I don’t really want a boyfriend, things are pretty good as they are. Casual, no drama.” 

“Whatever, you’re totally his girlfriend.” Great. Just what I needed. 

A few weeks passed and I saw Russ less and less. We were meant to go for a meal and I got a text from him two hours before the date. Hey, can’t make it tonight. Sorry mate x 

Mate? Fucking Pandora. I knew her meddling would freak him out. He was like me, which is why we got on so well. Commitment-phobes for the most part. Just having a laugh, a very casual, non-committal, stress-free laugh. 

He became more and more distant until finally on a night out Pandora looked at me, eyes sad like a puppy, and said, “What happened? Why did you guys breakup?” 

“Were we dating?” 

“I’m so sorry! This is terrible! It’s all my fault.” 

“Pandora, don’t worry about it. Really. It’s fine. Did he say something to you about a breakup?” 

“Well … umm, he just said he didn’t want to be in a relationship right now.” Neither did I! How was it that I was now being dumped through a mutual friend by someone who wasn’t even my boyfriend?! Russ walked in the pub. Perfect timing. 

“I’ll be right back,” I said to Pandora. I walked up to Russ. 

“Hey,” he said. 

I went for a kiss and he quickly turned it into a kiss on the cheek. “Did you tell Pandora you didn’t want to see me anymore?” I asked. 

“Uhhh,” he stammered. 

“Look if you don’t want to sleep with me any more it’s fine, really.” 

“I don’t want to sleep with you anymore…” he said, slowly, and almost as if it were a question. 

My cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment. “Fine.” I walked away, so angry I could barely see straight. Why was it that I was just dumped by someone I wasn’t even dating? I could only think back to Pandora claiming that she would ‘talk to Russ for me.’ 

“Please don’t,” I had pleaded with her. For this reason exactly. I knew it would scare him off and leave me with one less friend with benefits. 

I left Russ and the rest of our friends in the pub that night, instead joining up with another group of friends I had spotted out in town. One was a friend of a different ex-boyfriend and another was a boy who constantly hit on me, but whom I’d never actually sleep with. I indulged my other male company that night, surrounded by guys who wanted to make me laugh and take me home.

Russ and his gang had made it to the same pub and he approached me at one point. “I’m going home.” 

“Okay.” I said, glancing towards him, but keeping my body facing the other present company. 

“Are you going to be alright? Do you need me to walk you home?” 

“No,” I laughed. “I think I can manage.” 

“Um, okay, well…bye.” 

“Yeah, bye.” I said, and turned my head back towards my other conversation. 

Five minutes later I excused myself from the boys I’d surrounded myself with and walked home alone. 

A couple of months later I was contemplating my Saturday plans and remembered that Pandora was throwing a party. As I browsed the details on facebook I noticed that Russ ‘might be attending.’ He was on facebook chat at the time so I clicked on his name. 

Me: Hello stranger. 

Him: Hi! How are you? 

Me: Good good, long time no talk. 

It had been a very long time. We hadn’t spoken a word to each other since ‘breaking up.’ 

Him: Yeah, it’s been forever. How’s school treating you? 

Me: It’s a pain, so much work. How are you? 

Him: Shit. I work all the time. 

Me: That’s too bad 😦 Are you going to Pandora’s thing this weekend? 

Him: When is it? 

Me: Saturday. 

Him: I think I can actually make that. Are you going? 

Me: Not sure, might do. 

Him: Cool, well hopefully see you then. I’ve got to run to work. Nice talking to you. 

Me: Yeah, maybe see you Saturday x 

I didn’t go to the party. Not because I wanted to avoid him, more because I had a lot of work to do the following week and was sure people would be off their faces on drugs. I hadn’t done drugs since the night Russ and I broke up and wasn’t exactly keen to pick up the habit again. 

Having started seeing Russ so immediately after breaking up with The Ex, the relationship was doomed to fail from the start. He was cute and we had a good enough time together, but I had no expectations except for him to be a good distraction. Which he was, until Pandora butted her head in and made it more than it needed to be. Russ was never going to be my boyfriend, but it didn’t mean we couldn’t have fun together. Which to our credit, we did, despite the incessant insisting by others that we be anything more than friends with benefits. 

