Guest Post - "Rock out with your C*** out"

Today I bring you the second ever guest post on DATERVIEW!!!  Another post which should have gone up last week but my Mexican Resort had shit internet (everything else was gorgeous and perfect...go figure) so unfortunately the guest posts were delayed.  But better late then never...


...and today's post was 100% worth the wait.  


Meet little miss Alice X from The Boyfriend Drama.  If you haven't read her blog before you should...like now...well, not right this minute because you should read her incredible guest post first.  This story is one for the books and something I think every girl who has ever hit the dancefloor of a bar, club, party, etc experienced at least once.  Only this is 1000x more amazing because well she has photographic evidence.


Thanks so much for the post Alice, I hope to have you stop by again soon!!!


And now, without further delay....




"Rock out with your C*** out"

Photo credit: pablogv2004 from morguefile.com

This is my first guest post so I should introduce myself, I go by the name of Alice X, I blog about all things men and I don't take myself too seriously, that's pretty much it really.

When PYT contacted me to do a guest post on a vacation hook-up/dating/break-up experience I jumped at the chance, so sit back, relax and let me take you back to my younger self...

Forget Ibiza, Spain, and all other exotic holiday destinations, instead think rain, think sheep, think Wales, United Kingdom.

I'm 18 which means I can now legally buy an alcoholic beverage, get absolutely wasted and tell everyone how much I love them ("no really *hiccups* I love you so much, you're like my bestest fri*hic*end ever") without any shame what so ever. This is awesome! The vodka shots are stacked and me plus five of my best friends are aiming straight for the dance floor; and we're doing some weird half dance, half walk to get there. We are the coolest people I know.

By now the drink has saturated my liver and my vodka confidence is at its peak, I break away from the pack. A dangerous move, but I'm 18, I'm semi mature and that guy is busting some serious moves over there. This is my chance, my chance... to dance! At this point I firmly believe I am the best dancer in the Universe and if I can just dance with that guy, we could be like Channing Tatum and Whatsherface? from Step Up. Go me! (Idiot).

I have now successfully shimmied my way to the dancing guy and we are having some kind of mini dance off. He does a move; I copy him with an extra slice of drunken fool coolness thrown in for good measure. Things are heating up, he's excited by my super dance skills and he moves closer. I smile as my friend snaps a quick photo of me dancing like a trooper. He starts almost grinding on me. I'm beginning to regret my extra dance efforts. I turn away from him, but still he's dancing practically on top of me. I can feel something digging in my back, wait a minute... this guy has a stiff wicket and it's pointed right in my direction. Not cool dance guy, not cool!

I break free and run back to the safety of the pack and tell them all about his special dance weapon. How could they not believe me? I turn to point it out, but wait... where did he go?

***

Arriving back home after our great British holiday, our first port of call is Max Spielmann. Photos developed and ready, we sift through laughing at the memories of the past week, then... "OMG" there it is in full colour. Photographic evidence!