There's one house I luckily now have no reason to go near
Wavy lines and all that shite.

On Friday afternoons while I was at sixth form, I used to be free between 11.30 and about 4. Since the last lesson of the day was optional Foreign, I and friends would usually skip it and finish right on 11.30.

By midday, we'd be in the pub down the road that would serve us if we sat in the back room quietly supping and didn't act like students. This would usually follow on to me squirrelling the then girlfriend (Miss Harris, we'll call her) back to hers around 3 and doing my furious worst to her vadge until shortly before her parents got home around 6.

Guess what happened this one fateful Friday, kids? I'd finished dispensing the sweet loving and gone downstairs in only my boxers to make us a brew. Mr. Harris is at the kitchen table with an empty cup and plate and an open paper. I understood later that this meant he'd probably been there the entire three minutes we'd been loudly at it.

Realising as he looks up at me dejectedly that it might as well just be 'Dave' now, I offer, "Make you a brew, Dave?" He grunts a dismissive "Nah, lad". I get the brew on, choosing as the least awkward option to hover around the kitchen as the kettle comes to the boil. Dave cringes in disgust at my sweaty little presence, adding nothing to his initial grunt.

The daughter I’ve been enjoying is not Dave’s favourite. She’s his second daughter of two, the slightly more useless and less pretty one, the one that should really have been his only son, the one he sometimes in fact calls “Son” when he’s either pissed and jocular or pissed and bitter. I sense in him more dejected resignation than anger. My testicles peek out at him from behind my kidneys and thank him for his grown-up response to the situation.

After these few prickly minutes I carry the brews upstairs, knocking over one of Mrs H's tiny, square, wall-hung paintings as I go and smashing the glass out of the frame. I also spill some tea on my naked foot. I hop around briefly and loudly on the landing, which sits above the kitchen.

The girlfriend has realised her dad is home and cries a bit. I elect not to hang around till the lady of the house gets back. As far as I know, the girlfriend hid under the covers the rest of that evening in shame until the parents went to bed.

I found out the next day that Dave was home early from his factory job for the first time in 20 years because he'd been laid off. I haven’t been back since that day.
(gobsh, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 16:05, 4 replies)

So you
both got laid that day.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 16:13, closed)

Works better as
"So you both got screwed that day"
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 16:15, closed)

Damn
you're smooth.
( Not Pineapple anymore, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 16:31, closed)

Smooth with a capital "Smoo"

(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 11 Jan 2011, 16:33, closed)