By request

I think it's about time that I finally 'fessed up about this story. It's not one of my finest moments but it definitely ticks one item off the bucket list. Having said that, I would almost definitely do it again. Said activity I partook in is what some may call a foursome or perhaps a gang bang. I prefer the term foursome as it was still relatively personal. Genuinely, I enjoyed myself and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I have sex because I like having sex and why the fuck not? I'm sure many girls have fantasised over have three hot men servicing their every orifice. 
This all came about when my good friend at university brought his cricket team from home up for the weekend. Being a group of horny student nurses we were all giggling over which ones we were going to call dibs on. Unfortunately out of the whole bunch, there was only one who was majorly hot, one who had something sexy about him (and it wasn't just that my friend informed me he was hung like a moose) and one who I wouldn't kick out of bed. The rest looked liked they'd had one too many cricket balls to the face. It just so happens that that very evening all three of these men ended up in my bed. Simultaneously. 
After many many drinking games we ended up in my most hated night club and, after a few hours of shaking my booty and necking Jaegerbombs, I felt the pull of my bed. It just so happened that Mr Handsome and Mr Something Sexy were ready to leave too, they asked if I wanted to leave with them; me being drunk and horny assumed they meant for a menage a trois. As they saw me over think their simple question, it dawned on them what I thought they were suggesting and suddenly became very eager. We all headed for the taxi rank together and one of them collared Mr Wouldn't Kick Out of Bed and dragged him along for the ride. 
Long story short after some awkwardness, we all ended up spooning in my bed. This very quickly turned into me being, as some people crudely term it, 'spit roasted'. It was all very frantic and messy. There were a lot of things going in a lot of places and some young, drunk men getting far too carried away. I distinctly remember having one their manhoods in my mouth and another one's bits in my lady parts whilst the other chap sidled over, brandishing a large ended deodorant can with his intentions clearly displayed through is far too eager grin. As you can imagine my response was "OHHHHH HEEEEE-EEELLLL NO!" He swiftly put the weapon down and slid what I assumed to be a finger in my errrrr... back passage. I'm not opposed to this sort of thing and honestly, quite enjoyed having three holes filled. I later discovered what had actually been inserted was in fact a pen torch. You may have seen these implements waved in people's eyes by doctors on crappy medical dramas. They are in fact used to perform neurological observations on patients and I happened to have an old one laying on my desk. 

Since this night I cannot look at these instruments in the same way and neither can any of my friends. God forbid we get a placement on a neuro ward.

So these shenanigans continued for a while and culminated in various bodily fluids arriving on my face and hair. Joy. I don't care what anyone says, no girl can claim to actively enjoy that...

Mr Handsome left, as did Mr Wouldn't Kick Out of Bed but Mr Something Sexy asked if he could stay for a bit longer. As I hadn't had my Big O yet I happily agreed, especially as he was just as well endowed as my friend had informed me. Our solo encounter was quite brief and again culminated in his bodily fluids clogging up my pores but it left the insides of my thighs burning for days and my loins quivering for a good  hour. Definitely not something you're going to hear me complaining about! 

As the first two had left we made a pact not to mention it to our mutual friend, which I stupidly believed. Said friend rang me the next morning to enquire about my hangover and as I responded by explaining how achy I was, he collapsed into peals of uncontrollable laughter. I feel it would be slightly hypocritical for me to be annoyed about 'kissing and telling' unfortunately, post foursome, no one in my friend group can mention the word torch without looking like they're going to vomit. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase 'bucket list'. 

Off topic

This post is slightly off topic but it's something that's been on my mind. If an anonymous blog isn't somewhere to get things off your chest, then where else is?
April of last year, after a long decision, I decided to break up with my boyfriend of four years. For me it felt quite sudden but, as my closest friends remind me, I had been unhappy with the relationship for a while.
We were together since the tender age of sixteen and I think this gave me a false sense of security about life in general. I never cried at films, whether they were heartbreakingly sad moments or joyously happy. I never saw why people worried about being alone because it seemed so simple to find someone and have a long term commitment. Liberating myself from that relationship, as sickening as it sounds, has opened my eyes to the world.
 I cruised along with an average kinda guy who was nice to me, took any shit I threw his way but there was never any passion. We had pretty average sex with his smaller than average size penis , we had average amounts of  fun together, we enjoyed each others company (sort of) but it was all so plain and easy. 
Since being apart I can honestly say I miss the companionship at times and the reliability of it but I couldn't be with him again. I realise now that I don't think I really loved him as much as I thought I did. I don't think that I have ever really been head over heels in love with someone. Now, I don't find that depressing. It's exciting! I have so much more ahead of me in life. So many more incredibly awful or fantastic first shags, for example. Because I have come to this realisation I've started crying like a baby at absolutely bloody everything. I've never been broody or got butterflies at rom-coms but it's like this external shell has been cracked. I can see everything that was so wrong in my so-called long term relationship and the thought of all these amazing opportunities and feelings I can experience gets me crying rivers. Don't get me wrong, I would never wish anything bad upon him and I harbour no resentment; I genuinely want him to get everything he wants in life. BUT I'm happy and it's because I took myself out of that relationship which sucked all the ambition and purpose out of my life. I was settling. 
You may ask why I'm banging on about crying at films but honestly, this was a EUREKA moment for me. I always wondered why I was so cold hearted about everything that didn't have a furry creature get maimed in it. 
Please excuse my ramblings but it feels so good to put pen to paper, so to speak. I can't wait for whatever gets thrown at me next whether it's a rich, handsome doctor or even an STD. Whatever it is will be more exciting than the last four and half years of my life. 

