As I’m seeing complaints about twitter content I see no reason to not inflict some of my stories on you. In this case some of my disastrous dating prior to finding a lady who tolerated me. I shall share 3 low energy dating scenarios in this thread. Think of it as Easter penance:
No.1 a Claire. She had repeatedly caught my gaze at university & was often on the periphery of social group. One Friday afternoon she sat down next to me & these things evolve & she ends up back at mine smoking weed. There is good sex & morally questionable behaviour. I like her.
We agree to go on a date into the London clubs. I am excited. Not properly partied with her. Friends agree to put us up in London in easy distance of west end. She drives, picking me up on way. At this early stage perhaps I should have been alarmed at the intensity of her state.
She’s averaging 85 mph. She seems to need the lights turned on inside the car. She insists I skin up whilst she is driving. Wild I think. Younger me felt invulnerable & hadn’t at this point noted the symptoms of someone clearly peaking on cocaine
We arrive, park, into the clubs. Within a minute of getting into a bar she confronts me.
“Are we a couple or not?”
Oh. Well. This is a date so-
“Yes or no.”
Hm. That’s a little much. Let’s just chill on the la-
She walks off.
Within 20 minutes a friend reports she is humping someone in the toilets. Within 2 hours she has reappeared, absolutely trashed. She cries at me that she’s not a natural drinker, more pills & powder.
At this stage a small space has cleared around me in the club because, well, we look like a fucking hazard happening. I decide perhaps air is needed. My friends say ‘see you back at house.’
Outside she cranks it up to 11. There’s no remorse. Screeching, accusing bouncers of staring. I consider an actual sleeper hold and bundling her into a cab. The cabs refuse to take us as she’s clearly quite quite mad.
Suddenly she walls it. She just crashes into a heap. Maybe the coke wore off, maybe the three tequilas we slammed as a warm up have all turned up at once. Either way she’s sedated & I’m grateful. Taxi back to friends I think, home free...
Reader: we both know this isn’t going to be the case - don’t we?
Halfway back to the friends house she comes round in the black cab. Spectacularly.
She immediately screams and starts banging on the drivers glass screen. Both myself and driver shit ourselves. She was unconscious, then screaming & animated like some freakish horror zombie witch
The driver starts yelling about what the fuck is happening.
She is now smashing her head against the partition.
I’m stuck with needing her to be quiet whilst explaining to driver he should pull over.
All things considered im handling my own 28 days later moment quite well
The cab pulls over, I manage to hold her still & look her in her dilated pupils.
“Calm. the. Fuck. Down”
In my best animal calming voice.
The cab driver is remarkably calm but I can see he has a crowbar and the cab door open. Not entirely sure I blame him.
She quietly nods. Then vomits with astonishing accuracy in direction of cabbbie, who, clearly well versed with dodging vomit is missed.
I look at the cabbie, he looks at me.
Something passes between us. Unspoken.

I breath out.

“Get the fuck out of my cab, you can walk rest of the way.”
It’s about a quarter of a mile on foot. I carry her fireman’s loft style, stoically avoiding small talk like ‘do you need help?’ And ‘is she dead?’
At the house everyone is concerned. We had left earlier, arrived much later - and I appeared to be carrying a corpse. “It’s ok, just needs sleep” I said hopefully. A cursory exam found her alive. Tucked her in on sofa. I crashed on floor nearby. My episode at an end.
Oh dear reader. You’re still here aren’t you?
You know that this was not the end. Oh no. It wasn’t.
I am woken suddenly and unexpected by a foot on my face followed by what is rapidly becoming a familiar shriek. I am on my feet in near darkness of a relatively strange house, aware I am now trapped with this night witch who just came round again.
I get to light & close door so the rest of the house doesn’t hear her/hear me possibly subduing her.
She’s stood in the middle of the room, looking away from me. Honestly had serious doubts about getting her attention.
She is in fact staring at an equally stunned cat on sofa
“What’s that?” She gasps.
I keep my voice calm & even, despite the fact what I want to say is
“It’s a fucking cat you mental, leave it alone.”

“It’s a cat Claire, we are back at my friends. Things got weird. Everything is ok now.”
She cranes round to look at me.
“I fucking hate cats. They’re evil.”

How did this not come up? What did I do wrong? Will I survive?