To Be Continued … w/Setup No. 2: T 

2023 Edit/Update: Okay so this story is very true, but not the entire version of the truth, which is even more insane. These weren’t uni friends and I would have to go visit them in Reading. The first time I slept with Russ I had missed the last train and he said, “Guess you’re playing ‘sex or death’ tonight” which in hindsight sounds like a very creepy thing to say, but at the time I thought was quite funny. Essentially the same as Tom’s “bang for roof” game. “Sex or Death” sounds way funnier though. To be fair it was winter and sleeping outside could have very well resulted in death, but it was very apparent that sex or no sex he wasn’t going to leave me for death.

Now, it being winter is an important detail because the day he dumped me was BOXING DAY. You can’t dump someone the day after Christmas! And it wasn’t Pandora who did it, it was her sister, who I was pretty sure had a crush on Russ, and she took great delight in telling me the news. That woman now lives one road over from me as I had the displeasure of finding out through a neighbourhood whatsapp group. I can’t make the shit that happens to me up, these are just the cards I’ve been dealt. I would never take any of the free junk she’s always putting in that group chat that’s for sure. I’ve somehow also avoided ever seeing her even though I’ve been here for three years…may it stay that way forever!

I woke up with that song stuck in my head today. Despite some fabulous and not-so-fabulous solo work, I am so happy that RW is back with Take That. 

Moving on, I’ve thought about why it is that I continue to write this blog and I think it’s mainly to entertain myself. Especially during the long summer days stuck at home. The posts may be sporadic, but most things in my life are. I enjoy the feedback from the blog, which is primarily good, with the occasional ‘You are a boring bitch’ comment, which I then reject in my Comment Moderation section. I even like those comments though, because it’s always beyond me why someone would take the time to get through an entire post which they are clearly not enjoying, think, ‘I really don’t like this’ and then take the extra time on said post to write some random insult that will never be published. Silly. Just google something else to read. 

A lot of people are too interested in what they want. Myself included. Usually what I want is to write funny stories about whatever it is that has happened in the recent past. I want everybody to be happy though and thus am up for any requests as to what people want to hear about. A lot of people ask me questions on Twitter, but if there’s a particular subject people would like me to elaborate on, I’m open to suggestions. 

Until then, I shall tell you a cringe-worthy story about someone I slept with. 

I’m often asked which students are best in bed. Engineers? Physicists? Historians? I have yet to find a solid link, but all of the aforementioned are good. A more important question is which are the worst. Now I’ve only slept with one English student (the subject, not the nationality), but it was so bad that I’ve sworn them off forever. It’s like when you get food poisoning from a restaurant. You can safely say that you will never return to that restaurant, and warn all your friends not to go there as well. 

The funniest sounding dog name I could find without having to scroll further than the letter ‘A’ was the Argentine Dogo. I’ll just keep the Dogo part though for this boy’s name. 

I met Dogo at a party, and amongst a crowd of gay guys and ugly straight guys he was the most attractive of the group. Well, there were far more attractive gay men than him, but he was the most attractive of the men available to me. We started talking and it was immediately apparent that he was very impressed with himself. It was as if he were thinking, ‘I am the most attractive available straight man in this room.’ Apparently he found me to be the most attractive available single woman in the room because after a night of banal conversation over lit shit (one of my favourite sixth form teacher’s term for ‘literary criticism’), we ended up in a cab together back to mine. 

Now Dogo, to his credit, was attractive. He dressed well and he smelled nice. When we got back to mine he droned on some more about some pretentious essay he had been writing before he turned his full attention on the girl sitting on the bed and said, ‘You. Are a gem.’ He ran his hand through my hair and down along my cheek. 

Ugh. And you are about to be kicked out. He started to recite some poem, which was just about the last straw, but then I figured I could feign enough enthusiasm before chundering to kiss him. The kissing wasn’t all that bad. It wasn’t all that great either, but it was getting late and it was then or never. In hindsight, I wish I had gone with never. 

