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My First Gay Experience
by Johnnno Allthwaite.
We was down the Dog and Duck, Big Norman, Harley Charlie, that's the bloke with the 50cc Honda Moped and me and a few other lads drinking Stella and Strongbow like, while we waited for a Lib Dem meeting in the back room to finish so we could meet up with Al and play pool.
Their meeting dragged on like Lib Dem meetings always does, see like if we can't agree we does arm wresting or first double top or tosses a coin, but they just talk, and 'Seek a consensus,' as they says, which is a serious waste of drinking time, anyway by the time Al turned up we could hardly stand up let alone see straight. Anyway Al had half a bottle of cheap Vodka to catch up and we had the rest of the bottle mixed with with Ginger Ale and Britvic Orange, wow. On top of twelve pints or so that tasted so smooth that pretty soon we was floating about a foot above the ground.
I remember Ifor Jones and Gary Segwyn come and joined in and then that Desmond Plannette and Lionel Platt was there asking Al about Affordable Housing as he was about the only Lib Dem councillor as actually knew anyone that lived in a Council house.
There must have been something wrong with the van because we got a lift home with Desmond in his BMW and stopped at his place for a black coffee to sober up.
It all went fuzzy then. I remember saying, "Christ I need a kip," and Desmond said something about a spare room.
I don't remember going upstairs or getting me kit off but I must have and there was these nice clean bed sheets and I fell asleep dreaming of that Pippa Middleton and Lyndsey Lohan.
I remember this great big fluffy cloud floated by with Ann Widdicome's head one end and John Sergeant's the other, that should have started alarm bells clanging but it never registered, and I was warm and safe like you are after twelve pints of Strongbow, lets face it you can be warm and safe lying in a gutter soaked to the skin after what we had had to drink but you know it was all right but it wasn't.
Something were wrong. Me brain started to work but me brain clutch wasn't working and I couldn't get it into gear, Grrrrr, it went as me brain gears grated or was it a warning buzzer buzzing deep in my brain.
I gradually woke up, it was all grey, me head was banging and that, I couldn't figure where I was exactly, and then there was someone else there and I was in bed like and I realised I had me kit off and I was stark bollock naked and there was a hand on me cock, stroking gently. Of course me cock stirred, stiffened, as a finger trailed under me balls, tickling, a hairy finger heading for my ass hole, my ass hole! I woke up really quick, as a rod of ice seemed like it shot down me back, and a wall of fear smacked me in the face.like a bucket of icy cold water.
Smack! me arm lashed out automatic like, and me fist smacked into something solid with a satisfactory cracking sound.
"Fucking hell!" It was a bloke's voice, an old bloke,"What's that for!"
"For that!" I shouted, "What the fuck are you doing!"
"You hit me!" he wailed.
"You fucking groped me!" I pointed out, "What the fuck do you think I am? fucking queer or something?"
"Well you're a Lib Dem aren't you?" he asked.
"No I'm fucking BNP," I insisted, "Al's a Lib Dem not me."
"Fuck!" he said, "Sorry," he said awkwardly, "It's lucky you missed my nose!"
"Still fucking time," I said, "You better fuck off while you can still walk."
"It's my bed!" he protested.
"So," I says, "You can still fuck off, you can sleep in the fucking yard for all I care!"
Fair play he slipped away and left me nursing a bruised fist and a hard on, I thought of Pippa Middleton's ass and then I didn't have a hard on but there was a big sticky patch in Desmond's bed and I went back to sleep.
"Wake up!" the alarm bells was clanging in me mind again. Someone hit the light switch. The light blinded me as I automatically clenched me ass cheeks,just in case, but it was Al, "That cunt tried to bum me!" he said, "We got to get away!"
"Join the fucking club," I said, "I twatted him."
"So did I," Al agreed, "We better fuck off."
"Right," I agreed, as I saw Al wearing a silk dressing gown, "Where's your kit?"
"Where' yours?" he asked.
I looked around, "Fuck knows," I said, "Shit!"
Al opens a wardrobe, it must have been their dressing up room, fucking women's stuff in man's sizes.
"We got to fuck off," Al says again.
"Yeah," I agrees, "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"No fucking way!" Al replied but Lionel was downstairs.
"Police please, I want to report an assault." he witters.
There was a nice blue dress, knee length, the shoes was a bit tight and the two inch heels fucking awkward, and a womens coat what stunk of piss and had a £3 Oxfam label hanging off it.
"You know," Al says, "You could pass for me Grandma dressed like that, she been dead two years!"
He found something, I ain't sure a Miniskirt and tight top was an idea but the red wellingtons was better than the two inch heels I was lumbered with and then he stuck a white doctors coat on and we fucked off.
"Where do you think your," Lionel said before Al twatted him again and he went down like a sack of King Edwards.
