The one that got away.

[The Flying Scotsman]

My hopes were raised and then dashed - still an Orient fan should know that feeling!!

 

[sufcintheprem]

How very moving.

All this thread has really done for me is remind me how much fun Freshers week is though.

For those waiting to experience it, I'd take Slipperduke's approach of devoting all social efforts when out to the fairer sex. As long as you don't take this approach all year, you'll pick up really good mates along the way. There was another line about Freshers week that really stood out from one of the tales but I can't remember what it was...

 

[beemamad]

Quote[/b] (Jonny_Stokes @ Sep. 14 2006,10:54)]I was supposed to be getting married this Saturday. But I'm not as funny as DtS so I won't bother to go into it.

Commiserations JS. However I am getting married this Saturday to the one that hasnt got away . ( yet )

 

[sufcintheprem]

... ahh yes

Quote[/b] ]Always sit next to the best looking bird that you can.

Priceless advice this one. Closest I think I've got to a tale of the one that got away. Annoyingly, I can't remember the girl's name and now it's really starting to bug me...

One of my first lectures in Management Uses of IT and I had already had a couple of lectures where I had naively just gone and sat in the first place I saw. By chance, I sat next to a bloke who's still one of my best mates now and a Torquay fan so we had some common ground for a conversation. Anyway, we had turned up surprisingly early and I couldn't tell if it was my fermented eyes or some supernatural experience but through a series of sunbeams streaming in through the window and, presumably on to the remnants of the lecturers nicotine fix, strolled (insert name), blonde hair flowing behind her and pert breasts bouncing with each step. It was one of the few moments in life that makes you understand why teen movies are made as they are. I quickly decided that I had to try it on with her.

A day or two later, we had a tutorial on the said lecture and I employed DtS' strategy. It was working a treat. Never before had so many bad jokes about IT been made but she was lapping it up. Brilliant I thought.

However, this tale was very much undone by both the dark and fair side of Essex.

First up, I soon found out that a small ginger version of Darth Vader lived in her block and had similar intentions to me. He didn't particularly like me as he clearly knew the score and seemed to do his utmost to divert attention away.

However, we spoke when we saw each other and I could see something was there. One night on the walk back from the Union, in a completely drunken state, we got chatting on the way back and everything was well and good until....

Shock horror. Her mate had been walking in front and stopped round to say something to her. For reasons I'd best not mention, she was not my biggest fan and with one look, she might as well have thrown a recycling bin full of Ice cold water over us both. That night was definitely a what might have been moment because, for a kick-off, she was way out of my league at the time.

There were strong rays of hope later on when she turned up in two of my coursework groups but by then she had dropped out of the course never to be seen again. As far as I know, that wasn't my doing!

Another one could be one of my former housemates but one story will do for the minute..

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

Jonny, you tease... we're waiting.

 

[McNasty]

Quote[/b] (Matt the Shrimp @ Sep. 15 2006,09:11)]Jonny, you tease... we're waiting.

he has to get his sister's permission before he can write about her.

 

[chaco27saf]

Wow, this is quite a thread, I was going to post something, but it's boring compared to the other stories. How many threads started by DtS have become classics now? I've honestly lost track!

 

[Jonny_Stokes]

Quote[/b] (mcnasty @ Sep. 15 2006,09:32)]

Quote[/b] (Matt the Shrimp @ Sep. 15 2006,09:11)]Jonny, you tease... we're waiting.

he has to get his sister's permission before he can write about her.    

Oit!

Sorry Matt, got plastered and fell off a chair so decided that finishing it off last night [insert w%&king joke here] was not in anybody's best interests.

 

[DTS]

Quote[/b] (chaco27saf @ Sep. 15 2006,09:35)]Wow, this is quite a thread, I was going to post something, but it's boring compared to the other stories.  How many threads started by DtS have become classics now?  I've honestly lost track!

Thnik you will find its 71 mate.....

Come on my son....Time for your story I think....

DtS

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

Quote[/b] (Dave the Shrimper @ Sep. 15 2006,09:44)]

Quote[/b] (chaco27saf @ Sep. 15 2006,09:35)]I was going to post something, but it's boring compared to the other stories.

Come on my son....Time for your story I think....

Absolutely... go Seth!!

Jonny, come on, the catharsis will do you a power of good...

