Filthy is powered by Vocal creators. You support india . by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Filthy is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

Bed Hopping

Have you ever found the guy who you took home last night in your flatmate’s bed in the next morning?

Where do I start... The fact that I took his keys by accident or the fact that I woke up to find him not in my bed, but my flatmate’s bed? 

This is a terrible love story of a greatly anticipated hook-up that turned out to be a mess.

Let’s name this boy Terry, for confidentiality purposes (and god forbid that he ever reads this). We had never properly met, or not that I can remember anyway, as according to one of my flatmates, we had met once and upon her introducing me as India, he replied with "Hi, I’m Europe." Lame.

But the point is that I knew of him and he knew of me. He is also a rugby player. And he’s very good at it—plays for an elite team and all that. You know, that increases the appeal massively, as I wouldn’t say that he’s gorgeous. If anything, he was the one that was punching massively above his weight pulling me (can you tell that I’m a narcissist?). 

I mean don’t get me wrong, we had an undeniable connection. For god’s sake, we’d been talking over snapchat for four months—that’s absolute dedication. Especially as I tend to not reply when I slightly disagree or when I simply can’t be bothered. So good on him dealing with my erratic texting habits.

Anyway, let’s cut to the chase—the meat of the story, as per se. So, I had been home all week and only planning to come into town on Friday for a day (Quick background story: my family lives in the middle of nowhere but I have a flat in Glasgow as I go to uni there). Terry lives in England but was coming to Glasgow for a week and was adamant to meet up. The boy had been insisting on taking me out on a date for days. I finally agreed and made the one hour and forty minute trek by public transport to Glasgow—that is a massive effort from me (can you tell I’m lazy?). 

In all honesty, I wasn’t really feeling the date. I was slightly dreading it really. But due to my charitable nature, I put in an effort and put a banging outfit on. Terry, however, decided to text me after his rugby training to say that he was actually going to grab drinks with the boys and we might link up later. To say the slightest, I was a bit disappointed. Thankfully though, my flatmates were going out clubbing that night and invited me to join them—so, all was good in the world; I was drinking vodka and he was the last thing on my mind.

Terry then texts my flatmate asking her what she’s up to tonight and she replies that we might all be going out. He then jumps on the bandwagon and says that he too, will be going out and will see us there. So, we hit the town and first we queue at one club and then decide to leave as the queue was far too long. Then as if by magic, we find a club rep for another club giving out free passes and we head there. No queue, hoofing music, great crowd. What more do you need?

I give Terry the update on my whereabouts and he says something along the lines of that he’s staying at the first club. I shrug, feeling more indifferent than ever, and hit the vodka yet again. However, when I check snapmaps, I realise that we’re in the same club—why did he lie? I do admire the dedication though. Almost instantly, I receive a snap from him telling me that he’s downstairs. So I take the posse downstairs and hit the dance floor with all my dirty dancing moves. I can see him watching. It’s exhilarating. He’s not making any moves towards me though, he’s just sitting at the bar with his mates.

By this point, my confidence is through the roof due to the vodka and probably due to the fact that in general I couldn’t care less about anything at all. So, I candidly approach him and put an arm around his shoulders, simultaneously sparking up a conversation. Now in hindsight, I must have blatantly interrupted a conversation, but who cared at that point. Certainly not me. I can tell that he enjoys my confidence and is also quite sober. We have a chat and get some drinks. He’s being absolutely lovely and I’m actually really enjoying myself. We hit the dance floor with all my mates and all his mates and have a great time dancing. Eventually we head back to mine. This is where it all goes wrong.

At first, all was fine. Slight banter here and there and everyone is in a good mood. We then proceed into my bedroom. I only remember fragments at this stage, as I was getting tired and I had had a lot to drink that night. But the down-low was that he could hardly get it in and what I think the problem was... that it was too small... Way to go to absolutely destroy a man’s ego (once again, I hope he never sees this because he’s a really decent bloke). Anyway, after trying and trying, we (most likely I) give up, and after that I don’t remember a thing. I think I must have absolutely blacked out as I was exhausted.

What I do remember though, is waking up at 7:30 AM, turning over and finding a vacant space next to me. At first I feel a wave of relief, as I don’t have to deal with the morning after, but then I notice that all his clothes are on the floor. Where is the man? Has he gone to the loo? Is he on the couch? I proceed to look around. Can’t find him. What’s going on? But what I do know, is that there’s a naked man somewhere in my flat.

I also had a train to catch at 9:30 AM that day, so I was rushing to get my bag packed and head though the door. I didn’t bother with the makeup as it had actually held up pretty well from the night before (gross but true). Just before leaving the flat, I check one of my flatmate’s rooms (she wasn’t there at the time) and funnily enough I’m greeted by a very confused Terry lying in her bed. I inform him that I need to leave and that his belongings are in my room. He acknowledges, smiles and says "see you later." Sure thing Terry, you keep telling yourself that. 

Part of me wishes that it had gone better because I actually did like Terry, but maybe that was for the best. Maybe he’s not right for me. I’m taller than him anyway. 

On my way to the train station, I decide to text Terry and inquire about why on Earth he ended up in my flatmates bed instead of mine. Eventually, he replies and explains that he must have gone to the loo and come back to the wrong room. Now, luckily for him my flatmate was out of town. Imagine if he’d gotten into bed while she was in it as well—that would have been one hell of a story. Anyway, my ego now restored, as I initially assumed that he didn’t want to be in the same bed as me—I search through my bag to find my headphones. Not only do I find my headphones but Terry’s keys, too. You know that funny sinking feeling you get in your stomach? I think it’s called dread? 

We arrange to meet at 5 to proceed with the exchange of the goods and he also asks me out on a date. Let’s hope it actually happens this time.

Now Reading
Bed Hopping
Read Next
She Loves Control