These were all valid questions I had in my mind as I simply considered just knocking her out with a chair leg
Of course I didn’t knock her out with a chair leg. I took a deep breath & calmly talked her away from the cat.

“Coffee. You want coffee? Coffee is good.”

This simply repeated lulled her into sitting down for coffee. Which by fuck, I brought.
After a while she simply faded out. Tucked her in on the sofa. Made sure I was between her and door. The next day wordlessly we drove home. She came in for another coffee and simply said “this isn’t going to work. Sorry you’re not my type.”

Ok. Fine. These things happen.
Ok. I’m back and I see there was some engagement on episode 1. So onto the episode 2.
We shall call her Sarah. She was a boss at my old job many many years ago... [time fade effect]
I worked in a fairly boring pseudo technical job for a company that shall remain nameless. My boss was a woman called Sarah. Sarah was Essex, blunt, tall & an enjoyable hardcase. Whilst we got on it was all work.
I was having one of my well known house parties - it was Halloween. I mixed a group of colleagues & former students up in a dangerous game of social electrical pylon-piss up. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have mixed social circles but, you don’t learn from not making mistakes do you?
So the ingredients were there:
40 cans of high strength lager
6 bottles of vodka
My mate the shit yet free DJ
A huge bowl of fuck-knows-What punch
100 vodka jelly shots because we were clearly proper wankers
Loud music, lots of people mixing it up, impromptu dance floor. It was actually all kicking off nicely in the house. As always the stairs is a good place in this house - no bannister so lots of seating & chatting. Good time being had by all.
Sarah (let me remind you again, my boss) totters over
“Fackin hell! This is a party!”

She’s fucked. Absolutely fucked. Her hands have hooked round my neck & she appears to be using her false nails to anchor on.

“Thanks for inviting me” she slurs in what could pass as flirty
I’m stressing. A bit. I’ve got my buzz on & this could bring elements of the party down. Perhaps I can move her somewhere quiet to reform. Yes. Bathroom break. Yes.
You know I’m about to fuck up don’t you?

You can feel it - can’t you?

As I write this I realise I fucked up. Still. Let us continue
I carefully lead the quite quite drunk Sarah upstairs.

Even as I write this, I realise this was not wise. She was not a woman of trifle. She was direct. She was also now quite quite uninhibited. Pissed as fuck if you will.
I get to bathroom and with a
“Thanks mate” and a cheeky wink that still haunts me to this day she goes into the bathroom to - and she loudly proclaimed
“Need to take a piss like a racehorse.”

Fair enough. When you gotta go, you gotta go.
Part of me says
“Is now the moment to retreat back into the party?”
Part of me says
“Maybe you should make sure she’s ok?”

This is Sarah, she is of sterner stuff. A grown up. She will be fine.

It is dark upstairs deliberately, to discourage people from hanging around.
The darkness is an important detail reader. Take note. It will become important later.
Back downstairs I am, life & soul of the party. The girl Becky whom I am a bit fond of is talking to me & I am king of this room. Vicky, Sarah’s friend approaches me.

“Where is Sarah?”

Oh. Yes, she’s upstairs still I guess. I will go check.
Upstairs once more in the dark
“Sarah? Where are you?”

Not in the bathroom. With a sense of foreboding I go to check my bedroom.

Yes. She’s there reader. Flat the fuck out on my bed.

“Wake up silly bollocks” I say without missing a beat
The fuzzy blue eyes meet mine

“I’ve been waiting for you” she says, beckoning me with a razor sharp talon and the honk of vodka jelly in the air
“Jesus Sarah, you’re bollocksed. Get the fuck off my bed in case you piss yourself”

I’m not messing around, I’m hoping this will curb the impending crisis I can feel slowly uncurling it’s long legs on my bed in what only a total shithead would call ‘erotic’
I, perhaps foolishly, move towards her in a helpful attempt to get her to stand.

Those hands reader. They moved fast. The nails had the back of my head and it was an immediate life or fuck situation.
“Oh bollocks Sarah come on”

And she’s flopped out of bed. Sarah is tall, easy 5’10”. I’m tall as well, fairly strong with it.

