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The train hadn't moved for about an hour. No further announcements apart from the one just after my journey had juddered to a halt saying there were electrical problems. The carriage was near empty - just me and a guy further down the carriage getting fucked off because there was no mobile signal - we were in a tunnel, bright spark! I did what any normal person would do. Reached into my bag and pulled out a bottle of whisky - the raffle prize I'd won as part of my school reunion.
The bottle clinked as I looked up and saw the guy from further down - getting himself more and more wound up and now pacing the aisle. He looked at the whisky I'd pulled out, then looked at me.
"Aw, mate - do you mind if I have some? This is driving me fucking mental - no guard in fucking sight and I need to calm down."
Looking at him, I felt a stir in my crotch and thought I didn't want him to calm down. He was fucking huge - solid huge - early 40s, shaved head, a nose that had seen it's fair share of breaks, blue eyes. He was wearing a vest, his arms covered in tatoos, and combat shorts with desert boots. I shrugged and grabbed the spare plastic glass I'd got with one of the two beers I'd already had on the journey back from Edinburgh. I used the one I'd already drank out of and poured two huge measures. He sat down.
"Nice one. Cheers. I'm Des."
I shook his hand and introduced myself. We chatted about nothing much. He was an labourer on his way back to London from seeing family, married, three kids - when he asked about me I was pretty vague. We had absolutely fuck all in common, but it didn't really matter as he was too thick to notice. I knew exactly what I wanted from him - and looking at his huge hands, I knew one of them rolled into a fist would more than cover my sac, even though sharing a room with an old schoolfriend for three days meant my balls were full to the brim, normally a couple of large eggs asking to be cracked, now straining in their scrotum.
I poured him another huge measure - at least a quarter pint.
"Hey," I said. "What's the craziest thing you've ever done?"
I'll be honest, I switched off and didn't pay much attention to what his reply was, I was just waiting for my turn to tell him. I remember he said something about jumping into a river on some stag night or other, but not much else. Other than his story was long. Long enough for him to get more than half way through his whisky and start slurring his words. I was about to prompt him when he finally asked me.
"What about you, mate?"
I smiled and told him he'd never believe it. He took another glug and told me to tell him.
"Ok, well...this was years ago, but at college I was known as the one who would do anything for a dare...I had to pay my own way, so the guys I drank with would put me up for all kinds of shit...drink this, do that, y'know? Anyway, we were at this dodgy nightclub and there was this giveaway for booze, if you won a competition. It was called balls of steel. I wasn't paying any fucking attention. So my mates volunteer me...I was pretty pissed already and when they said if I won they'd give me a tenner each if I won I was well up for it."
I paused and took a sip. He was looking at me. Fuck! He was buying this crap - believing every word - just a little more to go. I thought I'd play safe and top him up. I continued.
"This was long before Jackass or any of that shit, and I had no idea what it was all about. Balls of steel. There was a queue of lads on the stage and I had to stand opposite the guy in front with my legs apart. Well, you can guess what it was...?"
Bring him in, get him to work it out. He thought for a minute then the lightbulb appeared. With a grimace. He shook his head.
"Nah. nah, mate - you're shitting me. Nah, you didn't..."
"Yep - I did."
"What? In the bollocks?"
"Yep."
"How...?"
"Kicked...ah, you mean how many? I was pretty pissed but my mate told me he counted about eight, and then when I didn't go down, another five or so got up and had a go. I won outright, the guy on the mic said he'd never seen anything like it."
"You're fucking having a laugh! No fucking way, man. No way."
"I shit you not. I stayed standing. I just thought it was because they kept missing or something, but whatever it was, they kept coming, and it didn't hurt one bit."
This was the crunch point. Maybe I'd overdone it - but then I figured if he thought I was bullshitting he'd try anyway. So I downed my whisky, poured us both another and looked right at him.
"Try it."
"What?"
"If you don't believe me, try it."
"No way man - I'm not gonna do that!"
"What, you never kicked someone in the balls before?"
