This has haunted me for years.
Ooooooooh I was at a sexy lady's house party and liquored up on eight cans of Irish Harp. Seventeen, thrusting, and full of spunky lust. Despite the aggressive boil on my nose and my flaking scalp, I fancied myself as quite a catch. I'd just successfully muttered along to Rapper's Delight (the LONG version bitches), and was working my way through U Can't Touch This. In short, I was on fire.

Idly playing the air drums, my roving eye scanned the party and fell on a dwarfish young woman who had been hounding me for some months. I had, weeks previously, sucked her mouth for sport, and found it to have a curiously pungent taste – like plaque and cigar smoke mixed with dogshit and chips. Mmmmmmm.

She kept casting dewy-eyed glances my way. Those curiously black-ringed eyes on her unfeasibly large freckled head had me all confused. Extending one stumpy finger from her awkward and pale boy-hand, she sexily beckoned me over, running her other hand through her mannish hair. Giddiness swept through me. I stepped outside for some air. Oh, goodness, a bunch of folk with a bottle of vodka. Give us a swig on that.

Gulp gulp gulp

and –––––––––––––––––– morning.

I'm in a bed. I'm still at the party house. I'm alone. But dark thoughts are nipping at the back of my mind, like an Alan Partridge striptease fantasy. And there's a form on the floor, covered in duvets.

Gingerly I leaned out of bed and pulled a corner of the duvet back, revealing a chillingly large vision of wine-stained teeth, distended eye lids and a masculine short back and sides. She was sleeping, and dressed. I was safe. But still … those ominous flashes in my mind. Fleeting, millisecond sensations of a nipple like a tube of Polos being rolled sickeningly between my fingers like a cannibal's spliff. A cow's long black tongue thrashing around in my mouth.

No. It couldn't have happened. I'd remember something like that. Wouldn't I? Yes, I would. And I didn't. So it didn't happen. Fuck it, time for a shit.

I wobbled my way out of the bedroom, across the landing and into the bathroom. Plonking myself down on the throne, I started playing through the events of the evening. It was fine. I got drunk, went to bed and went to sleep. That's it. Nothing dark happened. I'd have remembered. I'm sure I would have remembered.

Then something struck me. Or rather, the absence of something struck me.
The bathroom was completely quiet.
Silent.

I was unleashing a gallon of piss into the toilet bowl, and yet the whole room was fucking SILENT.

Not wanting to, but unable to resist, I slowly looked down between my legs.

Bobbing off the end of my cock was a grossly swollen condom full to bursting with piss and sperm, and covered with red slime and matted pubes.

Have you ever heard a man howl like a dying wolf? I have.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:11, 9 replies)

Very ..
.. vidid. The images will probably haunt me for some time to come.

:-)
(spinoza, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:15, closed)

Put me reet off my breakfast.

(Document Pocket, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:17, closed)

I didn't eat for 24 hours.
Just showered, slept, and drank mouthwash.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 10:27, closed)

Stop the question
We have a winner.
(TheColonel, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 11:47, closed)

That's revolting.
I mean ... fucking a ropey-looking dwarf is fair enough.

But drinking HARP? You sick fuck.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 12:06, closed)

I know, I know.
And not just Harp ... Irish Harp.

I thought it made me look worldly.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 12:16, closed)

Oh my God
Just. Wow.

Outstanding.
( Scrumper, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 14:28, closed)

I don't want to click "I like this!"
because, really, I don't. Blegh.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 19:51, closed)

Try living with the memory.
I still can't eat tartare sauce to this day.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 25 Mar 2011, 21:30, closed)

Oh. My. Fuck.
An awful story has been made all the worse for this comment.

And for this Sir, I salute you, and click
( the pink chicken sniffer sniffs pink chickens., Mon 28 Mar 2011, 13:31, closed)

"A cow's long black tongue thrashing around in my mouth."
Fucking brilliant. I feel physically sick, which is always a good sign for QOTW.
(natakins, Tue 29 Mar 2011, 17:41, closed)