Soon he was down to his Calvin Klein briefs. The waist band was quite thick and had ‘Calvin Klein’ written in neon pink, which was another warning sign that I should have heeded. He left the lights on and stripped down to nothing to reveal what is the smallest penis I have ever seen. You would think that he would have wanted the lights off. I slightly panicked that normal condoms wouldn’t fit him and that they would fall off, but he put one on and it seemed secure enough so we continued. 

Like most women, I have faked it in bed. Sometimes you just get bored and it’s clear that it isn’t going to happen so you try and wrap things up. However, until this night I had never suspected that men could fake it as well. Either this man’s climax was so unremarkable that he couldn’t bother to make a sound, or even an expression, or he faked it. I came to this conclusion because after a couple minutes of what I think was sex (I couldn’t actually feel much), he said, ‘I’m done.’ Oh are you? Really? I half-heartedly smiled and he got up to go use the loo. 

I grabbed my clothes off the floor and put them on as quickly as possible. I was in my own room but still felt that immediate need to flee the scene. Realising that I couldn’t exactly abandon him where I lived, I sat on the bed, half dressed, waiting for him to come back. 

When he finally came back he said, ‘You put a shirt on.’ Well observed, sir. ‘You look gorgeous.’ And before I could object he was back on the bed and kissing me. He pulled away for a moment, ‘Do you want to go again?’ 

I felt like saying, ‘Do YOU want to go again? Because you seemed to have really hated it the last time …’ but instead I said, ‘Actually it’s getting quite late. You should probably go.’ 

‘Oh. Yeah, you’re right,’ he said. He got up and thankfully started getting dressed. I tried to avoid any suggestion that he should stay the night. ‘Can I get your number?’ 

No. ‘Actually I’ve just lost my phone,’ I said, hoping that my phone wasn’t sitting on my desk or anywhere obvious like that. ‘But you can find me on facebook.’ I wondered if I had told him my last name. 

‘Oh, okay. I’ll definitely do that.’ He finished getting dressed, kissed me goodbye, and was gone. Apparently he knew my last name because he found me on facebook the next day. I think that request is still pending somewhere in facebook land. 

Rarely do I feel the need to tell people about my sexual exploits (verbally I mean), but this was so bad that I had to tell someone right away. I called Briony. 

‘Remember that guy I left with earlier?’ 

‘Yeah, how’d that go? He was fit.’ 

‘We slept together.’ 

‘Really?? How was it?’ 

‘Remember that time during first year that I got really drunk at the Christmas party and ended up throwing up in the bathroom all night?’ 

‘…Yes…’ 

‘Well, take how bad that was and multiply it by about infinity.’ 

‘Did you get sick??’ 

‘I wanted to be sick many times.’ 

I then recalled the encounter to her. We still laugh about it. One time he passed us on his bicycle as we were walking down the street and I saw him do a triple take but luckily I had sunglasses on and was able to avoid any acknowledgement that I had actually seen him. 

I suppose the above story is a bit hypocritical of me to tell directly after talking about how those rare people who don’t like my blog still feel a need to complain about it. I could have just hated the experience and moved onto something else, but for the sake of entertaining you I think it was worth the rant.  
 
“Let Me Entertain You” by Mr. Robbie Williams 

2023 Update: I still remember that guy. I left out the part where when we got to mine I made him sit in the kitchen while I tidied my room because there were clothes everywhere and after he finally came in once I’d shoved everything in the wardrobe he said, “I thought you said you cleaned.” Dickhead.

2023 Update/Edit: I’m going to do these in bold as the post goes on because it’s too much to put in post script. Anything you see in bold is my immediate thoughts re-reading this over ten years later knowing now what I did not know then.

No, it’s me. It’s definitely me and my paranoia, but here is some backstory to why that is exactly. 
 
As aforementioned, I trust Grey. I trust him completely. It’s other girls I don’t trust. 
 
