what a shit day

Ok so if being 17 isn’t hard enough (due to all the driving, drinking (or not being able to), and trying to desperately get rid of my v plates) I think I just made my life a whole lot more difficult.
I will start at the start shall I, I’m Ted, 17, 5’7”, smart, and somehow a single no-hope- in-hell (especially after this) virgin! Now, I know you may think how is it possible that this sophisticated, handsome, but not in an obvious way, chap is single or at least not getting any? I tell you it baffles me, especially when there are rampant half-witted Neanderthals out there with any lower sixth girl willing enough to look past their non-existent charm. But my friends, it is possible... in fact, it’s painfully so. You see I haven’t had the best track record with girls; I feel it all stems from the first experience I had with them or some Freudian bollocks like that, how this experience has proceeded to ruin all others. I’m a shrink’s wet dream I reckon (maybe I should see a shrink, that may boost my popularity with the ladies, like in a, im-a-broken-man-fix-me-all-dark-and-mysterious-Kurt-Cobain-eat-your-heart-out, kind of way). Her name was Staci Andrews, and in direct reference to the song ‘Staci’s mom’ definitely had more attributes than she did, in fact Staci suffered a little with a case of gigantism, as in her eyebrows were too big for her face, that it couldn’t be natural, could it? I hope not anyway. She was 11 and I was 12, I know it seems young but at that age there is hardly a lot you can do when a girl 3 times the size of you wants to play kiss chase. ‘No’ was not an option for Staci, and so she proceeded to devour my face. It was, and still is, traumatising. I suppose I should be grateful for the memory of her mother, extremely saucy and massive tits of course. I reckon Mr. Andrews left because she was such a ‘nympho’; anyway I’d like to believe so.
Actually I feel that starting at the start would be too detrimental for me. A tragic review of my ‘oh so sorrowful’ previous love life is hard to swallow, so I’ll just jump right in now shall I? To skip a few chapters, I’ve only ever kissed a few girls (and definitely never managed to go further) most of whom were intoxicated or dared against their will and to be honest I haven’t had the best feedback ever; screaming ‘ washing machine’ was a little harsh, I was only 14 she could have been kinder towards my inexperience.
To jump right in then, for the past hour I’ve been sitting in Jenny Stevens’ bedroom in the fantastically neat house situated on the wonderfully posh suburban Sandrock Road, (my house is not so art nouveau more like...Tate modern potato sack). Now you may not realise the significance of this situation but to be sitting in Jenny Stevens’ bedroom is something that mere mortals can only dream of, because this woman is clearly of Goddess descent, and something I have fantasized about for going on a year and a half now.
I remember when I first laid eyes on the alluring Jenny Stevens’; it was the second day of sixth form, so many prospects, and a chance to reinvent myself. No more’ wet the beddy Teddy’, a chance to be a dark handsome stranger that all girls would fall in love with and immediately want to bang it out with. It’s fair to say I ‘ballsed’ that up on the third day of sixth form when Marcel Wilson slit my trousers lengthways thigh to ankle. So for the rest of the day I was getting Kylie Minogue insults thrown at me and apparently word gets around, however more like Chinese whispers, so I am forever now the ‘cross dressing twat that likes to be bummed by old men in super market toilets’ brilliant! But oh Jenny Stevens what an Aphrodite, I think I definitely love her! And I believe that we will one day get married and live eternally in our fantastically middle class house -somewhere in Sussex or maybe Gloucestershire? Where I will be a writer and she will be my sex driven housewife, looking after our super intelligent and attractive children Jacob, Millie and Benjamin- somehow after today this possibility looks increasingly slim if not nigh on impossible. You see me and Jenny have had, to say the least, a one sided relationship. It was only up until a few weeks ago that she acknowledged me, at James Horton’s house party to which I miraculously got an invite to along with my mates, Danny, and George (both as hopeless as each other, of course. I see them as more of a charity case if I’m honest- and I am). I think it was a printing error or a lost in translation situation about the guest list, either way I wasn’t going to argue, it was the first cool party I’d actually been able to get into and I wasn’t about to pass that opportunity up.
Jenny looked so fit with her purple dress on and her long blonde hair bouncing off her huge melon tits (they are a fantastic pair of tits, the most round pair any man could dream of, I bet they are amazing to touch). She was hammered, naturally, she came strutting up to me and grabbed me by my collar and snogged me, something I’m sure I wasn’t deserving of but once again a guy like me doesn’t argue with any form of action from any girl. The fact that she called me ‘Mark’ added to the confusion of the whole situation, I just went with it, and Mark I was for the night, I mean if the world gives you lemons...
Anyway since then she has found out my name and she flirts with me in the corridor between lessons now, I’m not entirely sure why, someone told me it’s to get back at her ex, and to be honest I think that helping her out is fine if it means getting any closer to the inside of her knickers. I’m pretty sure it’s because she has fallen in love with my charm, even if she kisses me only when he (her ex, Collin Samuels) walks past. This is how I ended up here anyway, looking at the inside walls of Jenny Stevens’ bedroom, she asked me on Monday (in-between our usual 3rd period cross over corridor flirt, well she flirts and I just stand there agreeing with every word she says trying desperately not to stare at her boobs) to come round this week to help with her philosophy coursework, and we both agreed on Thursday, so it was a date and by no means do you turn down at date with the glorious Jenny Stevens.
