Back when I was a young tacker, I was a bloody good sportsman. Rugby league, touch footy, even basketball and ping pong – I had a crack at everything and usually blew the competition away. I didn’t bother with soccer or AFL, though, for the same reason I don’t kiss men. Anyway, as a student of Gosford High, the highlight of the sporting calendar was when we took on the country folk from Orange High in the annual inter-school sporting fiesta, and the 1999 edition was a banner year for me.
After leading the touch footy and union teams to resounding victories, I sauntered over for four tries in the first grade footy match in front of thousands of adoring fans at the Orange High School Oval. Even the good people of Orange were chanting my name as they chaired me off the field. Little did I know that my heroics on the sporting fields of the Golden West were only the beginning, because things were about to get a little 18+ for this wide-eyed 16-year-old.
There was always a disco after the events finished, and the dude I was staying with hooked me up with a bottle of Passion Pop before we arrived. Those six standard drinks were enough to have me dancing the Macarena up on stage to widespread adulation, and when the hottest chick at Orange High came over and asked me if I wanted to get onto her, I wasted no time giving her the tongue-lashing of a lifetime. For the second time in four hours, the good people of Orange and Gosford surrounded me and applauded my performance.
Alas, nobody gets a free fide on the Passion Pop Express, and just as I was heading to second base I was violently ill and redecorated the hall with that night’s Maccas. I then shat myself. The only saving grace is that it prevented my new friend from discovering that I had ejaculated in my cordoruy trousers about two seconds after we first kissed. The babe left in disgust, and I later found out that she sucked off Craig Hagan, who was captain of the Frisbee golf team. I was crushed.
I’ve often wondered how my life would’ve played out had things gone differently that night. I could be a plumber in Orange, with four kids and a neck tattoo. Or maybe I’d be celebrating the 20th anniversary of my herpes affliction. Or I’d just be in a loving relationship ship with someone I met by chance two decades ago. Whatever the case, I had to put closure on the situation, so I packed up the Del Sol and pointed it west…
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