‘Why?’ You may ask. Well, because remember when I told you about how The Ex’s ‘lover’ stalked me? She did, but in a ‘I’m your friend!’ kind of way. She tried to make nice, but only in order to get more information about The Ex and try to sabotage my relationship with him. I didn’t even know she was close with The Ex when she started chatting to me, but she seemed nice enough and then one night she asked if I wanted to go to dinner with her and that’s when her obvious fishing for details on The Ex began. Sneaky tart. (Tart is a bit much…she was sneaky though. I think my ex definitely chose a stage five clinger to cheat with, but it wasn’t her fault he was a piece of shit. I dislike both of them equally.)
 
Cat is not like this girl. (She fucking was.) Actually, she is kind of like this girl (oh maybe I should read everything before I comment) in that I think she has a crush on my boyfriend (oh yeah she definitely did I stand by the first comment). But other than that, her and I were friends before I began dating Grey (I would say acquaintances at best) and I don’t think she has a malicious bone in her body (maybe not malicious but definitely intentionally tried repeatedly to hook up with my boyfriend). I am more upset with myself than with her because I see myself creating this fictitious world in my head where she’s out to get me (well, out to get Grey) and that’s not the case (it was 100% the case). Not realistically at least, because c’mon. It’s me. Who would leave me for someone else? (Not to toot my own horn, but beep beep, I was super hot at the time, but being hot has never stopped someone’s man from cheating on them. Look at Jay Z.)

**Side note – as soon as I wrote that I was thinking of deleting it because sometimes sarcasm doesn’t come across too well, then Grey called and I got distracted for a prolonged period of time then I came back and read it and it doesn’t sound so bad, so I stand by my statement. 
 
Anyway. The Cat-Grey thing was bothering me way more than it should have (it was bothering me the exact right amount), and it was only because I momentarily slipped back into psychotic-girlfriend mode which The Ex drove me to after a year of dealing with him and his lies. Grey did nothing wrong, and in fact he called the next day to admit to everything that happened between him and Cat, which was nothing to be honest. The degree to which he felt the need to explain himself was actually quite endearing. (I wish I could go slap past me a la Cher in Moonlight)

I stopped him mid-explanation because the story was boring me. ‘It’s okay. I trust you.’ 
 
‘Exactly,’ he said. 
 
When I would tell The Ex ‘I trust you’ it was more of a test to see if he felt guilty or would confess to something. With Grey there are none of the games. (Girl just wait…) ‘I trust you’ means that I trust him. When I said he reminds me of The Ex in certain ways, it in no way was it in the way The Ex made me feel (i.e., paranoid and depressed). Grey is so many things The Ex is not, namely a good boyfriend. (😑) He’s not bad in bed either, (yes he was) but that’s a given. I don’t think anyone would believe for a second that I would keep someone around who was bad in bed. (I did and I would NAHT do it again.)
 
I think a good lesson to have learned from The Ex and his crazy harem of women (myself included) is that no man is worth that kind of drama. It should be easy, and boyfriends should call you to confess to things that don’t really matter instead of hiding everything that does. 
 
Next time, something more light: What I wrote here didn’t age well and was also meant as a joke that didn’t land well. Next time, I continue to be the Queen of Delulu. But I won’t interject the en1tire time with future me berating past me.

Until next time!
 

Grey and I have a mutual friend. I shall name her Cat. For the obvious alternate to dog names, of course.

Cat is great, we both love her and she is a good laugh. I am not stupid though, nor am I ignorant to her complete infatuation with Grey. Although Cat and I are friends, I think she secretly hopes that Grey and I breakup. At least that’s what my absolutely crazy thoughts keep telling me. I am 95% sure that I am wrong on this. But the other 5% won’t stop nagging me.

A lot of nicknames I’ve had from ex-boyfriends include something about me being mental. Is there something I’m missing? Why is it so clear to these boys that I’m a bit … well … crazy? Am I crazy? Or are they so daft that they think it’s okay to tell me about girls who fawn all over them. I suppose I do the same. Grey called me earlier while I was about to go to the cinema with some mates who happened to all be male. Hardly fawning, but as you may have gathered the majority of my friends are boys.

‘I’ll call you right back,’ I promised. I didn’t. We ended up being late to the film and I didn’t have time to call him until afterwards.

