This might have fit in with the last QOTW....
Back when I was a young Downie in the days where cheap cider and bottom-rung vodka were the order of the night, we also had the problem of where to drink. Thankfully, most of our group had understanding parents who decided it was better that we 'drank under supervision' than loitered in parks where the paedos and killers could get us. However, one such night tossed an almighty spanner into the works when I was about fifteen or so.

A friend of mine, we'll call him 'Mick' for the sake of it being his name, had drawn the short straw for the weekly bender and as such had the arduous task of housing a half dozen or so teenagers in his house for the night where massive drinking ensued. The night itself wasn't too much trouble, everyone got through with minimal damage and most of them eventually got picked up to head home and sleep off the vodka haze. Considering me and Mick lived within minutes of each other, we figured I'd just sleep on the floor, walk round in the morning and all would be well.

I should probably mention Mick is a bit of a sleepwalker now to explain the course of events.

Cue about 2am, Mick has passed out on his bed and snoring away, I'm still drinking and browsing crap on the net when the inescapable urge to drain one out takes hold of me. I get up and go to leave the room, but the door won't open. For some reason the handle is jammed and no manner of rattling it will cause the thing to dislodge. By this point, my bladder is screaming for relief and I know I'm going to pee myself, but decide that rather than drench myself in 40% alcohol urine, I'll go in the corner of the room next to his wardrobe.

A quick unzip and long pee later, I proceed to pass out myself, sleeping against the wall on the opposite side of the room. Next morning, waking up to the sounds of heated discussion in the room, I open an eye to see Mick standing with his folks being berated that he'd been sleepwalking again. Thinking to myself that perhaps honesty is a good idea, I go to speak up but get cut off by his dad who informs me that he's terribly sorry I had to spend the night in a room that, frankly, stank. They made a fine fry-up and continued to be very apologetic the entire morning until I left, and eventually allowed us to leave after palming a few quid to get some lunch later in the day.

Mick by this point was so assured that he had actually done the deed that I thought it a shame to pipe up and burst the bubble. Still, if his door handle had worked, it would never have happened. Most of the drinking sessions occurred at my place after that, still do to this day, and I always leave doors open for people to go to the crapper with minimum effort.

No apologies for length. Mrs. Downies loves every inch of it.

Click 'I like this' if you think I should finally confess after nearly ten years.

*Pop*
(HomeWithTheDownies A towering inferno of penisy pleasure, Fri 31 Aug 2007, 15:07, Reply)