All hope is lost!
Twas the day of Fri in the good town of my abode, when two of my workmates (Borris & Henry, let's call them for this story to protect the innocent) inform me of a plan to go out and take our Fred, as it's his birthday.
Now the thing about Fred is he has never got laid in his thirty-something years of his lonely existence, but it’s not for lack of wanting – oh no no no! He’s got porn screensavers, desktop-background, calendar, and even a novelty drinks-mat in the shape of a clit. The problem is that frankly (and, to use a Blackadder quote), he’s wetter than a haddock's bathing costume, and finds talking to women utterly frightening!
I could go on about Fred, and how some of the girls wind him up with fake “dates” etc, but I better not. That’s enough about Fred for now.

So, back to the story again, and we take him out on the town as he’s essentially a good lad, and we like him. The night goes well, and we slowly transform from lowly IT guys into our ninja callings for the night as the pints go down, as is the case every Friday/Saturday, and the conversation gets louder & louder.
After the conversation gets to a certain level of laddishness (mostly sharing experiences of various carnal acts with various women using a/some/none tools to do the job), and we notice the conversation is getting randier and randier (Fred inputting the least here). Suddenly, a light-bulb turns on above Borris’s head – “let’s get Fred laid for the first time ever!”. “Genius!” says we, and offer to pay for it too.

The thing is, we needed a sure winner for Fred – nothing else was satisfactory, as even the most liberal of meat-markets was still nowhere near a guaranteed win for our Fred. Nay, we needed a whore-house and nothing short of it.

As it happened, there was one but 20 mins taxi-ride away in an area that had quite an active night-life anyway should he falter at the last moment, so off we went. We get to this place (not openly a whore-house, but pretty blatantly), and the deal is basically that you go into this bar area with music, dark lighting etc, and you pick one of the ladies that just “happened to be there, with no-one else”. There’s basically no-one else there, other than customers & ‘vendors’ (not sure that’s the word, but still)
Now, we get in this place, and fuck me – all the ladies there are stunning and looking very dangerous. Stunning latinos mainly, dressed in small low-cut black dresses. If you pulled one of these honeys on a normal night, you’d think you’ve won the world cup, so suddenly, everyone’s up for some action tonight, not just Fred any more.

So anyway, we wait, and it doesn’t take too long before (completely unexpectedly), we surrounded by a pack of the finest ass Spain has to offer – and one by one the boys start talking to one of them, and they disappear to get their brains fucked out. Even Fred.

Now, I hasten to point out, that at this point, that on principal I don’t pay for sex, so I didn’t join in the preceding events (honest), but I was willing to wait around to see how Fred fared out of sheer curiosity. At this point I disappeared to the bar, chatted a bit to the barman, and fucked off home.

Next day at work, and we’re all discussing the previous Friday’s activities. “How was it?” asks I. “Very good” replies he, and procedes to give me way too much info about ‘how good it was’.

The crux of this story is basically the preceding conversation:
Me: “What about you, Fred?”
Fred: “Yeah, it was allright.”
Borris: “What? Allright? We paid €90 for that bird, and it was just ‘allright’?”.
Me: “Was she any good?”
Fred: “Dunno”
Borris: “Don’t know? What the fuck were you doing in there? Playing chess?!”
Fred: “Well, nothing really. Just talking”

….

It turns out he got too nervous and couldn’t do it, so just chatted.
She was only too willing to oblige as she was only on €90 for two hours either way.

Yes, that’s right, a fucking 90 euro-an-hour chat was all he managed. On our bill too. There is no hope for Fred.


Length? She never saw an inch.
( slippery doctore, Fri 27 Oct 2006, 20:06, Reply)