A few years ago I headed up to the Gold Coast for two weeks on the piss with a good mate of mine called Dion. Alright, that’s not really his name; I’ve changed it for reasons that will soon become clear, and have gone with a name that suggests I have a big, black, bald-headed friend.
After an all-day drinking session that ended with us having watermelons thrown at us by angry locals, me and Dion staggered up to Orchid Avenue and rolled into a scummy nightclub called The Sugar Shack. It was ladies’ night, so there was wall-to-wall poontang. Unfortunately, there was also a massive Maori gentleman dancing around on stage with most of his gear off, and when he de-pantsed and started waving his sizable wang around, I felt very uncomfortable. Still, there was something familiar about him… about his face, I mean, not his wang.
Luckily, the dark-skinned sicko left the stage and me and Dion were able to get on with the important task of failing to pick up women. I was, for some inexplicable reason, wearing a sailor hat, which probably didn’t help my cause. Well, it didn’t help me get the women, but it was like a red rag to a bull for champion homos, because while I was sipping my beer a door opened and I saw the Maori stripper standing buck-naked in a change room, a huge smile on his face and his doodle as hard as an ex-wife’s heart. He gave me a wink, pulled his dick a bit, and beckoned me inside. I looked around, sure he was after one of the lovely ladies that were paying me no attention, but he was certainly after me.
And then it hit me. No, not his dick, I mean it hit me where I recognised him from. He was on a dating show called Playing it Straight, where one chick has to decide which of 12 bozos she wants to make bang-bang with – with the twist being that half of them were gaybos. Anyway, this stripper, Chad, was a finalist, and the show only had a week left to run. He was a famous telly start and he wanted me. Me! Unfortunately, I’d be shitting into a bag for the rest of my life if he caught me, so me and Dion hid in a dark corner while Chad gyrated around the place, looking for us.
I’ve gotta say, though, it hurt my feelings that he didn’t look harder for me. I was wearing a fucking sailor hat, after all, and he was big and buff enough that if he’d really wanted me he could’ve picked me up and carried me out of there like a sack of potatoes. Funnily enough, a few days later, Chad won Playing it Straight – and revealed himself to be heterosexual. Just goes to show that you can’t trust reality TV… or gay dancing Maoris.
While hiding from Chad, I started chatting to this attractive blonde chick with a cracking set of watermelons, named Casey. I can’t remember what bullshit I was telling her, but it must’ve worked because we started pashing under a fake palm tree. She had three friends with her – another attractive blonde, a fat chick who just sat there eating meat pies and farting, her fat rolls drooling onto the floor like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, and some nonce of a bloke who appeared to be wearing a picnic blanket for a shirt. Dion homed in on the blonde and did his best to ignore the two freaks, and I did my best to feel my chick’s tits. Romance certainly ain’t dead.
Turned out the bloke in the picnic blanket was called Nathan, and wasn’t a huge fan of having sex with women. I managed to con an invitation back to Casey’s place, but she said she couldn’t leave until Nathan had found a fella to spend the night with. I’m a problem solver, so I pointed at Dion and said, “He’s gay. He’ll fuck Nathan.” Twenty seconds later we were out the door, with Dion none the wiser that he had been targeted for spermination by a very horny Nathan, who kept licking his lips in anticipation. He soon got an idea, though, because the pervert kept rubbing his leg and winking at him. I dunno, maybe Dion thought Nathan just had cerebral palsy or something.
We got back to their house and it was a dump. Not only was there rubbish and broken furniture all over the place, but they had a dog that liked to shit in the house, and instead of cleaning up after it they just chucked some newspaper down over it. It was as disgusting as seeing Iain Hewitson naked. Anyway, I was young, dumb and full of cum (my own, not Chad’s) so I headed off to a bedroom with this Casey bird. Much to Dion’s disappointed, the attractive friend pissed off, leaving him alone in the living room while I got on with the task of disappointing Casey.
I was a few minutes into a performance that would make a fur seal ashamed when I heard a scream from the living room, followed by crashing sounds. I pulled on my novelty boxer shorts and raced out to see a very angry Dion throwing anything that wasn’t nailed down at a terrified Nathan. “He tried to wank me off in my sleep!” screeched Dion, then threw a dying pot plant at his molester.
Nathan picked up a handful of dog turds and threw them back at Dion, who dodged them before they splattered all over the wall. If anything, it added to the ambiance of the place. I stood back, enjoying the bizarre spectacle, until Nathan took aim at me with a broken toaster. I ducked the deadly appliance and fired back with the leg of a chair. We were tearing the place apart and backing Nathan into a corner, when I spied a bag full of sex toys under a dirty table. I reach down and picked up a huge purple dildo and hurled it at Nathan, conking him on the head. Dion pulled out a butt plug and chucked it, and Nathan must’ve liked that because he tried to catch it in his mouth but ended up sprawled on the floor in a puddle of dog urine instead.
Dion plucked out a set of anal beads, and the last thing I saw before returning to bed (well, it wasn’t really a bed, it was more like a pile of towels in the corner of a room) with Casey was Dion choking out Nathan with the beads. Three minutes later I was finished, the bird was unsatisfied and I was dreaming the dreams of kings.
I woke up a few hours later and snuck out of the room, and went to find Dion. He wasn’t in the living room, or the brasco, so I rang his phone. I heard it blaring away in one of the rooms, and when I opened the door, there he was, completely naked and porking the fat bird from behind while she munched on a sausage roll. It looked like an ant on a scoop of ice cream, and her fat rolls were hypnotic as they jiggled back and forth in time with Dion’s thrusts. I left him to it, and a few minutes later he swaggered out the door, proud as punch, and we got the fuck out of that hell hole. I had to step over an unconscious Nathan on my way out.
It was a long walk home, so we picked up a case of beer and got back into it. When I got back to our unit, I poured Dettol all over my old fella. You can never be too careful.
A few nights later, we saw the big bird pull up in her rustbucket car outside of the Sugar Shack and get out with Casey. I told Dion to shove a banana up her tailpipe. “Why not?” he chuckled. “I’ve already done it once!”