That What We Do At Night, With The Lights Off

Lucy and I met up Wednesday.  It was pissing it down outside,  I was running an hour late due to replying to emails, and I stopped to talk to a friend and go to the Post Office on the way.  We agreed to meet in Asda cafe, which turned out to be a good choice, as they had cheap coffee, and it was warm and dry.

Usual chit chat ensued, Uni, work, plans, our Scouse tutor’s wedding plans (and the PowerPoint presentations about them), people we both knew.  But then, our conversation took a sinister turn.  For me, anyway.

If I hadn’t been so hyped up on coffee, fake Red Bull and tiredness, i’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have done this in such a public place.  Especially as there was a family sitting behind us, and I was painfully aware that the daughter was under ten, and facing me, so she could probably hear every word I said.  And some of you know I am a massive prude in real life when it comes to my own activities.

We talked about The Sex.

That’s not what I actually call it.  I don’t actually call it anything in real life, as I generally don’t talk about it.  But we were there, and we were talking about it.  Stories  from our teenage years, and from Lucy, more recent years.  A boy, whom we shall call ‘C’.

C used to live in the same Halls as Lucy, when she lived in Compton.  He’d call her up for booty calls after his work as a DJ, to which she entertained him.  At the time, this was a great source of amusement for me, as she would come into class late, tired and refusing to divulge to our friend T.  When Lucy moved out to different Halls closer to the SAD (School of Art and Design), he still called her, expecting her to travel the three or so miles out of town to his, have some fun, and then be kicked out onto the street.  She no longer entertains this boy.  I do believe he is the same boy who brought his current ‘call’ to her flat and asked for a pizza.  Or something.

All this was fine, and i’d heard it before, until she said that he had said this –

“You’ll like it this time, Luce, i’ve got lube”

Cue the inane cackling of laughter.  What a chat up line.  Gold star, matey!

Which led onto my story.  My story also involves a person called ‘C’.  I can’t really divulge too much information as to who C is, as i’m massively embarrassed to have entertained such an idiot in my house.  However, I still think those close to me have their suspicions, and may even be able to put one and one together and figure it out.

When I was about . . . 14?  I know it was June, it was Shifnal carnival.  I was single.  Most definitely.  We had been drinking, My friend, her boyfriend P; and I don’t remember where C came into it, but he did.  To my house we went, and I left my friend downstairs with her boyfriend, as she never really got time alone with any of them unless she was at mine or theirs.  Me and C went upstairs to the spare room.

I didn’t plan to do anything with them, but I didn’t want to be in the same room as two people ‘getting it on’.  So we went somewhere else that wasn’t MY room.  C really was an ugly boy.  I didn’t plan to do anything with him, but we ended up getting round to it.  Then he asked THAT question –

“Do you want me to put it in you?”

What kind of stupid question is that?  NO I BLOODY WELL DON’T!  Up to this point, I think I hadn’t had anyone actually DO anything to me like that.  Not through lack of trying, but I was the ugly one in my group, and I was shy.  In fact, most of the time, it was my friends who set me up with people.  In that ‘my friend says she likes you’ kinda way.  I do remember on one of my birthdays, we were out on a under 18’s club night, and my friends were going around telling people it was my birthday and sending them my way :S Weirdest night ever, getting off with a gay male friend and a strange girl.  She was called Kimberley.  Never met her before, never met her again.

I said NO to C.  So he goes –

“OK, tell me when you’re done then.”

Um, WOW.

After a bit, I got bored and pained, said ‘yes’ to being ‘done’, and went downstairs to see if it was safe to go into my living room.

I do remember, the next day a group of us saw him in the street.  I ended up kicking him when he was on the floor, literally.  I don’t remember why, or what he said.  But he’d made me really angry.  And nobody could make any sense of my actions.

So that’s the story of my MOST EMBARRASSING EVER story.  All told in the middle of Asda cafe.  We’re so classy, yes?

George.

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