Friday, 24 January 2014


How not to make mistakes

Vol 9 First time sex

Note to offspring:  Best not to read this

First off, to clarify, this was not my first time but I hoped it was to be our first time. 

The object of my affection, read lust, was my boss, an affable, kind man who elicited no work whatsoever out of his team since my arrival in it.  Rather, I would sit around Manchester Airport looking somewhat, I imagined Cinderella-esque, with a cloth in my hand, protesting innocently that I had, once again forgotten my sandwiches whereupon said boss would instantly whip out two beautifully crafted tuna barms.  Ah bliss.

I liked him as a friend for a long time before my attention wandered to his crotch.  Lying in an airport storage cupboard one afternoon, carrying something or other, he urged me to retrieve a key from his pocket, during which procedure he elicited several loud, long mock groans and wriggled around fairly convincingly.  I was hooked and filed him in quite a different cabinet in my brain.   

Now, the boss, being of a different generation, was, for me a child of the sixties, somewhat slow on the uptake and I resorted to fantasizing about him daily for the ensuing weeks all the while plotting his inevitable seduction.

Finally, he called round to the flat with my pay packet and I seized the opportunity, offering him in for a Stella and a chat. 

Two hours later and bloated with beer, found me suggesting somewhat desperately but eager to move things on (the shame) – an arm wrestle.  Affable as he was, he concurred and it went remarkably well with a fair amount of merriment … but no moves.  Hmm.  Quite determined and feigning excess heat from arm wrestling, I left to change into an outfit that in my world at least, would finally seal the deal.

And so, I flung open the lounge door, clad in sheer barely-there fabric and tossed my now loose, freshly sprayed locks and, with a sultry wink for full effect, took a step toward him whereupon instantly a resounding rasp announced itself stridently from my backside.  Please God that didn’t really happen.  I stood for what seemed an eternity to gather myself.   Puce now, I took a deep breath and three more small pin steps forwards and mother of all horrors three tight staccato squeaks ricocheted accordingly from behind.  We locked eyes for one utterly humiliating moment before I turned and ran for it, fiendish farts marking out every single stride.