» I'm your biggest Fan

University Challenge
Ok, this QOTW was made for me, and if this doesn't make the top of the front page I will CRY.

Way back in...2003 I think it was, I was a music student, practising scales and Piatti Caprices for several hours a day, bored out of my nut. One of the few things that made life worth living was the weekly ritual of sitting down with a cup of tea to watch University Challenge.

I've been watching University Challenge since the beginning of its Paxman-era comeback - when I was living at home, my parents used to watch it with calculators, adding up their scores. They were hugely competitive about it. In fact, the only screaming argument I've ever had with my mother happened when she deliberately talked over a question she knew I would otherwise have been able to answer correctly. Anyway, other than that, the main thing that I enjoyed and still enjoy about University Challenge was the totty. Other girls might get their kicks out of movie stars, sportsmen or beefcake centerfolds; I like geeks. For me, University Challenge is, honest to God, the ultimate repository of gorgeous men in the media. You can keep your Brad Pitts and your Tom Cruises - watching a bespectacled nerd answer obscure questions about 12th century monarchs gets me so hot.

This series, one particular gorgeous sexy geek caught my perverted eye. He had a big grin, a beautiful neck and a really nice lower back. And yes, I could tell that he had a nice lower back, even though I only saw him from the front - it was something about the way he leaned forward intently whilst discussing answers with his team. I was smitten. Thoughts of performing complex integration by parts with him dominated many a happy Monday night. As the tournament progressed, the programmes on which he was featured in all his nerdy glory became more frequent. Lustful thoughts about him began creeping into my everyday consciousness. By God, he was sexy. When his team - which, of course, I had been fervently supporting owing to their totty factor - eventually won the tournament, a thought occurred to me: Geeks don't often get told that they're sexy. Perhaps nobody has told him just how goddamn gorgeous he is. Perhaps he'd like to know. And this is why I sent him the following lovingly-handwritten letter:

Dear University Challenge Hottie,

I have been watching University Challenge for many years. I don't have an affiliation with any particular university, so as for supporting teams, I always simply root for the one with the the greatest number of attractive males. Throughout the last series, I have been consistently supporting your team because you are by far the yummiest specimen of gorgeousness ever to have appeared on the programme. I'd like to rip your underpants off with my teeth whilst you talk dirty to me in Ancient Greek.

I'm buggered if I'm telling you who I am - my propensity for embarrassing myself doesn't extend quite that far - but I just thought you might like to know that some random stranger has been wetting her knickers over you for the last few months. Thank you very much for making several of my Monday evenings much more entertaining.

Yours lustfully,
The Proverbial Secret Admirer

A few years later, I was toiling selling advertising space in a classical music magazine (a significant step up the sanity ladder). Bored in the office one day, trawling through the news websites, as you do, I found something that almost made me spit coffee on my monitor. He had actually quoted me in The Times:

If the cameras inspire vanity, the viewers' reaction tries to corrupt even your humblest of thoughts. One of my letters actually contained the phrase: "You are by far the yummiest specimen of gorgeousness ever to have appeared on the programme." I assure you, this is not true, even with my post-trendy Hoxton fin.

Have any other b3tans had their creepy fan mail quoted in a national broadsheet? I think not. You may click now.
(Tue 21st Apr 2009, 22:52, More)

» Too much information

Too much information about my mum's minge
My mother is a hardcore feminist. Nowt wrong with that - I'm very much a feminist myself. But unfortunately my mother is of the scary-hairy, ball-breaking, man-hating maniac variety.

Mum grew up in a very traditional family who thought that sex was Bad and Evil and Nasty and Wrong, and that her ladyparts were to be ashamed of. On the day her mother first discovered a few spots of blood on her underwear that Mum hadn't even noticed herself, she came home from school to find all the curtains drawn and her mother whispering in shameful tones about "growing up" and "women's problems" and "that time of the month".

So naturally, Mum was determined that I shouldn't have such an awful upbringing, that I should grow up with a happy, healthy attitude to sex and a good relationship with my ladyparts. So far so good. But alas, let's just say the pendulum swung rather too far in the opposite direction.

For as far back as my memory goes, she regularly tried to engage me in conversation about my vagina. She used to tell me all about her sex life at great length and in great detail. She lectured me on the harmlessness of masturbation (It's okay...as long as you wash your hands afterwards). She used to test me on all of this. Seriously, when other kids were learning to read, I was locating the clitoris on a colour-coded diagram. Then when I was fourteen, she packed me off on a week-long orchestral tour with a twelve-pack of condoms. Twelve! If I got that much sex now I'd be very happy, not to mention a bit behind on my work.

But the worst thing she ever did, worse than the masturbation tutorials, worse than inviting me to inspect her labia, was locking the two of us in a tiny toilet cubicle together and making me watch her insert a tampon. She stood up, naked from the waist down, put one pale, heavily-muscled leg up against the wall for easy access and barked a running commentary at me as she shoved a tampon into her bloody vagina, greying pubes glistening, a maniacal, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar expression in her mad, rolling eyes.

I now rebel against her by shaving my legs, wearing sparkly eyeshadow and not forcing small children to look at my vagina.
(Thu 6th Sep 2007, 15:04, More)

» The worst sex I ever had

Poo tits
Received the following email from a friend a while back. I don't think he'll mind me reposting it here...

A friend of a friend (if only it were merely an urban legend as this would suggest), was going out with a lady. The evening progressed in a manner befitting two free and single individuals and they ended up back at her house, with the intention of becoming more than usually aquainted with each other.