But I have a decent weight of Essex finest attitude soaked in booze flopping on me. I take a clothes rail down as I fall & she’s giggling
I managed to get clear of both clothes rail & the predatory Sarah. Phew I say. Right, you’ve had a bit to drink mate, let’s take this down a notch - I will get you some water (and Vicky, who can frankly sort this shit out without danger to her genitals)
Vicky is nowhere to be found for a while. Turns out she’s outside having a fag. Fuck sake Vicky, Sarah’s gone full sex pest in my room, come help me move her yeah?
Vicky seems unphased by this. Not a first offence perhaps.
We both make our way upstairs.
I turn the light on in my room. No Sarah. I am confused. Alarmed even. A 5’10” drunk Sarah is loose. No good can come of this.

Both Vicky & I became aware of a distinctive noise coming from another bedroom in the darkness.
I walk across the landing: I recognise one voice very distinctly. It is Sarah. She is definitely engaged with someone in some rowdy sex. I mean, ok, good work, but how did this happen. I’ve had enough, my house, my rules.
I flip on the light. Sure enough Sarah is on the bed, trousers round ankles, being rogered thoroughly by someone called Rick I met that night. She laughs & looks up.

I will always remember the expression on her face as she says “Ross?”

Yes Sarah. It’s me.
The person hanging out of the back of you isn’t me.

She squeaks and immediately falls off the bed. Rick is falling backwards off the bed. Vicky is making a funny screeching noise. I’m not sure what I’m doing except considering turning the light off again
I made my way downstairs. A good time was being had by all. I observed Vicky & Sarah leaving. Later I would get lucky with Becky & we would go onto a pointless relationship.

Sarah never, ever, mentioned the episode.

Vicky only ever snorted & laughed when I asked.
I’ve debated on story 3. It’s a tough one as it contains details I have to work around. However, we shall now approach the final tale with a woman known for purely label purposes as Mary.
I met Mary (this is so obviously not her name, however if I was to use her name odds are someone here would know her from this) at a loud club. I had won a crate of beer in a competition & had shared it round. She wrote her phone number on a album cover & this story began
Mary answers the phone. She was local, and we had a sparky talk about now trashed we were last night. She said she would love to meet. This was so perfectly normal.
We met at a local bar for lunch. The banter was good, she was blonde, blue eyes - confident. Quick with the jokes & easy to laugh.
As lunch finished up she looked at me and simply said
“I’m just looking for a good fucking to be honest. No strings.”
Now dear reader - the me of this moment - he was nonplussed. This sort of thing does not happen - well not very often. This younger me was immediately struggling with the context of being asked for sex. This was a conundrum. A mind bender if you will.
I realised I had been staring for a period of time with a slightly fucking silly look on my face.

“Now?” Was about my best reaction

“Sure - back to yours?” Said Mary
Reader: I’m a person of some refrain. You don’t need to hear the details of the taxi ride home where I was concentrating on keeping smart smalltalk whilst nurturing a boner of troubling proportions. You don’t need that detail, so I will move on
Back at my grimy pseudo student digs & Mary is polite & happy. She is quite insistent on moving upstairs. Well, I guess thats what the sports fans want so.. upstairs we go.
Do you really need to hear about 4 hours of banging sex? Because, yeah. 4 hours of banging sex.

One slight quirk on her part where when she orgasmed she would tell me to leave her alone. Yeah I don’t know either. Something about intense sensation. I’ve experienced weirder so...
Afterwards we are eating crisps in bed (I am, after all a classy gentleman who knows how to treat a lady) and she mentions it’s her birthday this weekend - would I like to go the party?
(Monster Munch & Walker’s original salted seeming as some feel this is an important detail)
So yeah - I’ve just had great sex with an attractive women - why wouldn’t I want to go to her party?

She says again

“No strings attached. Don’t get weird!”

Weird me? Fuck no. I don’t do weird. Not ever. Pfft.
Reader: you realise at this point I am going to this party right? That text messages are exchanged, the party starts out at a bar - then moves back to a house. It’s all fairly normal. Yes. Ok. Well. Let’s fast forward to the house party
Well the house party was something else. Old hippies lit up stupendous joints; someone had a BBQ going outside. It wasn’t a party, it was a full blown commune. It was wild. There was plenty of beer & I knew exactly no one. I rolled with it.
Reader: I am comfortable with chaos. It takes many forms & I embrace its raw energy. As you have made it this far with me the next few moments will come as no surprise.
At some point I literally tripped over Mary. She was quite quite wasted. It was her birthday, it is her prerogative - but I felt compelled to help. I didn’t know where in this pseudo hippy cesspit commune she had a room - she pointed me upstairs & we made it there
Her room, adorned with tie dye throws & jostick holders - is exactly how you would imagine.