Her room is typically pink, large of course (to most likely accommodate for her massive jugs), it’s very tidy and smells great, like flowers and bubble gum, (a classic scent I’m sure). She looks wonderful today, her hair is in a half pony tail and she is wearing my favourite miniskirt (perhaps she knows I like that one). She had been going on and on for a good half an hour about Emmanuel Kant’s ‘is ought’ argument. I wasn’t paying attention obviously. (It’s pretty hard to when the girl of your dreams is sitting next to you leg to leg, and you’re concentrating on concealing your massive boner.) Then all of a sudden she picked up both of our books and put them on the floor and proceeded to kiss me. It was amazing, the most amazing kiss in the world, if people could have a competition for best kiss that would win every prize, just perfect and wonderful. I’m not sure whether she felt the same, she pulled away looking a little puzzled, and politely (well actually it wasn’t that polite) told me to “use a little less tongue” I obediently followed and I guess it was ‘ok’- the second half of the kiss I mean.
You see this all sounds extremely romantic, had it not have been for the experimental curry my Mum made the night before, making my stomach rumble constantly. It was loud and embarrassing but didn’t seem to bother her she just ignored it; I thought this was strange but polite nonetheless. I realised I had best go to the bathroom just in case, but as I got up she followed me and then pulled me towards the bed and of course you don’t turn down a gesture like this from Jenny Stevens. However this wasn’t going to help my belly and to my discomfort my stomach felt more and more tender, and was getting louder and louder, and in between tongues and coming up for air the noise would interrupt. I could feel my stomach being dragged downward, and unfortunately the grumbling followed it. I started to sweat and panic, but jenny still continued to kiss me. I wanted to leave and go to the toilet but she had a hold on me, I could at no point reject her (you just can’t reject Jenny). I was trying to hold it for as long as possible (the inevitable I mean) but I soon realised this was an extremely bad idea and so will you, once I tell you that the curry had more of an effect than I originally anticipated and shortly I had realised that.... I had shit myself.
Now I’m sitting here in this warm but rapidly cooling sickly mess, the reaction of Jenny as you can imagine was not the best in fact it was more along the lines of the worst.
We continued to kiss for a while (after said ‘shitting’), I knew I had to get out of there somehow, but if I moved she would be able to see the mess in my trousers, and I was pretty sure due to the fact that it was incredibly on the runny side it had leaked through to the pink (and somewhat immaculate) bed covers underneath me. Then it happened- in mid kiss jenny lifted her nose slightly and to my dismay she had smell it. She smiled awkwardly. And then asked,
“What’s that smell?” bumbling like a fool I reassured her that I didn’t know and I couldn’t smell anything. Immediately she became (as I’m sure most people would) alarmed, and shuffled away from me. Within that instance I knew that I had lost all credibility in my life, I had lost all my minute popularity and all the reason for not to get punched in the face every day. She stood up and looked at me disgusted.
“Is that you...have you just...? Have you just shit yourself? ...oh my god you have!” like the hopeless idiot I am I did nothing but look at her petrified(I could have tried to explain, tried to somehow redeem myself but no, like a twat I sat there!). I was still sitting on the bed for fear of what she may discover, she looked at me fearfully and started to back away. I knew what was going to happen and I tried to feebly stop her by shaking and stumbling, but then it happened, she screamed (of course she did, I would have if I was her, some psycho freak that shits himself when he’s turned on. I bet that what she was thinking.)
From that moment on it was the end of me. I could see my future laid out in front of me, everyone was going to ridicule me for the rest of sixth form, life as I new it was over (and to be honest it wasn’t that great in the first place). Perhaps if I shut my eyes is was all going to be over, but guess what? It bloody wasn’t. I was still in Jenny Stevens bedroom and I was still sitting in a massive pile of my now somewhat cold shit!
After Jenny screamed, I picked up my phone, she ran downstairs shouting for her mum, so I thought best to also turn to my mother and I rang her to come and pick me up.
Jenny burst back through the door and told me ‘to get the fuck out’ of which I reacted by gluing myself to the bed. Like a smelly wet statue I sat there and held on the bed for dear life(more importantly for the fear that she was going to drag me off the bed and what would be reveal underneath would exacerbate the situation no end. And Jenny is a slim girl but with the anger in her face I had no doubt that she was capable of throwing me across the room.)
For a moment it went silent, I told her I had rang my mum, she didn’t seem impressed, to be honest I don’t think she could believe that I (this massive sexually fucked up deviant beast) could talk anymore, (almost like I had turned into my hulk self and was unlike any other human, however much less impressive as I was just stuck in my own brown faeces) and this meant that I was no longer of the same creature as her I was something much worse and clearly inaudible). Another silence passed, and in my infinite wisdom I decided to try and explain myself, but me being me I went about it totally the wrong way and just shouted the first thing I thought she was thinking,
“I don’t shit myself, and get off on it, I mean it was an accident I don’t get 'horny' and have a poo just so you know.” She looked at me as though I had just killed her puppy or something equally horrific, clearly that was not what she was thinking, and I had now made it look like that’s exactly what I am so she promptly left the room again. I can see it now the whole sixth form is going to know about this, they really are going to think that the way I cum is to shit myself, something like ‘cum’s out of his ass’ is what I will be called, I officially have no dignity left.
I ended up walking through jenny’s house in front her mum, and her big brother, with her duvet cover wrapped around my bum and like a superman nappy, (to meet mum who was rescuing me effectively)
I’m sure that is something else that will be used to insult me, how I have to wear pink nappies or something along those lines. Maybe I can transfer schools, or you know just kill myself.
Oh God I know what they’ll call me ‘shit the beddy Teddy’!

