As we enter a new year, Laura Reynolds looks at how the dating game differs from previous generations.
Laura Reynolds looks at the freedoms of festive singledom
Join Jason Rose for a peek behind today's door.
Lauren Tabbron writes about the difficulties of spending Christmas away from a loved one.
Second day of uni, and I’d run out of food. Not a bloody clue where anything was round here yet, so I’d gone on the lame-ass college ‘trip into town’… I was sure only massive geeks would be going, but I needed a supermarket, and I NEEDED to get out of my block A.S.A.P to avoid bumping into the girl in the next room, Alex.
(Already bumped into her quite enough... if you know what I mean...) She’s alright I guess, I’d give her about a 6.5 on the Richter scale. She was lacking in the personality department… thought a drink might help, so she and I got lamp-shaded on Vodkat the previous night before the ball… turns out she’s a rampant drunk… But as I was saying, what she lacks in personality, she makes up for in Gonzaga-ville... we’re talking mammoth-mammaries, like a pair of balloons that might pop at any minute... the moment I saw them I knew I had to get between them.
Curse my manhood… always getting me into these sticky situations. Always getting me caught up in the moment. Stuck living with her for the rest of the year… what a libido-crunching-nightmare!
Poor girl though. She got a taste of the goods, and that’s all she got… No way I was getting any deeper into this relationship… no good can come of shacking up with the people you’re shacked up with.
She must have heard so many screams of blissful orgasmia coming from behind the walls of my sex-nest over the next few months. (I call it a sex nest, because love-nest implies all the wrong things, and plus, it rhymes with sex-pest which is well funny.) Anyway… she must have heard such shuddering screams of pleasure coming from behind my walls… I had a reputation to work on, notches to put on the old bed post… had to keep my own ‘bed-post’ working didn’t I, or she would've got bored.
So anyway, I decided to go on this lame-ass trip into town. As I suspected, it was hardly the cream of the crop going along. There was one girl who was quite fit, but she was hanging out with some blond schmmoze-bag who looked like a right four-letter-word so she’d clearly got no taste.
Then there was just a bunch of generic girls… all blended into one really… general sense of them having brown hair… 5 foot 5… talking way too much for my hang-over to cope with… they’re well average.
I tried to look like a bastard, so none of them would talk to me… tried to look aloof and busy, sending texts and stuff, but I’m not much of a multi-tasker, so when we got moving I had to put my phone away, and of course one of the generic girls had to go and try to strike up a conversation with me.
Her name was Felicity… Frisky Flic… Double-F… although, she wasn’t a double-F, far from it… Anyway, I’ll call her Frisky for short. I guess I’m going to have to tell you quite a few stories about her as time goes by…
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