Not mine, not lost
My own v-plates story is actually pretty mundane (apart from the the quite remarkable feat of coming and then carrying on going which I really should learn how to replicate), however, my former university mate's failed "attempt" bears repeating.

So my friend, let's call him Michael John Wilson of Stoke-On-Trent (to protect his identity that's not his real middle name, which is James), had previously had a few near misses (mostly he missed) but had not, as of his first year at university, known a lady.

However, one night he was out carousing in the university bar with some friends from his course who happened to get chatting with a couple of student nurses. Now Mike's friend was getting on famously with one of the two, no great surprise there (rumour had it he'd been around the Halls of Residence like a particularly virulent strain of Meningitis). The fact that it was Mike who was making the most headway with the other one was a surprise, however, not least to Mike, especially given that she was blonde (Mike's favourite kind), a student nurse and had, in his words, "tasty knockers."

The surprise was intensified when, as the night was slowing down, the two nurses invited Mike and his friend back to their room, no doubt with nudges and winks added in to the bargain. The rest would seem inevitable. Sadly it was not.

Having managed to arrive at the Halls the two "couples" started to head up. Mike's friend and his new companion head off in a different direction, leaving Mike all alone with the girl of at least some of his dreams. Before he can lay on his silky moves, however, his companion informs him she wants to go check on the others and could he wait for a second.

Now, kind B3Tards, what would you do in this situation? Brusquely announce "not a chance, love", whisk her off her feet and march her up to her room to get at least one of your wings? Tell her it really isn't safe for such a fine, voluptuous young woman to be walking around on her own and insist on accompanying her, arm in arm, to her destination? Or, Mike's preferred choice, wait a decent amount of time (about 3 minutes) and then run as though your very life depended on it. In his own words he "didn't stop until I got to the bus stop."

He chose to share this beautiful tale of lost love with us next day in the middle of the Halls canteen. At the time we weren't sure which we found more shocking, the immense idiocy of his actions the night before or the even greater idiocy of telling a group of young men of said idiocy in the middle of a public place.

I think the piss taking kind of died out a couple of years later, though we did occasionally advise him, if he was out on the town: "be safe, wear Nike."
(Captcheese, Mon 7 Mar 2005, 12:42, Reply)