Croweater's thread of not-so-erotic fiction

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Duritz said:
So I was at the races today. Flemington. Melbourne Cup. There I was in the Emirates marquee and Bec comes up to me and says "Hi Duritz! Chris is away, he's helping Carlton out with some pre-season thing, and you know how lonely I get..."

Wow, this was an interesting start to a conversation, because little did she know that Francesca Cumani had just gone to the bathroom (she's pregnant, you see, but that doesn't stop us in Adelaide) and she was coming back with the promise of wearing nothing under her skirt but her "sausage maker". When I asked what that meant, she said, "I promise to make your sausage pop".

So, there we are, I am thinking this is at least as classy as the clubs back home in SA, when Bec Judd lays that one on me.

"WTF Bec?" I hiss quietly. "I've got something going on with Francesca here, I'm hoping I can take her back to my pad in Snowtown later. Have some class like me!"

Bec frowned, and as she did turned around, face to face with Francesca.

"Oh, YOU'RE with him, are you?" she asked maliciously, "well just be ready for fantastic sex which lasts all night and which ruins you for any other man, and for which you'll never recover and which will render you incapable of thinking of anything ever again!!"

She then turned back to me. "I worship you!" she said, on her knees, while Francesca looked on, confused.

So awkward!
Click to expand...
Could actually believe this.
 
Duritz said:
So I was at the races today. Flemington. Melbourne Cup. There I was in the Emirates marquee and Bec comes up to me and says "Hi Duritz! Chris is away, he's helping Carlton out with some pre-season thing, and you know how lonely I get..."

Wow, this was an interesting start to a conversation, because little did she know that Francesca Cumani had just gone to the bathroom (she's pregnant, you see, but that doesn't stop us in Adelaide) and she was coming back with the promise of wearing nothing under her skirt but her "sausage maker". When I asked what that meant, she said, "I promise to make your sausage pop".

So, there we are, I am thinking this is at least as classy as the clubs back home in SA, when Bec Judd lays that one on me.

"WTF Bec?" I hiss quietly. "I've got something going on with Francesca here, I'm hoping I can take her back to my pad in Snowtown later. Have some class like me!"

Bec frowned, and as she did turned around, face to face with Francesca.

"Oh, YOU'RE with him, are you?" she asked maliciously, "well just be ready for fantastic sex which lasts all night and which ruins you for any other man, and for which you'll never recover and which will render you incapable of thinking of anything ever again!!"

She then turned back to me. "I worship you!" she said, on her knees, while Francesca looked on, confused.

So awkward!
Click to expand...

I call bullshit on this story - Chris Judd has taken on a business development role on with an investment group, doubt he'd be helping Carlton out in the pre-season...
 

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getthefooty said:
I call bullshit on this story - Chris Judd has taken on a business development role on with an investment group, doubt he'd be helping Carlton out in the pre-season...
Click to expand...

I think she's telling fibs again. Like the time she told me "you're at least 6 inches bigger than Chris". Pfft... It's at least 8.
 
Duritz said:
So I was at the races today. Flemington. Melbourne Cup. There I was in the Emirates marquee and Bec comes up to me and says "Hi Duritz! Chris is away, he's helping Carlton out with some pre-season thing, and you know how lonely I get..."

Wow, this was an interesting start to a conversation, because little did she know that Francesca Cumani had just gone to the bathroom (she's pregnant, you see, but that doesn't stop us in Adelaide) and she was coming back with the promise of wearing nothing under her skirt but her "sausage maker". When I asked what that meant, she said, "I promise to make your sausage pop".

So, there we are, I am thinking this is at least as classy as the clubs back home in SA, when Bec Judd lays that one on me.

"WTF Bec?" I hiss quietly. "I've got something going on with Francesca here, I'm hoping I can take her back to my pad in Snowtown later. Have some class like me!"

Bec frowned, and as she did turned around, face to face with Francesca.

