For Georgia - The Twat Who Shagged Me
This post is dedicated to Georgia, an avid reader and enthusiast of my blog. As promised to her, the story of Mr Pizza Express - The Twat Who Shagged Me.
To set the scene, it's a Wednesday afternoon in early September. You've finished work an hour early and decide to take the opportunity to browse the shops. The sun is shining and the leaves have started to turn. It's been a glorious summer of pub gardens, nights out, growing friendships and family dinners. You run upstairs to get changed and find a message on your phone that just reads 'hi'. Oh weird. What does he want?
Now at this point it wasn't unusual to receive the odd drunk text from Mr Pizza Express, most recently at 5am while I was asleep sharing a bed with my mother. But it wasn't a regular occurrence either. I woke up in the morning and replied with something like 'Jesus what are you doing up at that time?' to which he replied the next night, 'drinking.lol.' Now i should have known from the fact he regularly uses 'lol' unironically as a sign to get the hell away from him. But of course, ever the flirt and 'oh well i'll just see what happens' gal, I did not. Taking this as a sign of interest, on top of the few nights a couple months before when we'd ended up snogging in various pubs and local parks after nights out (or more commonly that was the night out...) and the glorious dinner he took me for (hence the name), I decided to text him a few nights later asking if he was out for a drink after work. He replied too late and I'd already driven home by then but he said he'd be out next time. Little did I know next time was only 2 days later.
So you finish work and you're looking forward to a wander down the high street. You reply to the text asking how he is and he asks if you fancy a drink. Now you know those decisions that you know will end badly in some way but you decide to do it anyway? This was one of them. An 'oh fuck it', if you will. Also at this point I was very aware that if this did end well (badly?), i.e. in the bedroom (cringe), I was ill prepared and had not showered since the previous morning and hadn't shaved my armpits since about 3 days ago, let alone anything else. I'd say on the hair front we were somewhere between a stubble and a fuzz. Hm. Not good. It looks like my jaunt down the high street has turned into an emergency run to Superdrug for some dry shampoo, travel size deodorant and something to tie up my unruly hair (of the head variety ahem. Get your mind out the gutter). Oh and it would probably be handy to keep some make up wipes in your bag for occasions such as this. He asks if I want a drink at his (WHAT) and i stupidly ask for his address. Ooft so close to town. This would make the most convenient of booty calls for days when I'm at work... Stop it, Charleigh.
So I hurry up the hill to my car and thankfully have my make up bag in there. Of course shit like this only happens when you're least prepared and look shockingly tired. I do a full face, tie my hair up and dry shampoo the shit out of it. I look for spare tights in the back seat. Oh for fuck sake why is there no tights in here? Now I'll have to have bare feet if he asks me to take my shoes off. Please don't have a no shoes rule. Chef shoes aren't kind to nail varnish.
'How long will you be?'
'10 minutes away!'
10 minutes obviously doesn't mean 10 minutes, it means I'm just finishing drowning myself in perfume and now I'm thanking God that I wore nice undies today. I'll probs be twice that long.
Anyway I get there and he opens the door, looking casual like he's been home all day. I go to walk past him into the flat and he leans forward slightly for me to kiss him on the cheek on the way past. Eugh why does he always smell so nice?? He must go through so much aftershave. He shows me to the living room and offers me a glass of wine. Does anyone else find it a bit sexy when men remember which wine you like?? Just me being easy? Oh good okay... The point is, very nice wine. I tell him I can only have one because I'll have to drive home after. I've decided that my plan is flirt tonight, maybe a little kiss but I DEFINITELY go home after. If this goes well I can just suggest I come back tomorrow night after work when I can be fully prepared and ready to go.
We sit on the sofa chatting and it's actually really nice to talk to him properly for once rather than just bantering with him briefly at work when we happen to cross paths. He asks about why I moved out of my flat in town and I explain exactly what happened and what I'm hoping to do next and he listens and says all the right things. Of course he bloody does. He says I can stay in his spare room any time I need to, including tonight and I thank him, clearly looking a bit hesitant as I try to control the angel and the demon battling it out in my head. If you have another glass of wine you'll have no choice but to stay here. Good excuse. You're deffo not staying in that spare room, you're after staying in his bed you hoe. Am I thoughhh? Yes. You know you are. Okay Fine.
He does the thing where you sort of offer to top someones drink up but you say it AS YOU'RE DOING IT. Oh no what a shame. Now I'll be over the limit and I'll have to stay. OOPS. Not your fault. Absolutely couldn't have done anything to stop it. I tell him if he's going to give me more wine he'll have to feed me at some point as well because I've been at work and barely eaten all day and he will most definitely be picking me up off the floor if I don't eat soon. At least I know my limits right?
