"I May Come From South Wales, But I'm Not Retarded!"

I went to Manchester to see the Jonas Brothers with my friend Katrina. This Date Disaster Story is about me trying to explain how I escaped the clutches of the horniest man in Manchester - who happened to be from North Wales.

I met David Charles whilst camping up in Maes B, Bala, during the summer. At that time, I was pining for Greg (but that's another story), so his attempts to pull me failed. Plus, David Charles... DC to his friends, was working up in the Eisteddfod as a bin man - although he claimed he was an "enviromental manager". Whatever. He hadn't changed his clothes or had a shower. God knows what he'd been touching, so it was safer not to go there.

We'd been texting recently. We met up. He's originally from Porthmadog, but up in Uni in Manchester.

Now, DC is known amongst my friends as "Cock-Guy", following a picture he sent me of... of somewhere not normally seen when people are wearing clothes... a picture I wasn't actually meant to show anyone. Since, he's also been trying to get me to send him a picture back. He's been disappointed.

Yet he was still eager to meet up with me again. So I agreed. Summer, was of course, about three months ago, and my first hadrcore camping experience was a bit of a blur, due to the copius amounts of alcohol consumed and the lack of sleep. I had forgotten that he was fat. And short (only a tiny bit taller than me, and I'm a shortass - luckily, I wasn't wearing heels). And a skinhead.

Although to begin with, he struck me as a gentleman, buying me a drink in the Hard Rock Cafe... but did try get me to have a double vodka and lemonade rather than just one measure of vodka with my lemonade. We sat opposite each other. He told me about his Lorry Driving Adventures (which was where he was the past week - when he tried to get me to do a Great Escape out of Glanllyn...), and how he had skipped most of his lectures doing so. His wallet was happy, and he offered to get me another drink, but we were past last orders. So we went searching for Mojos, the only place still open late on a Sunday... We didn't find it. So we wandered round.

He tried to explain to me what the little huts containing the Christmas Market were. They have similar ones in Swansea, and I had seen them open during the day. I turned to him, raised an eyebrow, and informed him, "I may come from South Wales, but I'm not retarded."

We had wandered around full circle - after two tramps asked him for money, and someone asked him for fags. DC claimed he looked like a rich man - lol. We weren't far from my hotel, and I thought it was time to make my escape.
"No, come back to my place," he insisted.

I had no intention of going back to his. He'd text me the previous day to inform me that he wanted to "have sex with me in the shower until I screamed with pleasure". Funnily enough, that didn't appeal to me. Going out for a bit of a snog, that's fine, but going all the way with someone I didn't really like that much, never. Plus first date... that's just slutty. Plus, his answer to aforementioned question (THE Question) wasn't very enthusiastic ("His films are okay I suppose," I quote. "I'll watch anything apart from horros").

"C'mon..."
"No!"
I repeated my answer.
Did he really expect to go back with him though, after giving me the hardest pinch I had ever experienced? I swear, there's probably still a mark on my arse!

I think attention goes straight to my head. I've lived the life of an unwilling nun for seventeen years, and since my first kiss, I seem to be unstoppable. I think that's why I text him etc and then met up with him. Did I want to? Not really. Yet something in my head went, "Yeeessss go on!"

"What's the worst that could happen?" he said to me, trying to keep hold of me. "I won't rape you."
Well that sent alarm bells ringing.
"NO!"
I repeated. He tried to grab me. I threatened to hit him with my handbag... then I did.
"Fuck, do you have a brick in that or what?"
"Maybe," I giggled.

When I repeated my intention to go back to my room, he said he wanted one more little kiss... so I gave him a peck.
"Come here!" he grabbed me again.

His kissing wasn't bad. But he tasted of beer and mothballs. (No I don't know what mothballs taste like, but I imagine that's what it was like). His technique was just to move his tongue round and round and round like a washing machine. It wasn't the worst (Nat) but not the best either (Greg). Might have enjoyed it a bit more had I ordered that double vodka and lemonade...

Then I left. Returned to my room, where Katrina was waiting, half-watching Mission Impossible... I gave Heledd a full of account of events, and then thought, how much cooler my "date" would have been had I gone out with Kevin Jonas instead...

And that was when it hit me. Eeeew. I'd seen his cock!

So. Lesson learnt. Even if you're absoloutly desperate, don't lower your standards. Stick it out. Don't go out for a drink with a horny North Walian.