For One Night Only

Here are some stories of those dirty short-term friendships that happen to the young, foolish and plastered. All of them came via Twitter people. Feel free to speculate.

“Take off your pants – oh, you have.”

In a corridor with a man so hairy it was like he was wearing a jumper. Made me play Frisbee the next morning. He claimed never to have met me when we ran into each other at a wedding three years later.

Two’s company, three’s… fun, but awkward the next morning

My 26th bday, I had too many cocktails/alcopops. My mate left me in the club with a local football player. I thought he was a lot older than he was…

I ended up going home with the Welsh winger, stuff happened, he went next door and his mate came in – a mate I have known since he was 15. I was drunk, naked and confused but he is fit so my sensible conscience said it didn’t matter, so all three of us…

Yes, I woke up, or rather I was woken by my sister calling from Thailand, to wish me happy birthday. I freaked out massively because I was naked and there was no sign of any of my clothes.

Spotted a college top on the floor and wandered into the living room to see the welsh wizard and my mate asleep on sofas and it all came back to me.

Mate gave me a lift to the bus and I had to get the bus o’ shame home, stinking of alcopops and lynx. Welsh wizard deleted me off Facebook (we have since made up) he now plays for Forest Green Rovers, it turned out he was 19 and I felt so ashamed.

The next match he played, he got a straight red for attacking someone, his first red card. His mate, also 19 who I snogged (photographs prove this happened) also got sent off in the same match, and I got blamed by the captain!

Ten points for resisting both “that’s torn it!” and “he’s peaing himself”.

I tore, erm, something on the gentleman and spent ages holding a bag of frozen peas to his ‘downstairs area’

Won’t you be my fwendy? That was rubbish, sorry.

I forgot her name, cunningly asked in taxi back to mine: how do you spell your name? Her: W. E. N. D. Y. Not a sexy name.

This one’s just revolting.

A work mate hired a posh flat in Bristol for the weekend and one of his uni mates dropped out, I was newly single and miserable so I got the invite. Absinthe before we went out set the tone, and I copped off with one of my mate’s friends.

We headed back to the flat (where two work mates were continuing their less than subtle affair) in the rain. Got back, flat locked, knocked and no answer so we got down to it in the stairwell.
Shit someone’s coming down the hall, we stopped and pretended we were just waiting for our mates to let us in. The people next door put the hall lights on and I noticed with some horror there was blood on my hands, and the wall.

They went into fthe lat and myself and the gentleman I was with spotted more blood, on the carpet and wall and all down the back of my white flowery dress.

He accused me of having a period, I freaked out thinking I was hemorrhaging.

Me and him sat, backs to the wall to cover the blood until the owner of the flats arrived at 3am to let us into another downstairs flat.

After everyone else had gone to sleep he went back to clean the blood off the wall while I cried myself to sleep.

In the morning he realised it was his blood, he caught his cock in his zip when we were disturbed and because he was hard had sprayed blood all over.

Both of us were more than slightly awkward with each other when we finally got back into our flat in the morning, not least because I was still wearing a dress coated in his dried blood.

“I had to, his arse told me to”

Went home with a stripper on holiday. My friends walked in while we were erm… coital. Denied he was a stripper after… they said they knew I was lying because he still had ‘HOP ON’ written across his arse cheeks.

This chap attempts to pot the brown.

Once propositioned in Newcastle by a chap who thought billing himself as a “semi-professional snooker player” would nail it. It didn’t, by the way. No comments about balls and pockets, or chalking cues, necessary.

And finally, The Dad.

Met a lass in a club, got talking, bit of a kiss and a fumble. She suggests we go back to hers, which seems like a cracking idea, carry on with the kissing and touching in the taxi. Get to hers and she walks me down this alley, pushes me against a wall and starts sucking me off.

Couple of minutes in she stops, hitches her skirt up, squats down and starts going for a piss. Brilliant. I’m pissed, hard and have no idea where we are. She finishes and grabs my hand, leads me back to hers.

We go in and there’s a bloke sat up watching the telly. Old enough to be her dad. Oh. It is her dad. “Can my friend stay over?” “Not tonight, eh?” he says. The cunt. I let him know that I’ve got no idea where we are, and he offers me a lift home.

So there I am, sat in the back of a stranger’s car while him and his missus drive me home at 3am, knowing full well I intended to be balls deep in his beautiful princess. In stony silence. For half an hour.