 

[Jonny_Stokes]

Quote[/b] (Matt the Shrimp @ Sep. 15 2006,11:15)]

Quote[/b] (Dave the Shrimper @ Sep. 15 2006,09:44)]

Quote[/b] (chaco27saf @ Sep. 15 2006,09:35)]I was going to post something, but it's boring compared to the other stories.

Come on my son....Time for your story I think....

Absolutely... go Seth!!

Jonny, come on, the catharsis will do you a power of good...

I'm waiting for chaco - I need a warm-up act and a rider, pronto.

 

[Jonny_Stokes]

This way to my catharsis. Be gentle.

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V

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

Quote[/b] (Jonny_Stokes @ Sep. 15 2006,16:18)]

This way to my catharsis. Be gentle.

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V

We will. I may even blub.

 

[Jonny_Stokes]

It all started with Fiona, back in 1999. She was (and is) a lovely little thing; big green eyes, tousled red hair (now sadly cut into something more stylish), an infectious giggle and a façade of childlike innocence which disguises a tendency towards somewhat minx-like behaviour. We met at a party and hit it off immediately, becoming good mates first, and then moving things on a bit further down the line.

Fiona went to the local girl’s comprehensive which made her something of an oddity amongst the girlfriends of my peers at grammar school, who mostly harvested their lady folk from the nearby girl’s grammar, or the extremely accommodating posh chicks of the local girl’s private school. This had the handy advantage of opening up a whole new group of girls to a field of blokes restricted to my mates, who tended to be the only ones sound enough not to be bothered by money, status or egg-chasing, and were therefore more than happy to take a step down the social strata.

Many a good evening was had as a result of our relationship and I don’t have a bad word to say about her, but a few months later we decided that we were better off being mates, as the spark just wasn’t there. Strangely enough for these circumstances we actually did stay very close and I was kept on in the social circle. This had a very handy advantage as, obviously, I was already known to a vast swathe of girls as a pleasant sort of bloke and I picked up the odd bint here and there for various short-lived trysts. Agniezka, a Polish girl with a big arse, a flat stomach and udders that would put a Friesian to shame, stands out in my memory as being a particularly impressive piece of work on my behalf.

However, there was one of Fiona’s crowd that had always intrigued me, even when I was dating Fiona. She was a Christian - and a socially-backward party-wallflower type of Christian at that. This of course appealed to me as I was a brash tw&t at the time when it came to religion, and I was somewhat renowned for my atheistic diatribes. Our first meeting had been built up by various other parties as a real showdown, although it didn’t end up like that as I found myself far more interested in getting hammered and playing tonsil tennis with Fiona. Towards the end of the evening, I was feeling a tad disappointed with myself for not converting the heathen, and chalked it down on my ‘to do’ list for the next party.

However, as I was exiting the house, she was sitting there by the door waiting for a lift home. I thought it too good an opportunity to miss, and, recalling a conversation I’d had with my mate Lee that very afternoon, I leant over to her ear and whispered just one word. Now, as you may have noticed on here, I will say pretty much anything just to get a reaction and that was exactly what I was after that night at Agniezka’s. The conversation Lee and I had had was to discover the rudest-sounding word that wasn’t actually rude in meaning. We eventually settled on one, and it was with this in mind that I uttered the word “moist” in as breathy and suggestive a manner as a 17 year old boy can manage. Rising sharply from her perch, she brought her right arm round in a blur and landed an absolutely stunning slap on my face. The red mark didn’t go down for hours, and I think it’s fair to say that, from then on, I was hooked.

Her name is Grace, which is pretty bad news, considering its everyday usage in the English language and it being the title of the late Jeff Buckley’s greatest work (a particular favourite of mine). It makes her somewhat hard to get away from now, but six or so years ago that was the last thing I wanted to do.

At the time she belted me she had long, naturally blonde hair, although it has been changed in the last few months to some trendy, choppy style which doesn’t suit her at all. That was an appealing factor, as I’d somehow never managed to have dated a blonde girl before then. She also possesses – when she bothers to use it, which isn’t often - a smile that lights up a room, as well as a frankly killer pair of pins and a not inconsiderable intellect which is, to be honest, the thing that I find most attractive in a woman. It turned out to be a long-haul chase.

