Posts Tagged Flashback Friday

Flashback Friday: Sociopathic Wednesday

This is probably one of my favourite stories, and it’s been known amongst my friends as Sociopathic Wednesday for quite some time. About this time last year, the LGBT society of the uni I was at held a cheese and wine night/social event for everyone to mingle and get to know each other. This is where I met Pan, who if you’ve been reading this blog for any length of time you’ll know I had quite the crush on for most of last winter. That night he went out but I didn’t, which I think might have been the only time I didn’t go out on a Wednesday night during my last year at uni.

The next week at another event, another friend and I were arranging to go out afterwards and convinced Pan to come with us. “I don’t have any money though” – “It’s fine, it’s free to get in, you can walk home, I’ll buy you a drink…” so he came.

In the club, halfway through the pint I’d fucking paid for, he casually drops into conversation that “this guy I went home with last week is here, I’m really excited to see him again” or words to that effect and off he fucks to go find him. Not twenty minutes later he’s back beside us on the dancefloor, having been flatly turned down by said mystery man. Pan is rejected, Dexxx is rejected, everyone’s a loser. Brilliant night out.

Fast forward a fortnight and the LGBT society – in retrospect this thing was really my downfall last year, but I loved it all the same – had a speed dating night. Pan wasn’t there but halfway through the night I found myself talking to the guy he had had the hots for. (I assume I’d done some fair amount of Facebook stalking in the meantime to be able to work this out). I thought to myself, would it not be poetic justice if I could have sex with him?
This is the point in the story when Hitraya invariably interjects with “I don’t think you know what poetic justice means, Dexxx. It doesn’t just mean being a bitch”.

There was a noticeboard for us to leave anonymous messages to that night, so I left a note for mysterious Irish man: “Number 21: your accent alone could make me cum”. He worked out that it was from me (probably because I signed it) and said to me that he’s see me in the club later. Shit, I thought, I’m meeting Pan in the club… only one thing for it…

“Yeah, or we could just cut out the middle man and go straight back to yours now”
“… I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not”
And Rosaceae, bless her, turns around and says “Trust me, he is”. So we went. I wrote a message to Pan telling him I’d pulled so I would be late, and we went back to Irish Man’s place via the pub for a cheeky pint. The sex was quite rough, he was every inch a top, and with his window being open (ground floor flat too), people going by must have heard more than they ever wanted to. He came first, but kept fucking me until I came too, and then we both got dressed and he went to meet his friends and I jumped in a taxi and met Pan in the club.

“Nice hickeys,” he said when he saw me. “Who was the guy?”
“Oh, some postgrad from Ireland, studies Law…”
“Not R?!”
“Yeah, that was his name!”
“That’s the guy I was seeing!!”
“Really? Wow, I had no idea. Small world.”

That weekend I found myself at a party having a conversation with the two of them at once, and the only way to deal with that situation was to down a bottle of wine quite quickly and the rest of the night is a bit of a blur, but apparently they went home together that night too.

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Flashback Friday: I’m not that into you

At our last pre-Erasmus party, the summer at the end of second year (2009), there was quite a lot of vodka going around. That’s to be expected when you’re at a party with a lot of people from ex-communist nations, I suppose, but I was young(er) and naive(r) than I am now and was quite surprised by it. When we ran out of the regular stuff, Kate (not her real name) pulled out a bottle written in Cyrillic which I assumed was from Russia but it turned our her dad had brought back from Ukraine. More was drunk.

Our hostess, R, had some friends there I’d never met before and one of them was tall, thin, tanned, all in all quite attractive. And he was half-way through a Ph. D in Chemistry, so clearly had brains. And social skills! Win. I expressed some interest to R who then apparently spoke to her friend L who mentioned me to the Chemist, and he then followed me into the kitchen when I went to get a top-up of whatever that Ukrainian substance masquerading as vodka actually was. And we kissed.