He answered after one ring, ‘Hello?’

‘Hey, are you alright?’

‘Yeah, a bit of a stressful day, but Cat’s coming down to hang out.’

‘Oh,’ I said, trying to sound surprised as opposed to making it sound like a question. In my head I was thinking “oh REALLY?” ‘… that should be … fun.’

‘Should be. I think we might go out for a pint or two.’

‘I thought she was driving up.’

‘She is.’

‘Where is she staying?’

‘I told her she could have my bed and I would sleep on the sofa.’

@#$%!

‘Oh, that’s logical.’ I said, my face burning. WHY would he tell me this if it was anything but innocent? He wouldn’t. And he certainly wouldn’t cheat, so why did I freak out?

I’ll tell you why.

The Ex. THE Ex. The ex cheated on me. Numerous times. But he never confessed. No. Instead he got mad at me when I confronted him. The girl he cheated with stalked me. Her best friend stalked me and eventually confronted me. And yet I still believed the ex. I had to. Until it became so blindingly obvious that he couldn’t differentiate between his truth and his lies. He couldn’t keep up with his own lies, yet they played over and over in my head as if on iTunes shuffle. His conflicting stories taunted me until I had enough and eventually left.

Grey is not The Ex. He is nothing like The Ex, and yet he bears an eery resemblance in certain ways. Those are two conflicting ideologies, I know. For the most part Grey is so much better in so many ways to The Ex. I really only hate myself for doubting him and Cat. Two people who deeply care about me, but clearly care about each other as well in a completely platonic way (at least on his part – between the time he spends with me on the phone and in real life, he doesn’t have time for anyone else).

I think the really horrible part about men cheating on women is that it doesn’t make women hate men, it makes women hate women. There’s still a small part of me that wants to believe that The Ex never did cheat on me and that he was telling the truth when he said that the ‘psychotic whore is lying’.

Psychotic whore sounds a lot like ‘mentalist’, which is what he called me. How convenient to be able to shrug these accusations off to a neurological psychosis. The Ex even introduced me to one of his exes as ‘Crazy (her name here)’. I told her my name and she said ‘Crazy (my name here)!’ I laughed to myself, thinking, ‘No, dear. You* are the crazy one. I’m the one he’s going home with.’ And yet I have no idea where he went that night.

As Gnarls Barkley says, ‘Does that make me crazy?’

I want to trust Grey. I want to trust Cat. I want to be okay with this. But I’m not. All these stupid and paranoid questions kept creeping into our phone conversation, and instead of falling to sleep when I hung up, I started typing.

Sometimes I really hate myself.

Okay, I don’t hate myself. But everything above I wrote when I should have been sleeping. Then I went to sleep and dreamt about having my dream job and then being late for my first day and then being fired. Symbolism? Maybe, as in a lot of things are no one’s fault but my own. Such as jealousy. It truly is the most unnecessary of feelings.

It makes me go from this:

To this: 

And it happens in the blink of an eye. She Hulk is most representative of my irrational anger caused by jealousy. She would take those little blue birds and bite their heads off. Well I may not be that extreme, but the flurry of broken things around She Hulk is fairly representative of me in an angry rage.  

But then I think of this: 

… and it brings me out of the red and back into the yellow-zone.  

So there you have it, the three stages of my irrational anger. I don’t even remember what I was angry about because now I’m just thinking of Brian in a banana suit.

2023 Update: I was very valid in being suspicious. It’ll come in the next couple posts I think. If not…SPOILER ALERT: he hooked up with Cat 🙃

I woke up to a distinct smell of beer and pizza. I was in my bed and by ‘in’ I mean ‘on’ because I hadn’t actually managed to get under the duvet and had passed out on top of the covers and still had one shoe on. Just one. The other one was close by, and had probably just fallen off to be fair since they were flip flops. I squinted as the sun did what it did, which would be shining mostly, but it felt more like punching. The sun was punching me in the head with its brightness and heat and although I was on top of the duvet my body felt as if it were about a million degrees, probably trying to burn off any and all traces of alcohol in my system. 

