My First Lesbian Experience
It was late. It was raining. And dark. And cold.
The sound of the folk group wafted down the street from the Flying Horse as I nibbled at something that might once have been a cod before it was cremated and sealed in cardboard flavoured yellow concrete and stuffed in newspaper with slices of raw potato.
I opened the pub door as the north eats premier (and only) Lesbian anti Pedophile band Boris and the Pedos sang.
“String the buggers up”
“String the buggers up”
“There’s nothing as vile as a pedophile, so string the buggers up!” An audience of three skin heads and an old codger who mistook it for dominoes night sat there bored out their skulls.
“All right Johnno?” Boris the lead singer shouted as her band rested between numbers.
Nearly bald, five five over twenty stone, squeezed into extra large jeans three sizes too small with a leather jacket what had probably been old when the first world war was on she was the sort of butch lesbian who got butch lesbians a bad name.
Mind you the way she liked fucking convicted pedos up the ass with a sledge hammer handle made me wonder whether she actually was a lesso. She had cracking bass baritone voice though, pity she was tone deaf.
“Not so bad, how’s it going?” I asked.
“Not so bad,” she said, “Any favorites?”
“Bit of poetry?” I suggested, “The gallows tree?”
“Sit thee down, and rest awhile.”
“And watch the lonely pedophile.” I started
“As swaying gently in the breeze, he dangles from the gallows tree!” she finished, ah that’s poetry.
“You can’t bring food in here,” Sandra the barmaid shouted.
“Its from the kebab shop, I don’t reckon it counts as food,” I moaned.
“Them fucking cunts hates us,” Harley Charlie, the moped riding chief skinhead announced, “They ought to fuck off back where the come from.”
“Where fucking Oldham?” his mate asked.
“Who gives a fuck, lets have a sing song, that old one,” he said drunkenly, ”White Cliffs of Dover!”
“We’ll chuck Pedos over, the White Cliffs of Dover,tomorrow just you wait and see.”
“We’ll get all them bastards and chuck the rest over after,” I suggested, “Then we’ll be fucking Pedo free!”
“You got the words Johnno?” Boris asked.
“No I just fucking made it up, Jesus fucking christ.” I replied.
“Make a cracking record,” Charlie said, and he stood up, “Need a shit, get the drinks in Nobber.”
“Why the fuck do I always get to get the drinks in?” Nobber asked.
“‘Cause your on benefits, no one else got any cash?” I suggested.
“Fucking hard work, benefits, having to remember to fucking limp.” Nobber said, but no one gave a fuck.
“What you having Johnno?” Sandra asked.
“Anal?” I suggested.
“To drink not later you filthy bastard!” Sandra retorted and Boris flashed me a black look, she must have thought she had pulled.
“Rats piss,” I said.
“You can have one Stella ‘cause I know what your like after a few pints eh Mr Floppy!” Sandra laughed.
“All fucking right, it was only once.” I stammered as me face went bright red, “Ever ready me.”
“Fuck anything anything any time?” John Hunt the bookie from Matson street walked out the bog and started taunting me. Hunt the Cunt as we called him.
“Long as its over 18, and has a cunt and a pulse,” I protested.
“Like a cow?” he laughed.
“Technically they has a vestibule not a cunt,” I said using my superior intellect gained from watching pointless fucking game shows and similar crap on pointless fucking daytime TV.
“Her then,” he said pointing at Boris.
“Fuck off she’s a fucking Lesso.” I said supportively.
“Fifty quid says you can’t.” He suggested.
“Fifty quid each?” Boris asked.
“Two hundred, make it five!” Hunt the Cunt taunted.
“Christ,” Boris said, “I could use a few quid as it happens.”
“Oh for fucks sake,” Hunt sighed, “I was taking the piss.”
“We heard,” Harley Charlie chuckled, “What you reckon Johnno?”