"Where the fuck's the van?" I asked as we stumbled into the street.
The world was grey in the early morning light, soft rain hung in the morning mist mingled with smuts from the iron foundry, "Down the fucking pub!" Al says.
"Where the fuck are we?" I asks.
"Well the sun rises in the west," Al says like a pillock.
"East," I says, "Where's the fucking railway?"
"There," says Al, pointing, "Fuck we're fucking miles from our place!"
"Can you run in those wellies?" I asked, "Because it will be fucking light soon and no way do I want any fucker seeing me dressed like this!"
"Too right," Al says, "Come on!" and we legged it.
We managed a hundred yards or so, "Me ankles!" I complained.
"Me nuts are freezing!" Al complained, "How the fuck do birds manage?"
"They don't have nuts?" I suggested.
"Fucking clever dick," Al snorted, "Fancy thumbing a lift?"
"Dressed like this?" I asked, "Get fucking real!"
I chucked the shoes in a bin and ran barefoot, for about twenty yards, only it was fucking agony barefoot so I went and got the shoes again.
"We just got to go for it Johnno," Al insisted, so off we went limping along like those Olympic walkers.
It got worse as we went, more fuckers setting off for work, laughing at us, but the more they laughed the less me ankles hurt and the quicker I sobered up.
It was full daylight when I got home, thank fuck mum and dad was a kip so I sneaked in with the emergency key from the shed and turned in.
Poor old Al wasn't so lucky, he was supposed to meet Sandra when she finished working, she was working Arkwright street between Timothy Whites and Woolies, she's back on the game see since she been with Al, "I need the money," she said, needs a proper shagging more like, Al's a good mate but he ain't premier league when it comes to giving the ladies a portion.
Anyway Sandra really lays into the poor sod and his mum gets up to see what's on and nearly has a heart attack when she sees Al in a tight red Miniskirt with his cock hanging out.
I went round Al's when me head stopped banging around half past two and we went looking for the lads, Big Norman thought it was fucking hilarious but he agreed to come round Desmond's to sort the ponce out so we piled in the van and went round there.
I knocked on the door, Desmond appeared, "That was quick," he said expecting someone else, "Oh I thought!" he said.
"Thought wrong, where's our kit!" I demanded.
"Is that the Police!" Lionel demanded.
"No the fucking Angel of Death if I don't get me kit back," I says.
"You and who's army?" Lionel says like we was kids again or something.
"Mine!" Big Norman announces, "Any arguments?"
"Front room," Desmond says, "In the Harrods bag," so I pushed past and there was me jacket and stuff all mixed up with Al's yuck, his shitty skid marked pants in with with me good shirt.
I checked me wallet, it seemed ok, and handed Al his jacket to check, "You want them taught a lesson Johnno?" Big Norman asks.
"No, plods on its way," I said, "Best fuck off."
Al gunned the motor and we swerved past Desmond's BMW missing it by inches, "Shit that was close," I said.
"Yeah!" Al agreed and hit the brakes, he smashed it into reverse and tried again, wallop! he clouted the side of the BMW with the front of the van, "Better?" he grinned.
"You dented the fucking van!" I exclaimed.
"Getting another," he said, "Failed the MOT," he said, "Months ago, rust and dodgy brakes."
"Fuck!" I said wishing I had walked.
"Still she been a good old girl," he said, "Reliable."
"Fucking rely on it to break down," I said.
"What you getting Al?" Norman asked.
"Another Tranny," Al said, "Long wheelbase so I can get a decent mattress in." he added.
"Fucks sake Al," I said, "Don't mention Trannies after this morning!"
We had a fucking good laugh about that and went down the Flying Horse for a few bevvies.
Word had got round, "What's this about a new Tranny Al?" Tasha the barmaid asked.
"I'm getting a new van," he said.
"Really?" Tasha said as she brought our drinks over and bent down to show her 38 DD cleavage, "Sandra said she wanted you to give her one in that red miniskirt but you wouldn't!"
"Behave!" Al insisted.
"I would have," I says, Tasha was a real knockout, not film star material, but Pippa Middleton's ass, Katie Price's knockers and Ann Widdicomb's face, and you don't look at the face do you?
"Would you Johnno," she says, "Well you come in here with a red miniskirt on and nothing else and you can screw me on the pool table."
"No ta," I said, "It's rough enough already, slopes one way as it is."
"He's gone queer," she confided and she wandered away which pissed me off as I hated bints playing hard to get.
We had a bit of a think, "Fucking queers need straightening out," 'Chalky' Blackburn announced suddenly.
"What's that Chalky?" I asked.
"Fucking tarts on the NHS for queers," Chalky said, "You ought to say about that at Council Johnno."
"What?" I asked.