Luckily, some of the other flatmates had gone out to a club where Kate and her then-boyfriend worked, so I mentioned to him “Raspberry’s room is empty” and off we went. We were on the bed,him on top of me, still fully clothed but grinding quite hard, when the door opened and R walked in with a face like thunder. “Uh-oh,” I thought, “She’s not happy”

“One of you,” she said accusingly, “has my cigarettes!!

The Chemist sort of gestured towards the door and told her they were on top of the fridge. What they were doing there I’ll never know, I never thought to ask, but R seemed quite pleased with this answer and off she went to the kitchen. We got back to business, before realising that we had no condoms and our prospects were therefore quite limited. We needn’t have worried though; the door opened again a few minutes later and there stood Raspberry, back from the club, who clearly hadn’t been warned there were to people in her room. She sort of screamed a little bit then apologised and backed out, and we decided it was probably time to stop what we were doing. As we were getting dressed, the Chemist ventured “You can come back to mine if you want… I mean, I’m going on holiday tomorrow so you’d have to leave quite early…”

And pulling my T-shirt over my head, I retorted without thinking, “Hah, I’m not that interested”

And that was when I realised I’d turned into a harsh bitch.

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Flashback Friday: Three’s a(nother) crowd

Time flies, eh? Sorry once more for the hiatus, I’ve not had much to write about really. The only remotely interesting thing in the last fortnight is that I kissed this boy I really like and I don’t think he even remembers and now I’m too nervous to bring it up again. Not like me, eh? Still. Let’s get into the story, shall we?

I was out one night quite spontaneously with my friends D and G, the ones who had helped me bed J from the last Flashback Friday, we went to a very popular but very very shitty club in town which is quite infamous in the city. We must have all been really horny that night, G especially. She kept making out with different guys and making them buy us all drinks so we were getting increasingly wrecked as time went on. G had a brainwave early on in the night though:

“I’ve just had an idea; I’m bisexual, you’re bi and you’re bi; I fancy you and you; we should have a threesome!”

Cast-iron logic right there, really, who am I to argue?

Eventually when D was in the toilet having sex with some guy she’d met on the dancefloor (classy), G and I were outside smoking and kissing. Suddenly security staff tapped us on the shoulder and we turned around to see her with D at her side looking very sheepish and telling us that she’d been caught so we had to leave. Good thing we had a plan B.

We got a taxi back to G’s house (she was the only one with a double bed, and also had no flatmates, it was quite fortunate) and when we got there I went to the bathroom and came out to find the two girls half-naked on the bed, already quite heavily involved. I hesitated for a minute until G gestured at me to join in, which I did.

Now, G and D had been friends for a long time and always had a no-sex rule but apparently because it wasn’t just the two of them it was all right or something. Still, I got the feeling that I was there pretty much as an excuse for the two of them and towards the end I was pretty superfluous. Not that it wasn’t a fun experience, just not as fun as it could have been.

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Flashback Friday – First “Small world” incident

I’d been living in this city for about two years before I had my first “ridiculous coincidence, small world” type encounter. I suppose that’s long enough to get a large enough network of people in a city with just under 560,000 people in it (1,750,000 in the urban area around the city, which makes calling it a city seem justifiable). Anyway, I this was not long after my last encounter and therefore also not long after the breakup preceding it.

I was in that club again, except then it wasn’t “again” because I’d only been going for a few months by that point and it wasn’t as tedious as it is now. I don’t remember how I started talking to Jason-Jacob-Joseph (my friends and I kept getting his name wrong, and while I know what it is now it became something of a running joke between us) but I do remember that he wouldn’t come back to mine that night for whatever reason; he took my number and asked if I’d be there next week. I kept getting tongue-tied because I was really nervous, so my friend D answered for me that yes, I would be. He text me that night when he got home – he lived in a town about 25km away – and I woke up the next day to find he’d added me on one of the social networks still in use at that time but which, like so many others, has since been supplanted by facebook. This particular one had a “friends in common” feature when you looked at someone’s page, and it was from there that he discovered, and sent me a message saying, that I knew “[his] ex D and his cunt friend Hitraya”. At that point the penny dropped where I had heard his name before – Hitraya had been giving me wee updates about J and D’s drawn-out breakup as it was going on. Well, good to be able to put a name to a face I suppose.