“Yeah, why not, I’m up for it.” I lied. Jesus it would be halfway to turning fucking gay. Fucking a fat bald geezer even if it did have a cunt somewhere under the ugly great folds of belly skin.
“This I just got to see!” Sandra said. What I didn’t know was she texted all her mates and said to come round and watch.
“So what’s your game?” Nobber asks Hunt the Cunt.
“Just like to see Lesbos sorted out,” he sniggered.
“Wants a share of the CCTV rights more like,” I sighed knowing half of Saudiafuckingrabia had seen my ass bobbing around on some porn channel streamed from the CCTV as I gave Sandra a portion one night after lock up.
“Lads what do you take me for?” Hunt asked.
“Money grabbing cunt,” Harley Charlie said nicely.
“Yeah well making money’s me hobby ennit?” Hunt laughed, “Go on. I’ll make it a grand each.”
“I dunno,” I said, “What you reckon Boris?”
“If your up for it I am.” she said, “I need the cash.”
“Getting up for its the problem,” I thought to me self as I tried to shut me eyes and think of England, or actually that scene in Nippon Porno Farm three where the Jap girls all strip off on the parade ground and start doing exercises until the blokes start fucking them.
It was no good, me cock did a passable impersonation of a French S Cargo (Snail).
“In the back room?” I suggested.
“Lock the door Sandra,” Hunt suggested.
“Fuck that me mates is coming,” Sandra explained.
“Oh fucking jesus.” I thought.
“Right lets do one more set of can buy me love,” Boris called as she twanged a horrible row from her authentic Chinese Scatocaster Guitar, It might have worked better if she had noticed it was for 120 volts not 240 but reading and thinking were not exactly her strong points.
“Buy me a Diamond ring you cunt and you can sleep with me tonight.”
“Stick it up me bum you cunt and I’ll make it all seem right.
“Cause all I want is,” “Lots of money and Money can buy me love,”
“Can buy me luh-uv,”
she wailed.
Poor old Macker Lennon must have been turning in his pit.
Actually the pub was filling nicely.
Boris was starting another set.
“Tie a fucking pedo round the old oak tree
If he fucking dies its all right by me.”
“Who writes this shit?” Hunt asked.
I never admitted anything, “Its satire,” I said.
“Fucking racist,” he said shaking his head.
“Across the sea, where all the priests are pedophiles,”
“Celibate means the fucking lot are gay.” Boris warbled to what might well have been supposed to be the tune to “Danny Boy.”
“Christ sake Johnno she’ll be on the racist crap next do something!” Sandra hissed in me lug hole as the pub filled with her mates.
I stepped up to the mike, I got a half decent voice, well it was ok till it broke, sort of split down the middle more like, when me balls dropped. “You all know this one,” I shouted and started singing a crapello, that means on me tod.
“The Dew on the meadow, the mist on the stream.
The river runs down to the sea.”
“We gather together to greet the dawn
and England belongs to me.”
Boris’s mate crashed in a few random chords on Bass Guitar which was handy because I started far too high
“So bugger the spaniards and bugger the frogs, and bugger the old EEC
The whole fucking Eurozone can get stuffed ’cause England belongs to me.”
“Italians are pedopiles so are the krauts, the polish have all got VD
So lets get and build an atomic bomb and blow them to buggery.”
“And blow them to Bug, and blow them to Bug,”
“And blow them to bug er ree!” I finished as a solo and then tried to make a run for it.
“Bloody hell that was fucking brilliant!” this pissed up tart with DD tits and blonde hair straight out of a spray can who might have passed for 25 on a dark night where you couldn’t see the wrinkles under her eyes cooed as she pressed her tits against me.
Suddenly S Cargo turned to frankfurter, well more like broom handle if I’m honest ‘cause I wont see twenty again in a hurry like either.
“Ohhh you are a big boy,” she cooed as she cupped me balls through me jeans.
“Its now or never,” I thought as I pulled away from her.
“And now the main event,” I said, “Drum roll please Karen.”
