Laid in Chelsea Read online

  Needless to say they did find it, but the camera phones of 2003 weren’t great, and angles and shapes came out slightly distorted. I hadn’t noticed when I took it, but the photo gave the impression that my manhood, my pride and joy, was cone shaped. From that day on I was nicknamed ‘Coner Boner’, and it has stuck to this very day. Oliver ‘Coner Boner’ Locke. RDA. Thank God Fishy was dropped!

  We were always up to stupid things in our dorm, and one thing we loved doing was getting glow sticks and having pretend raves. One fireworks night we discovered that if you cut the tops off the glow sticks and whip the liquid everywhere, when you turn out the lights it looks like a planetarium. But when you turn the lights back on there is no sign of the liquid. Perfect for watchful prefects on duty.

  I took my art GCSE very seriously and decided that it would be an amazing idea to take a series of pictures of me with bits of my naked body covered in the amazing glow paint. As you can see, my penchant for nudity began a while ago. All you would see were the highlighted parts and nothing rude, so it didn’t seem too risqué.

  I got my friend Slowen to take the photos in our room, and I stood there totally naked apart from some strategically placed glow paint. Digital cameras weren’t really around then, so Dan took the photos on a disposable camera, which I then planned to take to the local town to get developed the next day.

  We filled the entire camera, and when we finished we both realised to our horror that Dan had used the flash for the entire thing, so instead of picking up the glowing areas, the photos would show a fully naked me, in poses which made me look slightly arty.

  Even worse, I put the camera on his bedside table that night and totally forgot about it. When I then went to find it a few days later, it had disappeared. To this day I don’t know what happened to it, so somewhere out there is a camera of a 16-year-old me in various naked poses. If found, please return it. Thanks.

  I was totally mortified but I managed to forget my sorrow when my godbrothers Jack and Tom invited me to go to Vale do Lobo in Portugal for my first ever lads’ holiday. It was a typical public school place to visit, and when we arrived everyone had big blond hair, wore their collars up and had double-barrelled surnames. They all started conversations with the questions ‘What school do you go to?’ and ‘What do your parents do?’ It was like having 10,000 mini Made in Chelsea characters, but with real tans, and slightly less hairy.

  On one night when we went out for a drink I was instantly drawn to this unbelievable-looking girl standing at the bar, who I later found out was called Hattie Clarke.

  Hattie was beyond cool. She was blonde, slim and was obviously the Queen of Vale do, even though she was only about 16. I had never seen anyone cooler or more beautiful than her.

  She had trouble written all over her as she stood there smoking and doing shots, surrounded by admirers. Even from a distance I could tell that she was a proper mean girl, but so much fun. I knew I had to get close to her.

  I was on holiday for two weeks and for the first week all I did was look at her, smile like an idiot and bump past her on the dancefloor in the hope she would notice me, take me onto the beach and grope me. In the second week, after a few vodkas, I plucked up the courage to talk to her.

  The boys and I used to go to that same bar pretty much every night. One evening I went down there wearing combat trousers and a shirt that was too big for me, because that was the fashion at the time (or so I thought). My hair was extra-spiky and all in all, it wasn’t a cool look. So with Dutch courage in the form of a couple of cocktails, I walked up to her and offered to buy her a drink. She asked for a Squashed Frog, fuck knows what that was, but I confidently ordered one as if I’d ordered hundreds before.

  We bonded instantly. I knew she would fall in love with me.

  We danced the Portuguese night away and for a whole week we were inseparable. She kept on telling me how cute I was, which I thought was the first step to getting into her pants. Sadly not. But being her friend was such a big deal for me that I persuaded myself something would happen between us back in England.

