Is it love you're after, or just a good time?

[Keith Houchen]

6 minutes ago, neil said:

I have some memory about him maybe blocking some girl in her driveway with his car

Yeah. I think he had been cold shouldered and didn’t take the hint she wasn’t interested, so he turned up unannounced and phoned her. He could see from his car that she was home but she said she was out. He blocked the drive and sat there eating the chocolates he’d bought her. 
 

Reslly puts the NO in “Women, kNOw your LIMITS”

[Chris B]

4 hours ago, mim731 said:

I don't blame you, running a bath for someone without asking them is the behaviour of a psychopath. 

"...and I cracked an egg in it for you."

[Monkee]

5 hours ago, neil said:

...there was this tall (now remember I'm 6'7") blonde girl

...I mean she was tall yes, but like 5'10", not exactly freak status.

At first I thought this girl was well over 6ft’ tall - closer to your height - the way you described her but then you say she’s 5’10. That’s not that tall. I’m 5’11 and a lot of my friends are around the same height.

She still sounds weird though.

[Slapnut]

10 hours ago, Lorne Malvo said:

I'm sure I've told this story on here before but threads like this always bring to mind the lass at Uni who gave me a blowjob then, as I was approaching climax, held her hands out under my old chap as though it was a fucking hand dryer or something.

I think your description of this in the last dates thread as “holding her hands out as if she was Oliver Twist asking for more” is my favourite post I’ve ever seen on here. I think about it regularly.

I assume it was you anyway, either that or someone else on here has had a blowie from her.

[PowerButchi]

And fuck me, you'll never believe it, but there was a cup of tea by my bed! 

[Dai]

Was it just me who was expecting a much better conclusion to neil's story, rather than 'so I had sex with a very attractive, 5'10 blonde'? Bad sex is still not exactly a nightmare. No payoff to the 'how did the friends meet' teaser at the start of the story either, its like LIne of Duty all over again. 😉

[Frankie Crisp]

Oh, I don’t know where to start on this one. I’m completely incapable of going on a date without ending up a complete mess and/or making an absolute berk of myself. And I don’t mean endearing nervousness, I mean anxiety-fuelled, awkward idiocy. I just go to pieces and it’s now genuinely at the point where I’ve given up even bothering, because it completely writes my confidence off for weeks. Getting a decent date out of me is as likely as beating the final boss on Takeshi’s Castle.

I saw this thread the other day and ever since, a number of memories have popped back into my head, all bringing varying levels of self-loathing. The first was bad – from around 2002/3 - but nothing compared to what came in the years to follow.

I met Helen in a bar and somehow made it through the evening well enough to get her number. We chatted for a few days then we arranged to go to the pictures to watch 8 Mile as she was an Eminem fan. This worked well in my head as sitting in silence for a couple of hours lessened the chances of me saying something stupid. We got there and after the informal chit-chat, we went to our seats and my nervousness calmed. A couple of trailers in, she whispered that she wished we got some popcorn. I gave it a few minutes then told her I had to go to the loo, but I instead I popped out to the forum and got a massive tub. That’ll score me some brownie points. As I went back in, the film was just starting so the lights were all the way down. We were sat on the third or fourth row, so I knew where she was, but I didn’t know that the girl sat just before us had left her bag on the floor. I tripped on it and the full tub of popcorn went all over Helen. She had long, long hair and spent the next two hours picking Butterkist out of it. We dated for 2 years and I’m amazed I got a cuddle out of it, let alone a relationship.

About 2 years ago, I went on a date with a girl I’d matched with on Bumble. It was a Sunday evening in late summer. I was pretty relaxed about it until about an hour before, at which point my arse went and I began catastrophising. We were meeting in a bar just up the road from where I live so I decided to get there a bit early, so I could get a table and settle in. It was the warmest boozer I’ve ever, ever been in. I had a light-coloured shirt on and within ten minutes, I was dripping with sweat. I mean post-marathon, visibly drenched. The more I worried what she’d think, the more I sweated. She dropped me a text to say she was about five mins away, so I ran downstairs to the loo to do what I could. There were no dryers so I unravelled as much toilet paper as I could, opened my shirt and tried to soak it up. It made no difference. After filling the entire bin with damp Andrex, I went back upstairs – she arrived a minute or so later. She looked at me. She would not be a good Poker player. Panicked, I told her I’d only just got there and, on my way, a taxi splashed me with a big puddle. Clearly one of those puddles that specifically lands under its victim’s armpits. After getting her a drink and an insanely awkward first ten minutes, my brain convinced me to come clean. I don’t know what I was thinking. She already knew. I knew she knew. She knew that I knew she knew. But no, my mouth took charge. I went full Partridge; not only did I tell her it was sweat, I went on to ramble about which deodorant I use and that I did indeed get a shower before I left. I could hear myself and just couldn’t stop. We had two drinks, she went home and I never heard from her again.