Fast forward about 18 months from her physical assault, and we’re getting on like a house on fire. She, as it turns out, is a delicate little flower under that grumpy exterior (aren’t they all?), and I have been providing a shoulder to cry on, a confidante to bounce religious doubts off of, and (most importantly) a highly competent Scrabble opponent. I’d been out with a few girls - mostly to see if it made Grace jealous – and got a tad bored with the single life. So, on the last day of school I made my move in very classy style. In the middle of a packed O’Neills pub I came out with the now classic line: “Kiss me and I’ll stop tickling you”, to which she duly obliged.

So that was that, Jonny and Grace were an item, and we stayed together despite heading off to different universities at opposite ends of the country. Obviously, with her being a Christian (and me being her first boyfriend) I took things slowly and eventually ‘reaped the rewards’ a few months (yes, I was that keen…) later. We had a great time, heading off to places like Kenya to work with orphans (her idea) and watching Orient (my idea), and to be honest she was pretty much my perfect girl: smart, caring, good-looking and into footy. Happy days…

At Christmas time, two years ago, Grace started dropping hints about getting hitched. Understandable, I suppose, as her parents – pleasant as they are – were never desperately keen on the idea of their daughter dating a heathen like me, and I suppose getting married was one way to add a veneer of respectability. That, and being able to live together would have granted ample opportunity for shenanigans which were kept well under wraps. I duly popped the question (at the site of our first date, four and a half years earlier, of course) and the date was provisionally set for tomorrow, the 16th of September.

The problem, of course, with dating a Christian is that they tend to have various fluctuations in their faith and every now and then she had a real groundswell of it and would place a nookie ban. I didn’t tend to mind, as I’m blessed with a good spot of patience, and more to the point I loved her so it was never a problem. However, there was a particularly protracted period in the summer of 2005 which set the alarm bells ringing. I needn’t have worried though, as she came back from a week away with her parents a day early (the Saturday) and invited me over. She answered the door in some brand new lingerie and we hopped on the good foot and did the bad thing (I love that phrase

) for a fair slice of the next two days.

So we came to Monday, and I went to work whilst Grace had a day’s leave. To be quite frank, the thought of her at home alone was a bit too much to bear, so I made my excuses and skived off early. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the look she gave me when I bounded in through the doors. It’s hard to describe, though – I think it was mostly fear, and possibly a little bit of relief. She’d obviously been crying for quite some time, and she simply said “I don’t know if I love you any more”. So that…was that.

I walked out in a state of shock, and did the only honourable option available to me, getting blindingly drunk with a couple of mates, who obligingly took the following day off work so we could go and do it all again (and for that I’ll always love ‘em). She then turned up on my doorstep with a black sack containing all my clothes etc., and tried to hand back a heart-shaped necklace I’d bought her. She followed up with the memorable line: “But I’ll keep the earrings, as they won’t remind me of you”. Well they were unique and designer, dahling… I of course told her to keep the necklace as it was a present, but that’s the second-last time we’ve ever spoken.

I saw her on the train, by chance, in May this year. She was full of questions about how I was getting on, but refused to answer when I got grumpy and asked her why she ended it. She told me I was the perfect boyfriend (ha!) and that she didn’t know what went wrong. Having spoken to one of her mates, I now know that she’s engaged to a bloke from (shock, horror) her church. They’ve been going out for four-and-a-half months. Apparently it was all ended because I had signed up for a Sunday League footy side, rather than coming down to church with her, as she was hoping. Pathetic. You’d have thought that she’d have had the guts or decency to tell me in the first place that she couldn’t reconcile our religious differences. I would probably have accepted it all much better.

And that, gentleman, is how after five years together, the one that got away…got away. I guess it’s for the best, as she’s happy, and I’m happy enough. At least, rather than being stuck in some musty old church tomorrow, I’ll be getting some fresh air whilst I’m freezing my tits off on Brighton’s crappy away end…

 

[C C Csiders]

It's definitely for the best Jonny. Never EVER trust a christian (deliberate small 'c').

Football v church (you decide). Get yourself pi$$ed up tomorrow.

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

F**k. That's won the "one that got away" award by a country mile, and then some.

 

[Matt the Shrimp]

Quote[/b] (C C Csiders @ Sep. 15 2006,16:28)]Never EVER trust a christian (deliberate small 'c').

Let's not go there... that's a whole can of worms not to be opened.