"Yeah, in a fight, but only when I was in trouble - that's low man, I'd never do it unless I really fucking had to. I mean...fuck...it just ain't on. It's dirty. Fightin dirty. Nah. No way. No fucking way!"
"Okay." I looked away and took a slug. I was feeling more than a little shitfaced, and was rock hard. No way was I letting this go. "So you believe me then?"
He thought about this. "Wh...Wh....but, c'mon mate, why the fuck? I mean, thirteen? Je-sus! Nah...you're having me on. No way."
"I shit you not, and I tell ya, I hadn't had as much to drink as this. I reckon I could do twenty. Easy."
"Yeah, right."
It was now or never. Fuck it, I thought. Go for it.
"Try it."
"I told you. That's out of order."
"What? Worried you can't bring me down, eh?"
"look mate. Watch what you say. I've fucked over pussies way tougher than you."
"Well then, fucking prove it!"
"You want me to? I'm warning you."
"Lets make it interesting." My voice cracked a little, but he didn't notice. There was something about him - I wanted to make it more than interesting. "I hold out for twenty. I get twenty quid. Every one I take after twenty, I get another quid."
"What do I get?"
"Okay. Fair enough. How about this? You start off on a hundred. You do it in one, you get the hundred. Every one on from that, you lose a quid."
"A hundred? Fucking hell. Are you some kind of fucking freak?"
Yes.
"No, honest - shit you not. See, if I make it through the hundred - I get a hundred quid from you. It'll be easy money for me - trust me!"
Silence. He looked away, and for a second I thought he was going to fuck off and I'd have wasted a perfectly good bottle of whisky. Then came another announcement.
"This is your guard speaking. I'm sorry to say that the electrical fault is actually a power outage. As we are mid track we can't leave the train for safety reasons. A crew has been called out, but it looks like at least another hour. Southeastern Trains apologises for the inconvenience and will be distributing refund forms on our arrival, whenever that may be. In the meantime, if you need any further assistance, I will be located in the buffet car, which I will be reopening for any refreshment you may need while we wait."
I looked at Des. He looked monumentally fucked off. Without a word he got up and left the carriage. Shit. My raging hard on softened into a puddle of pre cum I'd been dribbling throughout our conversation. Fuck it, I thought, and closed my eyes.
I opened them when I was sharply nudged in the arm. I turned and it was Des. With four beers from the buffet. He opened one, took a slug and sat down, sliding another over to me.
"The train's fucking dead. Hardly anyone on it. Guard says he reckons it'll be more than an hour. Fuck knows how I get home from the station. Going to have to get a cab. Will cost a fucking fortune."
I nodded and looked at him. He was so thick I could practically see the cogs turning in his skull. I opened the can and took a slug of beer, clearing my throat.
"It'll be expensive. Shame you can't get your hands on more cash."
He gave me a look that, to be honest, shit me up a bit. It occurred to me he could just take the money, but then again we were on a train that wasn't going anywhere for a while. He cracked a knuckle.
"To be honest I'm so fucking wound up by all of this, I could really do with giving something a fucking good smack..."
He tailed off. Fuck! I was so close to getting it. My cock sprang up again. He drank from his can, looking straight at me.
"How do I know you won't get me done for it?"
I knew he was going off the boil, I had to act quickly.
"Who would believe me? C'mon. It's a fucking bet, man. I wouldn't offer if I thought I couldn't do it."
A lie. But I thought it was now or never. I stood up and stood with my legs apart.
"A hundred quid...?"
He sighed, put down his can, and went to hit but pulled back. He did this a couple of times, muttering 'nah' and 'what the fuck?'. He drained the rest of his can, put it down, and without another word planted a fist in my crotch.
I swallowed. It wasn't so hard - almost like finding the target. I thought that we could be interrupted at any time, so I upped the ante. I laughed.
"what? Is that it? You're down to 99."
"this fucking table's in the way"
"let's move then"
We went a few rows down the carriage toward the end, where there was a row of three seats and a wheelchair space.
"okay. Where do you want me?"
"I dunno"
"well, don't you want to do maximum damage?"
