Moaningful Confessions | Goon, blood, and lies

Moaningful Confessions | Goon, blood, and lies

WARNING: This story is extremely chaotic but feels too good not to share. As this story has come up at numerous kickons, and has haunted me for the past year, I feel it is my duty to publicly confess the fateful events that happened that night. I’m sorry in advance. 

Picture a wilding fresher, getting ready for yet another night of drinking with her friends; doing each other's makeup and listening to Doja Cat at top volume, getting their third noise complaint of the semester. Little did I know, an innocent night of crashing flat parties and shamelessly flirting with second years was about to take a bit of a turn. We had three drinks we were supposed to be attending that night, and as it was getting darker, my sober self was thoroughly regretting the outfit choice I made, so what was the logical thing to do? Obviously scull the goon that was travelling its way around, and a bottle of Nitro. Sufficiently wrapped up in my alcohol blanket and white girl wasted, I moved into phase two: find a hookup. 

A nice enough looking guy strikes up a conversation with me, harmless banter gets passed around and I figure out he’s from my home town and even went to the same primary school. Red flag number one was probably that I had no recognition of this man, but I blamed that on a certain illegal substance I had gotten into recently. We start getting along well, and he ends up inviting me back to his flat for a durry. How could I pass that up?

We converse a bit more and make it back to his alive (by some miracle), and he invites me in. After awkwardly standing in the background while he fills his 4 flatmates in on the night so far and gives me a not so subtle wink, we head to the bedroom where I (wrongfully) assumed some magic was about to occur. That was when it struck me: I’m on my period. I inform him of this, to which he replies with a slurred, “I don’t care, get on the bed.” Unsure of what to do, I take out my tampon that had been marinating for hours and stick it in my pocket. Logical. 

After many thrusts, all of which I had to avert my eyes from due to the goriness of the situation, we collapse onto the bed. Not wanting to free-bleed onto his already manky bed sheets, I decide to make a run for the toilet. After bumping into his flatmate butt naked on the way, I make it to the loo where I have to decide what on earth to do. Do I assemble a makeshift pad? Do I stick the old one back in? Being hammered in this scenario didn’t help, but I settled for the less disgusting option. 

Ok ladies: a red flag you should probably not ignore is when he changes his age multiple times in the span of one conversation. Trust. This did occur to me, but it was too late by then so I decided it was best for me to not stay the night despite his pleas. I had to think of an excuse, so I told him (in hindsight not the best excuse) that I was partially deaf and had a hearing appointment in the morning. Yeah, I don’t know either. 

So off I go back to my hall, tampon in my pocket and blood drip stains down my leg, my skimpy outfit worse for wear, looking like I belong in Carrie. To cut a long story a bit shorter, this man was apparently a fourth year, and we had both lied about our ages to each other, although in opposite directions (me saying I was 19, and him saying he was 21). To make matters worse, he is currently residing in a flat right above my mates, so I see him a lot more often than I would like, and the other weekend he asked me to do acid with him and some freshers he had just met. Moral of the story: it’s a smaller world than you think, and don’t lie about being deaf. It sticks with you for life.

This article first appeared in Issue 13, 2022.
Posted 7:29pm Sunday 29th May 2022 by Critic.