The day a pervert stuck his lubricated thumb into my eye by Geraint Anderson
About twelve years ago a girlfriend from my school days who I hadn't seen for years called up and invited me round for a Valentine's dinner and 'maybe something more'. I cycled round feeling very excited with the obligatory bottle of champers and a red rose. She answered the door and, much to my delight, she still looked damn fine. She turned the lights off, lit some candles and served me up some food she'd clearly been working on all day. It was about half way through the starter when I heard some low moaning noises coming from the council flat below. We initially ignored them but they became louder and louder. Eventually, I went downstairs and started shouting through the letterbox - but the horrible moaning just continued. I peeped though the letter box and could just about make out a naked guy squirming around on the floor. Fearing the worst, I took it upon myself to break his door down which I just about managed to do though I hurt my foot badly in the process.Inside was a legless (in every sense of the word) bloke surrounded by porn mags who'd clearly fallen off his wheelchair whilst 'relaxing in a gentlemen's way'. I limped in and desperately tried to lift him back into his wheelchair but thinking I was a burglar he panicked and shoved a suspiciously well-lubricated thumb firmly into my eye socket. I spent that Valentine's Day in St Mary's A+E with an eyeball like an orange wondering what kind of sexual diseases you could catch from a wheelchair-bound masturbator ... not quite the Valentine's night I was hoping for.
The day I got dumped via work email by Georgia Lewis
In the six months prior to Valentines Day circa 2004, I'd been dumped by email (when I say "dumped" he emailed my bloody work account to say he was really busy with work but would call me when he was free - I told him not to bother...) and then, two days before Christmas by text. For a barmaid. By February, single in Sydney, my ego was in need of a boost. To do this, I wrote a Valentines Day article for the Sydney Morning Herald declaring it to be National Casual Sex Day instead. That night, I went to one of Sydney's dodgiest bars, got rather wankered and picked up an Irish lad.
The Banana and the Condom by Joe Tyler
In 1999, my school chose Valentines Day to teach us how to put a condom on a banana. I still don’t know whether the date was coincidental, or a reasoned decision by the school to arrange the most romantic of lessons on the most romantic day of the year. What I do know, is that giving in to peer pressure and volunteering to demonstrate in front of the class was a regret I still haven’t recovered from. Michael Bennett had once stolen one from his brother, filled it with paint and dropped it on Kirk Henderson from the first floor of the art block, but that was the closest I’d ever been to one. They remained mythical. Natasha Donoghue had given me a Valentines card that morning, and was sitting in the front row with the other fit girls, cleavage in full view. The pressure was on, but if I could master this, then she’d love me forever.
I clumsily ripped the rubber from the foil, but not having a clue what to do next, I unravelled it completely and tried to stretch the ring round the fruit. The ring snapped, the condom split, and laughter erupted. I sidled back to my seat, mortified, and fashioned a pathetic excuse about the size being wrong. Worse still, year eight’s very own Ron Jeremy, Danny Higden, was up next. He demonstrated his talents quickly and effectively, drawing a ripple of applause from the lads, and a swoon from the girls. Him and Natasha had a baby some years later, while for a bit I was known as Rubber Joey. I’ve marked the same day each year by throwing a banana at the condom display in the Stevenage branch of Boots.
That’s when her friend and I.... I believe the vernacular is ‘got off’ with each other
The time I ditched my Missus for her mate by Bennet Arron
In my late teens I was on a Valentine’s date and my date turned up with her friend. She explained that her friend had recently been dumped by her boyfriend and didn’t want to be on her own. I understood and said I didn’t mind at all (I’m a lovely person*). The three of us went to the cinema. After watching all the trailers, and before the film started my date went to buy some more popcorn and Kia Ora (personally I thought she’d had enough).
Anyway, whilst she was gone, her friend and I chatted – and got on really well. My date came back and we all watched the film. Halfway through the film (I can’t remember which film it was) my date went to the toilet to rid herself of the extra drink she hadn’t really required. That’s when her friend and I.... I believe the vernacular is ‘got off’ with each other. We then made a plan. After the film had finished I told my date I wasn’t feeling very well and wanted to go home. Once I had gone, she dropped off her friend and then went home. As you’ve probably guessed, the friend and I then met up.
