T’other day I was having a quiet drink with a couple of friends, when ‘Dave’ (name changed to protect the innocent guilty) told us this story:

He used to use chatrooms a bit (as you do), and got chatting to a lass from Grimsby (I think with retrospect, the clue is in the name…). They chatted, got on well, and the lass suggested she come down to town and they meet up.

Now Dave is a man of his word and told her “If you come down here, I guarantee you will get a shag.” And so she came down – with a friend. Dave had arranged to meet her (and her friend) in a local pub, along with his mate ‘Terry’ (also guilty).

I cannot describe the look of pain in Dave’s eyes as he told us that watching her get out of the car was like watching a loaf of bread rise from a far too small tin. But he’s a man of his word. And in his local. With his mates.

One of his mates came over, put his hand on Dave’s shoulder, looked straight at the Grimsby bird, and said, “Dave, you’re a bigger man than I could ever be…have this.” and dropped a Viagra in his hand.

So, after a few drinks, Dave and Terry, along with the 2 Grim(sby) birds got in a taxi and sped off to the local Premier Inn. Getting in her room, the first thing Dave noticed while she was in the toilet was 2 vibrators, a whip and a pair of handcuffs. “Fuck that.” he thought, “I’m not having them…” so he hid the cuffs.

Godzilla came out of the toilet naked, and Dave started looking for a window, but being a man of his word, he thought “Oh well…” and proceeded to give her what she wanted…

The details are indelibly marked in my mind, but for the life of me I cannot recall them to write down here – but it involved this woman DEAD LIFTING him by his chest, throwing him to the floor and riding him like Red Rum.

In the morning, he looked around – the room was a wreck – lamp was crushed, long table had come away from the wall, chocolate body paint all up the wall. Coming out of the room, he met up with Terry, who’d had a great night with the other woman.

They all jumped into a taxi to go back to the pub so the girls could pickup their car. Back in the pub, the landlady (who knew Dave quite well) said “what’s that?” pointing to his neck. “What?” said Dave, puzzled. “Take off your shirt.” she said. So Dave slowly undid his shirt to show masses of scratches and bruises. His grim bird sank to her knees in the bar, laughing like a loon. Landlady looked at her with the kind of look you give an Arsenal fan, and said “You! get out, and don’t come back…” And so Dave and Terry waved the girls off, with Dave muttering “Fuck off…fuck off…fuck off…”

I’ll get him to read this and will add details.