So. It's the wee small hours of a school night in the middle of town, and I - Nottingham's 'Mr Sex' - am out with a few lady friends in a club. None of your Frienditis bollocks here; they're mates of mine, nothing more, nothing less. Not that they're not attractive, mind, because they are. And in any case, they've all got boyfriends. Sure, one of those boyfriends is an absolute nob, and the girl concerned could do so much better, but that's not the point. Ahem.
Anyway, we're going through the time-honoured process of getting sambucas down our throats without going into a choking fit (my tip: get as much saliva in your mouth as possible first), when I get chatting to said friend with nobby boyfriend. The conversation goes thusly;
Her: "I've finished with him. He was a right nob"
Me: "Oh, that's a shame. He was a nob, though. Are you all right about it, though?"
Her: "Oh yeah. Looking for someone new. Do you want a dance?"
Me (outwardly): Yeah, go on then.
So far, so good. But then, as we move closer to something that sounded very shit in the 80s but sounds alright-ish now, I clock him. About 20 seconds before she does. And even from half a room away, he's already walking towards us like he's trying to eat a Star Bar with his arsehole. And I'm thinking, oh, NO. Groin-Grinder at 12 o' clock. I hate it when bell-ends come on to my mates when I'm with them, because it's just so painfully obvious, and it demeans everyone. Especially me.
My suspicions are confirmed when his crotch arrives at the scene a good five seconds before the rest of him does. And he proceeds to simulate anal sex with her. Putting aside any amorous intentions I may have towards her, this is Wrongness taken to the highest level. I can do four things here;
1) I can ask her if she's cool with this, and act like I'm her bloke and get us away from the situation, and have a bit of a laugh about it
(Probably the best thing to do)
2) I can walk away and let 'em get on with it, hoping/expecting that she'll follow me.
(But she's pissed up, I'm in full Protective Dad mode, and I'd probably get my head taken off by our mates)
3) I can try to out-frot him.
(Ugh. No, mate)
4) I can reach out, wrap my hand around his throat, and say "OIIII! DO YO' WANT FOO-KIN PANNIN' OR SUMMAT?"
(Tempting. Really, really tempting)
And then, amidst the alcohol and the outrage and the confusion and the righteousness, a new thought bubbles up. Five. There is a five.
I turn around, and circle them. And then, without warning, Bang. My groin is rammed hard into his arse.
"You don't mind that, do you, mate?"
My hands grip the side of his hips. Bang.
"Is that nice? Do you like that?"
The hands creep up his chest. He is not moving. He was not expecting me.
"Fucking hell, you've some right nipples on you, duck" Bang. Bang. BANG.
Finally, he comes to his senses. He turns round, and pushes. I push back. And then we do that usual kick-off-in-town bollocks known as 'fronting up', where men re-create the cover of the Beatles Help LP before their respective mates drag them off. I can't be arsed with it anymore, so I say ta-ra and go for my night bus.
As I stand in the shelter, looking at my watch and wondering about getting some chips in before the bus comes, I am filled with righteous zeal. How fucking dare men act in such a Neanderthal manner on this side of the 21st century! And what a genius I was to counteract it in such a spur-of-the-moment fashion! Alright, maybe everyone else in the club assumed I was a prison rapist, but the point had been made, and driven home. Almost literally. God, I'm skill.
And then I see the taxi.
And then I see her in the back.
And then I see him next to her.
And then, from the vantage point of the bin that I was cowering behind so they didn't see me, I see them snogging like two trout after the same bit o' bread.
Amazingly, there's a happy ending to the story. They started going out, and they're still together, and - far from being the lecherous get I thought he was, he's actually a decent bloke. We look back on that night and have a good laugh about it now*.
*Him more than me, obviously