Roxy highlights her choice for the perfect guys to look for this summer.
Roxy looks at whether the "other woman" is always in the wrong.
The place we wanted to go was sold out, so instead we opted for an indie/dub-step kind of club. Not exactly my favourite, but I was just excited to be with my friend who I hadn’t seen since we arrived back from the holiday.
After work, I rushed to the station and got the first train to Manchester. By the time I got to the house all the girls were dressed and made-up and well into a bottle of wine. I had to rush upstairs and wrestle on a ridiculously tight-fitting dress before joining the party downstairs.
Now, if you don’t know, Manchester has two universities and is also home of the Royal Northern College of Music. So there are a LOT of students. I used to think York was busy, coming from a quiet town myself, but Manchester was different to anything I’ve ever experienced.
We rocked up to the club about 11ish (well limped in my case – stilettos were a bad idea) and when we got in (after no queuing at all) it felt like I had walked onto the set of a JLS video. All the guys were wearing tops lower than what I usually wear, some guys were even wearing dainty little scarf’s, one guy described his shoes as plimsolls.
I let this entire thing slide because, even with the overly camp outfits, these guys were gorgeous.
The girls and I had a quick dance and a drink in the indie room - which was definitely not the indie music I listen to – and we created a plan. I had decided that it would be fun to play with a young, naive fresher.
Now to be able to tell you the story I’ll have to explain something: me and my best friend share everything. We share beds, we share holidays and recently, we’ve taken to sharing guys. What we do is we both go up to a guy and chat him up at the same time. Although she and I are usually super-competitive, with this we’re not - it's just too much fun.
So when this group of lads start dancing with us, we select our victim – obviously the hottest of them. I moved in on him first, and separated him from the rest of the group, and then my friend joined us.
The guys always react the same to this: the amount of shock and enjoyment are equally high. This guy, a poor, little fresher did not know what had hit him. You could tell nothing like this had ever happened to him before. That much was obvious when he stuttered that he wasn’t ‘very experienced’. We said it didn’t matter. He told us he had a girlfriend. We told him that that didn’t matter.
I guess his girlfriend had slipped from his mind when he said that if anything was going to happen it would have to be ‘behind closed doors’.
We bailed.
We’re attention-seeking exhibitionists, behind closed doors doesn’t exist to us.
What a pointless article. You went out clubbing with a friend, then you acted like you wanted to have a threesome, but you didn't really and nothing happened. The end.
I've seen more interesting things written on the walls of the Vanbrugh toilets.
I think I have seen this written on the walls of the Vanbrugh toilets
Apparently there's a dragon on the walls of Vanbrugh toilets. Or was anyway...
Please stop writing. Please.
This is why I find The Yorker so terribly frustrating. I have just read two brilliant two part features, off the beaten track in Paris and all work and no play, both were wonderfully well written, but then I read 'tatoo's' by tom eagles and then this pile of utter rubbish from roxy. The Yorker needs to sort out its content and respect the intelligence of its readers! Maybe be a bit more stringent with its writers.
#3
I'll have to investigate this dragon situation. It's certainly more interesting than the article.
Complete and utter trash.
Sorry 'Roxy' but... A million NOs!!! This is utter shit.
"We’re attention-seeking exhibitionists, behind closed doors doesn’t exist to us."
Self-parody only works when you've done something noteworthy. Chatting up a witless 18 year old who was too gullible to realise you and your friend were taking the piss... well, it doesn't really count.
I agree with #5. The Yorker has some excellent writers who clearly put a lot of work into their articles. But it also has articles like this, which don't really serve any purpose at all.
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