So, now I’ve told y’all about how my open relationship began, let me start with one of my favourite stories that transpired from it. This is also in response to people who have said that me and my boyfriend have the sweetest deal in the world (people = men), and how we must be having great sex left, right and centre. 

Haaaate to break it to you, but being able to ride multiple people is fine, but doesn’t mean you don’t occasionally come across a dumb horse! Get ready to not only see some major red flags, but to be taken on a tour of the factory where they MAKE the red flags!!



This story takes place 2 years ago, and like every regrettable story takes place during a night out in Fresher’s Week…off to a good start!


So this was my second year at uni. I had avoided the lure of the nightclubs and house parties the year before, because I hated everything, everyone and mainly myself. However, this year I was a new me! New friends, new found freedom, time to make up for lost time! And what better way to do that than on the 4th night to have 2 Weatherspoons pitchers to myself, before heading out to a club to consume yet more drinks that glowed like something you’d have to thrown away in a special toxics bin.

Oh yeh, this was uni!

I should also mention that the club we was…well boring! It was packed to the rafters, sure, but the DJ was awful. Plus the wait time to get to the bar was at least half an hour, so whilst waiting to get a drink you were missing DJ fuckin bad boy play ‘Sandstorm’ for the third time that night. In short I was now wasted, bored and in need of something, anything, to liven the night up.

Turns out, that would be a guy in a white top and checkered shirt over it noticing me from across the dancefloor. Painfully cliché!

There were seven of us there together, all standing in a circle trying to dance and muttering about how the theme of this club night seemed to be ‘Dance With Your Elbows Out Like You’re On A Fuckin’ Tricyle’. I didn’t know these guys that well yet, so when they turned around after a 5 minute silence to discover I had pissed off into the centre of the floor with a stranger, they were surprised. They would soon learn over the course of 9 months that this was, at that time, standard night out procedure. I had been shuffling away, when I turn around to see a guy give me a smile and offer me his hand to dance. I mean, how gentlemanly, right? I had to at least have a dance around. So off I went through the sea of elbows.

I’d say it took approximately around 90 seconds of dancing before I started to attack his face.

After this I thought it only polite to ask his name. He told me, I instantly forgot, and then back to the public indecency. Shout out to my former flat mate for capturing our blossoming romance on camera, and the other 3 I lived with for then using that as blackmail for our entire stay together. Wanks! I’d then say within another minute he was already begging me to take him home with me. I’m aware I have skipped a lot of detail in terms of his looks etc, but I’m staying true to story. At that point I new he was taller than me and had a face, the rest is a blur. I’ll get into more deets as my former hoe ass sobers up. So after about 15 minutes of begging, my drunk brain gives me this solid piece of advice:

“Hey! If you take him home and just do it, he’ll stop asking! Genius!”



N O O!

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What was I thinking?! That genuinely was what made me leave with him. So he would stop talking.



So being white girl wasted, bored and taking the dumbest piece of advice I’ve ever given myself, I say sure. He gets his coat from cloakroom, and the 20 minute walk home in the September rain began, and so does the REAL story!


The chat begins with some awkward laughter and mumbling, as I am once again reminded of his name. He then starts with the patter I’ve come to be familiar with; “I didn’t expect this to happen tonight”, “can’t believe I found someone like you” etc. He then starts telling me about himself; he’s a third year at a very good uni, he likes rugby, works in a supermarket. If I am honest, I am not caring. This is, safe to say, the one time in my life I have looked upon the face of a human being and seen them nothing more as a dildo with legs. Not proud of that, but I’m all about honesty. Baring in mind that I am all about honesty, I decide very quickly to tell him my “deal”. I am in an open relationship, am not looking to fall for someone and am basically just all about the peen at this point. Well, wouldn’t you know it, this guy was ALSO in an open relationship!

What. Are. The. Odds?

Whilst walking he shows me pictures of the two of them together, and says that they have been together for 6 months. 3 months in he discovers she has cheated, so they decide to make their relationship more open.


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We laugh about our mad coincidence, and continue to walk. After some chit chat, laughing and being told to move along by a policeman after this boy tried to lift my shirt up in an alley way, I am asked a very odd question:

“So like, with guys, what dick size do you like? Y’know big, small, medium?”

….say whit?

I don’t think much of it and give a half hearted answer, and then skip ahead of him before he could respond. I then turn around, and he holds me and says:

“Wow! Sorry umm it’s just…you’re the most beautiful girl I have ever seen in my life!”

OK. Time out. I like to look at people, I am attracted to people. I have NEVER told someone they are the most attractive person in my eyes, as that title is very much taken. Don’t worry, the comparisons between me and the Mrs have just begun! We then get to my place, and he stops me before we head in to deliver to me what in his mind was a shocking confession. He wasn’t at uni, he had lied to impress me. He didn’t want me to think of him as a failure, so had made himself look smarter. I am pretty sure my exact words were something along the lines of:

“Mate, you know I literally couldn’t care less about your personal life, right?”

Ouch. I’m aware that might have been harsh.