We're still sat on the sofa, not cosily by any means but I noticed he sat ever so slightly closer when he sat back down after topping my wine up and his arm has appeared across the back of the sofa. He's always struck me as the kind of guy that would use all the classic cheesy moves. I know your game Mr Pizza Express. He's started getting a bit flirtier and I'm still acting the epitome of manners and innocence. Ha. I clearly did something right because half way through a conversation, that I now doubt he was listening to at all, he grabs my face and bloody kisses me. Quite a lot... Honestly we all knew it was coming. Needless to say things.. progress(??) and we end up shagging on the sofa. I've decided I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you. He'd undone my dungarees with impressive speed and flung it god knows where!? That did not help the horrible awkward redressing afterwards but I faked ALL the confidence and walked about the living room following the trail of clothes. (Eugh). I went to find the bathroom downstairs and wait WHAT IS THIS PLEASE AND THANK YOU?! There's a clothes horse at the bottom of the stairs with fucking BRAS on it. BRAS?!! Oh God he must still be with his girlfriend. Which means she must still live there. Oh Jesus is she about to come home?! Where the fuck is she?!
He's still upstairs so I decide to use the bathroom as planned and gather my thoughts. Such tipsy thoughts. I sort myself out, get dressed and am so relieved to see my hair has held up, as has my face. I decide to go out to the patio, where he's now smoking, and sit down looking all hot, in bad bitch mode (you know what I mean), and straight out ask him. Except I don't have to ask at all because his head's in his hands and he's staring at his phone. Oh shit. Surely he's done it before. I asked and apparently not, I was the first. Do I believe it? I don't think so. He says how much he regrets it and although I know what he means, it sounds a bit of a slap in the face. Was I really that shit??? Fuck. The whole situation is so shit now, I have to stay the night because I have nowhere else to go and can't drive. I ask where she is and he tells me she's on holiday with her girlfriends. Well at least she's not about to come home and find my undies down the back of the sofa. She's not home for another week so at least he has time to get his shit together I think. Oh wait except he's wasted no time in bloody messaging her to TELL HER HE'S CHEATED ON HER! Ohhhhh fuck sake. Who does that!? What a prick. She seems to reply pretty quickly telling him it's over and I decide to go and finish the wine. I stand up, purposefully grab my glass and announce as much before storming off upstairs and emptying the bottle. He came upstairs 5 minutes later to find me quietly crying in front of the mirror, trying to stop myself so he wouldn't know. He might be a prick but he's not totally heartless. He gives me a hug and tells me it's absolutely not my fault and asks me to keep it a secret. I say of course I will, it's his secret, nobody cares what I do. Now I didn't mean it that way, I know full well lots of people care about me, but I meant it doesn't affect anyone else who I sleep with. There's no boyfriend waiting to knock out the next guy that looks at me and I'm more than happy keeping it that way. However it obviously does affect his life and the people in it if they find out about this, so I tell him it's his secret and I'll keep it quiet if that's what he wants. I'm hardly dying to shout about the mediocre dick that belonged to another woman.
Now somewhere in this muddle of tears and reassurance, I go blank.Yes ladies and gents, I have blacked out. And my memories of the night resume what I can only assume was a couple of hours later, with me in his bed, DOING IT AGAIN. NO! WHY?! Oh Jesus, Charleigh. I have no recollection of how I ended up here again, of who started it or anything else. If we're keeping it honest my next hazy memory is of straddling him on the bed and kissing his chest. Ha. Fab. And somewhere amongst all this he bought us Chinese?? And the next thing I know I'm waking up in his t-shirt, he's snoring like a trooper and I'm thinking oh fuck I hope I don't look like shit when I wake up.
It felt like days until it finally got light enough to assume it was day time. I got up and dressed and went to the bathroom to assess the damage (firstly to my face and then to his life), and decided I'd leave without waking him up and abandon my favourite earrings that I vaguely remember flinging off in the moment. We'll never speak of it again and he'll sort himself out however he wants.
So here we are 3 weeks later, I still haven't got my earrings back. I don't even know if he's found them. He's actually been a bit of a twat since so I go through phases of wanting them back and then hoping his girlfriend will find them under his bed or something and kick off at him again. The last I heard his girlfriend's dumped him, but then when I saw him the other day he said he'd stopped drinking and smoking and hadn't been out in days (quite the record for him), so I reckon that's her conditions of taking him back. Either way, I'll never fully enjoy a Pizza Express again.
