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Girlfriend 2: On what not to do in Belgium

Author: Philippe
Posted: 26 Jul 2004

Ok, so a few things right off the bat. One, Anthony pointed out to me that I put a lot of personal things in, say, my reviews for movies. I pointed out that as far as I know, my articles are well-liked and the style I write in sort of forces me to put personal stuff in. I just think it's funnier. Who's right? Well actually, I have no idea because we don't have a feedback feature, though Johnson has said that he's going to make one soon and not to put my email address in the body of my articles. However, since he's does a ton of work for the site already, and that would be a big project, I'm just going to put my email address in the article and if you don't like the article, you can tell me, and if you do like the article, you can tell me that too. Everybody happy? It's As it seems that my "Why I'm a horrible boyfriend" article was well received, I thought I'd post another story. This goes a bit into the future, to my second "girlfriend." Let's all find out if we can see a pattern developing here, shall we? Enjoy my misery. Long article, so also enjoy some pictures of hot girls kissing spaced nicely throughout the article.

The names in the following story have been changed due to the fact that when I posted the story the last time, Johnson and I got threatened with a lawsuit, and I don't really feel like going through that a second time. Think of it as a part two of the "Why I'm a horrible boyfriend" article. Part two in that it proves a point. It proves that I get into terrible, terrible situations with girls I get involved with. It also demonstrates, for the most part, I only get into these types of situations when I get involved with a woman. is a story about Belgium, so first a bit of background. I was an exchange student when I was fifteen. When you are an exchange student, you live with a host family. You get a host mother, an incredibly hot host sister who sleep walks into your bed at night, and a 6 foot 7, 300 pounds of pure muscle, coke dealer host brother. At least, that's what I got (if any of our younger readers are paying attention, go to your school's office and find out how to become an exchange student, it's a fucking awesome ride).

Anyway, I was in Belgium. In Brussels exists a bar that was frequented by the exchange students and it is here in Les Trois Chauseures that we begin our tale.

I was fifteen at the time, so I had no real idea how to handle my liquor or even, really, what liquor I should be drinking, but on the night in question I was drinking something new I had discovered called scotch ale. Now, interestingly enough, most of the exchange students I had met were much older than me, including all of the girls. This meant they were much sluttier than the girls I knew back in high school and knew a lot more about sex than I did.

One of these girls was named Christina and she was interested in me solely because I was a virgin and she wanted to pop someone's cherry at least once. So, Christina was with me at the bar in our little group which contained me, her, Drew, Lynn, Tanky, and Tanky's Russian friend. So there we all sat drinking and cavorting. There may, in fact, have been some shenanigans. And after I was thoroughly sloshed we heard the barmaids yelling about last call, and we left. was very cold, and we wondered what to do. Tanky...actually, that name hasn't been changed at all. When I first met him he told me his name was Lesley but everyone called him Tanky. I hated him immediately. Tanky suggested that we trek back to his host parents' house and sleep there. Off we all went.

Christina and I set up in the living room on the fold-out couch, Drew and Lynn were in the family room, and Tanky and his Russian friend went upstairs. So, I'm on the couch with Christina thinking, "I'm going to get laid tonight!"

We're making out, and, ever so slowly, clothes are coming off and eventually she's in nothing but her panties and I'm wearing boxers and I'm thinking "wow, I'm TOTALLY getting laid tonight!" and then the light turned on.

There was a man in the door. An angry-looking man. He looked at us and quickly averted his eyes. He then grabbed his coat, apologized, turned off the light, and left the house slamming the door behind him. I thought it was a bit weird, but there were boobs to be played with, so I didn't give it much thought and went back to the breasts.

My boxers came off, and her panties came off, and we were both naked, and I'm thanking god that she had a condom in her purse, and I know for a fact that I was definitely going to have sex, and it was going to happen in about three minutes or so (granted I was a virgin, so it probably would have ended two minutes later, but regardless I was going to fuck someone so I was happy).

Right, so I'm naked and happy. Christina is naked and happy. The light turns on again. time it's not an old man. It's Tanky. A Tanky who was near crying for some reason and, through the sobs, was telling me that we had to leave the house "right now." That, of course, was no good for me; I needed at least six minutes before I left. I yelled that there was no fucking way I was leaving the house, get out of here, shut the damned light off. Tanky again explained the importance of us leaving. I explained that he was a jackass, and it was three AM and I'm naked with a hot naked young lady. He explained to me that perhaps he could talk to his host mother.

After the explanations were done, he left and I looked at Christina and realized that there was no way I was going to have sex with her. I got up and started putting on clothes. That got her nice and upset because she wanted very much to have sex, but I was pretty sure at this point that whatever was wrong, Tanky wasn't going to fix it. About thirty seconds later Tanky came back down and said that this time we all definitely had to leave.

What had happened was this. Tanky, it seemed, had been fucking his host mother for about a month. His host mother decided that that night would be a perfect night to confess to her husband what had been going on. The husband deals with this. His 43-year-old wife of 20 years is fucking the 16-year-old American he graciously let into his home. He goes to confront the lad and finds him having sex with the Russian dude. Not knowing what to do, he leaves and on his way out of his house finds two sets of teenagers having sex in the various rooms of his downstairs and very slightly cracks.

Yes. Leaving as soon as possible is probably the way to go. Except that it was three AM and extremely cold outside. What to do? Who's advice should we follow? Should we follow Tanky? Why the hell not?

Now, in Belgium, all of the bars close around 2 AM. Except for the gay bars. They stay open all night. Tanky, it seems, knew of one nearby, and I figured as long as they have alcohol, and I'm holding onto a woman, then I don't see a problem. Except that it was 3 AM and I'm 15 and in a gay leather bar. No problems at all. Bartender! Get me a beer! And he did, and then I had to go to the bathroom.

Being very careful not to touch anything, I did my business and came back out. In the minute or so that I was in there, Tanky had managed to pick a fight with some biker dude and a brawl had erupted. Oh good. Drew came up to me and informed me that they had locked the door and nobody could leave. Having just been in the bathroom, I remembered that there was a window, and Drew and I went back into the bathroom and escaped through the window.

And that was pretty much the end of it. Drew and I wandered around the city for a while and snickered briefly at the fact that the newspapers were wishing us a happy Easter, and then we went our respective ways and never saw any of the girls again.

I, of course, say "saw." We heard from them a bit later, when I wrote the story and somehow Christina found it and threatened a lawsuit against Johnson and I. All in all, I'm glad I didn't sleep with the bitch. And I'm also glad that Tanky got kicked out of the country a week later. I forget what the point of this story is.

I think the point is that I like scotch ale. In any case, keep on rockin in the free world, cats and kittens, and I'll see you next week. Yay TTA!

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