So now we are in my room. I should also do a bit of scene setting here. I had just moved in, and hadn’t quite had the time to buy a bed sheet…or to unpack. I let him into my room that was full of boxes and a sad looking mattress. I know, I know guys, one at a time, I’m a real smooth gal! He didn’t seem as concerned about this as I was, and was more concerned with trying to guess my bra size by literally honking one of my boobs. Apparently that was his superpower, I’d be more impressed if he could’ve actually make them go “AWOOGA!”

The usual chain of events proceeds. A sock comes off here, a pair of jeans there, praying to Jesus the whole time for salvation as I was taught at Catholic School. You know, the pre-party! He spends a fair amount of time talking about how ugly and unappealing he is (hot!), and I have to lazily reassure him, once again, zero fucks were given on my end about him as long as he gave me at least one. As my clothes start to come off he showers me with compliments. Mainly about how I was skinnier than his girlfriend, prettier than his girlfriend, had better boobs than his girlfriend, actively wasn’t his girlfriend…

It was getting weird, I’ll be honest!

Time for the main event. OK, here we go! He’s putting me in my favourite position, lucky coincidence, it’s all about to go down, ready for take off…



…why can’t I feel anything?

I kid you not than when I say, on his first attempt at locating my vagina, he missed.

And didn’t notice.


Attempt 2 was marginally more successful. He had reached his destination after making a U-turn at the next available exit, but I might as well have just let him go to town on Casper the Friendly Ghost. It was clear this was gonna be all about him, and I had to just make the most of it. We’ve made our bed, badly, and now we’re having mediocre sex with a tiny dick in it. Lovely! After about 5 minutes everything came to a grinding halt, and he felt this was the most appropriate moment to ask me what my tattoos were and their meanings.

I had 5 at this point. I now have 27. Thank god this was 2 years ago! I’d still be there!

He then finds motivation to keep going for another minute or so, before once again coming to an abrupt pause to just stare at me. He was, in his words, “just trying to figure you out”.


…is not what I said I just laughed like an idiot.

Now, the worst part of the night.


There’s no polite way to say this, I was now on top of him. I figured switching it up might make this end faster. I’m no resident sexspert, but I am pretty sure that any position requires a little bit of give and take from each member involved. By that I mean, when a girl gets on top of a guy he is not supposed to freeze up like that one scene with Neville Longbottom in the first Harry Potter movie! I then had to do all the work just for anything to happen, but that’s not why I am internally cringing right now.

This guy clearly watched a lot of porn, like A LOT of porn. I like porn, porn is great, it has its uses, but it is not real life! I.e., when a girl you have just met is on top of you, who you claim is the most beautiful creature to have ever graced your dick and is also visibly not too into this, it is not appropriate to start a monologue:

“Yeh, you’re mine aren’t you? You bitch, whore, slut…”

I can honestly say I have never wanted to laugh so hard in my life!

In a very knee jerk style reaction to stop myself from laughing in his face, I place a hand over my mouth. The message seemed mildly lost in translation to my new found friend. Instead of reading the situation as what it was, he took it as meaning his hulk’s arm of a penis was causing such a commotion within my insides that I was about to scream the place down.

So his chat continued….and I was about to snap!

Cue the second input from the Drunk Brain of Wisdom!!

“If you hurt yourself, like really badly, you won’t want to laugh anymore”.

I didn’t have much material to work with to cause myself physical pain. I had a free arm, gravity, and a wall. Turns out when the 3 combine, it can make a hell of a bruise all the way up your arm! This stopped the mine bitch monologue dead. He asked if I was OK, and after a nod we resumed until he was done.

Thank god, I was done from the moment we began!

He lay back, and then went on another rant about his girlfriend’s supposedly inadequate sexual performance. I had no choice but to come at the conclusion at this point that his girlfriend was made of plastic, made of stone, or literally dead at this point in order to be worse than what I had just been through. He then asked if he could stay the night and I said no, saying I had to be up early. This time I didn’t cave into the begging, and sent him on his way. I would like to say this is where we end things, but there’s one tiny detail left.

Remember that open relationship he was supposedly in? VERY MUCH CLOSED!

He had somehow found me on Facebook, knowing only my first name and where I went to uni. They say women are CIA level detectives, but this dude was the 007 of online creeping! He had messaged me with his Snapchat name, and I just ignored it. What a night, time to put that behind me forever.

Oh no!

Turns out Mrs Shite In Sack had got a hold of his phone that next morning and saw my name. Imagine my absolute delight to receive a message off her at 7am, going into very thorough detail about how much of a home wrecking slut I was! I was planning to ignore this, however after 15 more messages I caved and told my side. It was scary how quickly that girl did a 180! Suddenly we were sisters together, both hurt by the same man, and we needed to stick together?

Sweetheart, I wish he would have hurt me just so I felt something!

This led to me calming her down and agreeing to meet up for coffee, before blocking her on every social media platform I had because I am the worst. And that, my friends, was finally the end.

Minus him stalking me on social media for months and calling my work drunk several times at 3am but I think I have said enough!

I promised you a story, didn’t I? Hope you’re satisfied with it, because I sure as hell wasn’t!