There is a saying (or variations thereof) that goes: Don't sh*t where you eat. You could apply to this to several situations like sports teams or work (Don't screw the crew or Fishing off the company wharves) but it's particularly apt for flatmates as this story from Andrew demonstrates...
"No pictures, but after reading some of your sorry entries, I have no problem in saying that you guys all had it easy. After my first year at uni, a group of us decided we'd like to live with each other in our "year out " You see, in London, there isn't enough student accommodation to go around, so the uni only offers you 2 years at most.
After having heard horror story after horror story, we carefully selected our friends and managed a good bunch. So, once all 6 of us had moved into a really cool house in north London, we were all happy. Until one was diagnosed with leukemia and had the rest of his life of any work. Our landlord came up with a substitute. A lovely american girl, brunette, sultry, very personable. Too personable as it turns out.
After a week she'd slept with all of us (and kept it secret from all of us). Unfortunately, "woody" as we knew him, had slept with the next door neighbour, who had also slept with the other of the two men I shared the house with. Sadly, he was going out with one of the girls we lived with who had shared her "personal toy" with another of the girls in our house. Trust me, it took a while to get to the bottom of it all.
IÂ personally slept with the third and final person in the house. Really, really fortunately because I haven't always been so insistant, used a condom on my encounter with this girl and so didn't spread it to Cathy, but there was a tense time where we had 2/3 or 4/6 of the house with ghonorreha. Burning pee and all. So, that bitch is safely back in america, that's all I can say."
Hmmmm, seems like there was a lot of bed-hopping going on there Andrew. What was the house like to live in afterwards - did you all distrust each other?
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