» Flirting

Losing My Virginity
This is the story of how I lost my virginity.

I still find this incident quite embarrassing and uncomfortable to recall as I am not sure if what I did is actually morally allowed. Please remember that I was young, horny and desperate to get laid for the first ever time. Nowadays if I was faced with the same situation, I would probably run a mile in the opposite direction.

I was 17 and living in Orkney where I was in the middle of my final year at school. At the time most of my days mainly consisted of skipping as many classes as I could reasonably get away with and drinking beer in my house with a few mates since I only lived about two or three hundred yards away from the school.

One afternoon I had a free period and then PE so I decided I would nip home to watch TV first before heading back later on to kick footballs at the folk on the trampolines for an hour. I was walking along the path outside the school when I bumped into a woman that I knew. Her name was Jane.

Jane was a 22 year-old single mum who I had met a few months prior. She was quite short but very attractive with long bleach-blonde hair. It was a nice day out and evidently she was on her way over to my house as well. This was nothing unusual. Her and my step-mum had become quite friendly over the past couple of months so I would see them in the living room together playing games with her son. I would often help out where I could since I quite liked Jane and the kid was pretty entertaining. He had just learnt to walk, and as such, he would take any opportunity to sprint across the room as fast as his wobbly penguin-legs would take him, and would inadvertently crash into walls, chairs, the dog or any other inanimate object that stood in his way. He was comedy gold.

Since she had been coming over regularly Jane and I were getting quite close and she seemed very happy that I was taking an interest and spending time with her son.

When we got to the house she cornered me in the kitchen as I was making a sandwich for lunch.

“You should come over to mine later for tea if you want? I’m making lasagne” she said.

Being quite partial to homemade lasagne, I agreed, since the alternative that night was roast chicken. And I cannot fucking stand chicken.

Later on in the day after I had finished terrorizing everyone in PE, I made my way up to Jane’s house. Because she was a full-time mum the Council had provided her with a nice two-bedroom house that she lived in with her son. The kitchen was attached to the living room so while she prepared the lasagne, I lay on the couch and watched Ed, Edd and Eddy with the kid. I loved that show. I have a sister who is eleven years younger than me and I would sometimes sit and watch cartoons with her anytime I was bored after school. Those were good times.

Anyway, after we had finished eating and the kid had worn himself out, Jane put him to bed and then brought through a bottle of wine. I was still lying down on the opposite couch so I took this as a sneaky opportunity to sit next to her. Over the course of the evening we shared a couple of bottles of wine and watched The Evil Dead trilogy. Romantic I know.

I was pretty inexperienced in relationships and, well, women in general, and I wasn’t accustomed to the basic signs of flirting. At this point I still considered this evening as simply ‘hanging out’. The fact that she invited me over for a cooked dinner should have been a clue. The Von Dutch t-shirt that she was wearing that was so tight I could see her pierced nipples poking through it should have been another. It finally hit home though when she sidled up to me, took my hand and placed it around her shoulder and gazed directly into my eyes with a fuck-me look that could have stopped a ravaging lion in its tracks, with her breasts beckoning me through her tight white shirt.

As inexperienced and naïve as I was, there was no way I could not pick up on that sign. I leaned in, placed my other hand tenderly around the back of her neck and kissed her. And I kissed her some more. Kissing then moved onto touching, touching moved onto rubbing, and before I knew it, she had a hold of my hand and was pulling me towards her bedroom. This was finally it. The day I had dreamed about was finally here.

I followed her into her bedroom, taking note of the vast amount of toys on the floor that I could potentially trip over later, and then proceeded to have the most eagerly anticipated sex I have ever had. It was awesome. There aren’t many things in life that you look forward to as much as having sex for the first time, and it certainly didn’t disappoint.

Now you may have noticed a couple of things from earlier on in the story that I haven’t clarified yet. Like when I mentioned that this was embarrassing? And why Jane was appearing at my house regularly even though we weren’t going out?

Well, the reason for both is that the father of her child is actually my step-brother. So the reason she was over at mine all the time was because she was taking her son to see his grandmother. And the reason why I felt, and still feel, awkward was because even although the sex was great, the woman I had just stuck my penis inside was technically the mother of my nephew. Or step-nephew. Can you even have a step-nephew? Either way, I realize that it was totally fucked up.

And so began my official journey into the depraved world of flirting.
(Tue 23rd Feb 2010, 19:48, More)

» Doctors, Nurses, Dentists and Hospitals

An Unexpected Trip to A&E
Several years ago I was out celebrating Hogmanay with a few of my mates. There were nine of us in total, three were close mates and the rest more casual acquaintances. We had gathered at Alex's to pre-party a bit and then the plan was to head down to The Street to meet everyone else.

In Orkney, most people under the age of 18 (who are unable to sneak their way into the only club that Kirkwall has) meet in a place in the town centre called 'The Street'. It really is as dull as it sounds. It's just a street about 300 yards long and on Hogmanay about 400 or 500 people turn up to bring the bells in. Once the excitement of the Cathedral's bells chiming has passed, everyone makes their way to any of the numerous house parties that are usually organised afterwards. That was the plan anyway.

