I'm just a two bit whore...
Regular QOTWeekers will notice a common theme in many of my postings. That being that I am monumentally, catastrophically bad when it comes to matters of lurve. In my 33 years on this planet I have rarely had anything approaching what could be described as a functional relationship with anyone of the opposite sex. My current status, of having been single for 7 years after a 6 year relationship with someone who I saw a total of 5 times during the last 3 years of that relationship typifies just how bad I am. Lest you think I’m sat here with a bottle of cheap scotch, about to reach for the paracetemol, I’m not. I’m a nice person. I’m friendly, funny, not a minger, it’s just that something happens to me whenever I’m in the company of someone who I really like that makes me do stupid things.

And this can best be exemplified by the night I went for a drink with Huw. Not his real name, I don’t see why my shame should cause him any more embarrassment than I already did. Huw was working in my lab during my PhD. His supervisor was having some marital issues and wasn’t really around to look after him, and as her and I were good friends, she asked could I step in, which I did gladly, as Huw was 6’2”, with a lilting welsh accent and was so pretty he made my eyes hurt. He was funny and, boy, was he smart. Huw liked me, I could tell, we would spend more and more time together each day, having lunch and coffee with each other, working late, giggling over nothing. People in the lab were starting to notice and Simon, one of the post docs, told me to just go for it. So when Huw asked me out for a drink one night, I jumped at the chance.

I should have known something was awry when he asked me to meet in the local Wetherspoons. Neither of us are Wetherspoons types; I’m a pint and a games of darts kind of girl. But I agreed and we sat at our table, surrounded by undergrads all racing each other through jugs of vodka red bull. Huw seemed nervous, on edge. He was distracted and kept changing the topic halfway through sentences. I was nervous too and his behaviour was making me more so. So I was drinking way faster than I would do normally, the consequence of which was, by nine pm, I was drunk. Shitfaced. With the confidence that can only come from two bottles of cat’s piss chardonnay, I started to flirt. I complimented him every way I knew how, smiled, flicked my hair, but nothing. I became increasingly more outrageous and suggestive, hoping to get a rise out him (stop sniggering at the back, you know what I mean). Then the conversation went something like this…

“Huw, we should get out of here. Maybe somewhere a little quieter…”
“Rakky, we’re good friends, aren’t we? I can talk to you like no one else”
“I’ve got some wine at my place, why don’t we go there?”
“There’s something I need to tell you…”
“My flatmates are out, we’d have the place to ourselves…”
“I really need to get this off my chest…”
“We could, you know, take this further…”
“I haven’t told anyone this…”
“Huw, I find you really attractive, and cards on the table, I really want to sleep with you.”
“I guess I’ve known for sometime now that…”
“Or if not sex, maybe just a blow job..”
“Well, that I’m gay.”

Silence. Not just from me but from the surrounding five tables. You see, I’m not a dainty girl, less so when pissed. I could win a shouting competition against Brian Blessed with a foghorn. And I’d just announced to 20 total strangers that I was so desperate for a shag that I’d basically offered a gay man a blow job.

Everyone began to laugh. The ground didn’t swallow me up as I’d hoped and as Huw’s pretty face swum before my teary eyes, I did what any self respecting girl would do in this situation. I ran.

The next day, hungover and devastated I crawled into work to have to tell everyone that I’d not just crashed and burned, but that I’d doused myself in kerosene then lit a cigarette. And I couldn't tell anyone the real reason as Huw wasn’t ready to come out…

He came and found me, curled up in the foetal position, put his arm round me, and said “Rakky, you’re a fuckwit. And if it wasn’t for the fact that I prefer cock, I’d marry you.”

That to this day is possibly one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. Isn’t life strange?

Huw and I remain good friends. He aced his degree and went on to med school. I coached him through his interview, wrote references for him, held him when he cried like his heart would break when his first boyfriend left him and wept like a proud mother when he told me about the first time he delivered a baby on his own.

And what speciality did my wonderful Huw decide to go for, is he saving lives as a heart surgeon, restoring the faces of the disfigured in plastics, maybe leading a team at the cutting edge of HIV research?

He’s a gynaenocolgist.

