Unzipped
Many many moons ago, I was at Uni (why are all the best/worst stories from uni?) in Bristol. The first year, I was in halls. And at Bristol Poly, there were two student villages on the Coldharbour Lane campus. Each village consisted of a bunch of houses with about six students to a house. They all started out as single-sex houses, but that lasted about a day...

Anyway, I was seeing this lass who shared a house with five other girls, one of whom we shall call Kirsty, for that is her name. Kirsty was a bit of a bike, and she did like to get ridden. She also liked her variety, did our Kirsty. She eventually managed to shack up with this hapless loser called Mark. I say "shack up"; "shag more-or-less-exclusively for more than two weeks" would be more accurate.

Anyway, Kirsty was a screamer and a moaner, and she liked to be a bit bossy. One summer's evening, she had her window open, so we could hear everything, as could most of the student village. In fact, the lamp in the girl below's room was swaying and little flakes of Artex and paint were gently falling. Almost christmassy.

Well, during this marathon session, we (in the lounge downstairs) had to turn the telly RIGHT UP so we could sort-of drown her out. Well, eventually the noises from upstairs died out, so we turned the telly down. Just in time to hear a truly blood-curdling scream. Honestly, a true adrenaline-squirter. None of us could tell whether it was male or female, and it wasn't repeated, so we weren't sure where it had even come from.

The next morning, Kirsty's duvet appeared in the bathtub, covered in blood. Having been on the piss the night before, I don't think any of us immediately connected the scream with the duvet, and just assumed that she'd had an "accident" or something. Well, she left the duvet festering in six inches of water for two months 'til it went mouldy, but that's another story.

The TMI bit came a few days later, when we happened upon Mark in the student union bar. At that point we realised that we hadn't seen him around Kirsty for a while, and we just assumed he'd been given the heave-ho. Well, over a pint or two, the whole sordid story came out.

Apparently, their marathon evening of lurve had ended with Kirsty performing a bit of manual upon Mark. Unfortunately, Kirsty was a little too boisterous, and on a downstroke managed to unzip Mark's little man entirely from his helmet (the scream), occasioning much squirty blood (the duvet) and agony whenever he even THOUGHT about getting stiff (his absence).

Then he dropped his kecks and showed us the 22 (yes, 22) stitches that were holding his old chap together.

Apologies for length, but I did ask Mark why he didn't ask for a little "extra" while they had the needle out...
(lustfish, Tue 11 Sep 2007, 1:23, Reply)