OK, can't remember any toilet based horror stories, but I do remember going on a date with someone I had met and pashed** with at a drunken party. He turned out to be exceedingly dull, at one point talking about his shoes "they used to have white piping on them, but I pulled it off" I was making whimpering noises and wondering how to end the date - which was awkward, as he'd driven me to the restaurant.
At some point he asked me, and I am not paraphrasing here "How do you feel about premarital sex?" Well, I don't believe in "premarital" sex, because I don't believe in marriage. But I saw my chance. Drawing from a 1950s USA Catholic "Teen Guide to Dating" that I had acquired as part of an eclectic collection of advice for young women, I stood up and demanded he "take me home". I lived with my parents, so this was an unambiguous end of the date. He drove me home in silence, me faking a haughty distain for unsacrosancted carnal knowledge. Pity, because he had a banging body. You know the way most movie stars are shorter than they look on screen? Yeah, he was around 1.7 metres but perfectly proportioned. But not worth a post coital conversation about his shoes. Or the other topics I have mercifully forgotten.
**snogged