Chicken Fingers is not a big entry, I’ll tell you that now. It wasn’t a big build up, and we only ever met once. Infact, I couldn’t really describe much about her personality, or her face, or anything else given that the 13 hours we spent with one another was divided between 15% sober, 55% drunk and 30% asleep. Which, frighteningly, seems to echo a fair few of my relationships.

CF was young. Younger than virtually all of my previous dates at the age of 22. Or 23. Don’t know. Prior to meeting we’d text back and forth a good few times, and it followed the same path, however on one Friday evening whilst out I had a selection of texts from her that puzzled me. Effectively, they were utter filth.

Without going too far into detail, they said things such as ‘squirt ur load into my tght bum crck’ and ‘can’t wait 2 C ur massive ramROD’. I was a little taken aback. I showed them to one of my friends. She said they were odd. I thought they were odd. They were odd.

Turns out her phone was stolen by one of her male mates who obviously thought that shit like that would arouse me.

"Grandad, look after my phone a minute."

“Grandad, look after my phone a minute.”

 

It sort of did.

Once her grandad had stopped getting me off we did actually meet physically a few days later. Chicken Fingers, not her granpappy. And given what had occured already I wasn’t sure what to expect. And, if memory serves correct, I wasn’t sure to expect right up until the point she left my company.

It was all a little peculiar. We met, and it was going okay, yet an hour into the date she spoke to her friend on the phone in front me of me saying something to the effect of “Yeah mate, where are you? Where you gonna be later? Yeah I’m out. Come here! I’m getting trashed! Yeah, it’ll be a laugh!”

At no point did I intrude and say ‘Excuse me, we’re on a date, if you’re bored you’ll be bored until you leave my company, thank you. I’m not having your chav mates turn up and ask me to buy them drinks and crisps and de-clamp their fucking cars.’ Alas, it didn’t come to that. I don’t really know why; perhaps it was the clear disgust I had on my face or perhaps it was that her friends didn’t really like her. Or maybe, just maybe, she’d decided she’d prefer my company solo.

You know, like a date.

If I was to recall the evening in detail, I’d be lying. All I remember is us being back at my house, and having to use the sofa bed in the lounge for us to sleep on. There were constant questions as to why we couldn’t sleep in my bedroom. Again, I don’t recall the excuse I gave but I know that the reason was because my bed had been demolished over the weekend by an encounter with a girl who matched me somewhat in both height and weight, meaning IKEA had no fucking chance. The slats hadn’t just slipped, they’d sheared. The bed had been killed. Finished. Decapitated. And it was too much to bring a new person into, especially when I hadn’t anticipated an explanation would be needed. You can’t assume these things.

"Just so you know, my house is a bit of a mess. Why? Well, there are some clothes on the floor, the dishes aren't washed and my bed is shattered from an aggressvely sexual encounter last night. Oh, and if you need a shit you'll have to do it in the shower."

“Just so you know, my house is a bit of a mess. Why? Well, there are some clothes on the floor, the dishes aren’t washed and my bed is shattered from an aggressvely sexual encounter last night. Oh, and if you need a shit you’ll have to do it in the shower.”

 

Before we got back to my house we stopped to pick up takeaway. Now, I don’t massively enjoy eating in front of people, letalone junk food, letalone a girl and letalone on a first date. Chicken Fingers had absolutely no such problem.

She lay on the sofa with her head upwards on my lap, eating chicken wings with gay abandon. Once she’d finished them, and I’m unsure of the lead up to this, she began to suck my fingers quite ferociously. And this is before we’d even kissed. The period between this moment and falling asleep is completely barren of any realistic memory so I’ll skip it entirely. Just assume we were both absolutely trashed, however we didn’t have sex and we didn’t kiss. I was more than likely distracted and exhausted from assembling a shit sofa bed.

"Ready!"

“Ready!”

 

For my sins, and I won’t lie to you dearest, I totally tried it on in the morning. It didn’t happen. And to be fair I’d already ruined one bed that week – the sofa bed could have taken little more punishment than an adbrupt turn. I had to go to work, and time was getting on, so I had to shoo us both out. Prior to us leaving Chicken Fingers insisted I call in sick from work and we both go get cider and continue to get absolutely trashed. Sadly, I’d stopped doing that sort of thing months ago. If I could go back in time, I’d almost certainly take her up on the offer.

However, I never met her again. Done. There really isn’t much more to say than that, given the fact I’ve already gone on for ages about an encounter lasting less than a day. I did see her Grandad for a short while though. But the less said about that the better.