"you what?"
"the more times you hit, the less money you get"
"oh yeah. Suppose."
I sat on the edge the middle seat, on my hands with my legs spread wide. he stood above me, pacing. He was thinking about something.
"are you fucking sure about this, man? I mean - I'm not gonna hold back."
"just hit as hard as you fucking can and when I fall off the seat what's left of the cash is yours. They're my balls and I've asked you, so what do you fucking care? You never wanted to fuck up another man's chance of ever having kids? Or..."
"ever having fucking sex again? Fuck yeah. Let's do this shit."
He grinned. Something in his eyes changed. Like it had finally clicked in his tiny head. Then he surprised me. He knelt down.
"Here we go, you fucking sick fucker!"
They say good things come in threes. If the first was hard, the second was harder and the third was fucking brutal. Even with all my experience it felt like my bollocks had been knocked into my skull, I felt that wave of nausea that I craved so much and my balls were burning hot into my thigh. I began to slide off the seat. He grabbed me and pushed me back.
"oh no fucking no you don't you fucker. This is fucking brilliant - I'm not fucking stopping."
I coughed. "but you've got £96?."
He laughed. "cab will be a tenner. You were the big guy, claimed you could take it, so fucking shut up, sit back, spread those fucking legs and take it, or I'll beat fucking two tons of shit out of you."
I think he'd got to 87 when I threw up a little. He took a beer break at 83. I'd tried to resist at 84 but he punched me in the mouth and told me to shut up.
"I'm going to turn your fucking balls into a fucking pussy. Shut the fuck up - I'm nowhere near done, in fact, I'm just starting to enjoy myself."
He managed to encourage himself over the next twelve or so. Things like "fuck yeh' 'here it comes' 'dead balls' 'this is the one'. He was tiring, such was the force, so he was now taking his time between punches. This gave the unexpected side effect of my enjoyment returning. I was pretty sure my balls weren't going to make it, but the amount of booze in my system was whispering that this was what I wanted. So, oddly, somewhere in the high sixties I started to encourage him. Things like 'yeah, mate that's it' 'destroy my nuts' 'finish them off' 'make them pop with this one'. He looked at me strangely and even paused at first, and it may well have just been that my bollocks were tenderised but it felt as though it made him hit harder.
We'd got to the fifties and I was delirious. He was totally drunk and he'd sort of lost his spark. I must have been insane, cause I lifted my head and said. "you like football?"
"of course. Why?"
"kick em."
"Aw...mate, no...that's just..."
"fucking kick em - finish em off with a penalty or ten. Fucking kick em."
I stood up and dropped my jeans. The balls were swollen so much the bulge was massive. He looked and laughed and frowned at the same time.
"fuck me. Jesus. Were they that fucking big before?"
"nope. All your work. Now, finish the fucking job. Kick em."
I then looked at the desert boots. Shit.
"you sick fuck. Okay. I'll kick em. Leave the jeans off - I want to see em swell and pop. Let's see if we can't get a couple of real fucking footballs to play with."
I lay on the ground, face down, raised myself to all fours and he was stood behind me, and kicked my knees further apart. I felt a boot gently brush my nuts to locate them - though even a blind man couldn't miss em at this point.
"where were we up to?"
"59. But let's say kicks count as three."
"fuck off. No fucking way. It's one, it's your fucking queer bastard fault that you're getting kicked, no changing the rules now, you're gonna be fucking sterile after this fucking lot - fuck that, I'll make sure you never get a fucking hard on again. You'll be a fucking pussy."
He let out a yell and kicked so hard my whole body lifted off the ground. I fell, my stomach on the floor, and he grabbed my ankles, bent my legs and spread them, just now randomly kicking as hard as he could with no pauses.
I attempted to wriggle away but he flipped me over and knelt on my thighs. He was almost purple with rage, spitting as he raised his fist, punch after punch after punch. The speed was lighting fast and my body barely had time to recognise the balls being it before the next one landed. This was a massacre. I became groggy, sort of like when you're coming around from anaesthetic, but the odd slap to the face kept me with him. It must have been less that five minutes that the last fifty was spent, and I think he was down to 8 that with a lurch the train started moving.
