Adventures with the Rugby Society (Part 1)

The feeling of rejection is one of the most hideously vindictive feelings in the world. Whether it’s a subtle rejection from a guy you fancy the pants off of due you deciding that because you are drunk and up for it he MUST BE. Or getting dumped at your own new year’s eve party after you found out he’d got with a slutty bitch the week before; ok that may be a slightly specific example but we’ve all been there, we’ve all been subject to the gut wrenching rejection sensation that stops us in our paces and knocks that confidence (that confidence that took so long, so many nice dresses and so many sit ups to achieve) down a couple of pegs.

*Disclaimer: this post will make me seem very desperate*

So there’s this guy… Let’s call him Brian, Brian is a very pretty rugby player and I fancy him so fucking much. Basically since I first laid eyes on him I’d wanted to get laid by him. In fact I fancied him so much that I ended up turning into a proper girl whenever I saw him, much to the utter disgust of the uni lads who see me as a bit of a man eating robot (in a nice way); hair-twiddling, giggling, skipping (<<

This shortly led me to cut my loses, salvage whatever was left of my dignity and just except that Brian was not interesting. It was a shame but I was happy being friends with him because he genuinely is a fantastic person. I was happy for a while. Until one night;

‘ALURA!’

‘BRIAN!’ I could barely hear him over the pounding beats of Flo Rida and similarly shouting club-goers.

‘WHERE IS EVERYONE?’ he bent his arms up and presented his empty palms in a questioning manner, just in case I couldn’t hear him.

‘I HAVE NO FUCKING CLUE, I WENTTO THE LOO AND WHEN I CAME BACK EVERYONE HAD DISAPPEARED!’ I looked him up and down, we had dressed him up a woman earlier for the rugby social and he was still managing to look manly and so so hot. Is that weird? Probably. I don’t care.

‘AWWH THAT SUCKS, I’VE JUST BEEN WALKING ROUND LOOKING FOR THE REST OF THE RUGBY LADS. FANCY A DRINK?’ I nodded and proceeded towards the bar, trying not to get over excited about spending time alone with him. He ordered two shots of Sambuca and we downed them in quick succession. Despite being alone and drunk with a hot rugby player I managed to refrain myself from flirting, still in the mindset of being friends and nothing else.

‘DO YOU WANT TO GO DANCE?’ his question threw me off, Brian hates dancing, he’s told me that himself, he’s not even that drunk, what. I decided to not overthink it, shut up its only dancing.

We danced to the cheesiest set of songs I’ve have ever experienced in my life. It was fun, not at all hot, but fun. It was nice just having a good time with him, not worrying about whether he still thought I was a mentalist or whether he fancied me, because I knew he didn’t. We returned to the bar for more Sambuca, having at this point forgotten that we had lost all our friends.

I got in the distorted queue of drunk students all aiming for the bar at the same with Brian just behind me. I got to front and leant on the wooden countertop, Brian wrapped his toned arms around me and placed them either side of me on the bar. I could feel his mouth getting closer and closer to me, so close that I could hear him ask ‘will you come home with me?’ over the ridiculously loud music. I froze. What the actual fuck, did he just say that or was I imagining it?!

I wasn’t imagining it. I stuttered and said the most unsmooth I have said in my life…

‘but… we haven’t even snogged..’ he fell silent.

I ended up saying no, using excuses such as ‘I have a 9am meeting with my tutor’, ‘I’m really tired’ and my personal favourite of the night: ‘I haven’t even shaved my legs’ but the real reason was that I was scared. I hadn’t at all planned to go home with Brian that night and him asking me like that completely shone a light on my disorder. I couldn’t just go home with someone, I still can’t. At first I didn’t want to, but then I drank more.

‘When Brian gets back from the bar I’m going to tell him I’ve changed my mind and want to go home with him’ I said to one of my friends, who had unfortunately bumped into us a few moments earlier. I was sure. I was drunk, with hairy legs and I wanted to get laid.

It’s safe to say that this night ended like the majority of my nights, alone. Brian had wondered off, and didn’t come back; not in a twatish ‘wow I got rejected so I’m leaving now ok cya’ way, in an ‘I’m so drunk I’ve forgotten where I am’ way.

I'm pretty sure he ended up in a ditch or something. I went home.

Stay Sexy

Alura x

Old flames are often the coldest

This story forces me to look back upon a dark time in my life. The time most girls go through; I like to call this time ‘the middle parting era’. I was 15 and had just met the most emotionally open guy I will ever meet in my teenage life.  I liked him, a lot. Sadly it was not to be, like a geographical Romeo and Juliet we we’re soon to be torn apart by land and sea. Yes, dear reader, he was leaving in 2 months and I was devastated.

Of course he came back every summer since then but it was never same, the world had taken its toll on both of us, in my case the world should be read as my first proper boyfriend, my second boyfriend and then the beginnings of Ben. He also ended up going to uni and finding a ridiculously good looking and pleasant girlfriend.

Back to present day and the good looking and pleasant girlfriend turned into a manipulative, cheating bitch so I was cool with my intentions to flirt my arse off when he came to visit his sister at uni.

Both he and his sister ended up coming out with my friends at uni and I knew straight away that he had the same intentions as I did. The long smiles, dragged out stares, legs touching under the table. Foreplay; leading towards what we both knew what was going to happen once we got to the club.