  I went back to school after summer clutching all of my photos from the holiday. I was so proud of them that I displayed them on my dorm wall (Facebook didn’t exist back then). But I had no way of keeping in touch with Hattie so our friendship fizzled out and life, as it always does, moved on. Although little did I know that wasn’t the last I would see of her …

  I bounced back from Hattie pretty quickly, and continued on my quest for love and, to be honest, at that point, sex. I was 16 and by then pretty much everyone was doing it. If I didn’t lose it soon, I’d be put in the same category as smelly David Woodwood-Brown, or spotty Freddy Neilson. Much to my disappointment, my subsequent encounters were all very innocent. That is, until I met a girl called Candy. Now Candy is quite obviously a fake name, but this story needs a pseudonym. She was one of my sister’s bigger-breasted friends, which at that time was incredibly exciting. The boobs I first fondled were good, but by no means Candy standard.

  My sister and I had travelled down to spend a weekend with my dad, and my sister had brought Candy along for the weekend. Somehow we ended up snogging. I can’t remember the exact events that led up to that kiss but it was preceded by an evening at Hayling Island’s premiere Indian restaurant ‘The Gandhi’, followed by a game of truth or dare with a very old bottle of ouzo.

  Candy was 18 and half Australian, so she seemed so grown up, exotic and way out of my league. By this time I really was ready to get intimate and I now knew full well what that word meant. I was desperate for Candy to be the girl to show me the way.

  My sister’s bedroom at my dad’s house was very small so Candy ended up coming and staying in my room, much to my delight. My dad had no idea so we had to be very quiet about it all.

  We ended up fumbling around on the floor, and I got to experience my second proper boob feel. It was amazing! Even better than the first time. Not only that, but I plucked up the courage to slide my hand down her knickers. It was by far the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me. I had recently flown Concorde to New York, but nothing compared to this. I was ecstatic, though I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I wasn’t even sure that I was in the right hole. She then made the move that would change the rest of my adult life forever, as for the first time in my life, a girl touched my willy. I really had expected it to go off then, and I wish it had as she clearly hadn’t got any tips from jackinworld.com. Her technique was one you would use to wring out a wet towel, while stretching it out for good measure. It was the most painful gift fate had ever given me.

  I had to think fast on my feet for what to do. I could either a) claim to not be able to ejaculate, b) make a noise and run to the bathroom, or c), which at the time seemed the most logical, pretend I’d cum by spitting on her boobs and rubbing it before she realised it wasn’t sperm. I honestly wish that I could say that I was lying, but I am afraid option c was very much put into action. I had no choice (other than the two above) – it was total agony. She used a completely different technique to the one I used, which kind of involved me rubbing myself with two hands as if I was trying to create a fire in the middle of a forest (I have no idea why).

  My sister was furious about me getting together with Candy. In her eyes, I was still her little brother so she hated the idea of me fondling her best friend. I, however, was so excited to get back to school to tell everyone about my first proper sexual experience, with an older woman, no less.

  Candy and I texted a few times after that night but nothing ever came of it, which was just as well as the Snow Ball was coming up, which was a big event in all the local public school teen’s calendars.

  The Snow Ball was basically a huge party held once a year that attracted all the students from boarding schools around Hampshire and Wiltshire. I would go to Moss Bros and hire a dinner jacket, stock up on cigarettes and snog as many people as possible. Nothing could go wrong. I think I managed about 15 or 16 that year, but a gu
y called Scott managed around 60. I was in awe of him that night; I still am.

  My friends and I started going to a lot of parties, but no one particularly fancied us, I don’t think. One time, we went to a friend’s party. I was kissing a girl called Rosie, and for some reason she kept biting my lip. She probably intended it to be quite sexy but instead it was really painful! I ran away from her in the end because my lips were so sore, but later on in the evening my friend Josh decided to try his luck with her. I warned him about the biting, but one thing led to another and he stupidly allowed her to give him a blowjob. The next thing he knew she cut his willy open – he even had to make a little turban out of toilet roll to stop the bleeding. After that she was blacklisted within our group and everyone steered well clear of her. She was bloody dangerous.

  The following week was our annual lads’ ski trip. It was actually the first and only ski trip we would ever go on, but at that point we were certain that we would make it an annual thing. I was convinced that we were going to get some serious action while we were there. We were all staying in chalets and it ended up being like a posh version of The Inbetweeners. I’m a good skier so in my eyes I thought I would obviously come across as an alpine Gerard Butler on skis to all the girls, but the reality was we were wearing some sort of vagina-repellent aftershave. The girls all kept their distance and didn’t seem to like us shouting romantic gestures from the ski lift as they passed below.

