When you reflect on your past dates, relationships (LOL) and one night stands so frequently, you notice things that didn’t really occur before. For example, it’s come to my attention that my list of previous experiences reads more like a book of one liners than one nighters. So in order to reverse that rumour (and restore my faith in good sex, and in myself; that I’m actually NOT an inbred, custard loving, accidental scat provoking, lightbulb penis magnet). Thus we arrive at:
The Fable of Three Legs…

It was a hot, sweaty day in the Canaries, as it usual is early Summer, or a Sunday all-dayer at FiRE. As pride week tradition we’d been drinking all day at a Third World thirst rate, unmeasured vodkas and untold bumps of unnamed substances left me in no fit state to continue the party on until the early hours, naturally I did. (As I’m SURE you predicted)

Partying hard (i.e. Paris Hilton on a bar top, or even Paris Hilton on farm). He approached in seemingly slow motion, like ancient Adonis and my ankles near bunkled like a tranny try’na ice skate. Cue soppy harp music, floating hearts and a total semi going on up in herr’!
His toned and tanned body projected self obsession and an addiction to sunbeds;
“but if anybody knows of any reason these two should not be together…”
– ANY film starring Jennifer Aniston
I certainly weren’t put up my hand! The climax (so to speak) of the story, as the title promises is that yes, I momentarily paused to question; had I picked up yet another cast off from the freak show circus, this time with a third, only slightly shorter leg? Or had I in fact, hit the JACKpot?

The sex was hot, breath taking and sweaty, just like holiday sex (or a Sunday all-dayer at FiRE should be).
“I am getting so hot, I wanna take my clothes off” – Randomer on Nelly’s track