Dating Tales: Hot Vauxhall Mess


We were into our second day of partying when I was left alone in the flat and my friends had gone pick up. Everybody knows that when you have a free place you either have to walk around naked, jump on the bed or have sex. Seen as I barely had any clothes on anyway and wasn’t Macaulay Culkin in Home Alone, I opted for the latter.

It was approaching midnight and I’d found a cute guy that was one his way round. I jumped in the shower, brushed my teeth, hell I even threw on deodorant; I was prepared.

When he arrived, I opened the door and after greeting him offered him something to drink. He declined. Oh yeah, the bitch was gonna be guzzling my cum in about half hour anyway. So after chatting for a couple minutes I realised he hadn’t taken off his jacket. So I stepped closer to unbutton it and after giving him a kiss, he recoiled.

“I’m having second thoughts…”

SHAME! As if I was getting full-on pied. I wanted to curl up into a ball and die. Or preferably curl up into a hedgehog and attack his face.

“Oh really. Why?” I was embarrassed, but I still wanted an explanation.
“You’re only 23” he replied.
“And how old are you?”

Erm… That’s not even an age gap? 6 years? I’ve got friends with drug addictions older than that. Like if you’re gonna lie at least do it well. It was worse than Nicole Scherzinger claiming she’s sober on Saturday nights X Factor.

Still, I politely told him he was free to leave if he had changed his mind.
“Sorry to ruin your night.”


Ruin my night?! Did she really think she was that special? It was a courtesy fuck to begin with, because it was 1am and I was horny. He should be taking whatever dick he could get. I didn’t know whether to hold down my laughter at her delusions of grandeur or clutch my heart, gasping at the insult she’d just added to the injury of rejection.

“Oh no,” I scoffed, “you haven’t ruined my night,”


I decided that finding his ridiculous statement humorous was the best option.

Who’s pride was dented now bitch? 

“See ya later”

I laughed as I flicked a wrist and shooed him towards the door. I mean honestly, how did he even fit that Kanye West sized ego through the average-sized door frame to begin with? Well I suppose his personality didn’t take up any space. Still, who knew the only blow I’d be getting that night was to my confidence.

And despite putting him in his place (marginally), I did feel offended. Was I totes more uggers than my pictures? No, obviously not.
And when I ran it by my friends they rightly stated,
“It could have been any number of things that made him reconsider. He might have just broken up with someone and thought he was ready, but then realised he wasn’t.”


“Although,” Darren continued, “you didn’t answer the door like that, did you?” He cast a wary eye over my stretchy short shorts and bare torso.
“Erm…” I definitely had.
“Oh, girl…”

It suddenly became clear what the problem was. I had opened the door like a total Debbie. I was the hook-up equivalent of people that wear flip flops in the sauna; too up for it. I was the guy that just put himself on a platter. I could’ve been wearing a neon sign that said “WHORE” and it would have had the exact same effect.

Not only had I probably looked buzzing after no sleep, but I also looked like a complete slut. Sure, some people lap up the ‘Hot Vauxhall Mess’ look, but a majority of people get pleasure out of undressing one another (myself included).

Come to think of it I think I would have been off put had a guy opened the door to me dressed like a rent boy circa 1980, especially if I was sober. I might as well have greeted him by putting my cock through the letter box, or better yet, on the bed with my ankles behind my ears. Total failure on my part. MEH.

I was completely scarlet for like 10 minutes, then I realised how fabulous I am, took a bump, filed my nails and blocked the twat.

The moral is that if you don’t want people to think you’re a slut, you probably shouldn’t dress like one…

Other posts you might like:
>> 25 Ways You Know You’re A Vauxhall Trashbag
>> Dating Tales: Trouble In Dublin
>> Dating Tales: ‘Not Myself Tonight’

Author: AnthonyGilet

[fbcomments url="" width="100%" count="off" num="3" countmsg="wonderful comments!"]
Share This Post On