Slinging my feet over the side of the bed as I sat up I kicked the other flip flop off. It didn’t land with a thud as you would expect to hear when shoe meets carpet, rather it was more of a slapping sound which was followed by a grunt. 

‘Sorry!’ I whispered, then stood up and stepped over Goodge and into what is know in my home as the “playroom.” Why the playroom? Well, it’s where the playing took place throughout my childhood. Our house is the house everyone use to come to after school for tea and, well, playing. Now that my friends and I are older there’s still playing but it involves alcohol now so Playroom keeps its name. The playroom use to be littered with dolls and trucks and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, because that was my favourite film when I was younger. On this particular morning it was covered in empty pizza boxes, empty bottles and tins, playing cards strewn about, a chair on its side that Temple was using as a pillow, and Dill hanging off the side of the sofa. 

My parents had gone away for the weekend, so in typical fashion, as I did when I was 16, I invited a bunch of mates over. A lot of friends live near enough to stumble home, but I had invited the uni folk as well and some of the tube stops had roadtripped it down to mine for the night. 

As I tried to figure out whether there was tomato sauce on me or if I was bleeding, I started to piece the night together. To simulate this, think of the song ‘Last Night’ by the Strokes and in the first few seconds where it’s just instrumental the world goes from me in the middle of the playroom at 9 am then starts spinning and rewinding through the previous 12 hours until it starts going at normal forward speed as “Last night, she said …” begins and I am standing in the playroom, with a beer in my hand, surrounded by twenty of my closest friends. Does that make sense? Cinematically speaking it makes perfect sense in my mind. 

(If you’ve never heard ‘Last Night’ then educate yourself.) 

Anyhow. At approximately nine o’clock in the evening the previous night was when the situation escalated from a casual get-together to a full on drink-fest. Playing cards were brought out, drinking games were played, and last I remember is getting in a physical fight with half of the tube stops. All in good fun, not in a malicious or angry way, just a ‘we forgot you were a girl and thought it would be okay to have a wrestling match with you’ fight. 

Prior to that, however, was a brief conversation with Dill which went something like this: 

‘So … it’s over between me and the missus.’ 

‘Is that so?’ I asked, planning my escape route in the back of my mind. If Dill’s actions while he was in a relationship were anything to go by, I had approximately fifteen seconds before he made a move. 

‘Yeah … I mean. It’s like we talked about, it just wasn’t working.’ 

My eyes shifted around the room, we weren’t near anybody and I was pretty sure I was a minute from making a decision I would regret. So instead I made a statement I would regret. ‘Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.’ 

He apparently didn’t take it insincerely. ‘Yeah. I guess.’ 

He took it quite well, surprisingly. ‘Sorry about that mate. Let me know if you ever want to talk.’ 

‘Well we’re talking now, aren’t we?’ 

I looked away, squinting down the corridor. ‘Yeah, but I think I hear Temp trying to break some furniture so I should really go check that out.’ 

‘Fair enough,’ he said, sipping his beer. 

‘Talk later, yeah?’ 

‘Yeah. Sure.’ He knew we wouldn’t talk later. I walked in the direction of my imaginary catastrophe. My imaginary scenario of Temp breaking my furniture became very real when he ankle tapped me as soon as I walked back into the playroom. We had a mock-fight, which resulted in a lot of spilled beverages and pizza.  

I got up to go clean myself off after the fight, and once I was out of sight I ducked into my bedroom to call Grey (as well as to assess whether I was covered in blood or pizza sauce for the first time). I half fell asleep through the tail end of the conversation, but that had become routine. Calling each other at the end of the night and falling asleep on the phone. It had become second nature to fall asleep once I hung up, and that’s exactly what I did after this particular phone call. Goodge had come in later, stolen a pillow off the half of the bed I wasn’t using and fallen asleep on my floor. Like a watchdog to fend off unwanted party-goers. Namely, Dill. 

The tubestops, including Dill, are still my best mates. But even Dill stops himself from ruining what everyone sees so clearly – my happiness. My Grey. 