  I certainly hadn’t blossomed in any way at this point, and I didn’t know about looking after myself so it was no wonder I wasn’t at the top of every girl’s kiss-list. I had bum fluff, which at the time I called my beard, and I wouldn’t dream of shaving it off. It had taken 17 years to grow so I walked around like some sort of lizard.

  It was around this time that I first started to grow my head hair in order to look like a model called Travis, who was the face of Calvin Klein for years. Then I tried blond highlights in order to emulate Charlie Simpson from Busted, who back in my late teens was the coolest man and owner of the best eyebrows, before I settled on trying to morph into ‘Smith’ Jerrod from Sex and the City. I’m sure I thought that if I had similar hair I would magically develop amazing muscles, have women hanging on my every word and a lucrative contract to advertise expensive vodka.

  Throughout our entire childhood Rupert and I would compare notes on girls, and there was always an air of competition simmering under the surface about who would lose their virginity first. We were both fairly innocent, even at 16, and desperate to be the first to have sex. Most of our friends had already started, and we were beginning to look (even more) uncool.

  Rupert had been single for a while when he was introduced to a girl called Grace. She was incredible; they became inseparable and things soon got serious between them, much to my secret annoyance.

  As a result Rupert stopped looking at jackinworld.com and started looking at sex websites just in case by some miracle she decided that she wanted to go all the way with him. He needed to know what to do in case the opportunity should ever, ahem, arise.

  A few months later they did sleep together and although I was pleased for them, I was slightly gutted that he was steaming ahead of me in the sex stakes. Operation ‘Get Laid’ was becoming disastrous. As research for this book, Rupert kindly called up Grace to ask her some questions about how he performed the first time they had sex, but awfully she was at her grandmother’s funeral at the time. That could only happen to Rupert. He’s still wondering, by the way, Grace, so do let us know.

  Rupert and Grace dated for about two years in total, and although their relationship made me a bit envious, it also opened up a whole new world of opportunities for me because she would bring her friends along with her when we went out.

  Grace took a group of us to a party hosted by one of her friends and a girl there, Lucie, started to show some real interest in me. Being completely honest, I thought she was a little bit chavvy, but of course there was a chance that she could also be the answer to my virginity prayers.

  I got quite drunk and decided it was the perfect time to smoke weed for the first time in my life. Needless to say, I got absolutely fucked. Weed is an awful drug, especially uncool when your eyes look like a bloodshot Halloween mask and you get the munchies so you’re trying to snog someone with Pickled Onion Monster Munch around your face.

  Lucie took me upstairs to the landing, where we lay on the floor, and with no warning whatsoever she slid herself down my body as if she was about to give me a blowjob. I have never been so scared in my entire life. I ended up telling her I hated them, as if I’d done it loads of times before. I’d been waiting so long for this moment, but when the elusive blowjob was on the cards, I wouldn’t let her. Was I frigid? Were the kids at school right?

  For some reason we then ended up going into her bathroom, where we slid into the empty bath (God knows why), where all my Christmases came at once – we proceeded to try and have real sex. All those years of desperate longing had built up to this and I was so excited about finally becoming a fully-fledged, sexual being, with the added benefit of it being in such circumstances that would provide me with a great story to tell all of my friends.

  In my mind it was inevitable that as soon as I got the chance to actually do it, I was going to discover that sex was something I was very good at. I seemed to have some adequate rhythm on the dancefloor, so why not in the bedroom? I was sure that it would prove to be a real hidden talent.

  But … I couldn’t get it up. The one time in my life when I needed him the most, he decides he’s gonna chill out. I would usually get a boner everywhere; the bus, the train, a mobile phone vibrating. Even my electric toothbrush would cause a real erectile commotion. But with a naked girl in front of me, who was obviously up for it, he decides, fuck it, I’ll have a nap. I was worried that she would go downstairs and tell my friends that not only could I not get a boner, but at aged 16 I didn’t have the biggest willy. That would have been a disaster, but as a female equivalent of a gentleman, she did nothing.