To set the scene, it's a Wednesday afternoon in early September. You've finished work an hour early and decide to take the opportunity to browse the shops. The sun is shining and the leaves have started to turn. It's been a glorious summer of pub gardens, nights out, growing friendships and family dinners. You run upstairs to get changed and find a message on your phone that just reads 'hi'. Oh weird. What does he want?
Now at this point it wasn't unusual to receive the odd drunk text from Mr Pizza Express, most recently at 5am while I was asleep sharing a bed with my mother. But it wasn't a regular occurrence either. I woke up in the morning and replied with something like 'Jesus what are you doing up at that time?' to which he replied the next night, 'drinking.lol.' Now i should have known from the fact he regularly uses 'lol' unironically as a sign to get the hell away from him. But of course, ever the flirt and 'oh well i'll just see what happens' gal, I did not. Taking this as a sign of interest, on top of the few nights a couple months before when we'd ended up snogging in various pubs and local parks after nights out (or more commonly that was the night out...) and the glorious dinner he took me for (hence the name), I decided to text him a few nights later asking if he was out for a drink after work. He replied too late and I'd already driven home by then but he said he'd be out next time. Little did I know next time was only 2 days later.
So you finish work and you're looking forward to a wander down the high street. You reply to the text asking how he is and he asks if you fancy a drink. Now you know those decisions that you know will end badly in some way but you decide to do it anyway? This was one of them. An 'oh fuck it', if you will. Also at this point I was very aware that if this did end well (badly?), i.e. in the bedroom (cringe), I was ill prepared and had not showered since the previous morning and hadn't shaved my armpits since about 3 days ago, let alone anything else. I'd say on the hair front we were somewhere between a stubble and a fuzz. Hm. Not good. It looks like my jaunt down the high street has turned into an emergency run to Superdrug for some dry shampoo, travel size deodorant and something to tie up my unruly hair (of the head variety ahem. Get your mind out the gutter). Oh and it would probably be handy to keep some make up wipes in your bag for occasions such as this. He asks if I want a drink at his (WHAT) and i stupidly ask for his address. Ooft so close to town. This would make the most convenient of booty calls for days when I'm at work... Stop it, Charleigh.
So I hurry up the hill to my car and thankfully have my make up bag in there. Of course shit like this only happens when you're least prepared and look shockingly tired. I do a full face, tie my hair up and dry shampoo the shit out of it. I look for spare tights in the back seat. Oh for fuck sake why is there no tights in here? Now I'll have to have bare feet if he asks me to take my shoes off. Please don't have a no shoes rule. Chef shoes aren't kind to nail varnish.
'How long will you be?'
'10 minutes away!'
10 minutes obviously doesn't mean 10 minutes, it means I'm just finishing drowning myself in perfume and now I'm thanking God that I wore nice undies today. I'll probs be twice that long.
Anyway I get there and he opens the door, looking casual like he's been home all day. I go to walk past him into the flat and he leans forward slightly for me to kiss him on the cheek on the way past. Eugh why does he always smell so nice?? He must go through so much aftershave. He shows me to the living room and offers me a glass of wine. Does anyone else find it a bit sexy when men remember which wine you like?? Just me being easy? Oh good okay... The point is, very nice wine. I tell him I can only have one because I'll have to drive home after. I've decided that my plan is flirt tonight, maybe a little kiss but I DEFINITELY go home after. If this goes well I can just suggest I come back tomorrow night after work when I can be fully prepared and ready to go.
We sit on the sofa chatting and it's actually really nice to talk to him properly for once rather than just bantering with him briefly at work when we happen to cross paths. He asks about why I moved out of my flat in town and I explain exactly what happened and what I'm hoping to do next and he listens and says all the right things. Of course he bloody does. He says I can stay in his spare room any time I need to, including tonight and I thank him, clearly looking a bit hesitant as I try to control the angel and the demon battling it out in my head. If you have another glass of wine you'll have no choice but to stay here. Good excuse. You're deffo not staying in that spare room, you're after staying in his bed you hoe. Am I thoughhh? Yes. You know you are. Okay Fine.
He does the thing where you sort of offer to top someones drink up but you say it AS YOU'RE DOING IT. Oh no what a shame. Now I'll be over the limit and I'll have to stay. OOPS. Not your fault. Absolutely couldn't have done anything to stop it. I tell him if he's going to give me more wine he'll have to feed me at some point as well because I've been at work and barely eaten all day and he will most definitely be picking me up off the floor if I don't eat soon. At least I know my limits right?