So much for preferring cock…
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Sat 17 Nov 2007, 22:56, 15 replies)

Oh Well Done Madam.
One of the greats. One of the best QOTW answers I've read in a long time.

*doffs hat*

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 1:24, closed)

ow
*feels pain*
*clicks*
(Emily Bruce-Dickinson http://jovialfellow.blogspot.com/, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 2:36, closed)

double ow
I was so desperate for a shag that I’d basically offered a gay man a blow job.


Oh honey, I have so been there.

I have a theory on why men become gynaecologists. They either 1) LOVE women and want to help and protect us or 2) they HATE us and want to punish us.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 5:15, closed)

TDub
I did ask him why he chose a specialty which to my mind it would seem counter intuitive for a gay man. His reasoning was that to him, a vagina was about as erotic as an ear, or a nose, and so he was perfectly fine spending his time with his head in a lady's snatch without seeing it being anything other than another organ that he could fix. Though it did cause some problems when his rather old school professor asked him what was wrong with a patient who presented with a fairly straightforward case of advanced thrush..

"Huw, what is the problem with this woman's labia?"
"No idea sir.."
"Come on, a good looking lad like you must have seen a few women's parts in your time, off duty..."
"Well sir, you'd be surprised..."

And thanks Legless, I sometimes wonder if the only good thing to come out of the car crash that is my love life is that at least I don't have to struggle for QOTW answers!
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 8:19, closed)

I like it
*click*
(therocker, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 11:55, closed)

I agree with Legless.
Definitely one of the best written and funniest answers to date in all of the QOTWs.

Top marks, my dear. Were I not already taken, I'd marry you myself.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Sun 18 Nov 2007, 12:41, closed)

Tremendous
What a magnificent tale Rakky! Deserves to be this week's winner. I'd click more than once if I could, but that wouldn't be fair.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 13:19, closed)

exactly the same thing
happened to my friend sam. she was so upset she ran out of the bar and left her handbag. i got summoned to pick her up, sobbing like a sheep on helium, from manchester picadilly station at 3am. then i had to cancel all her cards and her mobile. but orange insisted on speaking to her direct. it went something like this:

sam: look, never mind all those questions about the phone. what do you do when the love of your life turns round and tells you he's gay?

her mother, whom we'd had to wake up because her keys had been in the bag, and i look at each other in horror

sam: what? really? three YEARS and you'd no idea she was secretly a lesbian?

jesus.

oh, and i can vouch 200% that rakky is neither minging nor weird. although she is a very bad influence and makes you get completely and utterly hammered. if i were into girls, i'd do you, love!!
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 14:16, closed)

Thanks swipey-love!
I'd like to point out that we're hideous influences on each other and should not be encouraged to trawl the bars of Covent Garden. Well, not till July when I get back anyway!
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Sun 18 Nov 2007, 20:17, closed)

Awww Bless.
I rekon we've all been there in some way, shape or form... but maybe, just maybe, we've not fog-horned in public place.

I have an Ex who's a Nurse... and she pointed out that very few of the times they have to deal with GYN type stuff is it a nice deal.. She told stories of havingt to catheterise incontinent 70 yearolds... Gnarly.

*Click*
( Humpty Dumpty was Pushed Is unaware of having any limits., Mon 19 Nov 2007, 11:40, closed)

...
Great stuff. *click*
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Mon 19 Nov 2007, 11:51, closed)

I can sympathise
Once tried to get off with a girl who seemed to like me, only to be told that she batted for the other team. We stayed good friends though, and still meet up every now and again.

And don't worry about being a foghorn - Tourettes frequently fails to engage her brain before blurting out what she's thinking, usually very loudly and at moments of optimum silence (Legless will testify for me on that one.)
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Mon 19 Nov 2007, 12:53, closed)

Kudos
Best qotw answer in ages :O)

*click*
(Zutroy started without you, Mon 19 Nov 2007, 14:58, closed)

A warm feeling . . .
Pathos. Humour. Beautiful.
Thank you.
(SalRossi Laughter the best medicine? Nurse, penicillin....., Mon 19 Nov 2007, 22:21, closed)

Painfully familiar
And even though I don't 'like' the idea that someone had to go through such an upsetting episode *click*
(Pope Jamiroquai III, Wed 21 Nov 2007, 0:53, closed)