One very drunken night...
I'm aware it's not the most original subject line but nevertheless: One very drunken night I met a reasonably attractive young lady in my local. After an agreeable conversation we trooped back to her friend's house just a few doors away. More drink was consumed and it became obvious that there was a sexual frisson in the air. Unfortunately, this lady's friend was in no way going to allow any sort of sexual bonding to take place under her roof as she was also good friends with this young lady's boyfriend. Undeterred said young lady and I jumped into a taxi and scoured Walthamstow for a hotel room in which to indulge our carnality. No rooms were forthcoming and so we ordered the driver to deposit us at Stratford where we continued our tour of possible accommodation. Once again we were fruitless in our pursuit, so we had to indulge ourselves at the back of Morrison's, next to the bins, until the arrival of a van load of seemingly migrant workers on the night shift curtailed our fumblings. Our final port of call was Stratford railway station where we squeezed into a Photo-Me photo booth and rutted like a pair of sweaty teens. Just as I blasted my mess into the gusset of her panties the curtain of the photo booth was torn back with some force and we were faced with a red-faced, furious rail inspector who demanded that we leave forthwith, as in his words, "it's a bloody railway station, not a knocking shop". Thus chastened, we tucked our slightly raw and abused equipment away, staggered out of the booth with heads held high and caught another taxi to our respective homes and partners.

We never saw each other again.
(highly_defined, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 15:22, 1 reply)

'it's a bloody railway station, not a knocking shop'
This wins.
(Eo1spy is reversing the polarity on, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 16:30, closed)