Something for the Weakened

This Contains No Scenes Of A Sexual Nature & One Use Of Horrible Language

Sunday, September 15th, 2013 by Alastair

So I was in a bar a few days back. Not the kind of establishment I’d normally frequent, but it was someone’s birthday. A pleasant evening was had. Eventually the bar closed. Eleven o’clock, maybe midnight – it was a school night and hardly anywhere stays open much later in this one horse town. Nevertheless, a small group of us decided to try and find somewhere else open. Trudging off away from town, it soon became clear that nowhere was available for proper late night boozing. The girl one of our number suggested that we head back to hers, as it was pretty close by. My bike was back by the bar we’d just left, so I thought I might just head home (home being at the other end of town). She said that she had gin. I was swayed (though not swaying).

The four of us wandered up the hill to the place she apparently shares with some other humans (though none of them were to be seen during all the time I was there). We piled in and sat in the small living room, chatting and shooting the shit for a while. I was sat next to the girl one. She produced a bottle of supermarket own brand whiskey and passed it around. I declined at first, pointing out that it would taste appalling, but was eventually cajoled into taking a swig. It tasted appalling. At some point the girl one pulled out a duvet and draped it over the pair of us on the two-person sofa. Gears turned in my head. Sums were done. “She’s attractive. I’m lonely, desperate and pathetic. Perhaps…”

The first of the boy ones left about twoish. The remaining male entity had been the last man standing just prior to one of my previous extremely rare sexual successes, so when he got up to leave, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was some kind of talisman. Would it be worth my while to try and get hold of him every time I happened to be having a nice chat with a lady? The girl one escorted the last boy one to the door, leaving me under the duvet (under which, I must state, nothing had happened). It was around half two. I had no plots, or schemes. I have no moves. There had been talk of a boyfriend and I had no intention of cuckolding some random stranger (who I’d probably end up knowing anyway, what with the small town nature of this place). I was merely intrigued to see how things would play out.

Through the light whiskey haze (I may have had a few more swigs, as the gin was not forthcoming), I tuned into the conversation coming from the hallway. The last boy one had pointed out the fact that as he lived in an outlying town and what with it being late and a school night, that the buses would have long since stopped. That he’d probably have to get a cab home for a reasonably hefty sum. After walking into town, probably a stroll of half an hour, forty-five minutes. At this, the girl one quite rightly invited him to stay the night at hers. My heart slumped a little, as any sexy prospects dissipated from my mind, but no matter thought the rational brain. Nothing was ventured, nothing is lost. I could easily go back for the bike, get home and still get a few hours shuteye before the next morning’s work. Perhaps I’d even have acted as the talisman for the last boy one and we’d be able to alternate our system of mutually assured puss destruction. *

The pair of them re-entered the lounge, but did not take seats. The girl one suggested that the three of us should go up stairs. She did not specify why. As I ascended those three flights, I can’t recall what thoughts roamed through my head. Perhaps she wanted to show us something interesting. Could it be possible that I’d accidentally stumbled into a slightly creepy swingers situation. Maybe this was where she kept the gin. At the top of the house, she ushered us into a bedroom and, standing in the doorway, informed us that this was where we, the two boy ones would be sleeping. In a big double bed together.

I said that no, I’d be fine cycling home.

She told me that, no, I wouldn’t be and that I would be sleeping here.

This back and forth continued for some time, with some variations, but with the same stoic, immovable stances taken by both of us. She told me that she was worried for my safety, that walking back to my bike and then cycling home could result in my injury or death. I informed her that it was something I had done on many occasions before, with almost no previous scathing. This argument cycled around a few times, neither of us backing down. I seem to recall that the boy one chipped in at some point, possibly with a suggestion of top and tailing, though I could not say for certain. Eventually I decided that my life would be easier if I were to just go back downstairs and ready myself for departure. I tried to slip past her standing in the doorway.

She blocked my path.

I tried again.

I was blocked once more.

She then proceeded to stand in that doorway, refusing me exit, for what must have been between three and five minutes. I tried quick leaps past, but she was quicker than I. Pushing did not seem to work either, firmly lodged in the frame as she was. At one point I raised my voice and was shushed, so as to not to wake the other sleeping residents. I complied – I am not a monster – but continued to state my case that I would be fine to leave and probably be more comfortable not being kept prisoner. She continued to argue that I wouldn’t be safe and would really be better off sharing the bed with the other boy one while she kipped on the sofa. Towards the end of the squabble I grasped the lintel of the doorway, hoisted myself off the floor and tried to clamber over her. This only resulted in my wrapping my legs around her hips and an unsuccessful attempt to rotate my body around hers so that I might make my escape.

Finally she conceded the point that I’d probably be okay getting home and would allow me to leave, under the proviso that I send her a text as soon as I got home. I agreed to this, we went downstairs and I prepared myself for the ride back. It was at this point that I explained the times that I hadn’t got home unscathed (the fractured jaw, the mild concussion), as a fairly ungallant expression of annoyance at what had gone on before. She did not attempt to stop my departure again. We exchanged numbers and I left the two of them in the house to their own devices. I got home forty-five minutes later, following a journey devoid of incident. I sent a text before I crawled into bed. It mentioned the fact that there was no gin in my house either.

We’ve not had any phone contact since. I have seen both boy and girl ones about following that night, but have never had the gall to ask what went on following my departure. The girl one did thank me for the text message. We did not discuss the doorway and what plans she might have had if she’d managed to keep the two boy ones in a bed together for a night. There was a lock on that door, so perhaps it would have been for even longer. Maybe she was planning on having us breed together. What a mighty talisman that would have produced.

* Please can I assure everyone that I am horribly ashamed of myself for writing those four words. I have no defence apart from the fact they made me laugh out loud at quite how horrible the combination sounds. I am a vile human being.

One Response to “This Contains No Scenes Of A Sexual Nature & One Use Of Horrible Language”

  1. Lucky Escape says:

    Human centipede?

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