Warning! May contain ‘The Quiet One’s.

This is a story that I fear has been painfully laser-etched into my poor, poor friend’s long term memory. Me and my pals have produced some pretty notable memories… but some things, I feel, are far better left buried deep, deep down. The date was February 2015. The event, school trip to Belgium. The possibilities were seemingly endless and, as if not wanting to disappoint, the trip did in fact offer a lot insight into a lot of things, though I think I learnt a lot more about BDSM than the trenches of WW1.

We left school at about 2 am with our suitcases and snacks and weirdly, we were all in quite high spirits… at least as high as our 15 yo spirits could be at 2 in the morning on a freezing coach that we knew we would have to eat, sleep, and piss in for at least the next 8 hours. Life was good. Many selfies were snapped. A guy nearly lost his arm in one of those Euro tunnel doors. Standard.

Eventually we arrived in Ypres! Yay! Our B&B was nice enough, functioning toilet and the like, no blood/other bodily fluids visible in the rooms. Not too shabby to be honest. We were allocated our rooms first, naturally the pals and I were given the ‘Party Room’. It was the biggest room they had, four bunk beds meaning the room slept eight. The room was no party with eight people in. I feel that in reality according to European safety standards there really should have been 2 bunk beds max in that room. Me and the gals at this particular moment in time were a group of 6. Unfortunately one gal was separated from the pack and was allocated a room with some, let’s say, less palatable people.So, being the rebels we are, we rescued her and she came and partied with us in the Party Room. 6 girls in that tiny room was not a good idea but I feel the memories are worth the slight frustration, pain and danger we went through with not being able to see the floor for clothing, the broken mirror all over the floor that sliced a girls foot up and, of course, not being able to sleep because two bitches think it’s a good idea to stay up all night talking about weird shit.

Now, we shall journey forth, and talk about the BDSM thing

We have a friend. A lovely, kind, clever, quiet friend, let’s call her pal 1 for privacy purposes. Pal 1 has literally never done anything to us to deserve the following, but fuck it, we were in a strange country, watcha gonna do. It had been a long day and we were all getting ready to listen to two bitches talk about weird shit until they fell asleep, when suddenly the conversation turned to BDSM… I’m not sure how, these minor details tend to get lost to me. “It’s always the quiet ones.”… Being the strange one I felt obliged this point to engage pal 1 in some weird role play that she definitely didn't enjoy nor want to participate in. Pretending to be tied up and gagged on the glass covered floor, I bum-shuffled over to pal 1, whimpering as I rested my head on her knees… The lady was not impressed. That’s it, that’s all it took, and by God has it stuck! Now every time someone mentions some strange sexual act we all look at pal 1 and she sighs. I like to think it’s a happy sigh… but I doubt it.

I’d like to take this opportunity to officially apologise to Pal 1. You’re great and I’m sorry for all the meaningful glances, innuendos, suggestive nudges and flat out inappropriateness since Belgium 2K15.