"Make them screw tarts till they're cured," Al translated from complete bollocks to Al speak, "Sounds like a plan."
"On the NHS?" I asked.
"No get Sandra to do it," Al explained, "She complains she gets cold waiting for punters outside Timothy Whites and that."
Old Sinbad comes over, I never knew his proper name, his lot had the corner shop up Hebden Road, "How you going to do that?" he asks, "There are not enough prostitutes for everyone anyway."
"Put some of your lot on the game?" Chalky said.
"All right behave," I said before Sinbad could smack him, "How about it Al, how about a bit of forced fucking?"
"You can't make them fuck women?" Al said, "Can you?"
"Up the ass with a strap on for a kick off," I suggested.
"Fucking right," Al said, "Here Sandra ordered this huge fucking strap on from Amsterdam, got her inches and meters fucked up, fucking huge it is!"
"Tonight?" I asked.
"Fucking Band's playing at St Giles," Al apologised, "Sorry."
"Tomorrow then?" I asked.
"Footie on the box," we settled on Thursday.
Thursday came and we met up after Band practice around ten, Me, Al, Sandra, Harley Charlie and Big Norman, Chalky and Sinbad bottled it but we had enough.
Al brought the van round, christ you should have seen it, like something out of the eighties, wide arches on a van? a Ford Transit, V6 engine, petrol, two gallons to the mile and four to a pint of oil.
"Where did you get this crap heap from?" I asked.
"Ebay," he said, "It's a classic, look I got a king size mattress inside."
He had but it was bent up at the sides but there was a seat in the back, one if them wood ones from a garden centre screwed down with wood screws.
We piled in, Norman in front on account of his size, the rest of us in the back, but at least the seat faced backwards, so we wasn't going to fly off it when we crashed.
"You got the tools?" I asked.
"Sledge hammer, and you got the drill?" Al replied.
"Strap on?" I asked and Sandra pointed to the oversize handbag she was carrying and giggled.
"Right wagins roll!" I shouted and they looked at me like I was an idiot.
Al set off carefully till we was past the speedbumps and then nailed it we must have been hitting twenty nine miles an hour at times with that stupid V6 engine howling like a boiled Chihuahua we only got fifty yards before the plod gave us a tug.
"Oh," Pc Tony Mulholland said, "It's you."
"Yeah, got a new one," Al said, "Classic V6 petrol, goes like a bomb!"
"Boom," we all said together.
"Tax," he asked, "Insurance."
"In the post, and can't afford it," Al admits.
"License," Tony asks.
"He hasn't got a dog!" I added.
"Rumour has it you're straightening out queers now," Tony says.
"Yep, that's where we're off now," I says.
"Go compare," says Tony, "They does some good deals on classic insurance, or Lancaster Insurance," he says, "Anyway were keeping an eye on you all right?"
"Right," we agrees, and Al does a racing start like Lewis Hamilton except we got four wheels on not three and he only nearly stalls it, "Yee Ha!" Al laughs and he keeps the throttle floored and winds the old wreck up through the gears, actually it didn't go too badly if I'm honest, but maybe hammering along at seventy in a thirty limit with a Police car following behind wasn't the best way to look for a house in the dark but we found Desmond's place eventually after a few false starts, the mangled BMW sort of gave it away so we parked up and I banged on the door.
"Oi Desmond," I shouted, "Get your bent ass down here!"
The window above the doorway opened, "Go away!" he hissed, "I have company."
"You got bloke up there?" I asked.
"Yes, go away," he whispered in a stage whisper.
"Well too fucking bad!" I replied, "You opening the door or are we fucking kicking it in?"
"No, go away!" he hissed, "You'll wake the neighbours."
Some hopes, most of them was looking out their windows and doors already to see what the row was.
"Ugh, what is it," a sleepy male voice groaned, "Desmond?"
"BNP anti gay squad Lionel," Desmond chuckled, "Nothing to worry about."
I gave the cordless drill a bit of a rev up, "You coming down or we coming up?" I asked.
"Don't be ridiculous!" he sneered.
"You're fucking ridiculous!" I told him, "Give the door a tap Al!"
"Johnno, I'm getting cold," Sandra wails.
"Oh give it a rest," I said, "I told you to wear something under that mini skirt!".
"You drilling the lock Johnno or am I smashing the fucker down?" Al says.
"What you reckon Dessie?" I asks, "Lock fucking drilled out or sledge hammer?"
"I'll call the police!" Desmond threatened.
"Evening all," PC Tony Mulholland greeted him from the shadows, "Better make it quick only we're on our break."
"We have to have half an hour break, health and safety," Sergeant Fforbes agreed, "So get on with it Allthwaite, pull your finger out lad."
"Black and Decker," I tells Al but fucking Desmond is wailing at us.
