Flashman busts out - again.
Discussion
Well, it’s happened again. After several months of relatively decent behaviour, the wheels finally fell off again last night.
I have been loosely engaged in operations with The Russian – a five foot one ball of St Petersburg madness. Operation Run For The Hills went (relatively) smoothly the other night; being a grade “A” poltroon I did the dirty deed over the phone, given that this lady has a serious case of craziness. I put the phone down halfway through a tirade, felt a little naughty, but largely relieved. No man with a serial case of awful behaviour should ever have to go out with someone as bad as she is. We were like a moral black hole together. Fun while it lasted, but I want my soul back. It may have been a little chipped and blackened, but I sort of miss it.
In any case, I have met someone, and it looked like things would go well. She’s beautiful, smart, balanced and interesting – not to mention sexy as hell. For the first time in, well, ages, I felt a little bit of that ephemeral “boom” – and it was mutual. Always a nice feeling, that one. Perhaps, one day, I shall feel it again and not stuff it up so comprehensively...
Anyway, so out last night for a burlesque show for my MD’s 50th. One thing I have learned, is that many women, when drunk confronted by strippers, become competitive. This was proven in St Anton; when the poledancers joined us on our tables at The Kangaruh, our lasses started taking their tops off and grinding like pros. Similar situation with burlesque last night. It was magical to watch, and highly appreciated by many of us. Well done, ladies.
Long story short, champagne, semi-naked wenches and general lack of judgement led me to waking up with another graduate trainee.
Oh, and a voicemail from my intended, stating that it was all very well calling up to say hi, but when she could hear giggling and general carrying on in the background, it rather put paid to my healthy image.
Yes, I forgot to end the call after leaving the message.
Tits.
I have been loosely engaged in operations with The Russian – a five foot one ball of St Petersburg madness. Operation Run For The Hills went (relatively) smoothly the other night; being a grade “A” poltroon I did the dirty deed over the phone, given that this lady has a serious case of craziness. I put the phone down halfway through a tirade, felt a little naughty, but largely relieved. No man with a serial case of awful behaviour should ever have to go out with someone as bad as she is. We were like a moral black hole together. Fun while it lasted, but I want my soul back. It may have been a little chipped and blackened, but I sort of miss it.
In any case, I have met someone, and it looked like things would go well. She’s beautiful, smart, balanced and interesting – not to mention sexy as hell. For the first time in, well, ages, I felt a little bit of that ephemeral “boom” – and it was mutual. Always a nice feeling, that one. Perhaps, one day, I shall feel it again and not stuff it up so comprehensively...
Anyway, so out last night for a burlesque show for my MD’s 50th. One thing I have learned, is that many women, when drunk confronted by strippers, become competitive. This was proven in St Anton; when the poledancers joined us on our tables at The Kangaruh, our lasses started taking their tops off and grinding like pros. Similar situation with burlesque last night. It was magical to watch, and highly appreciated by many of us. Well done, ladies.
Long story short, champagne, semi-naked wenches and general lack of judgement led me to waking up with another graduate trainee.
Oh, and a voicemail from my intended, stating that it was all very well calling up to say hi, but when she could hear giggling and general carrying on in the background, it rather put paid to my healthy image.
Yes, I forgot to end the call after leaving the message.
Tits.
Edited by Harry Flashman on Thursday 21st January 15:41
Harry Flashman said:
Well, it’s happened again. After several months of relatively decent behaviour, the wheels finally fell off again last night.
I have been loosely engaged in operations with The Russian – a five foot one ball of St Petersburg madness. Operation Run For The Hills went (relatively) smoothly the other night; being a grade “A” poltroon I did the dirty deed over the phone, given that this lady has a serious case of craziness. I put the phone down halfway through a tirade, felt a little naughty, but largely relieved. No man with a serial case of awful behaviour should ever have to go out with someone as bad as he is. We were like a moral black hole together. Fun while it lasted, but I want my soul back. It may have been a little chipped and blackened, but I sort of miss it.
In any case, I have met someone, and it looked like things would go well. She’s beautiful, smart, balanced and interesting – not to mention sexy as hell. For the first time in, well, ages, I felt a little bit of that ephemeral “boom” – and it was mutual. Always a nice feeling, that one. Perhaps, one day, I shall feel it again and not stuff it up so comprehensively...
Anyway, so out last night for a burlesque show for my MD’s 50th. One thing I have learned, is that many women, when drunk confronted by strippers, become competitive. This was proven in St Anton; when the poledancers joined us on our tables at The Kangaruh, our lasses started taking their tops off and grinding like pros. Similar situation with burlesque last night. It was magical to watch, and highly appreciated by many of us. Well done, ladies.
Long story short, champagne, semi-naked wenches and general lack of judgement led me to waking up with another graduate trainee.
Oh, and a voicemail from my intended, stating that it was all very well calling up to say hi, but when she could hear giggling and general carrying on in the background, it rather put paid to my healthy image.
Yes, I forgot to end the call after leaving the message.
Tits.
Oh, a twist!I have been loosely engaged in operations with The Russian – a five foot one ball of St Petersburg madness. Operation Run For The Hills went (relatively) smoothly the other night; being a grade “A” poltroon I did the dirty deed over the phone, given that this lady has a serious case of craziness. I put the phone down halfway through a tirade, felt a little naughty, but largely relieved. No man with a serial case of awful behaviour should ever have to go out with someone as bad as he is. We were like a moral black hole together. Fun while it lasted, but I want my soul back. It may have been a little chipped and blackened, but I sort of miss it.
In any case, I have met someone, and it looked like things would go well. She’s beautiful, smart, balanced and interesting – not to mention sexy as hell. For the first time in, well, ages, I felt a little bit of that ephemeral “boom” – and it was mutual. Always a nice feeling, that one. Perhaps, one day, I shall feel it again and not stuff it up so comprehensively...
Anyway, so out last night for a burlesque show for my MD’s 50th. One thing I have learned, is that many women, when drunk confronted by strippers, become competitive. This was proven in St Anton; when the poledancers joined us on our tables at The Kangaruh, our lasses started taking their tops off and grinding like pros. Similar situation with burlesque last night. It was magical to watch, and highly appreciated by many of us. Well done, ladies.
Long story short, champagne, semi-naked wenches and general lack of judgement led me to waking up with another graduate trainee.
Oh, and a voicemail from my intended, stating that it was all very well calling up to say hi, but when she could hear giggling and general carrying on in the background, it rather put paid to my healthy image.
Yes, I forgot to end the call after leaving the message.
Tits.
snotrag said:
The flashman srikes again.
We've missed these stories you know.
As for the lovely warm emotional bloom experienced with said new/possibly now old squeeze -you say you havent felt it in a while?
Like, since when you met the Russian...!?
Russian girls are, in my experience, bonkers.
Harry Flashman said:
Oh, and a voicemail from my intended, stating that it was all very well calling up to say hi, but when she could hear giggling and general carrying on in the background, it rather put paid to my healthy image.
Yes, I forgot to end the call after leaving the message.
Yes, I forgot to end the call after leaving the message.
Edited by Harry Flashman on Thursday 21st January 15:41
Inspirational behaviour.
FWDRacer said:
You are such a f8cking amateur.The real Harry Flashman is turning in his fictitious grave, I tell you.
And somewhere, the dark gods are laughing at me.
Edited by Harry Flashman on Thursday 21st January 16:15
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