We're still sat on the sofa, not cosily by any means but I noticed he sat ever so slightly closer when he sat back down after topping my wine up and his arm has appeared across the back of the sofa. He's always struck me as the kind of guy that would use all the classic cheesy moves. I know your game Mr Pizza Express. He's started getting a bit flirtier and I'm still acting the epitome of manners and innocence. Ha. I clearly did something right because half way through a conversation, that I now doubt he was listening to at all, he grabs my face and bloody kisses me. Quite a lot... Honestly we all knew it was coming. Needless to say things.. progress(??) and we end up shagging on the sofa. I've decided I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you. He'd undone my dungarees with impressive speed and flung it god knows where!? That did not help the horrible awkward redressing afterwards but I faked ALL the confidence and walked about the living room following the trail of clothes. (Eugh). I went to find the bathroom downstairs and wait WHAT IS THIS PLEASE AND THANK YOU?! There's a clothes horse at the bottom of the stairs with fucking BRAS on it. BRAS?!! Oh God he must still be with his girlfriend. Which means she must still live there. Oh Jesus is she about to come home?! Where the fuck is she?!
He's still upstairs so I decide to use the bathroom as planned and gather my thoughts. Such tipsy thoughts. I sort myself out, get dressed and am so relieved to see my hair has held up, as has my face. I decide to go out to the patio, where he's now smoking, and sit down looking all hot, in bad bitch mode (you know what I mean), and straight out ask him. Except I don't have to ask at all because his head's in his hands and he's staring at his phone. Oh shit. Surely he's done it before. I asked and apparently not, I was the first. Do I believe it? I don't think so. He says how much he regrets it and although I know what he means, it sounds a bit of a slap in the face. Was I really that shit??? Fuck. The whole situation is so shit now, I have to stay the night because I have nowhere else to go and can't drive. I ask where she is and he tells me she's on holiday with her girlfriends. Well at least she's not about to come home and find my undies down the back of the sofa. She's not home for another week so at least he has time to get his shit together I think. Oh wait except he's wasted no time in bloody messaging her to TELL HER HE'S CHEATED ON HER! Ohhhhh fuck sake. Who does that!? What a prick. She seems to reply pretty quickly telling him it's over and I decide to go and finish the wine. I stand up, purposefully grab my glass and announce as much before storming off upstairs and emptying the bottle. He came upstairs 5 minutes later to find me quietly crying in front of the mirror, trying to stop myself so he wouldn't know. He might be a prick but he's not totally heartless. He gives me a hug and tells me it's absolutely not my fault and asks me to keep it a secret. I say of course I will, it's his secret, nobody cares what I do. Now I didn't mean it that way, I know full well lots of people care about me, but I meant it doesn't affect anyone else who I sleep with. There's no boyfriend waiting to knock out the next guy that looks at me and I'm more than happy keeping it that way. However it obviously does affect his life and the people in it if they find out about this, so I tell him it's his secret and I'll keep it quiet if that's what he wants. I'm hardly dying to shout about the mediocre dick that belonged to another woman.
Now somewhere in this muddle of tears and reassurance, I go blank.Yes ladies and gents, I have blacked out. And my memories of the night resume what I can only assume was a couple of hours later, with me in his bed, DOING IT AGAIN. NO! WHY?! Oh Jesus, Charleigh. I have no recollection of how I ended up here again, of who started it or anything else. If we're keeping it honest my next hazy memory is of straddling him on the bed and kissing his chest. Ha. Fab. And somewhere amongst all this he bought us Chinese?? And the next thing I know I'm waking up in his t-shirt, he's snoring like a trooper and I'm thinking oh fuck I hope I don't look like shit when I wake up.
It felt like days until it finally got light enough to assume it was day time. I got up and dressed and went to the bathroom to assess the damage (firstly to my face and then to his life), and decided I'd leave without waking him up and abandon my favourite earrings that I vaguely remember flinging off in the moment. We'll never speak of it again and he'll sort himself out however he wants.
So here we are 3 weeks later, I still haven't got my earrings back. I don't even know if he's found them. He's actually been a bit of a twat since so I go through phases of wanting them back and then hoping his girlfriend will find them under his bed or something and kick off at him again. The last I heard his girlfriend's dumped him, but then when I saw him the other day he said he'd stopped drinking and smoking and hadn't been out in days (quite the record for him), so I reckon that's her conditions of taking him back. Either way, I'll never fully enjoy a Pizza Express again.
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