Stoooooooool!
As a callow youth, my mind was constantly working on bettering my sex-life (as it is to this very day), and my then girlfriend was growing reluctant to shag in my parents' house, namely because when we started banging away, the whole bloody street knew we were at it.
Nothing was said by my long-suffering folks, but I now realise I could have been a little more discreet when they were downstairs. (Think of the dinner party in Carry On Up The Khyber, plaster falling in the soup etc, it must have been something like that when we were going at it full bore.)

So, deciding the rickety old bed was the problem, and being a resourceful kind of chap, I spotted a fantastic chair in a forgotten corner of the office at work, and realised it was just the right height....... well, hey, I was young and fit, acrobatics were possible back then!

Kind of like a high chair, or a barstool with a back, covered in a wierd scaley leather, almost like croc-skin. Unique, very distinctive and very definitely home-made, I immediately purloined it and took it home.

The first time I led my girlfriend up into my newly equipped lair, she took one look at the stool and had a metal shit-fit. She wasn't staying in the same room as it, let alone going to be porked over it.

When I caught up with her (several streets away) she informed me that the stool had been made by her Grandad, who had in the later years of his life had both his legs amputated. Alas, as a child, she had shared a bag of sweets with him, whereupon he had promptly choked to death on one.
Over the subsequent years she had lived with the idea that she was guilty of killing her Grandad, complete with nightmares of him dragging himself along on his stumps, trying to cough up a Murray Mint.

(I was, of course, ultra-caring that night, and persuaded her to give me a BJ, as remedial therapy to dispel any fear of choking she might be developing. Honest. Swallow dear, swallow!)

Enquiring at work as to the origin of the stool, I was told it had been pulled out of a skip years ago by one of the lads when they were doing a one-off job in another town 25 miles away. Where Grandad Stumpy lived.

Spoooooky.

I tupped her in the car after that, till I got sick of having a Mini gearstick probing my donut, and resumed making my parents' life unbearable upstairs.
(Rsoles, Wed 14 Feb 2007, 21:19, Reply)