Low Hanging Fruit...

I have had a couple of surreal moments in my life, but then again, I do seem to have sign on my forehead that says: "Trouble Welcome Here". Attending a get together with some friends, I was introduced to a rather jocular, seemingly highly intelligent man. I did not think much of it, nor take much notice either, apart from the fact that he seemed quite a nice guy, friendly and easy on the ear of a newly arrived South African still trying to decipher the words between all the different British county accents.

 

As things sometimes do obtain a life of their own, so did the evening. From what was supposed to be a bit of chatting and catching up over a glass of wine or two, it turned into a serious "Global Resolution” summit, even briefly including some heavy duty strategies to resolve the current global economic crisis. As with any good informal social discussions, thought processes were definitely being influenced by the copious amounts of red wine consumed. The topics and debates thereof were on the increase in direct proportion to the amount of empty wine bottles in the recycling bin.

 

It was in this rather robust atmosphere where personal opinions were now based on the size of egos with a simultaneous reduction in intelligence and common sense, when I made my escape to some cold evening air to have a cigarette. I was joined by the afore mentioned gentleman and the conversation (very one sided at that) started off innocently enough - he was curious about the South African for about 15 seconds before proceeding to tell me about his latest business venture. 

 

Take my word for it...staring at an empty wine glass wishing you brought the bottle with, whilst making the appropriate acknowledgement noises as your ears ache, does not even closely come to describe my despair. When the inevitable promises came that he would offer me a job, no, actually I should not scoff at him, he is offering me a job; it took every bit of self control not to roll my eyes. When I finally did manage to utter a single sentence about going back into the house as I am slightly tired, he pounced on the subject of sleep deprivation with great gusto. 

 

It took nearly fifteen minutes to establish that he had not slept for some indeterminable time...but would I like to know why? Another bit of advice - when you get that little niggling thought that you should run before it is too late...DO IT! I was proudly informed that his sleep shortage was due to “bonking” every female in his sight, because they all find him irresistible, especially when they see his appendage’s considerable size.  It appeared though that my disinterest in his overwhelming busy sex life or the size of his “brain” was interpreted as disbelief. 

 

Before I could even say the word “penis”, he jumped up, excitedly shouting that he will show me what so many desires - “MY COCK!” which he then promptly hauled out. I will give him this - he is well endowed - it is just a pity about the rest of him. My desire for something stronger than wine increased dramatically as he was waiving his asset around for all and sundry to admire. It was about five minutes later when I heard his voice rather plaintively stating that he loves having his cock sucked. (I ignored the statement - At this stage, my glass had been thankfully been refilled, and I was concentrating at getting as much nicotine and wine into my system in the shortest period of time possible). 

 

Silence descended.

Then...“Would you like to suck my cock?”

All the red wine in the world could no longer put a lid on my temper. “No”.

Another bit of silence.

“Congratulations! You have the job!!”

I have to admit, I could not help but to laugh - it was one of the best attempts I have ever heard anyone make trying to safe some face...well, in his instance, attempt to save cock? 

 

The surreal bit?  It was about ten minutes later after I finally managed to make my escape, when he came up to me...

“Love, how ‘bout a cup of tea, please?”