It smells like the spice rack of Waitrose.

I lower her to bed, she is barely awake now. A honking snore starts.

I’m aware I may also have hit my limits. I plonk into chair in the room
I’m fair wasted. It doesn’t take much for me to nod off in the Waitrose spice rack room. I next wake and it’s cold, light. Morning.
“Oh fuck” time to get gone. No point in waking Mary - she’s very much had her birthday & she wanted nothing weird. So time to slip away.

Out of the door I creep. The house honks like how you would expect a hippy commune to honk after a particularly important exploration of weed
I am somewhat lost though. This house is unfamiliar to me when it’s not full of weed smoke, beer & hippies. Eventually I work my way back over party debris to kitchen. Some kind soul is making tea. He’s an older hippy, relaxed. Invites me to sit down & chill. I am grateful
We make small talk. Another chap joins. We eat toast, drink tea. I’m feeling quite good now - the chatter is relaxed, as what you would expect from a hippy. The other chap is a bit more reserved.

“So how do you know Mary then?” He enquires
You see the red flag here don’t you?

You see how me, young naive me, sees this as merely an innocent question - I am after all, post Mary’s birthday party. These gentlemen are fine outstanding toast & tea making sorts.
There is no contention here.
“Oh we met at a bar last week. Nothing serious just mates really.”

I played it cool I thought. No need for details. These men are strangers & the content of the bedroom stays there. Despite tea & toast.
The older guy seems a mite pensive. Something around the eyes.

The younger guy pushes the question out -

“Just mates eh?”

I didn’t hear Mary walk in behind me. I only noticed because the older man looked up & smiled at her
“Happy birthday Mary”

“Thanks Dad!”

Hugging. Kiss on forehead.

I am in hell. Some warped hippy hell. It should be cool right. Perfectly normal.

Yet this younger guy has a different look on his face now
“Marcus” Mary’s voice has a tone to it. Marcus almost winces But is still looking at me. His look is still asking that question about us being mates.

“Marcus this is that guy I told you about who I fucked.”
Reader: many thoughts went through my mind at that moment.

Some were of flipping over the table between Marcus & I. Creating just enough space for me to either swing a chair at the nearby window & make a break for it - or possibly just club the doubtless furious Marcus
Her Dad, the blessed tea making hippy high priest merely raised a bushy eyebrow
“Whoops, this is going to be awkward”

Really Ringo? Do you fuckin think?
Marcus hasn’t moved. I haven’t moved. He’s going a funny colour. My balls are shrinking. We are roughly the same size, there’s a pulsing sensation in my head.
“Marcus” Mary says again.

That voice. Fucking hell. You would use it to command a dog.
“This is not fucking on Mary”
Marcus explodes.

I don’t flinch, I just watch the fucker expecting a steak knife to appear.

Within seconds they are having a full blown nuclear Not at all chilled out hippies barney
At this stage I don’t care. I’ve had tea & toast. Everything was going well. Nobody needs me.

The argument rages like a tornado. I am merely a small pine tree, wavering fucking uselessly in the background acutely award I should be ripped up & joining the chaos
I’m actually quietly stepping backwards, moving back without making too much noise. Or movement. Slowly. Like a cat that just puked it’s guts under the kitchen table & is now leaving it for you
I make it backwards through the kitchen door. The argument has got to cupboard slamming & cursing. It’s clear they agreed to some kind of open relationship which Marcus didn’t think was a thing. I’m a mere pawn, a gesture. With a cock.
The king hippy himself suddenly appears like the fucking spectre of Banquo & I near shit myself.
“Yeah this is going to go on for a bit - you want a smoke?”

This is all too mad.

I do mad. Mad is fine. This is too mad.

“I’m off actually, just want to know where the front door is?”

“Ah yeah, cool. Over here.”
With that Banquos stoned ghost lets me outside. It’s a cold morning. My brain is near melting.

I walk home in the fresh air. I am alive. I shall tear up her phone number into teeny tiny pieces when I get home.

I do. I never see her again.

The end
You can follow @disappoptimism.
Tip: mention @twtextapp on a Twitter thread with the keyword “unroll” to get a link to it.

Latest Threads Unrolled: