Whenever my best friend and I have been up to something (separately, ew), we’ll very quickly fill each other in on the entire tale. Of course, when only a small bit is mentioned, we cannot let it go untold. This, my friends, is story time. With crazy lesbians.

So, where do I start?

Some time ago now I was with a girl who moved herself into my flat within days of us seeing each other. Note: Seeing each other. We weren’t even together. Anyway, that’s one for another day.

So one day we head to a typical pub chain not far from where we lived, dragging my housemate along too. James* and I head to the bar to order, (I pay for her too, as usual, totally not bitter about that…) and have a friendly chat with the barmaid. The barmaid who is an obvious raging lesbian. I’m talking shaved hair on one side, tongue piercing, the lot. She might as well have served me with a wink and a request to sit on my face.

Little did I know at this point that I’d end up seeing this girl at a later date. Fast forward to a post-break up me with a ‘fuck it’ mentality. I see the same girl at work, have a little flirt and then she pops up on a dating app. Weirdly we speak as if we have both been waiting for the other to make a move. Now if we skip past the boring stuff, we’re now ‘seeing each other’, whatever the hell that means these days. We’ve already slept together. It was alright I suppose, nothing spectacular. I wasn’t going to write home about it.

Now we’re sat in my flat, and I ask:

Have you ever slept with anyone who likes something weird?

She looks at me. I look back. I’m intrigued.

“Hmm, I don’t think so, I’m probably the one who likes something weird,” she says.

Holy fu** balls, I want to know. I’m always interested in what people like in bed, however weird. So of course I pressed her further. She wasn’t sure about telling me at first, but of course I didn’t let her leave until I knew. In the least creepy, locking-the-front-door way possible.

“Well, I have this razor blade at home…” she began. Erm. Where the hell do I go with that? I simply looked back, waiting for her to continue.

“Have you noticed the scars on my stomach?” Well, yes…

“Well, I like it when someone cuts me and licks the blood. Or vice versa…”

Now, I’m not easily shocked. But this was something I don’t think I could ever bring myself to do. Unfortunately, it has now become an ultimatum my friends like to bring up on occasion. To cut (and lick) or to be cut (and licked)?

No ta.

 

*Of course I’m going to change his name.

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