Nowadays if someone were to refer to one of my best friends, or actually any of my friends, as a cunt, I’d cut off communication with them because I don’t stand for shit like that but in those days I was a lot less forthright than I am now so I let it slide. He and I stayed in touch that week and then the next week rolled around and D, J (not him, another J) (more on those two next week) and Hitraya herself went to the club, I met him and to be honest it was a bit horrendous. He was like a mouse with ADD on crack or something, couldn’t stay in any one room for more than five minutes at a time. Anyway, he came back to mine eventually, and actually at night we barely even kissed, let alone had sex. That was the next morning, just oral actually. Not brilliant, certainly not worth the effort of having kept in touch with him the whole time. It had been a bit of a stressful week actually cause his ex D knew we were in touch and no-one could say anything to anyone without it being relayed back to everyone else – high school never ends! That was just a few weeks before I left this city and went on Erasmus and so he wasn’t really keen in staying in touch, which is fair enough really. By the time I came back here I think he’d moved somewhere else, he apparently now lives about 650 km away, though I did lay eyes on him in that club recently when he was up to visit.

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Flashback Friday – The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else

Following the second, what proved to be permanent, break-up with The Slov which was on a Friday,  I had a couple of days of moping, not doing much and eating plenty of soy ice-cream. Then the Monday rolled around, I snapped out of it and decided to act like a decent human being once again; and by the time Wednesday came (we all know what Wednesday is, don’t we? Good) I’d decided that there were, after all, plenty more rats in the sewer and the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. So Mehhay, our friend and I went out to one of the other clubs which used to be popular back then but isn’t so much any more. I was on the pull with a vengeance, and actually I think it was also the first time I’d ever set out deliberately to have a one night stand. Wasn’t the last. Don’t know if you’ve noticed I’m a bit of a slut.

Anyway. I have no idea how long we were in the club before a boy with – guess which colour? – brown eyes caught my eye on the dance floor. I went to the bar, giving him a look on the way, and he followed, came up beside me putting his hand on the bottom of my back (which I’ve since realised I hate, by the way, at least from strangers, no matter how sexy they are) and asked if he could buy me a drink and I agreed. I was drinking vodka lemon and lime at that stage for some reason, I must have had a really sweet tooth. As the drinks came and he paid I made a very direct push and asked, “So, would I sound like a slut if I said I wanted to go home with you?” He looked playfully like he was considering it for a second before shaking his head and we went to get our jackets. I know, it seems like every blog post about sex involves me going to get my jacket at some point. I live in a cold country!

I think my friends were kind of taken aback by my audacity and straightforwardness with this guy; I’d never just met someone in a club and gone home with them before, and I had nowhere near the reputation I do now. I also had nowhere near the self-confidence I do now, which as I’m sure I’ve said before is quite a recent thing. Anyway, I did text them both the next day to let them know I was alive.

Whoever this guy was (I know full well who he was, I remember his full name and even what he studied and where, but I can’t be bothered making up a pseudonym for him) and I went back to his inconveniently located flat annoyingly far from the city centre and not really near any bus, train or underground stops. That wasn’t an issue that night but it was the next day! We had a bit of a tumble around in the dim lighting of his room, I don’t even remember if either of us came, which makes me think we didn’t. I do remember that he’d never been rimmed before though. And that his drunk flatmates, returning from their own night out, walked in on us, looked a bit shocked and then one of them shook my hand as if it were a completely normal thing.

I ran into him again not so long ago, outside another club when I was going home with a different boy, but I’ll probably write more about that in his blog post, whenever that’s due…

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Flashback Friday: An Actual Date

I’m graduating university just now. Probably as you’re reading this, in fact (isn’t autopost a wonderful thing?). I never really thought this day would come, that I’d come this far.

It certainly seemed a long way away at the end of first year – I still had four years to go, after all, which when you’re 18 seems like a lifetime. This was the summer that I broke up with the Slov for the first time – we did get back together a short while after for another few months but that’s not the point of this post.