"All right,"Desmond agrees, "I'll let you in, just a minute, don't do anything stupid!"
He went away from the window and pretty soon the downstairs light was on and he was unlocking the door.
"What do you Ugh!" he said as I pushed past.
"Show him Sandra," I said.
"What?" she asked.
"Yer cunt you daft cow," Al says, "And that strap on."
"What!" Desmond gasped wide eyed ad Sandra pulled up her skirt to show her rather stubbly and well fucked pubes.
"It's what's called a woman and it's designed to be fucked by a bloke," I said pointedly, "Not like a bloke what was designed for fucking women and that what with it having a cock and that."
"Dear god preserve is from you Philistines!" Desmond pleaded.
"Button it!" I said and gave the drill a rev again, "Now Sandra said she'll give you fucking lessons at a ton a throw," I said, "Each."
"Now hang on!" Desmond pleaded.
"Fuck you," I said, "You tried to fucking rape me," I added, "You're fucking dangerous you cunt, you needs sorting out."
"It was a mis-understanding," Desmond said, "I thought you were Lib Dem!"
"We're not all fucking bent!" Al said.
"Well you're the only one as I know what isn't!" I reminded him.
"What about Prescott!" Al countered.
"He's Labour," I replied, "Lets straighten this cunt out and worry who's fucking bent some other time."
"Do you want a fuck or not?" Sandra asked slightly drunkenly, although she only had four two litre bottles of Tesco value brand Cider all night.while Me and Al had stuck to the Stella version called 'Cidre.' The French never was no good at spelling.
"No ta," Al said.
"Not you, that cunt," I said pointing at Desmond.
"What's going on!" Lionel asks as he comes down stairs, maybe the corset and black stockings wasn't too bright as a wardrobe choice as his prick was making a tent pole for his tiny white panties.
"Shit Johnno he's a fucking Tee Vee," Al exclaimed.
"We knew that," I reminded him, "See who wears the trousers," I said motioning at Desmond who wore striped pyjamas and whose cock had just hove into view through his flies at half mast as Lionel appeared.
"No way am I sucking that!" Sandra said as she peered at Desmond's cock which was still smeared with brown around the root from their last session.
"Go home!" Lionel demanded and he strode up to me, "Go home you Neanderthal!" he said in my face so I decked him, smack, upper cut to the chin and down in one.
"Lionel!" Desmond screamed, "Is he all right, don't just leave him there," he whined.
"No," Al agreed, "Better chuck him out with the trash!"
"Too right," I agreed.
"Ung!" Lionel says, "What happened?"
"Upper cut," I said, "Stay down keep stum!"
"You want to fuck or not?" Sandra says.
"No!" Desmond says, "I don't want to!"
"His gob says no but his cock says yes," Sandra said, "Look at that fucking hard he's got on."
"Rather not if you don't mind," I replied
"It's got a tide mark," Sandra says, "Filthy bugger!"
"So rubber him up you daft cow," I suggested all friendly like.
"Oh," she said, "I suppose."
"Go on then," I said, "Up the wooden stairs to Bedfordshire!"
Desmond looked at me and looked at Al as he stood there with the sledge hammer, "Look lets just talk about this." he says.
"Look," I says, "We're doing you a big favour Dessie."
"He's fucking paying or I ain't doing it!" Sandra insisted.
"Of course he's fucking paying," Al insisted.
Desmond sets off up the stairs and Sandra follows, I motioned to Al and we went through to the kitchen and Al lit up a smoke;
"Johnno," Sandra shouts after a bit, "He says he don't fancy me and says he'll pay twenty quid if we fuck off."
Al sets off out the door and I followed him up the stairs and along to Dessie's bedroom, Sandra sat on the bed with her skirt round her waist slowly wanking herself with four fingers of her left hand jammed up inside her stubbly cunt. Desmond stared at her, his cock tent-poling his pyjamas, as his resolve crumbled and his curiosity took over.
"For gods sake rubber up and give her one," I says, "Or we'll be here all night."
"Look," he says, "Please!" and Sandra stands up and pulls her top off and unhooks her bra and lets it flop on the floor.
"You want to suck my titties?" she asks.
"No!" Desmond says but his cock says yes and Sandra walks across to him and grabs his cock in her hand, "No please!" he says.
"Lets stick a rubber on and then we can do something really nice," Sandra says and she takes a Durex and rolls it on his cock like an expert as it pokes from his Pyjamas, and then she unties the cord and lets the PJ trousers fall to the ground.
"You know you want to," she husks and she lays back on the bed and drags Desmond after her by his cock.
"No!" he says but Sandra has guided his cock between her pussy lips and in a moment of madness, or so Desmond tried to claim later, Desmond shoved his cock deep inside her.
To be continued, Probably not.
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