Sunday, 7 March 2010

Italian Stallions

Today, I allowed my mind to drift back to the last encounter I had with an Italian Stallion. Well, not so much stallion as terrified yearling. The agency I worked for called me one Saturday night;

"Darling, a group of lovely lads have just been on to see if they can arrange some fun for their condemned friend."

"Pardon ?"

"A stag darling, he's getting married."

"Are you on drugs ? There is absolutely no way I am going out to a hotel full of sozzled idiots determined to outshine each other in testosterone."

"Be reasonable, one of them is a regular, they're good lads and it's strictly one on one, you and the groom."


So I arrived at the hotel, flicked my hair back and knocked on the door. Cue a humongous cheer. I knew this was a woeful idea.( Reason number 716 why I now work independently ). To their credit, they were indeed gentlemen and it didn't take me too long to work out who the happy groom to be was. That would be him then, slumped in a heap on the bed.

"Be good to him, he's had a few."

You don't say.

The rest of the merry entourage left to go back to the bar and we were alone.

"Would you like a nice massage to begin with ?"

"I am veeery pished."

"Hmmmm, never mind. I can't promise water to wine but we'll see."

After a period of time it became more than obvious that the only action this poor chappy was going to be capable of was pushing out some quality ZZZZ's. So we just lay and cuddled for a bit.

"You pleeease tell my freeends I ... "

"Leave it in my capables."

Precisely sixty minutes after they had left us alone, the support squad were back and knocking gingerly at the door. The happy groom to be was snoring lightly so I ruffled my hair, smudged my lipstick and opened the door.

"Well ?"

"One woman's gain is a Godawful loss to the rest of us."


I left them to it and wearing a broad grin, I tottered to the lift and to my waiting driver.

LL xx

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