I went to the Capital for whatever reason, and was staying with my best friend through there for the weekend. Somehow – I’m not sure – we got talking to his friend, a guy called L from somewhere in the east, I don’t really remember where but he had a ridiculous accent which is why I remember it was somewhere in that general direction. My friend and I were leaving the bar we were at to go home and L told us to be careful since it was late, and made us promise to text when we got home so he knew we were safe – this being his cue to give me his number, smooth. We did indeed survive the journey home, and told him so, and he reminded me to keep in touch.

We did indeed keep in touch and the following weekend I went through to see him, we went out for lunch and then went back to his “to watch a film”. We all know what that’s code for.

I really don’t remember much about this encounter to be honest, it was a long time ago and I wasn’t paying much attention to it. I remember I was the only one of us who came, and I don’t think I was in the town for very long afterwards, but that’s about it. We stayed in touch for a few days afterwards, but at that point the Slov came back from her summer away and we started talking again, so I let it drop with L. My friend who introduced us informs me that he’s now a high school teacher, which I struggle to picture him doing, and still living somewhere in the east.

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Flashback Friday

I arrived at University in the September, and moved into student dorms/halls of residence (depending on where you live) which were at the edge of the city. The halls I was in were quite small, there were only maybe 250 students there, spread out into blocks. I got there on the Friday, and on the Saturday my best friend from school came to spend the night at mine for some fun. We were hanging out before we had dinner at the reception area where some people were still arriving and getting their keys, and a girl I later learned was called M arrived with her suitcase and parents in toe. It turned out (I learned by eavesdropping on her conversation with the receptionist) that she was from central Europe, sparking off what I’ve called my central European fetish and lending itself well to my friends’ calling her The Slov, which somehow sounds insulting even though it’s not really a word.

A few weeks later – it must only have been the beginning of November, if that, that by some string of events I’d found myself in her room one Friday night with a bottle of Bacardi (it was a present from my grandmother, of all people. She gave me it before I left, along with a hardback black notebook, “for your special addresses”. She clearly saw the writing on the wall). I knew she had a boyfriend, back in her home country, and I’d even seen him once when he’d come over to visit her, but clearly my 17-year-old brain didn’t care. We talked ourselves in circles for hours culminating in me eventually asking outright whether I could kiss her. “You can try,” she said. I did.

We ended up on her bed, not naked but topless at first, and I was confronted with boobs for the first time in a sexual context which baffled me. What the fuck do I do with these? I thought. It turns out they’re actually quite good fun when you get the hang of them though. That night we only had oral (which I was later told on no uncertain terms that I was abysmal at, it being the first time I’d gone down on a girl), but we were up for hours having fun in just about every other way we could think of too. I think in the end I was awake for a day and a half and then had to go and sleep until Monday.

That lead into what can only reasonably be described as a tempestuous relationship for the rest of that academic year, the following summer, and a full semester-and-a-half of the academic year which followed it. For most of that time we were actually a couple, which looking back on it is weird because she was insufferable a lot of the time as was I, and we weren’t very compatible personalities either. Still, it was what it was; she was the first person I ever said “I love you” to in a romantic way, and at the time I meant it. The first time we had sex in the traditional understanding of the word must have been in either the January or February following that first encounter, after she’d definitively split up with her ex and we’d become a couple. I think the only thing that was normal and healthy about our relationship long-term might actually have been the sex, come to think of it.

Three years after the first night we spent together I was at a party not far from where I live now, and who should turn out to be there by sheer coincidence but a girl that M went to school with in her home country and her boyfriend, who was – you’ve guessed it – M’s ex from that same time. After we worked that out we had quite a good laugh for the first while until either he worked out which of M’s exes I was or got drunk enough to do what he’d wanted to do in the beginning, and he jumped me from behind and punched me in the face a few times. It was a bit scary at the time but looking back on it now just seems a bit ridiculous; firstly, that he was even there in the first place, and secondly, that three years on he still cared enough about it. Masculine pride, eh?

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