At primary school we so became adept at gauging the relative
acceleration of attractive/unattractive girls during the game of 'catch and kiss' that we tailored our runs to enable us to be caught by the fit ones and go fast enough to outrun the mingers. My particular favourite used to come back to mine after school and we'd enjoy a possibly inappropriate (i was 9, she 8) quasi-sexual romp 'like on dynasty' until it was time for my mum to arrive home from work, at which time my amour would scoot over the back fence and i'd blame my dishevelled appearance on either a 'fight' or a 'race'. Fast forward 20 years to the wedding of a mutual friend. My first love is about to leave the hotel where we've all got rooms. She sees me and wanders over smiling affectionately. We embrace and I whisper sweet nothings into her ear, at which point my memory goes blank. The next afternoon during the customary debrief with the groom he mentioned my performance as he was stood next to me at the time. The conversation went as follows:
him; well that was a masterstroke
me; what?
him; when (X) came over to give you a hug, you suggested to her that instead of going home she should come back to your room where you could recreate those stolen moments by shagging each other senseless. She broke off from hugging you long enough to give you a hard slap and a glare that would dissolve glass. Her dad, who was stood right behind you, wasn't too impressed either. Neither was her brother who plays rugby for wigan and had come along with a few of his teammates. No-one saw you for the rest of the evening...
(liberace's boudoir, Thu 20 Oct 2005, 17:43, Reply)