I’m going to level with you; there is no way I can tell this story without coming across as an arsehole. But I don’t pretend to be without fault, so judge away if you must. Just do me a favour please, stay to the end and try and imagine how you would feel in the moment.

Years ago, I had one of those friends who would always have a boyfriend, and she would always become a carbon copy of him – adopting his interests, his opinions, his friends…you get the picture. So for a brief period, this particular version of my friend would enjoy a slightly grotty pub with her boyfriend and all of his lads in tow. In fairness, they weren’t that bad, and I would occasionally join them all for a few drinks. I never got too invested though as the chances of this relationship lasting the course were as likely as this story having a happy ending.

Funnily enough, that situation ended as messily as expected, and soon enough that group of guys was filed away somewhere in the recesses of my memory. Until years later, when I was paying for my meal deal at the self checkout, I looked up to see a familiar face looking back at me. We had an awkward moment where we both clearly recognised each other but didn’t know why, and then after a moment he said, ‘Oh my god, I thought it was you!’.

Long story short, he had moved away but was back in the area for a few days for work and was staying in a hotel in town. We ended up making plans to meet later for a drink, which quickly turned to a few drinks, and, you guessed it, soon turned to me heading to his hotel room with him. And that’s where things got…interesting.

Again, I would like to make it clear that I am not proud of what happened next. But I am human. And I am far from perfect. And…just bear with me.

So we are sitting on the edge of the bed, and things are clearly going a certain way. Nothing has been said specifically, but all the right moves are happening. Buttons are unbuttoning, lips are locking, bodies are becoming more horizontal…you get the picture. When, without saying a word, he stands up, faces me, and drops his jeans and boxers to the floor with a sort of half-baked ‘ta da!’ style gesture.

This is awkward, right? Just standing there, staring at me with his pants round his ankles. Well what makes it even more uncomfortable is that what he is showing off is, for lack of a better term, a micro-penis. And I’m not being harsh – it was like a nipple. And he had manscaped so it wasn’t even like it was hiding away in the bush.

I could tell he felt nervous and uncomfortable, and I really didn’t know what to say or do, so I went for;

‘It’s O.K. I’m sure it gets bigger when it gets hard’

‘It is hard now’

This was my opportunity to show what a mature, sensitive, open-minded woman I am.

And then it happened. I laughed. Not a big laugh, but a small, awkward giggle escaped my mouth. I just want to be clear here – I was not laughing at him. It was just so awkward! I felt so awful in the moment but I just didn’t know what to do. And obviously he just left and locked himself in the bathroom.

But honestly – was that the right way to handle that situation? I truly don’t have an issue with penis size. I’ve been around long enough to know that size doesn’t always matter (although let’s get real – it does play a part). But why did he reveal it in such a dramatic way? I am sure if he’d have just talked about it beforehand it wouldn’t have been such an awkward moment and things would have gone a lot more smoothly. He probably thought he was being bold or playful and I just felt incredibly uncomfortable – an issue that could have been solved with better communication perhaps? But then I also appreciate how difficult that must have been for him so I can’t judge him really.

I sat there for a while and waited, but he was clearly avoiding me and so I thought the right thing to do was just leave. I still don’t know if that was the right thing to do, but we never exchanged numbers and never spoke again, so I’ll never find out!

I may not get the chance to make up for my poor decisions that night, but I did walk away learning a valuable lesson; my dick sense isn’t as reliable as I thought!

L xo

PS – Hate mail can be sent to PO Box AITA

Have you ever been so hard up that your friends actually invite a mate over to shag you for the sake of your (and their) sanity? No? Just me then.

In my defence, I was never on board with this idea. In fact, I was slightly offended yet weirdly touched by the sentiment of the whole thing. And this visit was happening anyway – it just so happened that my friend believed one of the guys would be a good match for me. Although the fact it was also solving an issue of who was sleeping where didn’t escape my notice. Now before anyone gets too concerned about my welfare here, I should be clear that there was no actual implication that anything would be happening without my full consent. It was more of a friendly suggestion laid out in a way that would be easy for me to go along with should I choose to. But I was absolutely not going along with this idea. I had my principles! I did agree to join them on their night out, but it was just to meet them and have a few drinks. The guys went out earlier in the night, then me and a couple of the girls met up with them a bit later in a club. Innocent enough.

You know what, those principles bailed on me as soon as the smell of stale beer and sambuca hit me. There we were, dancing away as a group in the middle of the club, and any concerns I had just melted away. I was too busy enjoying the music and the vibes to even consider the dirty deal that had taken place on my behalf. I know, I know, I judge me too. But just see how your standards hold up when you’re six snakebites in and vibing to Tiny Dancer on a crowded dancefloor. I’m only human!

Anyway, after a night of fun and frivolity, we all walked back from the club together, where me being the accident-prone person I am, I managed to trip up and twist my ankle in my lovely heels that I’d somehow survived the rest of the night in. But, like a hero without a cape, Mr Mumbles swooped me up in his arms and carried me all the way home. Seriously. All the way. If there was ever any doubt about where that man was sleeping that night, then let me tell you, from that moment it was clear he was going to be in my bed. No arguments.

Now, there will be some of you begging for the filthy details at this point and some hoping that I just stick to good old British euphemisms and save everyone’s dignity. So I’ll compromise and just stick to the good bits. Although I have to admit, all the bits were pretty good! If it wasn’t already obvious by his earlier gesture, this man had some muscles on him and boy did he use them. He threw me around that bed like I was a ragdoll and I am not kidding when I say my bed took the brunt of it. My lovely, almost brand new bed – the one that I had begged my landlords for just a couple of weeks earlier – was constantly squeaking after that night. Although I should be grateful it was still standing after the almighty crack we heard midway through our romantic gymnastics. Which, by the way, I never did find the source of. I was just glad my housemate in the room below was away at the time!

Looking back, it was lucky really that we communicated so well between the sheets as I could barely understand a word the man said. Genuinely. Especially first thing in the morning when he mumbled away in his deep, thick accent. I’m pretty sure it was some kind of question, but I wasn’t really sure how to respond as who knows what I would have been agreeing to, so I just kissed him and lured him in to another round of sexy times. A distraction technique that has got me through many an awkward situation. Needless to say, a good portion of his visit was spent in my bedroom. Turns out words weren’t really necessary that weekend anyway!

And if my friend asks – this whole thing working out perfectly was merely a coincidence.

L xo