Lightning flash
Not too long ago – oh, perhaps just two years I think – I was waiting for a taxi with a ladyfriend. We’d been out, had many a drink and were now waiting in the 50-50-50 office on George Street in Hull. In the queue ahead of us are the archetypal chavs, all trussed up in their small-checked shirts, roundneck Rockport sweaters, jeans and clumpy trainers/kickers, being all sweary and having a fun time – damn them.

A passer-by, clearly just an innocent chap who’d had a few himself, sees the chavs a-smoking.

“Scuse me,” says he, “can I borrow a ciggie?”

The lead chav seizes his opportunity. “If you wanna smoke something, smoke this!” and the speed with which he wapped his cock out was amazing. An exciting sight – not the pork sword, but the grace and fluidity of his movements. (That’s one of those sentences that you can’t predict, but are all the happier for hearing I think.) One swift action, and there it is dangling away. To his credit, it’s a cold night but that doesn’t seem to be affecting him. I stare at the ladyfriend awkwardly. The chav is still there, not five feet away, with his cock hanging out of his jeans and his fingers keeping the lob in tight control.

He was eating a burger while doing it to boot. True dexterity, élan and speed of thought – enough to make this correspondent jealous.

Obligatory length joke.
(Land of Green Ginger It's dreamy weather, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:39, Reply)