The night started innocuously enough. We sat in his house drinking and chatting while watching dvd's and generally just having a normal night in. After a while one of the guys at the house, John, suddenly began giving me dirty looks for no apparent reason. Well, it wasn't for a reason I was aware of anyway. Every so often I'd catch him glaring at me but I ignored him as much as I could. I had known him for several years and he had a reputation for being a bit of a tit when drinking so I decided just to let it go.

A few hours later when we were leaving the house John pulled me up and started arguing with me about something. I can't remember everything he was moaning about but one of the things was that he thought I had stolen his beer. I told him I hadn't but he was adamant I had. I'm not really a confrontational person so I tried my best to get him to leave it be and walk away. After all it was New Year, a time for celebration, and I hadn't actually stolen his beer.

When I thought he had settled down a bit I turned and began to walk away to join my mates who had already started walking down the road. The next thing I felt was a solid thump on the side of my head, causing me to stumble forward a few steps, followed by the sound of glass shattering all around me. When I regained my balance and turned around, John was already running off down an adjacent road.

The next thing I know I'm being dragged back inside the house as I was told there was a lot of blood spilling everywhere. Once in the bathroom this is what I saw in the mirror: (Possibly NSFW)

Image 1

It turns out that John had smashed his beer bottle over my head as I was turning around. The cut on the top of my head was about an inch or so long and there were several more lacerations on my neck and behind my ear. The picture above doesn't show them clearly but you can see a separate trail of blood down my neck.

After this my partying plans unfortunately had to be put on hold as a couple of my mates took me to the hospital to receive treatment. I wasn't too keen on going but luckily my friends had more common sense than I did and took me anyway.

Once we arrived a nurse took me into A&E. She cleaned up all the blood, numbed the area around each of the wounds and stitched me up. It was a long, depressing fourty-five minutes spent lying on a bed, staring at the clock, with absolutely no beer to drink, and I hated every minute of it. After she was done she handed me some bandages and told me to go home to rest. To her credit though, she did an excellent job:

Image 2

I received sixteen stitches in total spreading out across my head and neck and many of the scars are still visible to this day. I made a few more trips to the hospital over the next week to get more bandages and to have the stitches removed. The doctors said that I was lucky more damage hadn't been done to the surrounding tissue and muscles, but there was never any danger to my life apparently.

Say what you want about the NHS, but under some of the circumstances they have to work in, they do a fantastic job taking care of the drunken, reckless idiots like myself who stumble in at god-awful hours needing treatment. I, for one, am certainly glad healthcare is free in this country.

Cheers
(Fri 12th Mar 2010, 0:15, More)

» Ginger

My First Ginger
There seems to be a split opinion on whether ginger girls are downright filthy because they’re actually ginger, or whether it’s simply just a coincidence.

I’m not overly attracted to ginger haired girls, my preference is either blonde or dark red, so I don’t tend to meet that many to try and prove this one way or another. To me, most seem quite shy and timid, although that could just be my own ignorance. Becky was the notable exception though, I’m pretty sure she was a clinical nymphomaniac.

Becky was a ginger of the highest order. If you stood in front of her and faced the sun it looked like her head was on fire. It was quite scary. Between her fiery red hair and constant need for sex she was pretty damn intimidating as well. In the end it got to the stage where I was reluctant to have sex with her for fear of getting crotch-burn so bad I would have to get a penis graft.

I originally met her when I lived in Orkney a number of years ago but didn’t see her again until after I had moved down to Glasgow. She was studying at the Nautical College which was right across the road from where I worked at the time. I can’t remember exactly what course she was doing. It had something to do with maintaining ships and vessels, but I’m not too sure. For all the periods we talked, we usually had sex straight afterwards so I quickly forgot whatever it was she was going on about.

One particular event sums her up.

Back in October of 2008 I was getting drunk with a mate on some random Monday night. It was about 2am and we had just been kicked out of a club. To make matters worse I had work the following morning. I hadn’t really considered that earlier on in the night when we were downing Jägerbombs and vodka Red Bull’s like we were preparing for Oktoberfest (I tend to get a bit carried away on nights out). We could have given Paul Gascoigne a run for his money. It was around about this time that I blacked out.

My next memory is of walking across the bridge over the River Clyde just near my work, which was a couple of miles away from the club we were at. I wasn’t too sure why I was there and could only assume that I was either walking home or looking for a bus. Either way, I soon became aware of a few things:

1. It was now 3.30am and I had been wandering around for over an hour.
2. I had no idea where my mate was.
3. I had no money.
4. I had work in four hours.

Then I had a moment of inspiration. Instead of waiting for a bus, trying to scheme my way onto it for free and losing an extra hour of sleep, I would simply go into my office and nap there and wait for one of my colleagues to wake me up when they arrived. Sorted.

Unsurprisingly, when I got to the front door I discovered that it was locked, despite my best attempts to try and force my way in*. Becoming increasingly desperate I wandered around the side of the building and sat on the pavement next to the car park preparing to sleep. It was at this point that I decided to text Becky to inform her of my predicament. I didn’t really expect her to reply since it was so late and she had told me earlier that she had an exam the following day. I had barely put my phone back in my pocket when it started ringing.

