House of horrors
I can’t finish on a downer.

About a year or so before the last tale, I was on my way home from an evening shift and, as I passed my local, nipped in to get some cigarettes. Because I knew and couldn’t stand most of its denizens, it was a place I would normally avoid like the plague but, as it happened, there were a couple of guys there who I’d been at school with so I stayed for a drink.

They were chatting to an older woman, in her forties but pretty good-looking, with great cleavage. By the time we left the pub, an hour and two drinks later, I was convinced, even in my usual ignorance of such matters, that she had the hots for me. Unfortunately she’d flirted to the same extent with my two companions so when she invited us back to hers for a drink we were all convinced we were in.

She kept going on about her friend at home – “You must come back and meet her, she’ll really like you.” So that meant two of us were probably OK – but which two? No-one was giving in. The walk back to hers consisted of behind-the-back whispers like: “Fuck off home, will you?” and ‘No - you fuck off. I’m the one that’s in.’ Pathetically comical.

We get back to hers, no-one there. She gets us a drink, her friend will be back soon. Five minutes later there are footsteps outside and the door opens. All three of us look round expectantly and our collective hearts sink like the Titanic.

There stands the biggest, butchest girl I have ever seen to this day. Not overly tall but broad-shouldered to extremes – in fact, she looked like a fucking weightlifter. And not at all unattractive, had she not been so fucking solid. She stood there and surveyed the room. Older Woman smirked and introduced us, then said: ‘What do you think?’

The weightlifter took a pull of her roll-up, in a way that lacked any kind of femininity whatsoever – pinched between finger and thumb, snatched out of her mouth just as she took a drag. She looked us up or down and I felt like a condemned man waiting for the drop. Then she said: ‘The one wi’t ‘tache in’t bad,’ stomped across the room and plonked herself on the sofa next to Gary, whose luxuriant upper-lip growth visibly wilted in her presence.

Older Woman asked her where she’d been and she mentioned a pub that was notorious in the locale. You didn’t go there without a visa, written permission and, preferably, armed guards if you weren’t a regular. She, as it turned out, was.

There followed a bizarre ten minutes during which she tried to engage Gary in conversation. ‘Y’alright, love?’ ‘Live round ‘ere, do yer?’ during which she kept jumping up and looking out of the window at the road outside. Older Woman asked her what she was doing. ‘Oh, just waitin' for so-and-so, 'e’ll be passin' in a minute.’ And, sure enough, a few minutes later we heard footsteps outside and she went out.

Through the open door we heard her say: ‘Eh – fuckin’ come ‘ere, you’, followed by the sound of several punches and exclamations of pain. She came back in dusting her knuckles in her palm. ‘Fuckin’ told ‘im I’d ‘ave ‘im, the cunt,’ she said. We didn’t dare ask who or why.

Back to Gary, who is now a figure of abject terror and can’t push himself back any further into the sofa without getting a spring up his arse. After a few minutes he asked where the toilet was. ‘Through there,’ she nodded to the downstairs loo, getting her tobacco and rizlas out.

We carried on chatting, slightly more relaxed now we knew who her target was. Five minutes passed. ‘E’s a long time, in’t ‘e?’ she said – then a minute or so later she went to see if he’s all right.

She came back in to the room, thunder on her brow. ‘Don’t think much of yer mate,’ she said. ‘E’s fucked off.’ And when I looked over her shoulder, I could see the wide open back door, next to the toilet, evidence of the running away. I heard much later he jumped two garden fences to escape.

Disgruntled, she decide she was going to bed. Alone. And that’s when the fun really started, because neither Neil or I was willing to give in to the other. Despite Older Woman going upstairs and coming back down in a see through top, displaying nipples that were indeed like chapel hat pegs, she got so pissed off with the pair of us that she threw us out twenty minutes later. We walked home, bickering, but in some ways relieved. We’d seen her tits, after all...
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Thu 26 Mar 2015, 11:46, Reply)