Taking advantage

 At the time of this story I was a first year student nurse, in my fourth week of a hospital placement. I could have, essentially, been described as an eager to please, push over. I don't mean to stereotype but old men have been known to take advantage of nurses/nursing assistants/student nurses for the sake of laziness or just to get a sponge bath from a young lady. Sneaky buggers. Now, this gentleman I am still unsure of his capabilities. He was paralysed from the waist down and during his morning wash managed to clean his top half and asked for assistance on his lower half. I believe this to be absolutely fair enough. Here I am nervously gloved up with wet, soapy hands cleaning his legs, bum and man parts. He then asked me the question I had been dreading since the start of my training. "Could you clean under my foreskin, please?" It's part of my job to oblige. So I reiterate, here I am with wet, soapy, shaking hands. I pull said foreskin back, when he then decides to inform me of how tight it is and I might have a job getting it back up over the head of his manhood. I clean, I dry and I try to pull it back up. No dice. It felt like and eternity, but I was stood there for a good few minutes, turning more and more red, attempting to inch this man's foreskin back his penis. WET, SOAPY GLOVES. Eventually he offers his assistance and does it himself pretty quickly. This is when I make my quick exit and take a minute to contemplate, that if he could reach to help... he could have helped a lot sooner and he also could have washed his own effing knob. It dawns on me that I have essential given a seventy year old man a hand job. Although, in the spirit of charity it's one for his wank bank. Timid nurse gets liberal with her soapy fingers. 

And I said embarrassing things don't happen often...

Friday night I returned back to my university town after the Christmas holidays. I used the time off to detoxify myself from men for a while and in my world this means being abstinent for a good few weeks. Five to be precise. Frankly, I didn't find this too difficult but decided to celebrate my return to university with a big bang. Quite literally. I would love to put a winky emoticon in there to emphasise my terrible pun but I feel that might ruin my fantastic reputation...
Moving on quickly. After lots of rapid drinking at a house party we arrived at a club in the student union. I had (very innocently) befriended a young man who took it upon himself to buy me drinks. This was idiotic on my part, I lost count somewhere after the fourth. Might I add that I was buying my self 'fireball' shots which, I later discovered, was some sort of potent whiskey. To say the least I was quite inebriated and after some unsubtle scouting latched myself onto a group of strapping young men. Without much decorum I promptly suctioned my face onto some poor chap.
This is when things get a bit hazy; my tale from here on out is what I have managed to stick together from my patchy memories and my friends side of things. 
I can be almost certain that I uttered some filthy nothings in his ear which almost definitely involved this words 'pound' 'me' and 'now'. Unsurprisingly we exited the club together, quick sharp. Now I don't know how or how long it took, but I found myself in my bed, electric blanket on, absolutely starkers with an equally bare man next to me. He mentioned the word 'sick' which made something deep within me stir, I really wish I could tell you that it was my loins, but alas it was my stomach. I swiftly, and oh so gracefully, threw myself out of bed and hurled my way into the kitchen and then hurled some more down the sink. God knows why, when the toilet is closer, but I may have been trying to preserve some dignity by saving him from hearing me expel my entire stomach contents from the mouth he had just had his tongue in. I can reliably inform you that said sprinting and hurling may have happened perhaps another 3 times before we finally got jiggy with it. I think the poor lad tried to make a clean break at one point but I coerced him into staying by assuring him of my own sexual prowess. Poor poor boy.We definitely engaged in coitus but it can have only been anything but spectacular. Five am post-vomit sex is never a winner. 
Long story short we slept, he tried it on and I proceeded to up-chuck once again. He then made the best decision of his life and got the hell out of dodge. I somehow made my way back to bed to puke some more, where I was then disturbed by prospective tenants looking around my flat. Unbeknownst be me there happened to be a used condom, accompanying wrapper and a bin full of sick in the middle of my bedroom floor. Needless to say they gave me some funny looks when they left. Student house, what do you expect people?! 
When I eventually surface at around three pm I had no recollection of the man who had been my bed partner that night. It took a groggy phone call to my friends, the condom on the floor and some Hollywood style flash backs to piece together what had happened. Cue shame and professing that I will never drink again. 
So here I am two days later and I pop to my local Sainsburys; elegantly sporting pyjamas, a massive coat, Uggs, black ringed eyes and bed hair. Looking my absolute finest. Upon entry I am stopped by the security guard and told to take my hood down. It's snowing man, chill! Anyway, I spot quite a nice looking man stood behind the checkout and it hits me like a massive punch in the kisser. Oh yes, it's Mr Vomit. Unfortunately for me I have already drawn attention to myself and then proceeded to draw even further attention when I tried to stuff a £50 note (Christmas donations to the student fund) into the self-checkouts despite the obvious signs indicating that you can't. Mr Vomit then to came to cancel my transaction and serve me personally at his till. I stood ruddy faced with embarrassment staring at my feet while, I have been informed, he equally avoided eye contact, whilst all the time my lovely house mates stand guffawing behind me. Then just as he did a few nights before, I got the hell out as fast as I fucking could.  

