Tequila Mockingbird

A year has flown by. But whilst its fresh in my mind, I must relay to you the story of James.

I met James in Freshers week this year. My attraction to him lay in my belief that he was a fledgling fresher, fit for the pecking. His selection of moles and oddly placed tooth made him what I thought to be an easy target. After a not so quick game of tonsil tennis, he was back at mine and sucking my nipples. My face ended up on his mammoth (well you can guess what), quicker than you could squawk. With my nipples now hard and the swelling of intense longing in my vagina, I remembered I was yet again on my period. I suddenly invented the rule of 'no boys upstairs on the first encounter'.

I won't keep you in suspense and I'll move straight on to our second meeting, where the barrier to my bedroom had been well and truly lifted. I created an elaborate ruse for my prey, having organised a house party merely to lure him into my Venus fly trap. With a few flaps of my wings, he had me pinned against the wall, my legs wrapped around his muscular torso as he licked my face. I was suddenly aware at the speed that we were going at and decided to slow things down. James rebelled against this ruling and decided to force himself on me (playfully I should add). What happened next was almost too embarrassing to bare. I ended up fumbling and lost my footing, ending up face first on the insensitive wooden floor of my bedroom, with James looming above me, cackling to himself, whilst not-so-subtly undressing.

Not even bothering to help me up, he decided that the harsh wooden floor was good enough for him and mounted me like a jockey on his prize-winning thorough-bred. As a creature of the night I reveled in the evening's antics, locked in my room for twelve hours without a wink of sleep. My body was stretched to the limit, and it was only later that I realised just how many positions we maneuvered into. At one point I was planking on his face. Planking on his face. Interesting. Even more lovely was the eight-hour fingering that left me red raw. And I didn't even orgasm. His efforts were in vain.

He left in the morning, leaving behind a cheeky wank stain in the shower, and a sore, limping Birdie. My limp turned into something more sinister, but I'll leave that for next time...

Much Xmas love,

~ Birdie xoxo

One Classy Bird

With Hugo roadkill, I sought solace in the arms of my flatmate Jordan. I was so aroused, you could have mistaken me for a great horned owl - shame he didn't feel the same way. I was going to have to wing it, and claw my way into his affections.

My feelings for Jordan didn't remain a secret for long. I got horrendously drunk on a whole bottle of Tequila, flapping around the kitchen like some kind of mating-show. With lumps of amber vomit congealing on my quivering chin, bloodshot saucer-eyes and the look of a maniac, I confessed my all-consuming, vagina-shattering love to him. He simply laughed at my loving cooings whilst all I could think of was the alcopoo that I knew would be coming the next day! 

The rejection only strengthened my resolve.

I'm the first to admit I have shit game, but punching him was a low point even for me: I'd  already fluttered my wings at Mr Willow himself that evening, and naturally found myself rejected. The final twig to fall from my thoroughly-rattled nest was seeing Jordan clamber into a taxi with Sasha. Although now we are great friends, at the time we were sparring sparrows; seeing my rival take home Jordan was too much to bear. To me, a crazy big bird, the normal thing was to deliver a right hook.

Eventually, rather like a dove with an olive branch, Jordan forgave me.

One day I hope we can become each other's soulmate swan. 

Then again, mating for life, where's the fun in that?

Your turtledove,

-Birdie xoxo

The Worm that Got Away

They say the early bird gets the worm; I didn't get a thing. Hugo was one resounding disappointment. I woke up the next morning and looked at my phone to find a million texts about the 'amazing' night. He wanted to meet again. Only a day earlier I had wanted nothing more than for his wiggly worm to hit the clit, but now I was on my period. I thought I would humour him...

Next came dinner. A cramped restaurant with barely an inch between each table, this wasn't going to help our inevitably stilted conversation. The family next to us definitely enjoyed the awkward vibe - a fourteen year old girl sniggering at you makes you realise quite how tragic your love life is. The night was going to be interesting.

Our starters arrived. Hugo leans in, takes my hand in his sweaty paw and asks me to 'be his girlfriend'. No joke - really. Two days after first kissing him, he could see a cripplingly boring marriage, dirty screaming children, and old age in our future. "No!", my voice nearly belted out, reverberating across the restaurant. Our date had turned into an episode of Hollyoaks. At least the family next to us appreciated it.

Things clumsily continued. Sweating buckets, he watched me gulp down Pinot Grigio like water, pained at my rejection. To top off the disastrous night, our cheerful waitress  merrily brought over our bill, oblivious to the tension and performing an exaggerated song and dance. It was Panto Season.

On the way home, the streets were paved with treacherous ice. As I led a dejected Hugo home, the prospect of a night in with the Rabbit became all the more appealing. Losing myself to the thought, I completely lost my footing, stacking it on the ice. He tried to save me from falling, and a flailing awkward struggle ensued under the spotlight of the streetlamp.

Kill me now.

- Birdie xoxo

The Bird and the Bees

Let's start from the beginning, the first time the city of York saw me spread my wings...

As a newly hatched fresher, I met Hugo - a fellow Language student. His balance of laddish humour and gentlemanly charm offset his more than generous curves. Our childish passing of notes in class soon turned into texting, and our flirtatious conversation led to an arrangement to meet in Tokyo.

I love my flatmates, don't get me wrong, but when I asked them to come with me, they were less than keen. This is how I found myself, one cold Thursday evening, stumbling through blustering winds and over slippery ice to Tokyo like a new-born deer. Alone.

There he was, a blurry round figure in the purple and green Tokyo haze. I swooped in to take my prey. However, it wasn't long before I discovered Hugo was a rather traditional boy. No kissing in clubs, and getting off your face was even more disgraceful. What was I to do? There was a distinct lack of romance, and an even more disturbing absence of alcohol. Being sober in Tokyo isn't much fun, especially when your chirpse is a flailing disco queen.

I was determined.

Shivering on the street, he began to make what I believed at first to be the gentlemanly gesture of offering me his coat. It wasn't until he shrugged off the thin gilet over his thick under layer that I realised we had contrasting ideas of chivalry. He gave me half his coat? We hailed a taxi, and I was once again reminded of his conservatism - he refused to consider anything as outrageous as getting off in a taxi. Stage fright?

We ended up in his room - I was getting somewhere. Believing I finally had my chance, I perked up, as did my nipples in anticipation. Time to ruffle his feathers. He came around and we shared our first kiss. I experienced all the things a girl should after crushing on someone for so long. Lust, exhalation, and a rush of emotion. What I didn't expect, was the rancid garlic breath from his after-Toyko Efes. Head down, power through.

Barely seconds passed before Hugo stripped off, revealing a less than impressive 'little H'. Not the worm I had longed to peck, but beggars can't be choosers. Finally, he looked game. Looking deep into my eyes, I could tell that the next couple of hours were going to be exhilarating. We shared this moment for some time until, awkwardly, he slipped on a pair of Victorian style striped pyjamas, and crawled into bed for a 'sleep-over'.

Hugo turned out to be a little boy, and I was still waiting for someone to peck my cherry. It was time for this bird to get back to her own nest.

Little did I know, this was only the beginning of his story...

Gotta spread my wings (legs),

- Birdie xoxo

First Flight

I'm not a BNOC, I'm the BBOC, Big Bird on Campus. Throughout this blog, I intend to remain a mysterious, anonymous being. A creature of the night. It's better that way, because no one's life is this embarrassing.

First, I feel I should introduce myself. I'm just like you, or any other student of York - I drink too much, and study too little. Since starting university a whole year ago, I have made an amazing group of friends. This is their story as much as mine...

Must fly, more to come,

- Birdie xoxo