Polish (reheated) bananas
Poland, early Nineties, working as an English teacher in a town that had been slower to embrace change than the rest of the country, and was, shall we say, a little less than tolerant of deviants (whilst seemingly being full of people who seemed to want something very specific to do with them...)

Anyhow, a colleague decides to have a party, and to make it a little different, also decides that it should be a “Red Party”, meaning that everyone should wear something red. A friend, who, being Lucy, will remain nameless, decided that she and her friends should outdo the rest of the party, and thus eight people should go dressed as a red light district. There seemed to be some sort of logic to it at the time, but this has been lost in the mists of time and vodka.

The day comes, and the other lads take possession of the stock of fishnet stockings, skirts and bras offered by Lucy and Rachel (who will also remain anonymous). Groover J finds himself rather at a loss, as all the truly good stuff has been nabbed. At Lucy’s suggestion (there may also have been vodka involved), it is decided that going as a rent boy will complete the red light district’s charms and services. Boy I was not then (and am even less now), for rent definitely not so. But hell.

So, off we go. Pink shirt open to the waist (with rather a camp medallion), tight leggings, clogs (clogs?), a dinky little hat, half a dozen earrings (made from paper clips), copious make-up, and, logically, a banana stuffed down the leggings. God only knows what I looked like. The vodka excuse now sounds more and more likely.

Off we go to the party, in a taxi. On the way, we had to stop at the major station to pick up cigarettes. Lucy dressed like a Soho cocktail whore, Groover J in his finery. I swear, seeing some of the looks (and unintelligible Polish comments), we could have made an absolute killing that night, there and then, at the station, if we had been so inclined (no way, as far as either of us were concerned).

Of course, we get to the party and no sod is wearing anything red, and we look like a bunch of tits. On the up side, I did get sufficiently hammered on vodka to go around asking all the girls if they’d like to feel my banana…
(groover j lazerus, Tue 30 Oct 2012, 21:15, 1 reply)

Hahahahahahahaha I like this!
"Ile?"
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 1 Nov 2012, 13:38, closed)