  I acted as chilled as possible, but inside I was dying. I wonder what she’s doing now.

  Looking back I am so bloody relieved that I didn’t lose my virginity that night. It would have been an awful virginity story to have to tell. Nearly as bad as my actual one … but we’ll have to wait at least a year for that.

  I was 16 and a virgin with apparent erectile dysfunction issues. Needless to say I was a complete loser. It seemed as though everyone else in the world apart from me was now having sex. I was gutted.

  There were three schools in my area – mine, Embley, a girls’ school called The Atherley, and Stanbridge Earls, where my friend Pugsley’s dad was headmaster. This meant we had access to things like quad bikes, the swimming pool and all the land at Stanbridge Earl’s every week. Every month when his parents were away, Pugsley used to have epic house parties, which provided amazing opportunities to meet girls. He once threw a Halloween party for which I decided to prepare myself by buying a £2.99 lads’ mag with the coverline: ‘How to get a woman into bed’. In the accompanying piece it said that women liked it when men have a hairless pubic region as it makes your willy look bigger. I was amazed. I had been so worried about growing pubes, I never even considered what women might like. I got straight in the shower, found Mum’s Venus razor, and went to town. I walked into that party like a new man.

  I had decided to dress as Superman, but for some reason I wore a red PVC thong, which was stuffed with a cricket box to protect my modesty. It was February, and still rather chilly. I thought I looked amazing. My hair had a new spiky style and I felt awesome.

  There was a girl at the party who had apparently seen my photo and, despite the floppy hair with centre parting and complete lack of dress sense, liked what she saw. When we met I immediately started whipping out my 16-year-old flirting techniques, which mainly involved dancing awkwardly to Kelly Rowland songs and participating in a WKD drinking competition, but it worked like a charm.

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bsp; She made it very clear that she wanted to do more than kiss, so after some dancefloor snogging and three Bacardi Breezers I suggested that we go up to one of the bedrooms. I knew that Pugsley’s brother Logan was away at university so his room was free.

  We then proceeded to undress each other as if we were appearing in an episode of Hollyoaks. We were down to our underwear when she started to get very frisky. I wasn’t really expecting it and dreaded her going anywhere near my willy. You see, my prior confidence at my newly shaved pubic region had quickly evaporated when, after a few Bacardi Breezers, I told Rupert what I’d done. He nearly had a seizure laughing and said that any girl would be freaked out by my lack of hair as it would just look as though I hadn’t grown it yet. So I didn’t really want her thinking that I didn’t have pubes.

  Unsurprisingly, given my complete failure in the women department, I had never before performed oral sex on a girl, but I decided that it would be the best way to distract her from my downstairs area. I’d never really thought about what you did once you were down there and I’d never actually seen a vagina up close apart from in my early teen porn mags. So, I whipped out my secret weapon, the essential latex oral sex, STI preventer: my eight-inch by eight-inch piece of flat latex, which I unwrapped and displayed like a delicate napkin. So with protection in front of me, I spent about 20 minutes licking her pubes. Not living up to her name, Mona, I could tell she was lying there thinking ‘well, this is awkward’ and pretending to enjoy it. She didn’t say a word, but in retrospect, I wonder if she actually knew whether I was doing it wrong or if it was her first time too. God, it’s so awful when I look back on it. It really was a disaster.

  As we went so far together that night, I became convinced that I would definitely have sex very, very soon. I felt like I was so close to becoming a man and that was the final piece of the puzzle. Even if I did still look about 12, which was a problem compounded by the fact that my best friend, Slowen, who had always been the smallest in our friendship group, had suddenly started to blossom. He had been put on a course of steroids to help his growth and when they kicked in he shot up and ended up having the most incredible body you’ve ever seen in your life. He was totally ripped, good-looking and also funny, so he started to become a real hit with the ladies. Meanwhile I still had no game whatsoever. Being yourself just wasn’t the thing to do. It was about making yourself seem really aloof and unattainable, but I was just too eager to please.