“I’m fucking Elsie you blind twat!” the drummer replied but she started smacking hell out of the drum skins all same.
“Go for it?” Boris asked.
I nodded.
She pulled down her skin tight extra large jeans and the biggest roll of pink belly fat you ever did see cascaded down completely hiding what looked like a tiny pair of pink panties.
Me ardour was fading. (Posh lingo for me cock was shrinking, fast)
“Stick it anywhere no one will notice!” Boris hissed as I dropped my pants and pushed her against the bar.
Now any sensible fucker would have rubbered up but I didn’t have time, and anyway plan A was to shoot up somewhere under a roll of flabby under her belly button but wouldn’t you know John Thomas went straight for the moist spot. I reckon she must have fancied the blonde tart with the DDs same as I had.
The feel of me bare cock head on a moist cunt lips is much the same whether its Brianny or Mad Donna or someone what looks like some fuckers grandad and I made the mistake of shutting me eyes.
Next fucking thing I was going for it. Fucking JT was in. Right up, that fucking flab was soft as fuck and just flowed out the way. She was truly fucked. I was truly fucked.
“Oh god.” I moaned but I never had the sense to stop.
“No don’t that feels too nice, for fucks sake Johnno!” Boris was wailing.
I started going for it, like a fucking terrier against a wellington boot, it felt too fucking good. It was all wrong and then the pressure release alarm went off in me bollocks.
“Ready or not I’m coming!” I shouted and to a bloody big cheer I shot me load.
“Fake!” someone cried.
“He fucking didn’t he slimed me!” Boris protested and she showed three of her podgy fingers inside her and dragged them out glistening with spunk.
Fucking applause all round, fucking ten stone and a bit weakling and a butch les. It must have looked hilarious, like one of them little male spiders fucking them huge female black widder spiders except I hadn’t been ate yet.
“Pay time,” I said as John Hunt tried to sneak away.
“Fair do’s you earned it,” he laughed and he flashed a wad of notes. I flicked through.
“And the rest,” I said without counting.
He coughed up another ton or so which brought it just over two grand which was fair.
“You really would fuck anything you fucking worm,” Sandra said.
“Fucking pot calling the fucking kettle,” I said, “At least I get a grand not a half of lager and a few chips.”
“Too shay,” she said, “Anyway its rubbers for you now, you don’t know where that’s been.”
“Fucking morning after pill, is the late night chemist still open?” I asked.
“I crumbled two in her vodka and orange,” Sandra said, “Someone has to look after you.”
“I know,” I said, “I am grateful.”
“Elsie says if I have IVF and have triplets we can get a 3 bedroom council house straight away,” Sandra said all innocent like.
“Not that fucking grateful,” I said as Boris decided not to bother trying to force her belly back in her jeans but to stick the spare mike up her cunt instead as she launched in to song.
“He’s got a Pedo’s bollocks in his hand,
He’s got his cock and bollocks in his hand,” and as she sang,
“He’s got a Pedo’s bollocks in his hand,” again the the audience joined in with.
“And he’ll rip the fuckers off!”
“There ain’t no room for Pedo’s in this Land,” they continued.
I’d had enough, I felt sick, that was pretty low fucking a ugly butch Les for money, Ok better than sweeping roads or collecting tax or walking the streets like a plod but pretty bloody low.
I opened the door. There were half a dozen uniforms sheltering in the porch.
“Oh its you Allthwaite,” the Police Sergeant said knowingly, “Off home?”
“Nah off down the Mosk for Friday Prayers.” I corrected him.
“Its Tuesday,” the Sergeant corrected, “This Gentlemen is your actual Black Muslim Gay Lesbian Transsexual member of every bloody minority the home office has ever heard of and plenty more beside, arrest him at your peril.”
My reputation had preceded me “Box ticking,” I agreed.
“Just fuck off.” He said.
So I did, and they arrested some bloke who came out his gaff in his nightshirt to complain about the row.
Its a funny old world.
And that was me first Lesbian experience.