Another one – whilst not a date – was when I was trying my hardest to flirt with a really pretty girl in a club after I’d been to the races in the mid-2000s. I was fully suited and she was dressed to the nines, in a stunning backless number. We were chatting at close quarters as the music was blaring out and it was hard to hear her. When I noticed she was nearing the end of her drink, I asked if she’s like another. She said yes, but rather than what she was drinking she asked me if she could have a Guinness. No probs, I thought. My kind of girl. We were both with a friend, so I asked mine and hers if they wanted the same, then went to the bar and after a bit of a delay came back with the drinks. As I passed the girl I was chatting to her Guinness, a huge frown appeared on her face and it was evident that’s not at all what she wanted. Thinking on my feet, I continued to extend my arm to pass it to my mate who was stood just behind her, so she wouldn’t think I was so stupid as to think a girl would be on the dark stuff in a nightclub. At the worst possible moment, someone banged into me and the Guinness tipped all down her back. And I mean all down her back. She was covered and there was murder. Her mate gave me a smack and the bouncers came over, thinking I’d done it on purpose. I got carried out by the arms and legs, protesting like I’d been told I couldn’t see the kids anymore in court. I didn’t get her number. She wanted a WKD.

The night after I lost my virginity, the girl it was to, told me it was a one-off and she didn’t want to see me again. Devastated, I decided to drown my sorrows but a few hours later when she’d been out and hadn’t copped off, she rang to see if I wanted to go round for a second go at bad sex. I went there as quickly as I could, but was drunker than I thought. I threw up on her just as I was about to get going.

On a night out, a couple of older women started to chat me and my mate up in the queue for Flares on Mathew Street. When I say older, I’d have them at early 40s, but I was early 20s so it was all a bit Mrs. Robinson to us. After some horrendous one-liners, she asked me if I wanted to leave the club and go back to hers. I did, so we did. After a taxi over to the Wirral and a bit of bumpy kissing on the back seat, we arrived at hers and I knew my luck was in. She told me where the bedroom was and to go up, where she’d follow shortly after. On the way up I saw loads of family photos. Mostly of her kids, but a few with her fella. Who I hoped wad dead. Nope. When she joined me, she told me not to worry about her husband as he worked away so wouldn’t be bothering us. I completely froze when she tried to resume the heavy petting and wasn’t sure what to do. Her hands started to wander so I knew where it was going, and she said she was just going to freshen up and told me to get into bed. As soon as I heard the bathroom door shut, I put my shoes back on, re-buttoned my shirt and legged it downstairs to make my escape. I set the burglar alarm off and couldn’t open the front door. She bombed it down after me, frantically trying to reset the alarm code and hurled all kinds of abuse at me. She then opened the door to let me out, only for me to realise I didn’t have a sodding clue where I was. I had to sheepishly knock back on and ask her to ring me a taxi. It didn’t go down well.

One of the very worst first dates I recall though, was with a girl I’d liked for years and saw in the pub a lot, but never had the confidence to talk to. Apparently, the feeling was mutual so her mates conspired with my mates and got her to add me on Facebook. We immediately hit it off and seemed to click. We chatted for a week or so and I confidently asked her out, this time thinking I wouldn’t have the usual crippling fear when we met. We went out a few days later and I was absolutely fine! Until she arrived. Then I realised this was pub girl who I’d been smitten with for years. It all got a bit real and despite us talking about scores of topics on text, I completely froze. I couldn’t think of anything to talk about. She was a very shy girl, so she also didn’t take the lead. We just sat there, smiling at each other in crippling silence for a minute, but it felt like a lifetime. Come on, think of something to say! So, I did. I asked her how her Mum’s cancer treatment was going. It wasn’t going well, so she became even more uptight, offering no conversation. So I then, for whatever reason, just kept talking about cancer. What the worst types of cancer were. What the cancer survival rates were. Who I knew who had cancer. Still no engagement so I then started talking about who I knew who’d died from cancer. She started crying, went to the toilets and said she wanted to go home. All I could say was words to the effect of ‘I’m so sorry, but I don’t think your Mum will be one of the ones who dies of it you know’. She left and blocked me on Facebook before I got home.

Date me.

Edited May 15, 2021 by Frankie Crisp

[gmoney]

Ah, I wanna give you a big hug Frankie. 

[SuperBacon]

God bless you @Frankie Crisp I'd date you.

[Mr_Danger]

Not even a mention of Richie Freebirds mum, fraud.

[HarmonicGenerator]

I’ll date you as well Frankie. I’ll act really awkward and clumsy so you feel more confident by comparison.

[Carbomb]

It's insane that someone as good as you is now thinking of giving up, Frankie. If there's anyone who deserves to have somebody and be happy, it's you, man.

[neil]

The cancer date had me both howling in laughter while cringing.

[Keith Houchen]

Frankie needs to let us know if he ever asked out his hairdresser.  I’m guessing because he doesn’t look like Jesus he didn’t. 

[Your Fight Site]

5 hours ago, Dai said:

Was it just me who was expecting a much better conclusion to neil's story, rather than 'so I had sex with a very attractive, 5'10 blonde'? Bad sex is still not exactly a nightmare. No payoff to the 'how did the friends meet' teaser at the start of the story either, its like LIne of Duty all over again. 😉

I was fully expecting it to end with, “and then I found out she was pre-op”.