"Oh, YOU'RE with him, are you?" she asked maliciously, "well just be ready for fantastic sex which lasts all night and which ruins you for any other man, and for which you'll never recover and which will render you incapable of thinking of anything ever again!!"

She then turned back to me. "I worship you!" she said, on her knees, while Francesca looked on, confused.

So awkward!
Click to expand...

i-want-to-believe-20100818-163229.jpg
 
As a way of admitting that my stories have largely been grandiose in nature, I'll tell you all a story that still haunts me to this day. A thoroughly awkward flirting story which I've been too embarrassed to share previously.

This happened in between the two Gemma stories on page 322.

I was fifteen. At that age, boys got their girl advice from Hollywood cliches, ill-informed mates, and love story soliloquys and proclamations with a preponderance for the fabled "happily ever after". Not exactly the ideal examples to follow to ask out a girl in the real world.

There was this idea floating around that girls liked poems. I saw it in a couple of movies. Mum said it was cute. :$ Apparently it was romantic or some s**t. Being a malleable fifteen year old, I took this advice and decided to write a poem to the girl I liked. Yeah, big mistake.

She was cute, nice, funny, flirtatious; all that good stuff. But yeah, it happened.

I won't go into extreme detail about what was written, because it is quite simply heinous. But it was something along the lines of "you, me, ignorant bliss, we'll get lost together, into the abyss". Yeah. Heinous.

So I dropped off the letter in her locker and nervously awaited her response. I was more fidgety than a crack addict with Tourette's.

School finished and I was walking with a mate to go to his house after school. I saw "Nicki" walking. She was with a couple of friends. Her friends looked in my direction and were giggling. She looked embarrassed. "Yep", I thought. "This won't end well".

The next day she comes up to me and says "What the hell was that?". "I thought it would be romantic". "Who told you that?". "A Knight's Tale". "Yeah, no. For the record, if you want to go out with a girl, asking her to the movies is better than writing some lame poem". "Lame?". "Yeah, sorry". F*cking awkward. "So... You want to go to the movies?". "Sorry, I'm going out with Jake". :$

Embarrassing, right? Wait for it.

My whole year level found out about it, as well as some kids slightly below and above my year level. I got laughed at for at least a week. My mates called me Casanova for months (presumably stolen from American Pie). Whilst playing footy, my mates would call out "Nova! Nova! Over here!". It was a whole thing. I was chatting up a girl in Year 10 Biology and my teacher goes "wait until after class, Casanova". He wasn't referring to the horny Italian author, the cheeky s**t. My parents gave me endless s**t about it. My dad joked that my mum needn't worry about me "tarting off" with girls, as the girls who knew me knew the story, and wouldn't touch me with a "ten foot pole". Cheers old man. Top bloke.

The moral of the story is; don't watch early 2000s romantic comedies with a propensity to include high levels of schmaltzy crap targeted at hopeless people like my fifteen year old self, and proceed to recreate said schmaltzy crap in a futile bid to impress a girl. It doesn't work. Unless you recreate The Notebook. That's a cinematic f*cking aphrodisiac.

Also, it'll come back to bite you in the arse when the girl you wrote an embarrassing poem for rocks up to a party you're attending, and where your mates yell out; "Casanova! Look who's here!". To which Hayley responded; "What's that about?". :$

 

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It continually astounds me how you have gone from an awkward young teenager hanging out with private school bogans to a smooth talking, pedestal owning, eggs Benedict eating, Harvey Spector-like prince who engages in regular threesomes with some of the hottest Emma Watson lookalikes in Adelaide

Bravo sir.
 
Croweater said:
As a way of admitting that my stories have largely been grandiose in nature, I'll tell you all a story that still haunts me to this day. A thoroughly awkward flirting story which I've been too embarrassed to share previously.
Click to expand...

Any chance you could revert to that, and not share any more of your shithouse, self-flagellating stories with us?

w***er.
 
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