Mortification

I wouldn't say embarrassing things happen to me on a regular basis but when they do, they're often curl up in a ball and die kind of embarrassing. A close friend of mine made me a bet that I couldn't be celibate for a month. Out of sheer stubbornness I assured him that I could manage it with ease. All I win, however, is a measly pint of £2 lager; which, after two weeks of torment, seems like a paltry prize. I do think that it may be good for my mental health in the long run. Clear my head a bit from hospital drama and penis related drama. 

As I said, it's been around 2 weeks so far and I feel like I may crumble. Pathetic, I know but I love a bit of penis drama!

Anyway, remember massive blonde hunk who booty-called me a month or two ago? He pops up on my Facebook this evening asking if he can come round. I explain my predicament and tell him that as much as I would love to utilise his services I am, in fact, determined to win this bet. Eventually he ceases, after much sexual blackmail involving 'bending me over'' and the like. I precede to text my friend, with whom I have said bet, and I quote "I just turned down a booty call from an incredible hot guy. I'm turning a corner. You'll owe me a pint very soon.' SEND. Slowly it dawns on my that my text has turned blue, as it does with iPhone messaging. My friend does not have an iPhone. Indeed I had not text my friend. I had text a lovely bloke, of the same name, who I met a few weeks ago. Cue absolute mortification. This lovely bloke, for some unknown reason, seemed to actually think I was nice and 'SWEET' which was a refreshing change. Some one please kill me now. Needless to say I don't think he thinks of me so highly any more. 

I'm still in the running for a pint though!

It was going to happen eventually

About three weeks ago, after an average night out I ended up in McDonald's in the early hours of the morning. We ran into a group of guys which my friend knew vaguely from home. One of them ended up coming back to our house under the guise of a bacon sandwich. In my inebriated state I really did believe he just wanted a bacon sandwich. At some point during the sandwich making process he disappeared and never came back. Eventually I found him... in my bed in his boxer shorts. Again I believed his claims, that we were just going to watch Police Academy with our bacon sarnies. One thing led to another and after about an hour of refusing to sleep with him; I ended up doing the deed. I am quite ashamed of this because, honestly, I didn't even really fancy the guy and it was pretty bloody terrible. Kissed like a fish and was not very keen on returning the favour. Next morning comes, I send his whine-y arse packing hoping never to see him again.
Last Friday night I pull a guy in a night club who I really did fancy. We ended up back at his where, much to my horror, he could not achieve an erection. Despite feeling like throwing a massive tantrum, I let the guy off the hook only after he'd floated my boat a few times. We ended up staying up all night talking and discovered we had loads in common. Morning came and so did he (praise the lord), then along pop his house mates, barging into the room to chat about what went down the night before. So there I am lying butt naked, barely hiding my modestly, and guess what? One of the room mates happens to be Mr Bacon Sarnie Police Academy. He gives me a fleeting glance and continues his conversation with the hunk lying next to me. I lie there shrinking into a pit of mortification when he finally leaves the room. I pluck up the courage to explain why I have turned the colour of haematuria and Mr King of Orgasms collapses in hysterics and runs out the room starkers to remind the guy who I was. I don't know if I was more embarrassed that I slept my way through a quarter of their house or that the guy didn't even fucking remember when I didn't want to bang him in the first place! I think it's safe to assume that he's not going to take me for dinner any time soon. 
You win some you lose some.

Justification

DISCLAIMER

You could say that since the split from my long term boyfriend I have become, perhaps, sexually promiscuous.. My rationale for this is that I spent four years having the most lack lustre sex, pretending to enjoy it. I deserve at least a year of serious ragging to make up for it. I'm at university for christs sake; it's what I'm supposed to do! To top it all off I'm a student nurse, I don't get paid and if I'm not cleaning up bodily excretions then I'm holding someone's hand whilst they die. I need to revel in my own existence, for my own sanity and what better way to do that than multiple orgasms with multiples guys? Not multiple guys at once might I add. Well... not yet anyway!