Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Big Pimpin'

Word up, homies, what da dillio? Da big dog is back and coming at you.

Here we are again then, eh? I trust that life is treating you none too shabbily and that your cheeks have the requisite rosiness to them and your coat is glossy and smooth.

There really is nothing finer than bunking off work early and sneaking off for afternoon cold drinks, is there?

Well, that's just what I did yesterday, flying out the door at two-thirty, jumping on a Greyhound to Newcastle's busy Haymarket area and lashing into the pints with a couple of my dreadful friends in the fashionable but competitively priced pub The Goose.

By jingo, beer certainly tastes better when you should, by rights, be slaving away at work. Reclining in a comfortable leather chair, surrounded by layabouts, ne'er-do-wells, students and shoppers, talking up a whole storm of nonsense while pint after pint of delicious, black stout slips down.

However, since we were all by nature empire builders and eager beavers at heart, we could not content ourselves with slouching around like the cast of an Ocean Finance advertisement. We had places to go, people to see, things to achieve.

So we went to The Percy, where they have a pool table. The old Olympian spirit, you see.

There was a chap and his girlfriend playing when we got there. He seemed pleased to see us. There is always something unsatisfactory about playing pool against a lady friend. The natural urge is to try and beat her brains out, but this has to be counterbalanced with the realisation that, if soundly beaten, she will decide it's a stupid game and that you are "really sad" the way you treat such games so seriously.

Our arrival was thus a welcome distraction.

As it turned out, the lady was quite a good player and won the odd game. In this way, a couple of hours were enjoyably passed, each of us enjoying an extended run of undefeated games at some point. A good time was had by all.

By this point you are probably cursing me to high heaven and wondering who is supposed to be interested in this shit about pool. We don't come here for dull pub chit-chat, give us some filth you old bore, I imagine you to be saying. Well, stick with it, gentle reader, it gets going in a bit.

Doubtless bedazzled by our masterful cuemanship, dazzling repartee and ragtime dance moves, a couple of ladies had gravitated towards the pool room. Reading from left to right, they comprised, an oldish one with short blonde hair and a bit of a red face and a young one with long, curly hair and a pale face. This natural resemblance was easily explained by the fact they were mother and daughter. A charming pair, neither of them in paid employment, they hailed from Heaton, an up-market suburb of Newcastle upon Tyne, noted for the refinement of its ladyfolk.

The mother, resplendent in dayglo tan and a cropped belly top which nicely showed off her burgeoning beer gut, was keen to try her hand at pool.

I beat her like a rented mule. I am skill, me.

The noble game of pool having failed to grip, the topic of conversation drifted to the numerous examples of body art that adorned her. She claimed to have thirteen, only three of which were visible at the time. With a little persuasion, she relented and showed us the one on her back, two one her shoulder and one at the top of her left breast. One of my companions, a bold fellow who tells it like it is, implored her "Howay then, pet, let's see the cat's face", clearly suspecting she was decorated around the groin area.

Possibly feeling that shy bairns get nowt, the lady undid her jeans and showed us a particularly fine tiger peeping above the waistband of her sporty white knickers (with red and white piping). How my friend knew it was a feline down there I do not know.

It was here we approached the business end of the conversation. Our inquiry as to whether there were any more was met with grimaces from the daughter, who regretted to have to inform us they would have to leave as they had no more money. We were cordially invited to buy them more drinks which, she felt, would awaken great gratitude from her mother, who clearly liked us and was growing more amorous by the minute.

Well, really! I was shocked by this type of behaviour. It seemed to me that this young lady was practically pimping her mother's minge for a couple of pints of cider. I said to her "You're practically pimping your mother's minge for a couple of pints of cider. I fear you have misjudged us, my young friend." I mean to say, no-one is fonder of fruity older ladies than myself, but when it comes to being hit on for drinks by a mother and daughter team of moochers, I draw the line.

Besides, her tits were nothing to write home about.

No business having resulted, our new friends melted away like snow in springtime. They were last seen slavering over a biker chap and making suggestive remarks about his helmet.

Slightly shaken by such sordid goings-on, we beat a hasty exit to the soothing, sophisticated atmosphere of the Three Bulls Heads for a thoughtful pint and some cultural conversation. The discussion drifted towards the excellence of the earlier work of US pint-sized pop-perve and inventor of text message speak Prince. In particular his 1991 hit "Gett Off" in which he promised a young lady whom he held in high regard that there would be "twenty-three positions in a one-night stand.

