Run, run like the wind!
OK. It was a safe number of years ago in a pub in Camden and I was approached at the bar by a very attractive young black girl whose birthday it was. She said that she had noticed that I was on my own and invited me to join her and girl friends at her table. Of course, I accepted and much alcohol was consumed and we flirted outrageously throughout the evening.

At the end of the night she asked me to go back with her to her flat and left her friends to take another cab. Of course, I accepted and the anticipation on the way there was almost unbearable. We got back to hers and undressed with total disregard for foreplay and then we got down to work. After hours of mutual pleasuring (modest, eh?) I pleaded for some kip before passing into a coma-like sleep. When I awoke, she was half dressed, running around the room frantically picking up the rest of her clothes, telling me to GET UP. It was a Saturday morning, I wasn’t working and I had, to quote Withnail, “A bastard behind the eyes”, with no Aspirin in sight. As the sunlight blazed through the window, I asked her what the problem was…

She said, “You have to leave. My husband is coming up the stairs with our kid.”

I hold the world record for the naked, back stairs hangover dash!
(thathitsthemark, Fri 18 Jun 2004, 13:18, Reply)