The Fuck-Drunk Chronicles

Most of the stories I tell on here have two things in common: they’re entertaining (honest), and they happened a while ago.  I spent a good chunk of Monday night on a call with R, talking about a few different experiences we’ve each had, and the subject of T and my behaviour with him cropped up.  This only happened towards the back end of last year, so is far more recent than I would normally write about, but since T (the guy involved) was genuinely a good bloke and the comedy value of the tale rests entirely on my ridiculous lack of even the thinnest veneer of sexual sophistication, I figure it’s a safe story to tell without causing undue offence.  Plus both R and I were howling laughing to the point he kept choking and I couldn’t catch my breath, so I wanted to write it down before I forgot about it again.  Please God, at some point, let me forget about it. T had messaged me on the swingers’ site I’m currently using.  His message of “Fancy a drink?” is one I’d normally have delet

Some poetry spoke to me from the first line I read.  Larkin’s Ugly Sister is eight lines of such sparse beauty it makes my heart swell just to read it.  I never felt that way about Heaney.  Heaney was… OK.  Nothing objectionable, but a blah bit of background noise that I didn’t pay attention to.  I had no idea he needed to be read aloud to be really appreciated. Anahorish, soft gradient of consonant, vowel-meadow On the page (or in this case the screen) it’s a pretty nothing.  Aloud it truly comes to life. I was 18, not long out of a relationship with a much (MUCH) older man who was dour and serious (and an insecure controlling bully, but nobody is perfect).  Life had been short on laughs for a little while and I was in need of a bit of pure unfettered fun.  Although my parental home wasn’t exactly a strict one (I spent unsupervised weekends home with my brother from the age of 13), it was my first year at uni and the opportunity to have promiscuous sex free from familial judg

I have said it before and I’m quite sure I’ll say it again: I am fundamentally unsuited to relationships.  I was happily plodding along in ethical non-monogamy when Covid-19 hit.  5 months of solitude later, I can see advantages to living with someone!  I’m not anti-relationship.  For most people they are great, and the issues are mine rather than with the structure most people choose to live within. My early relationship history is a tawdry and hackneyed story with which I’ve no intention of boring anyone, but even with that understanding there are a few things I really miss about them, brought home by a conversation I had yesterday about the most banal and everyday of things: a lift home. I didn’t learn to drive until after my last cohabiting relationship ended, so the whole time I lived with anyone they would drive and I would be the passenger.  I adored the quiet intimacy of being driven home at night; just the two of us in the car in our own bubble, protected from the intrus