There was some skepticism regarding the figure of 23, our estimates toward a more cautious number. "She'll get two and like it, the dorty whoo-ah!" as one chap put it. Seeking to be fair to the purple-clad pop pixie, I did point out that it was unlikely that Prince sat around in low taverns swilling pints of lager before he swung into action, thus he was possibly capable of greater feats of gymnastics than the members of our little think tank. This was accepted, yet still the feeling lingered that he was showing off.

Twenty-three, eh? Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Twenty-three, sir?

Following on from the recent controversy surrounding the lyrics to a Prince song from fourteen years ago, I have decided to tackle what I have termed The Prince Twenty-Three Positions In A One-Night Stand Challenge.

As you no doubt recall, in the 1991 chart-topper "Gett Off", Prince promised a young lady that specific number of positions were she to rise to the challenge and come home with him.

Let us see if we can rustle up the same number of dishes in our notional carnal smorgasbord. A relative novice in this type of thing, the author is indebted to his dreadful mates for their invaluable contributions.

1. Missionary
The old favourite, the Queen Mother of sexual positions, if you will.
2. Doggy Style
She likes it because: The different angle of penetration enables the correct regions to be stimulated.
He likes it because: "You can get your shot off even if she's a hoond" (Not my words, a direct quote)
3. Anal
"Up the bum, no harm done" as the old saying has it. In the words of seventies pop combo Racey "Some girls will, some girls won't". Not everyone's cup of tea.
4. Cowgirl
Chap lies on his back, woman on top facing him. You do some work this time, missy!
5. Reverse Cowgirl
As above, but with the lady facing away. Seemingly a position custom designed for couples who don't get on too well and for porn film directors
6. Fellatio
The blowjob, the chewie, the gobble, the gam. The baffling holy grail of sexual relations seems to be the lady who will swallow. Perplexing, since I have always felt that if a lady is so good as to put my little wing-wang in her mouth and play with it until it goes off, then hats off to her, I certainly wouldn't be quibbling as to what she chooses to do with the resulting mess.
7. Cunnilingus
Many older men have traditionally refused to "eat at the Y", perhaps feeling that to "go downtown" was somehow unmasculine and suggested weakness. In these more liberated times, the considerate lover realises that by skilled, expert oral stimulation a woman can be brought to such a heightened state of readiness that she will be quite satisfied with the three-minute rattling that is all you can be bothered with before Match of the Day starts.
8. Sixty-Nine
Simultaneous fellatio and cunnilingus. Watch you don't get shit on your nose!
9. Sixty-Eight
You do me and I'll owe you one. Tiresome joke popular with alehouse lackwits.
10. The Crab
Cunnilingus while "tuning in Radio Luxembourg" on the lady's nipples.
11. Wheelbarrow
Man, standing up, enters woman from behind, holds her up by the thighs and tips grass cuttings on her back.
11. Standing Up
The only foolproof method of contraception, popular with North-East ladies in piss-stinking bus shelters.
12. Standing Up, from behind
Popular with bus shelter couples who are sharing a kebab.
13. Sausage Sandwich
Titwank or diddyride. Not for the flat-chested lady. Ideal for the busty menstruating woman who doesn't do anal or oral yet still wishes to please her man.
14. Spoons
Lying on their side, gent enters lady from behind. Then they fall asleep.
15. Eintracht Frankfurt
German football team. Lost 7-3 to Real Madrid in one of the greatest games ever.
16. Cuddling
Not-really-acceptable-to-him alternative to full sex at the behest of a "tired" or "got a migraine" wife.
17. Putting some manners on her
Full-blooded, enthusiastic lovemaking wherein hen-pecked husband gives it the full feller and shows the wife who is the boss. The effect usually only lasts until she gets her breath back.
18. The Coal Bucket
Petite wife gets in large coal bucket, the handle is brought up and she is wedged securely in place with her undercarriage hanging out the back. She can then be carried around by her husband and enjoyed at his leisure. Possibly apocryphal, this one.
19. Bagpiping
Gentleman somehow has sex with the lady's armpit region. The dorty friggin' porvorts. I think I'm going to vomit.
20. Mein Hair!
Full-on sexual shenanigans with a masochistic female who enjoys having her hair pulled while "on the job". Possibly while Rocco Siffredi is whacking her around the face with his huge member.
21. Unknown Pleasures
Critically-acclaimed debut album by legendary Mancunian miserablists Joy Division.
22. Interfemoral sex
Humping the space between the thighs of an uptight, American college girl in a car. In a slasher movie. Just before you both get killed.
23. Crying/Wanking/Pot Noodle
The best a man can get.

Twenty-three! Giddy up!!!!!!!!!11!!!!!!!! Cheg on Princes, you can't teach this old soldier a darn thing.