Never trust the 'phone voice...
Oh God, I've done it. I've actually done it. Clearly, I crave attention.

How about something that's vaguely on-topic?

Many, many moons ago - while all of this were still fields and a lad could get a bottle of pop and a chocolate bar out of a pound and still have enough change to buy half of Yorkshire - an eighteen-year-old Devil was working bar in rural Essex.

One sunny summer's afternoon, a friend and regular of mine came in to the bar, and sat down, looking pale and shaken. After ordering a pint of finest, and drinking healthily of it, I felt brave enough to inquire as to what was making my punter look so ashen.

"Well mate," spake he, his voice sounding hollow and somewhat inhuman "I met this girl, y'see..."

Turns out that Frankie (which we'll call this guy as everyone else was doing it) had been on the 'phone to Vodafone, about something or other. Anyway, he and the lady on the other end of the 'phone get talking, and she (unbelievably!) says that she was depressed because she'd put a lonely heart out in the local paper, and hadn't had any responses. Frankie thinks to himself that's a tragic tale, and takes it upon himself to ride (as it were) to this damsels aid. He figures that she sounds nice, so why not go for it? He suggests, playfully, that they should meet.

Within seconds, she has a date in the diary and sounds like Frankie has just made her day, week, month and year. She's taken his mobile number so they can keep contact during the 2 weeks until they get to finally meet.

She then proceeds to text him. On the half hour. Every half hour. And if he didn't reply, she would get hysterical and phone him every 10 minutes until he answered, whether he was working or not.

Just when he's thinking about changing his number, or leaving the country, the Big Day comes around. For reasons still as yet unexplained (nearly 10 years later), he went to Birmingham to meet her.

And this is where the story takes a twist. He is stood at New Street (I imagine with a red carnation or something), and then gets a tap on the shoulder. He turns around, and is met with a (in his words) "mountain" who looks gleefully happy to see him. Her opening line is "I've booked a hotel, are you coming?" and then turns to sashay (wobble) seductively (slowly) away.

It's as this point Frankie became sketchy on detail. It seems he went to the hotel with this lady, and it also seems that they each hopped on to their good feet and did the bad thing. He even said that it was some of the most energetic, playful and downright good sex he had ever had.

So why the ashen face? He'd woken up from the glow of post-coital sleep, to find the girl rimming him.

So, it wasn't so much about how Frankie went down the rabbit hole, but more about how she went up his Warren...
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Mon 17 Sep 2007, 11:33, Reply)