He has a fantastic booty but can't remember names.
I’ve always been regarded as a little bit of a ladies man, but even I found this hilarious when I chosen from a pool of hundreds after chucking my own name in the hat; like Cedric Diggory awaiting to read his name from the Goblet of Fire.
I made sure to arrive fashionably late, but was surprised that at 7:02 no one was there to greet me. When she did arrive I was happy to see a blond bombshell that was akin to my usual standards of Angelina Jolie/ Kate Upton.
The date itself went pretty well. She had come here from the greatest country on earth (allegedly) and was an amble skier. This reminded me of past experiences that any girl who shreds on the slopes, shreds in the sheets. She’s also studying Buddhism, which I found hilarious. She had lots of other “interesting” things to say, but naturally have forgotten every single thing. Realising that I was really drunk and that was she was all over me like a rash currently on my penis, I decided to take her home and serenade her with my guitar.
We went back to my place, and I managed to hone all my two weeks of guitar playing into a single lust-full serenading rendition of Smoke on the Water. I don’t really know what happened after that but she must have loved it because the next thing I knew I had my tongue in her mouth and hand up her shirt. I have been in this position several times before, and followed proper protocol to unhook her bra, and prod her with my flying rocket.
Despite her pleading for me to make love to her like she was the only woman alive, I nobly stated that we were too drunk, that I didn’t see this ending in marriage, and I had whisky dick anyway.
We made out for hours, and then we parted ways, when I then proceeded to venture into town to top off a seriously blue balls night. I do have her number though, and may proceed to roger her rotten, should the opportunity arise.
Cheers Critic, cheers Di Lusso. Cheers babe
An exchange student who also forgets names.
It all started back at my flat where I was struggling to drink the right amount of tequila shots in order to not be nervous for what was to come, as well as to survive the fucking cold walk there. I have never been on a blind date before, nor would I have voluntarily signed up for such a thing a week after arriving in New Zealand for the first time, that is, without the encouragement of my lovely Kiwi Host.
Anyway, I plug my headphones in and start booking it up George Street trying to pump myself up as best I can. Fortunately the drunkenness is already setting in, and I am feeling pretty good about this. I finally find the bar (fashionably late) and have no trouble figuring out who my date was, considering there was only one person there other than the bartender. After making awkward introductions and ordering a second round of drinks, I realised I had no idea what this guy’s name was. Nope, no clue at all. However, the conversation wasn’t bad and we quickly finished our meal and headed to his.
This place was a fucking mansion on a hill. As we climbed to what seemed like the 7th floor, I realised I had no intentions of getting freaky with this Hobbit-like stranger. Nonetheless, somehow we ended up pashing for quite a while, and I could feel his growing boner beneath the sheets. Moments later I realised I was completely sober, and this unusual man was shoving his tongue down my throat as if there was a prize at the bottom. I couldn’t take it anymore.
Second base is as far as this story goes people. I gently let him know that I wanted to leave and was very thankful that he offered to call me a taxi. However, as he is on the phone, the driver asks what name to put it under, and the guy proceeds to stare at me for a few clueless seconds then says the wrong name. Well, I guess that makes two of us then! Take care mystery man, and please remember to let the girl breathe next time.