2023 Update:

“MY GREY.” Ewww I want to cringe into another dimension! Also it wasn’t my family home we were partying at, it was the house that I moved into with all these fools, INCLUDING DILL. Yes, this man somehow convinced me to move in with him because he was breaking up with his girlfriend. Then once I had a boyfriend he backtracked immediately and SHE MOVED IN WITH US AS WELL. That’s right, I lived with Dill and his girlfriend for a summer, which was SO fun. It ultimately ended in a massive row in which Dill and I were shouting at each other across the house, mainly because I thought no one else was home, and I demanded he return my joggers I gave him when he pissed in my bed, so he stormed upstairs and threw them down at me and then his girlfriend (now wife) walked out of their room and I was like

Anyway these memories aren’t stirring up the best feelings so I’m gonna leave it at that!

I realised that I have not posted anything remotely sex-related as of late. Mostly because I’m worried that the person I’m sleeping with (Grey) will find me out. However, I feel as though I can tell you other stories which may give you better insight as to why I began this blog in the first place. 
 
As I mentioned initially, I. Love. Sex. I love it. It is the most entertaining activity anyone can take part in. At least that’s my opinion. 
 
I didn’t really begin enjoying sex until The Ex. 
 
The first time I slept with The Ex I was extremely drunk and don’t remember much. The second time I was quite sober. To fully enjoy sex for men they merely have to complete the act. For women, however, it is a bit different. Having slept with a few other people before The Ex I thought I knew about sex and all its glories, but no. 
 
The first time I actually ‘enjoyed’ sex was with The Ex. As completely out of control and ridiculous as it may sound, the image of fireworks actually came into mind as we were doing it. I had never been with someone like him and have not been with someone like him since. He is (hands down) the best I’ve ever had in bed. 
 
While he was the best in bed, it certainly did not translate to our relationship. Or ‘relationship’. For someone who could make me so happy, he sure knew how to cause as much pain as possible as well. I love him, but I cannot stand to be near him.  
 
Having spent months apart from The Ex has helped. There have been road bumps along the way. Namely Dill and Rugby Blue, but all these things have lead me to Grey. Grey is unlike anyone else I’ve ever been with. I dare say the feelings I have for him start with a L and end with a -ove, but who knows. He is the sweetest man I know and everything anyone else I’ve ever been with isn’t. 
 
So that’s it. I’m having sex with someone I love and it is fantastic. 
 
… Ok, it’s ok. I get bored sometimes. I know! I am a jerk. But, honestly I get bored. When Rugby Blue is calling me at 3am I sometimes wonder what would happen if I answered. Dill broke up with his girlfriend and I sometimes wonder what would be if I were single. I wonder. I never act on it though. I think one of the most telling signs as to whether or not you care for someone is when you stop thinking of others in a romantic way. Or in a sexual way. Either way – I don’t think of anyone but Grey in that way at the moment. And I’m okay with it. 

2023 Update: I cannot believe how delulu I was. Also I’m pretty sure Grey figured out I was writing this blog if him asking me to my face if I wrote this blog is any sort of indication. His suspicions are probably why I was so complimentary at the time, but I’m not sure there was ever a “fantastic” point in our relationship. Just one of those people that I should’ve really only been friends with. I think by the end of our relationship I was just staying with him out of spite. Mature, I know, but it was like a game of who could make who more miserable.

I suppose when I was writing this post I was happy, but there was an underlying sadness to Grey that he could never even try to deal with and eventually I couldn’t justify staying with someone who was resolved to leading an unhappy life. I hope he got his shit together. Last we spoke was a couple years ago when I had a nightmare that he was drowning and I was trying to save him, which I felt he needed to know about. He promised to be careful when walking across London Bridge on his way to work.

I believe he got married, and I also believe people can change, we were after all young and quite emotionally unintelligent. Either way, I’m not telling the truth about everything now out of spite, I think it’s just odd to read what I wrote when the reality was so much different. I guess even when you’re writing anonymously you’re still trying to portray yourself how you want to be seen and after so many terrible ex-boyfriends I was determined that this one was going to be the best boyfriend ever. First mistake is assuming a man can do that in the first place, but live and learn!