

Luckily for me she was up for it too and one bleak and miserable evening I was round hers playing on the Spectrum and things heated up somewhat. Now you know when it’s sex time, it’s like a second sense us guys have when we are getting it on and it doesn’t matter how good the fore play is we instinctively know if it’s gonna head to the deed. Well this was one of them times and I was ready, she was ready and the condoms I nicked out of my dads drawer were definitely ready.
So there we were getting it on in a bedroom covered in more cuddly toys than a coconut throwing stall at a Pikey fair. Vast pink walls plastered with some rather off-putting posters of Bros, Michael Jackson and Rick Astley staring down at me. Despite our mute audience of celebrity gayness the fire in the bed was raging out of control and it was time to sink the submarine for the very first time and boy did it go in with a whollop.

So without going into vulgar details I gave her the fattest cream pie and stood up to view my first sexual master piece. Now I weren’t a sex expert but I had watched enough Peter North porn to know that moocow’s dribble when you’ve poked em in the eye, but this one was as dry as a bone and to say I was confused was an understatement.

From that day on me and Tracey were good mates and it’s remained a secret that every now and then puts a smile on my face, but only because we had a rematch ten years later proving myself with a grade A performance. Something tells me if I hadn’t had the chance of a replay I would have had a phobia of pillow cases for a very long time.
And I never got my brown wings either… dammit!
Ha, great story.