The strange thing is, though, that my ex is now a vicar... and she never had a problem with us having a sexual relationship despite the fact that we weren't married.

Hey ho, different folks, different strokes.

Still welling up at JS's story.

 

[DTS]

Quote[/b] (Jonny_Stokes @ Sep. 15 2006,16:20)]It all started with Fiona, back in 1999. She was (and is) a lovely little thing; big green eyes, tousled red hair (now sadly cut into something more stylish), an infectious giggle and a façade of childlike innocence which disguises a tendency towards somewhat minx-like behaviour. We met at a party and hit it off immediately, becoming good mates first, and then moving things on a bit further down the line.

Fiona went to the local girl’s comprehensive which made her something of an oddity amongst the girlfriends of my peers at grammar school, who mostly harvested their lady folk from the nearby girl’s grammar, or the extremely accommodating posh chicks of the local girl’s private school. This had the handy advantage of opening up a whole new group of girls to a field of blokes restricted to my mates, who tended to be the only ones sound enough not to be bothered by money, status or egg-chasing, and were therefore more than happy to take a step down the social strata.

Many a good evening was had as a result of our relationship and I don’t have a bad word to say about her, but a few months later we decided that we were better off  being mates, as the spark just wasn’t there. Strangely enough for these circumstances we actually did stay very close and I was kept on in the social circle. This had a very handy advantage as, obviously, I was already known to a vast swathe of girls as a pleasant sort of bloke and I picked up the odd bint here and there for various short-lived trysts. Agniezka, a Polish girl with a big arse, a flat stomach and udders that would put a Friesian to shame, stands out in my memory as being a particularly impressive piece of work on my behalf.

However, there was one of Fiona’s crowd that had always intrigued me, even when I was dating Fiona. She was a Christian - and a socially-backward party-wallflower type of Christian at that. This of course appealed to me as I was a brash tw&t at the time when it came to religion, and I was somewhat renowned for my atheistic diatribes. Our first meeting had been built up by various other parties as a real showdown, although it didn’t end up like that as I found myself far more interested in getting hammered and playing tonsil tennis with Fiona. Towards the end of the evening, I was feeling a tad disappointed with myself for not converting the heathen, and chalked it down on my ‘to do’ list for the next party.

However, as I was exiting the house, she was sitting there by the door waiting for a lift home. I thought it too good an opportunity to miss, and, recalling a conversation I’d had with my mate Lee that very afternoon, I leant over to her ear and whispered just one word. Now, as you may have noticed on here, I will say pretty much anything just to get a reaction and that was exactly what I was after that night at Agniezka’s. The conversation Lee and I had had was to discover the rudest-sounding word that wasn’t actually rude in meaning. We eventually settled on one, and it was with this in mind that I uttered the word “moist” in as breathy and suggestive a manner as a 17 year old boy can manage. Rising sharply from her perch, she brought her right arm round in a blur and landed an absolutely stunning slap on my face. The red mark didn’t go down for hours, and I think it’s fair to say that, from then on, I was hooked.

Her name is Grace, which is pretty bad news, considering its everyday usage in the English language and it being the title of the late Jeff Buckley’s greatest work (a particular favourite of mine). It makes her somewhat hard to get away from now, but six or so years ago that was the last thing I wanted to do.

At the time she belted me she had long, naturally blonde hair, although it has been changed in the last few months to some trendy, choppy style which doesn’t suit her at all. That was an appealing factor, as I’d somehow never managed to have dated a blonde girl before then. She also possesses – when she bothers to use it, which isn’t often - a smile that lights up a room, as well as a frankly killer pair of pins and a not inconsiderable intellect which is, to be honest, the thing that I find most attractive in a woman. It turned out to be a long-haul chase.

Fast forward about 18 months from her physical assault, and we’re getting on like a house on fire. She, as it turns out, is a delicate little flower under that grumpy exterior (aren’t they all?), and I have been providing a shoulder to cry on, a confidante to bounce religious doubts off of, and (most importantly) a highly competent Scrabble opponent. I’d been out with a few girls - mostly to see if it made Grace jealous – and got a tad bored with the single life. So, on the last day of school I made my move in very classy style. In the middle of a packed O’Neills pub I came out with the now classic line: “Kiss me and I’ll stop tickling you”, to which she duly obliged.

