A thousand apologies for the late post but exam time is upon me! (Sure I’m not really studying much but procrastinating really eats into your day!) Now last time we strayed away from the Rick story to let you in on my present mishaps. But what to do now? I wish I had a reader hotline that I could talk to you all on. “Hi there would you like to hear more about Rick my disastrous first love? Or perhaps the Irishman who I had such high hopes for? Or maybe you don’t care about either of those and you’d rather hear about my new years eve lover who tried and failed to make passionate love to me several times?” You see it’s very difficult to choose when there is so much subject matter! 😉 Well, until they create such a magical hotline I will just have to make the choices around here. So let’s hear more about this Irishman.
Alrightey, so we met on Plenty of Fish (always a reliable source for great men, not.) I went against my own rule of never speaking to what I call One Picture Wankers. As the name suggests these are the boys who try and get by with only one measly picture of themselves on their profile. You might be thinking, so what? I’m sure he’s just not very photogenic. Maybe he’s just shy. Maybe he’s so romantic that he wants to keep the mystery of one photo. Maybe he’s my future husband and we will laugh about this at our fairytale wedding exactly two years and four months from now.
Or maybe, he’s just a plain old wanker.
Seriously ladies, every single time I have plucked up the courage to meet one of these fellows I have been sadly disappointed. They never, ever look like their profile pictures! The picture was either taken years ago in amazing light by a professional photographer, or is a little known but super attractive d-grade celebrity. The entire date you want to scream “Who are you? And what did you do with the hot guy!”
Now I have never walked out on a date. Ever. That’s just not cool peeps, not cool at all. I believe you should always give them a chance to prove they are just misunderstood and not a full blown wanker. I have a one beer minimum and I let them do the dating dance as best they can before I make my excuses and leave. Sure it’s a bit of a waste of a night and you feel ripped off that you didn’t get to meet Brad Pitt’s body double, but there is no excuse for drinking and dashing ladies. Never.
Well unless you catch him spiking said drink, then you can go ahead and bash him over the head with your heels for all I care. 😉
Now, that being said, I decided to take a chance on Irishman and have a chat to him. If he was a wanker I could just delete him right?
We started to chat and right away I could tell he was a really nice guy. Now when you pair Irish and nice together you get a lovely cocktail I like to call Cream Your Jeans. So when said Irishman invited me out for a beer I graciously accepted.
The situation was a little bizarre though as it was his birthday. Would it be weird? Would I be intruding? Didn’t this dude have any mates to hang out with on his birthday? Irishman assured me he did have friends but he still wanted to grab a drink with me before the big bash started.
So I hightailed it over there as quickly as I could. (Which turned out to be not so quick as I had to take two trams and a train. They never show that part on the rom coms do they?) I arrived and ordered a pint, swallowing down a massive gulp along with my nerves. And then he appeared.
He was nice sure, but as usual he looked almost nothing like his profile picture. Sigh. Still, I decided to have a birthday beer with him and then make a quiet exit when his mates arrived.
Five pints and four shots down I had my tongue down his throat while his friends cheered us on.
His friends were lovely and they took to me like cheese on pizza, with one of his girlfriends even dragging me into the bathroom to show me all her various tattoos. (They were quite cool actually.)
We were all drinking like there was no tomorrow but I was doing my best to try and slow the birthday boy down. After all, if he was going to have some birthday fun he needed his equipment in ship shape condition. Sadly whenever I suggested he slow down this would prompt the response “Jagerbombs for everyone!”
Eventually I did what every girl in my situation would do. I stuck my hand down his pants, nibbled on his earlobe for a second, before proclaiming that he should take me home.
I know I know, I wasn’t really attracted to the guy, but the beer goggles were firmly on and I hadn’t had any action in ages. Plus I actually wanted to help the poor guy out as I knew he had work the next day and if he drank anymore there was no way he was getting vertical in the morning.
But there was one more reason. A very very selfish one. Irishman had spent the whole night complementing me. He fawned constantly over my eyes, my dress, my hair, my body. There was nothing about me he didn’t adore. I felt incredible. Although to be honest the Jagerbombs probably had a hand in that too. After all the rejections from those stupid boys previously my confidence was at an all time low. But Irishman made me feel so wanted that I wanted to repay him in the only way I knew how.
