My first time…in more ways than one…

I was just 29 years old, and comfortable not only with my social status and my circle of friends, but with my life in general. I was a fully paid up member of the ‘Zek From DS9 Appreciation society’, and my weekend pursuit of camping outside BBC headquarters as part of my ‘Bring Back Knight Rider’ campaign was a great way to keep myself busy.

I was happy.

However, one fateful day my mother had decided it was about time I went out, found myself a lovely girlfriend and moved forward with my life.

(I’m sure that’s what she meant, but what she actually said was: “I’m kicking you out of the house and using your room as a massage parlour for sailors. You’ve got until the end of the week to get out, you useless fuckstain!”)

Sensing the emotional, yet assertive twang in my mother’s voice as she was bravely choosing to cut the apron strings and set me free, I decided that the time was indeed right to find myself a worthy mate.

The very next Saturday evening I decided to venture out in the rain and drizzle towards the direction of the local discotheque. The place was imaginatively called ‘The Big Ole Pig Pen’

I find that preparation is always the key in matters such as this…and ever eager to fit in, my outfit was a masterpiece of research into the latest trends of style-conscious go-getters like myself. I had checked both the internet and my mum’s magazines for guidance and couldn’t be happier with the result.

I cunningly disguised my morbid obesity by dressing head-to-toe in black with vertical stripes (as it’s supposed to be ‘slimming’). Unfortunately, I had to paint the stripes on myself, and the only colour I could find in the garage was ‘Day-Glo pink’, but I was confident the finished article set off my balaclava and ski gloves quite nicely.

As I approached ‘The Big Ole Pig Pen’, the burly gentleman on the door with a strange glint in his eye insisted that the only way he would let a ‘runting scrote’ like me into his club was if I paid an extra £50…so I obliged and he bid me good day with a playful jabbing punch to the throat.

I had not limped more than 10 yards into the murky darkness of the club before I was knee deep in dry ice, cigarette butts, blood, vomit and spandex. Amongst the rampant flesh-fest that was on display before my eyes, I was immediately distracted by an image of perfection…

She was a vision, a glistening angel in posture correcting trainers, dripping with the faux glamour that only diamante, weapons grade fake tan and bullet-belts could provide. Her gold tooth sparkled like a glitterball, standing out because it was the only tooth of the top row. Her hair was short and blonde on one side, yet long and ginger on the other, which gave her an indecisive, vulnerable look. The way the lipstick mark was enticingly smudged on her bottom tooth made me literally tingle with anticipation.

I ached to touch the huge wart on her forehead that seemed to have a separate wart of its own, and longed to nibble at the chunky, vein packed thighs, that were attached to a skirt so short that even from across the room I could make out some French deserters straggling down from her undergrowth.

Although she was obviously way out of my league in the class department, I was determined to succeed. Like Spock in ‘Wrath of Khan’, when he got all that flaky skin and died with radiation burns only to be reborn again, I was not about to give up…on my destiny.

From the safety of a dark corner (next to a copulating couple that I’m sure didn’t mind that I was sitting right next to them) I watched, endlessly spellbound as she gyrated, swayed and foamed exotically on the dancefloor (in what I thought was a tantalising ‘mating ritual’, but I later discovered it was an epileptic episode from the strobe lighting).

After a few drinks I finally plucked up the courage to make ‘First Contact’…I tentatively approached her on the dancefloor, and as I mentally patted myself on the back for not stumbling over my own feet, I then proceeded to stumble over my own feet…which unfortunately resulted in me chucking my Pernod and Cherryade all down her white spangled boob-tube.

‘You fackin’ cunt!’ she fumed violently but huskily, in a cumly sort of way…

I prayed she wouldn’t notice my tongue darting out to lap up the droplets of spit she sprayed over me with every delicious word as she screamed again: ‘You better buy me anuvver drink or I’ll rip off your head and shit down your neck’

Transfixed by her charm I wrenched off my balaclava and dazzled her with my long rehearsed and finally mastered ‘sophisticated’ expression. (This was achieved by using my hands to stretch my mouth into my neck and then squinting really hard at her lazy eye).

The ice was now well and truly broken, I decided to hopefully drive her wild with a chat-up line that not only carefully detailed my own knowledge and prowess, but must surely make her powerless to my charm.

“Let me guess, fair maiden, you must be at least a WoW level 59…Do you speak Klingon?” I stuttered in my best ‘Roger Moore’ accent

“Why don’t you just fack off, you lump o’ maggot shit” she retorted with evermore chic finesse.

