We were chugging slowly up the canal, sipping champagne on the homely little barge, all clinky glasses and laughs and she brushing hair from her face that wasn't really there and sweeping it over her shoulder, smiling.
This was me, one-on-one with a total, utter lasher from the office, and doing nicely thanks very much.
I sparkled like the champers, I was all panache and brio, clever bon mots and witty quips and she, well, she just stood there, laughed on cue and fiddled alluringly with her pendant. God, that pendant. Lord knows I was finding it tough enough as it was not to be ogling her cleavage and drooling like a Saint Bernard, but with her hands kneading something shiny and attracting me there I was like Fr. Dougal beside the big red 'Do Not Push' button.
I was a wide-eyed magpie gazing at two disco balls.
She reached over then and placed a hand on my shoulder. I did that muscle flexy thing that men do and hoped she'd look away soon so I could take a breath. I generally last 10-15 seconds before I look less manly and rugged, and more asthmatic and trying to choke a fart at birth.
“My feet are killing me,” she said, propping herself on me and dipping her head slightly to slip off her shoe and massage herself, spilling her hair everywhere. She was gazing up out of those big chestnut eyes and smirking at me.
I cocked an eyebrow and looked down at her as she plucked her tights out from the gaps in her toes.
“Hey, those tights make it looks like you’ve got webbed feet. Are you a duck? Mwaw haw haw.”
I turned away at that point and had a small, private marvel at myself and my searing wit.
She straightens up.
“No. I’m not wearing tights. I actually genuinely have webbed toes. And I’m a bit sensitive about it.”
“Oh. Ha ha...cough! cough!....er...
"Shite."
*thanks to Red Leeroy for reminding me.
Relief as Stolen Religious Artefact Recovered
13 hours ago
19 moos and woofs:
Oh PLEASE tell me that really happened!
The magpie and disco balls had me laughing out loud.
Susan. It really happened. To my eternal shame.
To her credit, she still speaks to me.
Oh my..... More importantly, did you crack the big one?
holy jesus, that really happened?? did you immediately ask her what she was doing next Saturday?
A touch of foot in mouth disease there TM? Perhaps she grows a fish tail when she gets wet . . (that didn't sound right)
I have to know who that was. You told me before and I forget. Be prepared for a private corresponde... corresp.... email.
First Radge's date horror story, now yours. And you seem like such nice guys. :)
Kath, I never so much as got within as ass's roar of her big ones ever again. Sob!
Yes Leeroy it did, and I no longer had the mental wherewithal to say anything cheeky in the cheeks-burning aftermath. I might have ventured a casual "so I suppose a shag's out of the question" had I thought of it, but perhaps it's best I didn't.
Baino! You dirty old...ach, who am I kidding, made me laugh anyway! That reminds me of another story, but it's way to XXX for the blog I fear.
Radge, duly received and responded to in kind, my good sir.
Hope, you should know that nice guys like us have the market cornered on fucking up. It's the good looking wankers get all the jollies. Grump!
You could have asked if her Atlantis was real or just made up.
do people really have webbed feet?
Ha ha. No footsturbation for you so!
Ah well.
kiki, yes they do, and not just in Star Trek either. I cringe remembering this story I really do. What an ass! Me, not hers. Although it too had a nice way about it.
Narocroc, I'm not sure I'd have found it alluring anyway. Her feet, once I realised they wren't clad in tights, were kinda off-putting-looking.
That's when you say you think they're sexy .....
you'd still hit it though? even with her webbed feet?
i mean, you don't really touch the feet or anything do you... do you?
Grow Up, I was so mortified I'd never have carried it off. The moment was just well and truly punctured!
Kiki, she could wear socks. Anyway, there'd be no looking at the floor tiles when the action's upstairs. I don't find feet, even normal ones, at all sexy. Toe suckers need help IMHO.
Maxi will have something to say about that. Even someone typing FEET in a blog gets him going.
FEET.
oh you poor bastard. i've been in a similar situation but my tack was avoid the whole being like a duck issue and use my best empathy voise to say 'syndactyly? how interesting'
a brief outline of chromosomal abnormalities followed along with a cursory examination of the toes and the rest was history
FEET FEET FEET FEET. Does he like 'em or loathe 'em, I can't wait to find out.
Hello Swiss. Syndactyly sounds like something the Pope would excommunicate you for in the 1600s. But duly noted all the same. You suave sylver tongued devil you.
I have moments like this daily.
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