Before commencing their lovemaking, the female of the pairing produced a plastic sheet to put over the bed. The reason given that they were using her parents' bed, and washing the sheets afterwards (as is only polite) would leave said parents in no doubt as to what had occurred.

So, plastic-sheeted, they continued. During the process, the male was surprised to feel a silk handkerchief being inserted into what had previously only been an "out" hole. This caused him some surprise, but what with all of the carnal ecstasy he was experiencing, he decided to let it go. Events progressed and the point of no return was reached, at which precise moment, the silk handkerchief was whipped free from its warm and rectal prison.

It is a quirk of physiology that his particular combination of orgasmic pleasure and handkerchief-related stimulation causes the contents of the lower colon to sense the same freedom as the handkerchief was now enjoying, and contractions occur to facilitate its rapid escape.

At this point, our male quasi-hero was rather upset, he stayed relatively motionless, eyes closed in panic. He could only think of two possibilities. Either his companion would be disgusted, ruining any chance of more carnal delight for some while, or she would be highly amused, and he would be ridiculed.

Bracing himself, he opened his eyes to find his bedfellow lightly massaging the newly-released contents of his bowels into her mammary areas.

That, in case you are still reading, is the legend of poo-tits.
(Tue 19th Jun 2007, 21:01, More)

» Eccentrics

My mum
My mother is gradually becoming a legendary figure on b3ta and it's only fair that she should feature in this QOTW. A few of the things she's come out with over the years:

"Will they still say FUCK on them when you get your lenses put in?" - said at full volume in the middle of Specsavers on a Saturday afternoon

"I think you should know, I've just been told off for being drunk and disorderly on a bouncy castle" - oh dear God...

"I met my friend Sam - he's black! - for dinner last night" - oh well done, you've got a black friend, how terribly MODERN of you

"Your uncle is a pillock of the community" - this one I agree on

"You're not fucking playing fucking Delius!" - on wondering whether I should play the 1st movement of the Delius Cello Sonata for my Grade 8 exam...she feels very strongly about Delius

"Do you think you stand a chance of passing this exam?" - every bloody time I ever took an exam

"So few black people are well-spoken" - MUM!!!

"You look lovely and slim, dear" - every bloody time she sees me, as if nothing else matters

"You shouldn't buy black bed sheets, dear, because black sheets show, um, stuff..." - :s

"It's okay, as long as you wash your hands afterwards" - on masturbation...I was 10 when she gave me this piece of advice.

This woman is 57 and owns a Johnny Depp calendar. She doesn't close the bathroom door when she's on the loo. She tells me all about her sex life. In fact, she expects me to listen attentively about her sex life whilst she's on the loo. Click "I like this" if you think she is growing old disgracefully.
(Tue 4th Nov 2008, 21:13, More)

» Nightclubs

Grrr
I wasn't going to post this because nobody ever enjoys the serious ones, but what the hell, it's cheaper than therapy.

I *hate* nightclubs. I really fucking hate them. They are where all of my biggest dislikes convene under one sweaty roof. Shit music played at ear-bleeding decibel levels, crowds, meat markets, meat markets full of girls who look like models so guys only try it on with me when I've already seen them try everyone else in the room first (you really know how to make a girl feel special), strange women handing out paper towels in the bathroom (surely the worst job ever) and having to pretend to have a good time while all this is happening. I'm sure it's banned by the Geneva Convention.

I have a friend who likes clubbing. Her brother knows a lot of club owners, so she always gets VIP guest list status somewhere cool for her birthday every year. I go because I'm her friend and I want to help her celebrate her birthday. A couple of years ago I had an absolutely hideous experience at her birthday party, which took place at Punk just off Oxford Street.

So far, the evening had been going swimmingly. I was chatting to people (well, shouting) and dancing a bit and ok, so I wasn't having the best time of my life, but it was fine. I should say at this point that this girl and I actually have no mutual friends, and I am excruciatingly socially awkward at the best of times. So I was doing really, really well.

Virtually the entire birthday group was on the dance floor - me and about 20 girls I'd only just met - when another friend of hers came up to us. A few minutes earlier I'd been a bit chilly due to some overactive air conditioning, so he offered me his jacket, but since I wasn't cold at that moment I politely declined. He then saw fit to launch into the following monologue:

"I swear to God, this is the most miserable girl I've ever seen. She's not cold - she's just making it up so that she can sulk! What a miserable, mardy cow. She never smiles. She never fucking smiles! What the hell is wrong with her? Miserable cow..."

I didn't stick around to hear the rest of it. You know how in any given club there's a girl crying hysterically in the corner? Well, that was me.

I try so hard. Social stuff like this is so draining for me and I try so hard to be friendly and look happy and dance like a lunatic, and then I find out that people still think I'm a miserable cow. And that obviously people are going to side with the big loud popular guy who they know over the quiet, slightly odd girl they've only just met. Suddenly I knew how it felt to be the dim kid at school, to work your arse off to get 30% on a test and find out that everybody else did twice as well as you and they still think you're a waste of space.

I regret crying hysterically in the corner, I really do. At the time, my self esteem wasn't what it is now, and so I thought it was my fault, my problem that he had a problem with me. I wish I could go back and deal with him differently, and this is what I would like to say (of course the music will stop at this point, and all eyes will be on me):

"Actually I was quite happy before you opened your mouth. How dare you be so fucking rude? How dare you talk about me like that in front of a bunch of people I've only just met? Are you trying to humiliate me? You obviously think you're making me look stupid, but you're just making yourself look like the arsehole that you are."

Then, instead of rapturous applause, I would probably get a sea of blank looks and a few giggles, and go and cry hysterically in the corner.
(Wed 15th Apr 2009, 21:46, More)