“Touché” I said. Trying to control my excitement and burning desire as I couldn’t believe the incredible reality that here I was…talking to a real girl...in fact, not just a girl…but a ‘woman’

Amongst the gentile banter I decided that I must take the leap of faith….I took a deep breath, tightly clutched the 17 inch Chewbacca model I was using as a lucky mascot, and quietly whispered:

“Erm…if it’s not too much trouble…erm…would you…. erm…. go out….. with….”

...

It was at this point that she checked her ‘Ninja Turtles’ watch and eloquently exclaimed: “Oh fack me, it’s bleedin’ 2 o’ clock! If I don’t get some hot cock action soon, I’ll have to shag the tramps by the bus stop...again…..so I guess you’ll have to do.”

Thusly, and with delicate grace, she grabbed me and thrust her hand down my grundies, seizing a vice-like hold of my ‘Commander Riker’ and shouted “Hang on spack-cake, it’s going to be a bumpy ride” as her hand forcefully sped up and down my throbbing midget-gem like a runaway jackhammer on overload.

Unfortunately, this rapid push-pull movement was affecting my whole body, not just ‘Little Mr Winkie’, and before I even had time to fire off my 'juicy tractor beam’, I spewed a multi-coloured swapshop of purest vomjuice into her face.

“Aww Fackin’ ‘ell!” she shrieked, and began using one hand to wipe herself down as she carried on vigorously pummelling my purple pork-pole with the other. I felt I was being flung around like a gurning rag doll until the gloopy payload-of-passion paste copiously erupted from my choc-full cheese churns.

Then, without a word, she turned and waddled off into the night with a bottle of Malibu under each armpit and a puddle of sweat formed above the top of her G-string.

I never saw her again…never even knew her name.

In the spirit of ‘better to have loved and lost’ and all that, my only regret is that we never kissed…simply because I had spent so long practising my kissing technique on my 'Jean-Luc Picard' action figure. Perhaps my lack of sensitivity towards her was why she never returned…

…

But the story doesn’t end there…for I lingered at the disco, simply revelling in the night’s experience…never wanting it to end…I thought everybody had long gone and I was on my way out...when I heard a quiet voice behind me…

It said: “Will you go out with me?”

I turned round on my heels, but the only person I could see was Horace, the 7ft tall, half-human, half-rhino doorman. Before I could even say ‘Were you talking to me?’ he’d dragged me by my hair into the coat room and showed me the TRUE meaning of love…twice in fact…and it wasn't particularly tender the first time either.

Anyhoo, we’ve been together 6 months now...and although my chutney-cupboard has sagged a bit…I have never been happier.


Don't you just love a romantic ending…?
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 29 Aug 2008, 15:59, 15 replies)

*sniff*
It's like a fairy tale!
( PopePollo defloculating the soup of the surreal, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 16:05, closed)

*shakes head*
Now I've actually met you, I can imagine your face as you type this.

It haunts my dreams :(
( Cawl, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 16:10, closed)

@Kaol
yeah, but i'm imagining his face as he actually did this.

It's a lot more discomforting.
( Bazongaloid, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 16:18, closed)

Awww!
How sweet! Horace sounds like a catch!
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 16:26, closed)

This may be
the most grotesque thing I've read this week. And considering what sites I read, that's remarkable in itself.

*click*
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Fri 29 Aug 2008, 16:43, closed)

You want to watch that Horace, he leads a double life...


Easily the best answer to this week's offering so far *clicks*
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 17:28, closed)

Click
For chutney cupboard...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 29 Aug 2008, 17:58, closed)

Jesus wept.
How many mentally correcting drugs should you be on?
(--merciless-- is delightfully fragrant, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 18:00, closed)

Click!
This one has got to win.
(EuroSong I love horse meat: best of all the animals, Fri 29 Aug 2008, 18:47, closed)

sagging chutney cupboard
Fantastic Mr Flake!

*clicks til her pelvic floor implodes*
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Sat 30 Aug 2008, 1:00, closed)

Thank You
That has cheered me right up!
( KISS.ME.WHERE.I.POO Signed the sex offenders register on, Sat 30 Aug 2008, 13:31, closed)

You
earned a click for this one - 'dripping with the faux glamour that only diamante, weapons grade fake tan and bullet-belts could provide'.
I nearly choked on my soup. Well done! :-)
(uk_viper stopped lurking on, Mon 1 Sep 2008, 12:45, closed)

Back in your hole flake boy!
That's quite enough of this sort of nonsense.
( Madam Marlboro wonders if you've found her yet, Tue 2 Sep 2008, 19:36, closed)

Lovely,
Moving, thrilling, romantic and erudite.

or something.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 10:42, closed)

weapons grade fake tan
was the erotic line that did it for me...

*clicky*
(Nogin the Nog is the good one! Beware Nogbad the Bad!, Wed 3 Sep 2008, 17:07, closed)