“Heeeello?” I drunkenly answer.

“What the fuck are you doing lying on the pavement?!” Becky immediately asked.

“Uhh… nothing much, I…uh… just felt like taking a nap before work”

“What?” she asked sounding confused, “It’s freezing out, you should come over”

“Nah it’s okay. I… I’m just gonna wait here until I can go to work…”

“[Fred], don’t be stupid. I’m up now, just come past” she demanded.

“Hmm… well okay then” I replied, tired of arguing.

I dragged myself to my feet and stumbled over to the block of flats she lived in. By the time I arrived at the entrance of her building she was already standing in the front door wearing a loose-fitting black dressing gown. I walked over to her and she greeted me by sticking her tongue down my throat.

A minute later we were in her bedroom; her lying naked on her bed, her gleaming ginger hair brightening up the room like an orange lava lamp. I ripped my clothes off as fast as my drunken hands would allow and slid in her with the accuracy and technique of a blind, retarded chimpanzee.

After a few minutes I could barely even concentrate so I rolled onto my back and let her take control. And fuck me did she take control. I clung to the headboard for dear life as she rode me like she was on a bucking bronco on steroids. She then leaned back so far that she was nearly able to balance on her elbows as I winced in pain at being twisted worse than Aaron Ramsey’s leg. This carried on for a while until she eventually finished herself off and went to sleep while I lay there and tried to restore some feeling back in my manhood. Easily the most vigorous, uncomfortable sex I’ve ever had.

So, in my experience, ginger girls are certainly filthy. Whether I just happened to find the crazy one remains to be seen.

Oh and I made it into work on time the next day.

*In case you’re thinking ‘pics or it didn’t happen’, CCTV footage of this will exist somewhere as there are a number of cameras positioned around the building, but I have no intention of ever asking to see it. No good can ever come from asking our security officer to look for footage of me, drunk, trying to break my way into a government building just so I could take a nap.
(Mon 1st Mar 2010, 19:49, More)

» The Soundtrack of your Life

The Day I Fell In Love
It was a cold April’s night back in 2008 and I was in the Barrowlands waiting for Opeth to take to the stage. They were on a sponsored tour with Arch Enemy who I had been eagerly anticipating for many months beforehand. At the time I was only familiar with a few of Opeth’s songs as I had just discovered them a week or so prior.

I was about to be given a lesson in true progressive death-metal brilliance.

They opened with the songs ‘Demon of the Fall’ and ‘The Baying of the Hounds’ to the immediate appreciation of the crowd. It was then that I knew I was about to witness something special. Each lingering guttural growl from vocalist Mikael Akerfeldt’s voice mixed seamlessly with the complex guitar arrangements and chilling interludes that seemed to be a common feature with each and every song.

Fifteen minutes later, and with my neck and back already sore from being elbowed more times than by The Rock on WWE Smackdown, they moved onto a song called ‘In My Time of Need’. In every way possible, this song was the complete opposite to the former. It was a beautifully compiled melody with soft guitar sounds and clean vocals throughout. I was shocked at how effortlessly they transitioned from death metal riffs and harsh vocals to completely clean-sounding progressive rock in a mere matter of minutes.

Let me take a quick second to explain something about Opeth. I can fully appreciate and understand that their music isn’t for everyone. With average song lengths around the ten-minute mark and the sheer multitude of genres included in them, they can be very difficult to follow if you are not a devoted fan. You really do need to take a week off from doing anything else whatsoever to fully appreciate just how talented and diverse they are.

After ‘In My Time of Need’ finished, Akerfeldt joked around with the crowd, before announcing that the next song is a tribute to his favourite death metal band; Morbid Angel. This tribute was met with a huge applause as drummer Martin Lopez immediately opened the song ‘Wreath’ with a ferocious blast-beat intro that nearly burst through my ear drums. I could feel the force of the double-base drums vibrating through my chest as the brutal guitar riffs sent shivers down my spine. It was a fucking incredible feeling. It was like a combination of the best sex and the best steak ever, all combined to tickle every one of my senses.

This continued all the way through until they concluded their set with a song called ‘The Drapery Falls’; the only song from their set that I had actually heard before. For the first time in my life, I was in love.

When I left the hall later that night, I was so faint and weak at the knees that I could hardly walk properly. Although thinking about it, that was probably just the dehydration and exhaustion.
(Wed 3rd Feb 2010, 3:38, More)

» I don't understand the attraction

Madeline McCann
Am I the only person annoyed by the whole Madeline McCann saga? Why is it that people everywhere went crazy when one child went missing?

Sure it's a tragedy and the parents must be gutted but c'mon, she's not the only child in the world that's gone missing. Just because the parents could afford to go on a European tour and convince every major network station to broadcast an appeal doesn't make their situation any more important than if some 8 y/o kid went missing from a primary school.

Unless they're from Glasgow, in which case they don't count.
(Tue 20th Oct 2009, 14:05, More)