We got drunk. We danced. We snogged. It was hot.

After this had happened multiple times he sat me down to ‘chat’, at this point I was thinking that this was going to end up being another smoking hot snogging session, I was WRONG. (I am actually still angry about this incident).

‘Where’s the innocent Alura that I used to really like?’ he asked, clutching my hand in his, pinning me down.

I laughed ‘she left about 4 years ago’ why is he not trying to get in my pants right now?

‘I think she’s still there, deep down.’ He stared at me, trying to catch my gaze, ‘you seem to have put up this wall of intimidation to stop anyone from getting close to you and actually knowing the real you. Who’s hurt you? Ben?’ Urgh.

‘No Ben was always really good to me’ I lied; I was getting pissed off and knew where he was going with this.

‘Wasn’t there another guy after Ben?’ he tried to look deep into my eyes, I looked away.

‘No…’ I lied again ‘No I don’t think there was anyone important’ I deliberately looked straight back, trying to stare him out.

‘Mark someone..?’

I kicked off ‘Look, you don’t fucking know me! You sit there all high and mighty thinking you know everything about me and are all put together when I know for a fact that you’ve been texting your ex-girlfriend all night with a deliciously painful look of unrequited love smeared all over your poor little puppy dog face.’ This isn’t an exaggeration, I did actually say this. He looked like I’d just ripped out his heart and shown it to him.

He fixed his gaze into the sticky floor ‘I don’t think I’m ready to talk about that right now’

‘Well then stop trying to psychoanalyse me; you think you’re being deep and meaningful but actually you’re just acting like a dickhead’.

I’m not quite sure how the situation went from this to him being in my bed, but yeah, that happened.

Oh and he couldn’t get it up, that also happened. I assumed it was alcohol because we were both pretty drunk at this point but he claimed later that it was due to him feeling bad about essentially ‘cheating’ on his ex-girlfriend, but personally I think he was just upset about getting dumped and got confused and turned on by my fabulousness. Either way I asked him to leave shortly after.

I’MMMMM BACK BABAY!

Stay Sexy

Alura x

Previously...

So, you’ve missed a lot. I’ve forced you to miss a lot. It’s been hectic. My life’s been drastically been changed by the university lifestyle, which I have embraced fully. I have been writing, just not posting. I’m not really sure why; maybe I was trying to be stereotypically English and avoid my problems altogether. Over the last few months I’ve realised that you can’t avoid disorders, because they aren’t like a creepy guy trying to get on you on you all the time that you can freeze out until they understand that you’re not interested, no. They are like shitty marriages; you have to actually admit there’s a problem before divorcing them. This is a weird metaphor and I’m not really sure where I’m going with this. Moving on;

The next few posts will involve: Ben asking me out on a date, two guys that can’t get it up, one therapist, embarrassing rejections, great pulls and a new human dilator. Let’s get on with it shall we?

A BELATED MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR!

It’s officially my first anniversary of being single, so this feels like an appropriate time to reflect.

I had some wishes come true during what has seemed like one of the longest years of my life; I found the perfect human dilator, had lots of very good (for my standards) sex and managed to avoid ruining a good friendship. This is something I honestly didn’t think was physically or even emotionally achievable, but I came out of it a better person and a better shag. I will always be so grateful for what Cas did; showing me (even if only for a few moments) that it is actually possible for me to feel pleasure during sex.

Sadly as you know from the many whiney posts that those moments of pleasure did not result in me blossoming into some sort of sex hungry man-eater like I had hoped it would. It kick started a large period of time of me thinking it couldn’t get any better. I still haven’t had sex with anyone, but I’m feeling so much more positive about my disorder. I know it CAN be fixed. I know I’m going to get better.

This year also involved a lot of Mark fucking with my head; the most recent being early October at a student union, him texting me out of the blue and messing with me for his own amusement. Of course, this is boring and classic Mark. The real mind fucking was just last week, when he apologised for screwing me around and just generally acting like a twat. Which is progress I guess. I’m happy he realises what a nob he’s been. I’ve always been willing to forgive him, I just wanted him to realise that he didn’t need to act the way he was doing.

The year rounded off nicely with a cheeky head-fuck from Ben; who asked me out on a date then stood me up. He still hasn’t explained himself and I doubt he ever will, but hey that’s Ben for you. As hard to read as ever. For a brief moment Mark made me think that people change, now I’ve realised only some do; the rest of them stay static. I’m trying to not be static.

As I said earlier, I haven’t had sex but have come very close to it; waking up with no memory of the night before, a camera album that would give the Hangover’s closing credits a run for its money, a men’s belt on my floor and an open but unused condom on my bedside table was not the way I’d envisioned the next chapter of my sexcapades but hey. Turns out the guy I thought I’d had sex with was Michael, so much for not getting with future flatmates! I want think its safe to assume that won’t be happening again, but to be honest after that night I can’t rule anything out anymore.

Saying that, I’m trying to take control of my life. I’m going to see a psychosexual therapist tomorrow afternoon and have no idea what to expect (I’m hoping to lie down on a big sofa like in movies). I’ll let you know some time before Sunday and I'm also going to try and stop being so useless; I'm very sorry about my absence from this blog, I’ve had uni coursework and exams and writer’s block and blah blah blah. This year is going to be a new beginning for me, I can feel it. I will not be static.

Stay Sexy

Alura x