"However what made matters worse, was that he kept, (this sounds childish so sorry) farting. I mean like the odd trump is ok, but this was none stop, and they stank disgusting."
An international contribution from the country of France:
I was on holiday with my family and friends to France. I was 14, which coincidently meant I was naive and violently suffering from the underage horn (despite my inexperience). Also, I was completely brainwashed by the concept of a “Holiday Romance” urghh..
Anyway, the story begins at the campsite’s weekly shitty disco for teenagers, (which surprisingly turned out to be the whole town’s weekly shitty disco for teenagers… zzzzz).
Well, as I am being completely honest, I have to admit I was on a pulling rampage, desperately trying to impress the locals with my supposed sexed up dancing routine (oh god :/) Let’s just say there was definite body popping going on, like wtf D:
Nevertheless, it did seem to attract the locals; which does worry me slightly; and I was joined by 3 other underage horn sufferers. But as I was still very young, their air grinding did scare me, and I ended up just swaying to the music, being careful to avoid each of their energetic thrusts. D: I eventually gave up on the dancing, and slid to the seating area of the club.
In a probable attempt to practice my eye flirting technique, I actually pulled!! HARAAH yey for me!! :/ . The guy was quite tall, dark haired and naturally tanned skin, his face wasn’t too repulsive, though I should have steered clear when noticing his attire, a matching white tracksuit, with chains L I know! It kills me to reminisce.
Anyway, I guess the whole concept of the “first pull” excited me and I was more than willing to play along. At first it was ok, well the conversation consisted of me being ignorant of the language barrier, while he struggled to keep up. Therefore, I was basically able to conclude that French boy’s name was Pierre.
Unfortunately, the supposed “DJ” thought he could bring intimacy to the scene, and decided to play some soppy French love song, which was unbearably slow. However, at least one of us was thrilled, as Pierre seemed almost keen to slow waltz me around floor. Yet as this was my first ever slow dance, I wasn’t really sure what to do, and I sort of stuck my bum out, manipulating my body into the shape of a duck. It was rather pathetic.
Afterwards Pierre led me outside to say goodbye ( now thinking back, he probably just wanted to show off his motorbike) However I played the part well, and did my fair share of ‘ooh-ing’ and ‘aah-ing’ over his petrol powered bicycle. When it came to actually saying good bye, it got all awkward, he shuffled around expectantly, and I just stared at him bewildered, wondering what on earth to do next.
I was literally ticking things off the list
1. Eye Flirting :) TICK
2. Talking in flirtatious manner :) TICK
3. Slow Danced :) TICK
4. Kissed :( !!!!!!!!!!!
ARGHH!!! I was literally shitting it, whether to do it or not, time was ticking, it was either now or never.
God I wish I hadn’t.
I literally jumped on him, knocking him flying, clashing my teeth against him. I was the spitting image of a crocodile munching on a helpless antelope. Jesus Christ it must have been scary.
Nonetheless, crocodile munching antelope must have been his thing, as he began making some rather freakish groaning noises.
After that there was no getting rid of him, perhaps the fact he was 2 years older than me heightened his ranking from slimy to tolerable. I thought of him more as my holiday experiment, rather than my holiday romance. I knew that I wasn’t the best kisser; I was generally a hopeless case. However as he was obviously up for it, I guess I thought I could take the opportunity to perfect my technique.
The more we ‘practised’ the more he got sexually agitated always wanting more, though the whole idea of that made me feel nauseous. In fact kissing him was hardly a pleasurable experience, his tongue was always so rough, it often felt like a foot scrub was being lodged down my throat. Yet, perhaps the most repulsive aspect of Pierre was the little traces of toothpaste in the corners of his mouth. Ew
As the days rolled I was getting increasingly restless, wanting to go home, and away from creepy creepy Vincent. However he got freakishly more attached, and literally followed e everywhere.
The whole family had planned a golf activity together, yet Pierre felt it necessary to invite himself, which was irritating, as he was an embarrassment that didn’t need to associate with my parents. However what made matters worse, was that he kept, (this sounds childish so sorry) farting. I mean like the odd trump is ok, but this was none stop, and they stank disgusting. Bless my family, they were trying to be polite my discreetly gagging behind their hands. I honestly have never wanted to kill someone as much as I did then.
When it was finally the last night, he was the worse. He actually wouldn’t leave me alone, at 2 am when my family were trying to sleep; he was stood singing love songs outside. My dad nearly lost it. I actually had to escort him off the premises, urrghh
However, I made sure not to give him my home address of phone number, so I gave him my hotmail, as I could always block him, which was inevitable really.
However when I got home, that was when the stalking began
At first it was just the odd email, (as id blocked him on msn chat, he resulted with just emailing me)
normally they were the combination of sloppy English and French, but the general gist was ‘ I love you sooo much blablblaaa’
I mean seriously, grow a back bone.
I did reply to the first few, but after a while I grew tired of him, and just ignored his emails, as they made me feel uncomfortable and sick. Each one was getting more serious and more serious.
Then I was getting about 3 emails every day, it was as if he was in denial over me not replying.
This went on for 4 months, and I just kept thinking he would go away, but he wouldn’t. I then began to have nightmares that he would come to England. I didn’t dare tell my mum or dad, because I’m not the sort of person who likes people worrying about them.
I then bucked up the courage to write him an email, telling him to leave me alone, and that he should move on etc. And then I deleted the account.
I thought I was all ok then, but it wasn’t
3 months after that I received a letter through my door.
I never told him where I lived.
The letter was extremely freakish and delusional, even obsessive. He wrote how he was in love with me, and what it felt like. Then he wrote about the future we would have, and that I should live with him. And that he needs to see me. And that he will come down to England, if I don’t go to France.
I was literally so scared, my hands were shaking so much when reading the letter.
I then went hysterical and began to cry, tore up the letter and just sat in my room unable to sleep.
I knew I had to tell someone, I couldn’t just leave it as he was not going away. So I told my friend who went on holiday with me when I met Vincent. However, it turned out that Pierre had emailed her for 3 months after I had deleted my account. She did not tell me because she didn’t want to worry me. I read a few of the emails; some were frenzied and disturbing. I couldn’t read the rest as I felt physically sick.
My friend then wrote an email telling Pierre that I was not in love with him, and how his letter had upset me etc. Then she deleted her account, and we heard no more of him.
I know it all sounds immature and irresponsible, but I was only 14, and it seriously did freak me out. The whole ordeal went on for almost a year, and it affected me for a long time afterwards. I’m sorry to bring a downer on your site, I was not intending to go into depth about the ending, but I felt that I should express myself. Thank you for listening