So that was that, Jonny and Grace were an item, and we stayed together despite heading off to different universities at opposite ends of the country. Obviously, with her being a Christian (and me being her first boyfriend) I took things slowly and eventually ‘reaped the rewards’ a few months (yes, I was that keen…) later. We had a great time, heading off to places like Kenya to work with orphans (her idea) and watching Orient (my idea), and to be honest she was pretty much my perfect girl: smart, caring, good-looking and into footy. Happy days…

At Christmas time, two years ago, Grace started dropping hints about getting hitched. Understandable, I suppose, as her parents – pleasant as they are – were never desperately keen on the idea of their daughter dating a heathen like me, and I suppose getting married was one way to add a veneer of respectability. That, and being able to live together would have granted ample opportunity for shenanigans which were kept well under wraps. I duly popped the question (at the site of our first date, four and a half years earlier, of course) and the date was provisionally set for tomorrow, the 16th of September.

The problem, of course, with dating a Christian is that they tend to have various fluctuations in their faith and every now and then she had a real groundswell of it and would place a nookie ban. I didn’t tend to mind, as I’m blessed with a good spot of patience, and more to the point I loved her so it was never a problem. However, there was a particularly protracted period in the summer of 2005 which set the alarm bells ringing. I needn’t have worried though, as she came back from a week away with her parents a day early (the Saturday) and invited me over. She answered the door in some brand new lingerie and we hopped on the good foot and did the bad thing (I love that phrase

) for a fair slice of the next two days.

So we came to Monday, and I went to work whilst Grace had a day’s leave. To be quite frank, the thought of her at home alone was a bit too much to bear, so I made my excuses and skived off early. I’m not sure I’ll ever forget the look she gave me when I bounded in through the doors. It’s hard to describe, though – I think it was mostly fear, and possibly a little bit of relief. She’d obviously been crying for quite some time, and she simply said “I don’t know if I love you any more”. So that…was that.

I walked out in a state of shock, and did the only honourable option available to me, getting blindingly drunk with a couple of mates, who obligingly took the following day off work so we could go and do it all again (and for that I’ll always love ‘em). She then turned up on my doorstep with a black sack containing all my clothes etc., and tried to hand back a heart-shaped necklace I’d bought her. She followed up with the memorable line: “But I’ll keep the earrings, as they won’t remind me of you”. Well they were unique and designer, dahling… I of course told her to keep the necklace as it was a present, but that’s the second-last time we’ve ever spoken.

I saw her on the train, by chance, in May this year. She was full of questions about how I was getting on, but refused to answer when I got grumpy and asked her why she ended it. She told me I was the perfect boyfriend (ha!) and that she didn’t know what went wrong. Having spoken to one of her mates, I now know that she’s engaged to a bloke from (shock, horror) her church. They’ve been going out for four-and-a-half months. Apparently it was all ended because I had signed up for a Sunday League footy side, rather than coming down to church with her, as she was hoping. Pathetic. You’d have thought that she’d have had the guts or decency to tell me in the first place that she couldn’t reconcile our religious differences. I would probably have accepted it all much better.

And that, gentleman, is how after five years together, the one that got away…got away. I guess it’s for the best, as she’s happy, and I’m happy enough. At least, rather than being stuck in some musty old church tomorrow, I’ll be getting some fresh air whilst I’m freezing my tits off on Brighton’s crappy away end…

 

In fairness JS I think you are better off in the long run.

I always take the **** out of you I know but genuinely feel sorry for you here.

At least you will always have the O's. Sorry thats not helping is it?

 

[Slipperduke]

*bursts into floods of tears*

Jesus, Jonny. That's....that's the winner by some distance.

Feel for you, mate. But as everyone says, it doesn't sound like it was meant to be.

I sort of hope you get a result at Brighton tomorrow now.

Urgh. That felt weird.

 

[* ORM *]

Quote[/b] (Slipperduke @ Sep. 15 2006,17:47)]*bursts into floods of tears*

Jesus, Jonny. That's....that's the winner by some distance.

Feel for you, mate. But as everyone says, it doesn't sound like it was meant to be.

I sort of hope you get a result at Brighton tomorrow now.

Urgh. That felt weird.

Nah, I'm not falling for this sympathy vote bollox

Sad story ? Yes
Orient scumbag fan ? Yes
Bovvered ? No

Oh, ok. I'll be happy if you draw tomorrow JS