80's Rave Themed Night
Okay, so it was less the actual nightclub than what happened afterwards, but... (Disclaimer: The following story may cause boredom, depression and in severe cases, death. Also, feel free to skip to the last three paragraphs for the meat of the story, most of it is poorly written waffle.)

The occasion was a mate of the girlfriend's birthday party and we started out wandering into a few pubs. I was feeling like a tit with my bright technicolour rave style cap, pac-man t-shirt and glow rings hung from my necklace, ears, on my fingers and rammed into my shoes which generally got a few odd looks from passers by. I had "Fluorescent Adolescent!" shouted at me at one stage, which I was pretty chuffed with in an odd way. Got into a club, danced with the girlfriend and made lewd suggestions as to what I'd do to her when we got back to hers later.

It gets a little fuzzy here.

I got slightly tipsy, (read: shitfaced) lost my ladyfriend, somehow ended up dancing (read: throwing shapes like a twat) with a group of slappers after I was dragged into their circle (read: molested), got found by the ladyfriend and dragged out again then managed to lose her after I stood outside with her drunk mate (bit of a goer) talking for a bit. I should mention the Guinness I'd been drinking the entire time, as it was the cause of me then feeling rather ill and deciding to go to the bogs.

Pissed like a horse, considered being violently sick but decided not to, walked out and tipped the bog-troll a quid (didn't even wash my hands, I was just feeling generous) left the toilets, get informed it was time to go by a slightly irate missus as apparently the group had been looking around for me for half an hour or so, we get into taxi and I'm looking forward to a game of hide the sausage with my disappointingly sober lady.

Get in, stagger upstairs, throw on a condom as she's forgotten to take her pill (honestly, how hard can it be?) and after the compulsory cunnilingus to lube her up, in slips little-Toynip (that's my cock and not my non-existant son). I start thrashing away, put my finger up her ring piece as I'm full of Dutch (Irish?) courage, she doesn't seem to mind too much and anyway, she only had to feign enjoyment for an hour, as opposed to the usual two (hurr hurr).

So what felt like a studly performance but in all likelihood was probably 10 minutes later I'm spent, roll over, pat her on the arse and start snoring away, job done.

I wake in the morning with a pretty thick head and stagger to the toilet for a Guinness shit that nearly destroys the plumbing, then return to bed with the intention of getting a hangover cure in the form of another good hard shag, only to find the missus doesn't want any of it. In fact she's really pissed at me. Nay, seething. It's not the shouty kind of anger either, it's the "I'm going to stay completely silent cause you've done something that should be completely obvious and until you apologise for it, you're in the dog-house" kind of anger. Cue me figuring this out and guessing along the lines of "Dancing with the slappers?", "Spending too much time outside with your drunk mate?", "Losing you for most of the night?"...

All of which were incorrect. As it turned out, the condom broke during the previous night's shenanigans and I'd fallen asleep before we could talk about it. So we spent the morning with me hungover driving her around to all the family planning clinics, doctors and chemists trying to get hold of a morning after pill. Not the easiest thing to do on a bank holiday when everything is closed. Bollocks.

In the end she managed to get one the morning after the morning after. Didn't stop her doing a pregnancy test a few weeks down the line. I thought driving around on the bank holiday was a nerve-racking experience, but that five minutes of her in the loo pissing on a stick was a damn sight worse.

Thanks for reading my (frankly shite) story even with the severe lack of funnies. Evidently the evil of nightclubs had followed us home.
(AprilFool, Fri 10 Apr 2009, 1:54, Reply)