We is all pervs isnt we?

I really don’t like train journeys alone, not tubes or buses or general London transport in fact, but national rail a ‘cross country journey’ (the long tedious ones).

            This is because inherently it seems people don’t understand personal space, on tubes this is acceptable, generally there is no room for personal space and besides you or they tend to be getting off soon and as long as they don’t follow you, no one really minds indulging a weirdo’s attitude for a while (even if he is crunching his teeth behind you!)

            But national rail it seems is a whole different kettle of fish, you have got hours with no escape from the weird man in front of you. Chances are that I am just paranoid or even...maybe....slightly....egotistical to think that there are so many ‘pervs’ or generally undersexed strange ones on trains. (But then I guess we are all pervs, I look and assess everyone that comes within my sight or hearing!)

            Why is it that people do such odd things on trains, like knitting? Who actually knits anymore (unless of course you’re some trendy art student trying to be all kitsch about it all)?

            Then there are the people that carry strange things in trains with them, for example the man clutching some giant frame covered in bubble wrap (what is that?) I’d like to believe, considering we are all sexually perverse Freudian fantasies, that on some level this object is definitely a type of sex swing or at the least a bondage device of vast proportions, perhaps a cage? Who knows!? I’m solidly sticking with something saucy along those lines, and of course the bubble wrap is for him to roll around in after his dirty deed.

            As much as these perverted, infanticidal, dear sirs interrupt my life, there is something on a train that definitely upsets me more, people chatting OVER ME! At the moment I am in the ‘QUITE ZONE’ carriage and this I promise was intentional! behind me is a man on the phone, two rows behind him there is, from what I can tell the chuckle brothers annual financial meeting (clearly not quite going to plan), and then this sad pair of students sitting diagonally over the table (I’m on a four seater with a table, and I’m on the window side facing the direction of the train (this is so I can have space, see outside, not feel motion sick, or get infamous cabin fever, as well as being the first to see the ever so likely and seemingly immanent zombie apocalypse happening outside in the real world not crazy train land, and also retain the ability to decide which sexual deviant to sacrifice (to the zombies of course not just in general)) the couple are sitting,  the boy opposite and the girl beside me. Sitting next to the boy is the hippy that knits- who by the way is clearly the filthiest of them all).

            This couple are tragic, the sexual tension is just painful, and there light shy flirty conversation actually hurts me I swear. And I can feel the pretention just oozing from them I mean honestly the girl is reading Dostoevsky’s crime and punishment “a very two dimensional view on crime and punishment”- that one was Vince not me (my very enlightened housemate (chirpy can you tell?)) she is facing the title sneakily but not so In-Con-Spic-ly towards the centre of the train and high enough for everyone to see of course, I really feel an announcement would be much more incognito, “hello, hello world can you see what I’m reading I’m highly intelligent, much more than you lowly minions now faces down don’t look at the wonderful book that I understand and you definitely cant.”  A much more efficient approach I feel. OH LORD they are now sharing a sausage roll! That’s horrific there phlegmy tension juices all over poor Mr. Piggy, they love it for them I feel this is definitely foreplay.

            I can see ‘girl’ is using a theatre ticket as a bookmark how apt, ‘the coral’ I will research this and tell you the outcome later (I’m definitely an idiot ‘the coral’ is a band, I shock myself sometimes, apparently though a bit flaky (again Vince) so I can use that against her of course.) my bookmark is of puppies and fails a little in comparison and my book is an autobiography of Russell brand (hey I’m allowed a vice aren’t I?)

           

 I feel sorry for ‘boy’ he seems to be picked on by ‘girl’ he will probably turn around and kill her, he looks like the Mr. Ripley type all skinny and such.

I feel this journey was a bad’en from the start, and perhaps I was cruel and biased because of previous events of the journey. You see a man was very rude to me about seat switching when in fact his seat was not marked as reserved and I found out a few mins later through the transport ‘goss’ grapevine that it was because his earlier train was cancelled so in actual fact did not reserve the seats at all, he was clearly a sexual predator and felt that his tactics would shock me into fearing him and therefore loving him? I’m not so sure that his grooming is very successful.

I really need to get off this train scribbling Alice Farrall is NOT a mentalist over my book is clearly a bad sign, I must now leave and succumb to the fate of the zombies and get my brains eaten all up, lets see what would I prefer zombies or groomed by a sexual deviant?

Zombies I think.