» Public Transport Trauma

Tantric train trauma
Back when the ex and I were still in the at-it-like-rabbits stage, we'd been out to meet some friends for drinks in Winchester and were on the last train back to her parents' house.

We managed to bag one of those little cubicle things at the front of the carriage and, being rather tipsy, soon got to a little fumbling. Fumbles quickly turned into hardcore depravity, but we both got a little jumpy every time there was a light outside the window in case it was a station platform. We didn't want to treat everyone waiting for the train to a free show, so I suggested we move to my boudoir, or rather the toilets at the other end of the carriage (I'm a hopeless romantic after all).

Giggling like teenagers, we drunkenly negotiated our way back through the main seating area past groups of pissed-up revellers also making their way home. With a salacious word in my love's ear I pulled her inside the toilet cubicle, lifted her pert bottom up onto the little sink, pulled up her skirt and proceeded to thrust away in the inelegant fashion only a pissed Englishman can muster.

Whether it was the clattering of the train on the tracks, or her moans of pleasure I don't know (I like to think the latter), but I didn't hear the toilet door swing open behind us--in my drunken lust I'd forgotten to lock the bloody thing.

In any case I was only alerted to the situation by the sudden chorus of, "Oi Oi! Go on gorgeous!", and, "That's it mate, give it some!", quickly followed by my girlfriend screaming rather loudly in my ear. The entire carriage was getting a great view of my white, spotty arse pounding away at the best bits of my now very flustered girlfriend. I tried, heroically, to carry on (well they'd already seen everything by this point), while reaching behind me to shut the door but the missus was having none of it. With a huff she jumped off the sink, nearly snapping the poor man in two as she did so, and darted into the next carriage, her hands covering her very red face in shame.

Somewhat embarrassed, I zipped myself up and followed her for the now inevitable bollocking to a round of applause from what seemed like every man on the carriage. I restrained myself from turning and taking a little bow.

Not the worst journey ever perhaps, but it traumatised the missus enough for her to ban any kind of public rudey fun for a very long time, which in turn was traumatic for me.
(Thu 29th May 2008, 18:26, More)

» Festivals

Korean Air
Aside from the requisite festival stories I think everyone here seems to share (mainly drug-induced), my fondest festival memory comes from the first I ever went to one: Reading '97.

I went with three friends, one a slight Korean fellow called Byung. It was his idea to go as Metallica were headlining and Byung was a massive fan. In the middle of their set Byung decides to do a spot of crowd-surfing, so I give him a leg up and off he goes towards the front, all 5 stone of him bouncing up and down happily across the crowd, doing the devil-horns 'rawk' sign with both hands and screaming "METARRICAAA!!" at the top of his voice.

Half an hour later and he still hasn't returned. The band are just starting "Enter Sandman"--his favourite song--and I'm starting to get a little concerned. I turn to my other friend, "where's Byung go-"

My words were cut short by a half-naked, bruised and rather dazed Korean boy literally falling out of the sky and landing at my feet. He'd lost his t-shirt, both his shoes and one sock, but somehow managed to navigate a moshing sea of a hundred thousand metallers to find his way back to us. He simply picked himself up, gave us the devil horns again like some sort of solemn rock salute and pushed his way back through the crowd towards the front. We didn't see him again till the next morning.
(Mon 8th Jun 2009, 18:26, More)