Pearoast time
In the absence of any new stories for now allow me to reissue the following tale of woe.

Painful memories Picture the scene if you will...

It’s the summer of the year 2001 all is well with the world and I the young Rhubarb Triangle am living what passes for the good life in the fair city of Newcastle. I’ve just recently met the young lady who will later become the ex Mrs Triangle and as she lives in Leeds am spending a fair amount of time travelling up and down the country to spend “time” with her (for time here, you can read “horizontal time”).

On this particular weekend the ex Mrs Triangle has decided to try something a little different and has elected to go on top, at first all is well and much fun is being had (well I was enjoying it, and lets be honest that’s all that counts here) Some time into our carnal aerobics and I begin to feel a little twinge from the “old chap” being the polite young chap I was at the time I say nothing and merely attempt to gently adjust the young ladies position to prevent further recurrence.

In fairness this meets with little success and the intermittent twinges of discomfort continue, until finally I experience what can only be described as a god-awful snapping sensation. I signal my distress to my partner in a subtle fashion by screaming “YEEEAAARGGHHH!!” at the top of my voice. Sensing my disquiet the young lady in question dismounts to see what the matter is. Looking down at my member I am greeted with a positively Scarlet crown to the appendage in question. In my confusion I wonder whether said young lady is experiencing that time of the month until I realise the scarlet fluid is inside the protective sheath.

Now gents I’m sure I don’t need to spell this out but there truly are few sights more distressing than the sight of blood flowing from that particular part of your anatomy.

In considerable discomfort and unsure as to the extent of the damage I dress in the loosest fittings garments I can muster and we elect to make our way to casualty with all speed.

Once arriving at the local A&E and going through the frank embarrassment of discussing the reason for our visit with a nurse who did a marvellous job of not collapsing in a fit of giggles I am assessed in terms of the seriousness of my injury and asked to wait.

For those of you not familiar with the city centre of Leeds of a weekend, allow me to assure you that when the Kaiser Chiefs sang “I predict a riot” they were spot on with there assumption. As such I am left sitting very carefully in the waiting room for about 6 hours while a procession of Drunks who felt the need to fight / drink far more than anyone would consider safe / beat themselves to a pulp on a variety of inanimate objects are passed forward for treatment. Eventually I am ushered through to a treatment room where I’m told to wait for a Doctor. Given my discomfort caused by clothing upon my damaged todger and frankly wooziness caused by my inability to handle the sight of my own mangle cock I elect to lie down and free the old chap from his cloth prison. After another two hours the male Dr arrives, dons a pair of rubber gloves, examines the old chap and declares that I have broken my Banjo String (in truth this is not the term he used but given the circumstances the noting of medical terms was not the matter most forefront in my mind)

Having cleaned the worst of the gore from my member the Dr packs me off and advises to stay off the nookie for a period of about 4 weeks (at that point I would comfortably have foresworn it for an eternity)

Now as if all this pain and humiliation was not bad enough I now realised that it is 8 am on a Sunday and I am due at work in a little over 2 hours in Newcastle, And so I am forced to call in sick. Now being the moral young fool I was I could not tell a mistruth, and on speaking to my manager I let slip the full horror and swear him to secrecy on the true reason for my absence.

The rest of that day is spent attempting to sleep whilst applying an icepack to my Nethers. On the next day I head back up North and return to work. Shortly after arriving I am called into the office to be greeted by every single manager/ supervisor /slack jawed Gawker who then proceed to mock me relentlessly up until the point I managed to do something more entertaining to them the pack of Geordie bastards that they were.

Apologies for length, although that wasn’t an issue for sometime after this let me tell you
( Rhubarb_Triangle, Thu 23 Jun 2011, 15:24, 3 replies)

Lady on top
is a novelty? Is Leeds really that dull?
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 23 Jun 2011, 15:31, closed)

*cough*
What can I say, I didn't get out much then. Or now for that matter...
( Rhubarb_Triangle, Thu 23 Jun 2011, 15:38, closed)

You missed out there old son.
Should have requested another meeting and recorded it, or just recorded office banter. You could have made a lawyer very happy and yourself a few bob.
(Me, I'm not... in any way intoxicated, Thu 23 Jun 2011, 18:35, closed)