Good on carpet

Today was not one of those days that will live long in the memory. The only highlight was getting on the funbus to find Donald Pleasence folding up a “Happy St Patrick’s Day!” banner ready for tomorrow. Donald likes to celebrate all the major festivals – when it’s Christmas he decks the funbus with tinsel (I think he may even have sported a Santa hat at some point). On St George’s Day the red and white flag hung by the windscreen. He came on the tannoy and urged us all to do our patriotic duty. The Wipro workers on the bus (over from India) looked a bit baffled. Frankly, we were all baffled. Donald is South African.

Since today wasn’t memorable I thought I would tell a story about a friend of mine who sadly I don’t see any more – let’s call her “DG”. (apologies if you’ve heard this one before). DG was a bit of a sexual adventuress, a crimson flash in a world of beige. No exploits were too risqué, no boundary too uncomfortable. Which of course made her captivating company down the pub. I used to love my trips out with DG because I knew that the next day at work I would be very popular at work. People at work would find out I was out with DG and the next day at lunch they would insist on hearing the latest. Naturally I was very reluctant to disclose these very personal experiences but somehow somebody usually managed to talk me into it.

The story about her on/off “special friend” for instance who liked wearing dresses and had a separate female alter ego. Or the one night stand which didn’t go well when she got the guy drunk and violated him with a strap-on (“do you think he sees me as relationship material?” was her rather bewildering question to me). Endless hours of fun. But my favourite was the time we went down the pub and she told me about her experience of swinging.

She and her then boyfriend had decided to put the spice back into their relationship, so they answered an ad in the local paper and met up with another couple in the Granby Tavern in Reading. I knew from the sign saying “Entrance at Rear” that the Granby embraced certain alternative lifestyles but I didn’t realise there was a thriving swinging scene there. But anyway, they met the other couple, they seemed attractive so all concerned decided to go back to their place and mess around. And that's where the dialogue begins.

DG: So, we got through the door and we were making ourselves comfortable, and then the guy said something very weird.
ME: What was that?
DG: He said “if it’s okay with you I just need to change my leg. This is an outdoor leg. I need my leg that’s good on carpet.”
ME: No fucking way!
DG: It’s true. And then there was this clunking noise as he unclipped his false leg just above the knee. It was gross, it was like a leathery quivering stump.
ME: Jesus. So you made your excuses and left?
DG: (sheepish expression) Err… not quite.
ME: Oh my god! What was it like screwing a man who only had one leg?
DG: Oh, I wouldn’t know. I was screwing his girlfriend.
ME: And what was your boyfriend doing while this was going on?
DG: He was screwing the girlfriend too. She was quite cute.
ME: So what was the guy with only one leg doing?
DG: To be honest there wasn’t a lot he could do. He was kind of marooned on the sofa.

It really happened like that. And I’ve been dining out on that story ever since.

I did tell that story to my friend Neil once and he told me about a friend of his, a gay guy who had lost both legs below the knee in a car accident. Neil asked him once how he was coping expecting a tale of woe and his friend said “I’m getting more sex than ever! I’m telling you now Neil, the internet is a revelation!”. So it seems that the unsuccessful swinger was missing out on the joys of stumpfucking after all. Sometimes life just isn’t fair.