couple of years ago
the bloke and i were pissed and horny waiting for a cab or nightbus or anything that didn't involve me walking in heels.

it was about 3am and there were no cabs in sight. so we started snogging, and soon enough we were pressed hard and fast up against the wall of the doorway of a big shop on regent street (that may be famous for its beige and red check pattern). i slithered drunkenly to my knees and unzipped him. all was going well; he was loving it, i was loving it, and someone thoughtful had even left a few rugs on the step so that my knees weren't hurting...

and then it happened. one second he was on the vinegars, telling the world that he was coming; the next, the smooth, hard courgette in my mouth was shrivelling fast into a button mushroom. the moaning had also turned into a rather terrified whimpering.

i spat out the mushroom and turned round. glaring and swearing incoherently at us was a huge and filthy tramp, the kind that london specialises in, so wrapped up in newspapers and many layers of clothes, that he was about 6 feet wide. and he was seriously unimpressed. the bloke posted his now tiny cock back into his trousers, and we ran back down regent street, sparkly heels or not. and as we did, the tramp's final curse rang out as clear as a bell:

"how would you like it if i fucked in YOUR bed?"
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sat 25 Apr 2009, 15:18, 1 reply)

He does have a point though.
.
( girlinthehole, Sat 25 Apr 2009, 20:21, closed)