The Cockatoo.

I had always bemoaned the fact that I never got any male attention in nightclubs. I’d watch as hot guys shoved their way across the dancefloor to a hot girl, where they’d then dry hump unashamedly to the beat of a new remix, before sucking face. This never happened to me. Maybe I wanted to dry-hump in an unashamed manner? Perhaps I wouldn’t be altogether averse to the odd cheeky bum-pinch on the dancefloor in Fibbers? Who was I to deny a virile young chap from fulfilling his natural quest? In all honesty, I wanted it to happen. I’d have sold my nana to the circus for a chance to grind against a young man who I would probably never see again, and if he wanted to relieve me of my first kiss, then I would happily go along with it,but one night, this almost happened, and it scared the holy crap out of me.

Sometime after midnight on a Friday morning, my friends and I are dancing (if you could manage to call it that) in amongst a plethora of people in Fibbers; a music venue where the drinks are cheap and the music’s good. I’ve already been accosted by a greasy, sweating individual who somehow resembles Jake Bugg on heroin, but danced away from him convincingly enough – he’s now at the other side of the room thrusting against some other poor girl. Then, I feel unfamiliar hands around my waist and am turned to face a man who is not altogether unpleasant. I smile awkwardly, registering this hideously intimate embrace I’m in with a perfect bloody stranger and think of something – anything to say. My unknown partner thrusts his mouth to my ear and says over the music, “Do you own a bird!?” in nothing more than a shout. With a bemused look on my face, I shake my head, “Oh right,” he replies, “it’s just that you look like you could use a cock-or-two. Heh heh heh.”

I almost vomit. I lean in and tell him that that was the worst joke I’ve ever heard, and if it was a come-on then he should be thoroughly ashamed of himself. He grins back cheekily and explains that he’d seen me dancing and thought I was pretty; could he buy me a drink? Completely put off by that awful joke, I shake my head, he shrugs and he leaves me with a kiss on the cheek. My friends ask why I didn’t go with him – he was ridiculously cute after all and had a bit of a beard which I always find sexy, and even though the joke was bad, he was still nice and maybe I should have got the drink he offered?

I was kicking myself now! For all the times I would have given anything for a good-looking guy to approach me at a club, when one actually does, I turn him down. This leads me to the realisation that while I am charismatic and sexy and funny and completely worthy of romantic male attention in my head, in reality I think you’re taking the piss. I can therefore conclude that I am now and probably after this display of my lack of romantic prowess, always will be an awkward virgin. Sorry.