Mortifying.
I was 15 and secretly in love with a girl from school called Helen Shackle. She had everything I could ever want in a woman - she was beautiful, witty, she played classical piano and had breasts like great big pickled onions. (The shape, not the smell). I loved her.

Anyway, I'd noticed one day that she was humming Duran Duran's "Save A Prayer", so I hatched a plan to woo her by proving I was a fellow Durannie. (I wasn't, I actually thought Le Bon was a great big puff. I was a fan of the enormously-manly Frankie Goes To Hollywood at the time. I know. Let's not dwell.)

Anyroad, the next day I saw Shackles in the dinner queue and skillfully-maneuvered myself into position right behind her, where I began whistling Duran's "The Reflex" in her direction, in an attempt to spark her interest.

It worked. She slowly turned round, looked me straight in the eye, and said in full earshot of the rest of the dinner queue, "Do you mind not whistling, your breath fucking stinks.".
(Leemondus, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 2:19, 1 reply)

i like breasts like great big pickled onions

( broadsword now that's fresh, Fri 11 Dec 2009, 12:57, closed)