The Cheese overdose by Suzie Smith
It's no myth that girls love a flower or two on Valentines Day, maybe even a hand made card or just something kinky for the bedroom to make them feel like Jamie Lee Curtis in True Lies. My boyfriend of a few years ago knew me better than that though, and communicated his love through food. Not just any food, a baked cambembert wheel of affection, almost the size of my head. It was romantically wolfed down in about 12 minutes flat. I'm not sure if i was drunk on cheese or drunk on love, but either way I ended up puking expensive French cheese for the majority of the evening.
Resembling an Omar Sharif who had sustained substantially heavier losses at the bridge table, he had two remarkable quirks
Frozen Peas and Coconut Milk by Ben Cottam
I had been going out with a girl for a couple of years and every year was told by her that Valentine's day was no big deal so planned the sum total of nothing for us to do, share or experience. The year in question, she again stated that the evening was no big deal to her, only for her to turn up in Leamington Spa (where I lived at the time) and announce that this year, Valentine's day was in fact QUITE A BIG DEAL as we had been going out for TWO YEARS. Leamington Spa, being essentially a town based round one street, is not a place noted for having a surfeit of dining options at the best of times, and my frantic telephoning only confirmed my fear that everywhere would be booked up.
Everywhere except one. A kebab shop had recently reopened as a curry restaurant (I would have called it an Indian restaurant, but it appeared happy to tackle most food styles west of Istanbul) and hadn't felt the need to undertake anything resembling a refurbishment. We sat alone at one of the formica-topped tables, Emma's face barely hiding her disdain for my fine dining ideas. The only man running the restaurant appeared. Resembling an Omar Sharif who had sustained substantially heavier losses at the bridge table, he had two remarkable quirks.
The first was always to refer to himself as "The Masterchef" and the second was to repeat, to a point where it became somewhat suspicious, "the curries you will eat are the same as the curries I eat" over and over again. But he was a genuinely captivating presence. Buoyed by this man's charisma and charm, I attempted to wrestle the evening into success by claiming that this restaurant was in fact Leamington's best-kept gastronomic secret and that she was of course lucky not to have been taken to some ghastly over-priced carvery. Emma smiled a very thin smile. The food arrived. And then she stormed out. I still don't know if it was the paper plates or the fact that her vegetable korma seemed to be made of frozen peas covered in coconut milk what did it...
On examining the tickets he made it quite clear that he wasn't spending his Saturday night watching "that fucking poof"
Watching Joe Longthorne with my Mum by Merv Payne
Back in 1988 I was 16 and had just started seeing a girl who was two years older than me. With Valentines Day approaching I was keen to impress and hatched what I thought was a failsafe plan to get my parents out of the house so we could have the place to ourselves. Knowing my mum was a big fan of Joe Longthorne, I spent a fortune on two top tickets for his West End show on Valentines weekend. I imagined my dad would be pleased that I'd sorted a treat for my mum on his behalf and got him into her good books too. Everyone was, it seemed, a winner. Or so I thought.
On the morning of the big day I took my Dad to one side and handed him the tickets, all he had to do was think of a suitably romantic way to unveil the surprise, but I didn't get the reaction I was expecting. On examining the tickets he made it quite clear that he wasn't spending his Saturday night watching "that fucking poof" and for him, at least, Valentines Day was cancelled. My mum entered the room and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Dad kindly told her. Mum of course wanted to go, meaning my big night was cancelled and instead spent sat watching a middle aged man doing impressions of Shirley Bassey and Steptoe. Needless to say I was dumped soon after.
The day I proposed to the wrong woman by Martin Appleby
I proposed to my wife on Valentines Day. At least I thought I had, I was back in the UK. That is not a place for conducive thoughts. My ex girlfriend was pleasantly completely shocked when I sent the proposal to her by mistake. My dad's fault, I didn't want to drink half a bottle of whisky, after being in the pub all day, but you have to listen to your parents.
Her new boyfriend wasn't too impressed either. I managed to rectify the situation with my actual girlfriend. I blame technology, who in their right mind puts two girls you've had a long relationship with, on the same contacts list? I've been happily married for two years, to the right girl. I still talk to my ex however, but I try not to propose.
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