Friction
A few years back I was working in a boozer with a best mate of mine, and one night after hours this girl I knew went to the loos, so my mate and her mate suggested I follow her in and they'd lock the door behind. This I did and after a bit of sweet talking I managed to get the young lady naked and on the floor where I proceeded rather vigourously to have a game of 'hide the sausage'.

The trouble was, the floor was carpeted, and I got some rather severe chafing on my knees, but having been devoid of the 'hows your father' for some time I was not going to let a little rugburn cause a case of coitus interuptus, so I proceeded to go at it (and her) like a steam train (woo woo!)

Next morning I had to call in sick as my knees were so bad to my computer job. My mate, bless him, was also a qualified RGN and just happened to have a pair of crutches around so lent them to me to make my portability easier and I returned to work the following day citing it as an old injury that had flared up. Doors were opened, cups of tea brought no problems.

However later that day, and still chuffed that I had got my end away I told one of my workmates in confidence the real cause of the injury, which he thought somewhat amusing, however he swore to secrecy.

The next morning I arrive at work and can't help but wonder why a couple of the network guys are hanging around my screen as I log on - now this was a good few years back, windows 3.11 was the os, and yet somehow they had managed to do one of the earliest phoos - a badly paintmashed pair of knees and the words 'Congratulations Wayne - now you are a man'. Cue cheers, rounds of applause and shakes of the hand.

Kevin Foote - you bastard :o)
(Waynster James Joyce is fucking my sister!, Sat 4 Sep 2004, 5:47, Reply)