Yeah I wasn’t really attracted to him, but hey birthday sex is always going to be good for him. 🙂
We hopped in a cab together and made our way to his place before spilling out onto the pavement in a mess of giggles and kisses. Irishman took me through to his bedroom which was fairly sparse but thankfully nice and clean. I leaned in to kiss him but was brought up short when he suddenly said
“Did I tell you you could kiss me?”
“Uh, no.” I replied, slightly confused.
“Turn around.” he said, his voice tight.
I did as I was told, realisation slowly dawning on me.
“Take off your dress.”
I started to unzip but stopped as he commanded me to do it slowly. I slid my zip down slowly, before reaching up and slipping my dress off my shoulders. It fell to the floor and pooled at my feet. I smiled to myself as I heard him inhale sharply. Clearly he liked what he saw. I loved what he was doing. He was being dominant. Yes! I was getting my very own taste of Irish Christian Grey! I was officially in the zone and at that moment I pretty much would have done whatever he asked. So when he told my to take off my bra and undies I did so eagerly and turned around.
He had somehow taken off his own clothes at the speed of light and was standing before me naked.
“Did I tell you to turn around?” he asked
“No.” I said, a cheeky smile playing at the corners of my mouth.
‘No, what?” he breathed
“No… Sir.” I replied.
He strode forward and grabbed me, spinning me around to face away from him. I leaned my head back against him as he kissed my neck. This was awesome!
Then he pushed me onto the bed and we were making out.
Sadly that was where it ended as all those Jagerbombs had taken their toll on the Irishman’s banger and mash. Not even my caring ministrations could breathe any life back into the poor old thing. So we just talked. For a long time. And I found out that Irishman would actually be my perfect partner if only I was goddam attracted to him. We liked the same things, he could make me laugh and of course the dom thing was a total tick in my book.
Eventually though we let sleep takeover and we drifted off, spooning the shit out of each other.
The next morning I woke up feeling remarkably chipper considering the night before. Irishman was also awake and greeted me with a kiss and an amazingly long speech about how beautiful I was and how it was the best birthday he had ever had and no girl he’d been with could come close to me.
We made out for a while, his dominant side from last night occasionally shining through when he would tell me to shut up and kiss him. Unfortunately I wasn’t really feeling it as we both had morning breath and things were just a touch smelly. I was saved from more kissing though as his phone rang. I grinned. This was the perfect time to play the phone game.
For the uninitiated I’ll explain the rules of the phone game. Your man gets on the phone to whoever is calling and that is your cue to dive into his pants, whip out his penis and commence the most splendiferous, over the top, amazing blow job you have ever attempted. If your boy can carry on the conversation without yelps, moans and voice pitch changes then you continue to lay on the pleasure. If he can’t and tries to cut the phone call short then you stop immediately. The goal of course, is to get the other person on the phone to realise what is happening and hang up in disgust at their friends antics. You might think, but why? Well for one thing, it’s hilarious, and how often do you get to laugh when there’s a penis in your mouth? Also, guys bloody love it, no matter who they’re talking to and eventually some will even schedule calls just when you’re around so you can have a bit of fun. And lastly, do you need a reason? That’s a negative.
So I slipped under the covers and started doing my job (he was loving it but sadly his little man was not standing to attention. There is nothing worse than giving head to someone who can’t get it up. It’s like giving a blowjob to a ball of warm play-dough.) Anyways I was grinning away listening to him try and have a normal conversation with his brother when it happened. A strange and unknown smell crept into my nostrils just as I was working up to the big finish. I paused for a moment and then realised what had happened.
The bastard had farted!
And I know we all know that the night after a big one farts are bloody awful! It was the ultimate in silent but violent and it was all I could to not fling the blankets back and run screaming from the room. I just didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so you know what I did? I kept going!
Urgh it was disgusting. I knew he’d done it, he knew he’d done it, but neither of us said a word. It was just the unspoken agreement. Please don’t mention that I just dutch ovened you.
So what happened next? Did I see him again? Did I get a severe case of pink-eye? You’ll find out soon Lovers! 😉
Pickup line of the week: My doctor says I’m lacking Vitamin U