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