With this I think he panicked. He wanted to finish the job. More punches came, more kicks, more punches, he was yelling, screaming, words that made no sense, and then the guard made some kind of announcement and he leant back, gathering as much of the swollen scrotum he could in one hand, raised a fist with the other and rammed it home.
I swear. We both heard a pop.
He let go and sat back, wiping the sweat from his brow and spit from his mouth. He looked at me.
"Fucking did it. Fucking popped one of your fucking bastard worthless fucking nuts. Just like you asked. You're fucking half a man, you fucking sick twisted fuck. I'd fucking pop the other one right now, if you like."
"no. Please..."
"told you. Fucking idiot. Be fucking careful what you wish for."
He reached into his wallet.
"here's a fucking tenner. Get yourself a cab. What's your name, mate?"
"Toby."
"well, Toby, I'm Des. I'm from Edinburgh. And I have just cracked open and fucking destroyed one of your fucking bollocks. You won't ever forget me."
Once I'd got home, and emptied the biggest load I swear I have ever shot with such force it covered my face in dead spunk, turns out he was right.
On both counts.
The bottle clinked as I looked up and saw the guy from further down - getting himself more and more wound up and now pacing the aisle. He looked at the whisky I'd pulled out, then looked at me.
"Aw, mate - do you mind if I have some? This is driving me fucking mental - no guard in fucking sight and I need to calm down."
Looking at him, I felt a stir in my crotch and thought I didn't want him to calm down. He was fucking huge - solid huge - early 40s, shaved head, a nose that had seen it's fair share of breaks, blue eyes. He was wearing a vest, his arms covered in tatoos, and combat shorts with desert boots. I shrugged and grabbed the spare plastic glass I'd got with one of the two beers I'd already had on the journey back from Edinburgh. I used the one I'd already drank out of and poured two huge measures. He sat down.
"Nice one. Cheers. I'm Des."
I shook his hand and introduced myself. We chatted about nothing much. He was an labourer on his way back to London from seeing family, married, three kids - when he asked about me I was pretty vague. We had absolutely fuck all in common, but it didn't really matter as he was too thick to notice. I knew exactly what I wanted from him - and looking at his huge hands, I knew one of them rolled into a fist would more than cover my sac, even though sharing a room with an old schoolfriend for three days meant my balls were full to the brim, normally a couple of large eggs asking to be cracked, now straining in their scrotum.
I poured him another huge measure - at least a quarter pint.
"Hey," I said. "What's the craziest thing you've ever done?"
I'll be honest, I switched off and didn't pay much attention to what his reply was, I was just waiting for my turn to tell him. I remember he said something about jumping into a river on some stag night or other, but not much else. Other than his story was long. Long enough for him to get more than half way through his whisky and start slurring his words. I was about to prompt him when he finally asked me.
"What about you, mate?"
I smiled and told him he'd never believe it. He took another glug and told me to tell him.
"Ok, well...this was years ago, but at college I was known as the one who would do anything for a dare...I had to pay my own way, so the guys I drank with would put me up for all kinds of shit...drink this, do that, y'know? Anyway, we were at this dodgy nightclub and there was this giveaway for booze, if you won a competition. It was called balls of steel. I wasn't paying any fucking attention. So my mates volunteer me...I was pretty pissed already and when they said if I won they'd give me a tenner each if I won I was well up for it."
I paused and took a sip. He was looking at me. Fuck! He was buying this crap - believing every word - just a little more to go. I thought I'd play safe and top him up. I continued.
"This was long before Jackass or any of that shit, and I had no idea what it was all about. Balls of steel. There was a queue of lads on the stage and I had to stand opposite the guy in front with my legs apart. Well, you can guess what it was...?"
Bring him in, get him to work it out. He thought for a minute then the lightbulb appeared. With a grimace. He shook his head.
"Nah. nah, mate - you're shitting me. Nah, you didn't..."
"Yep - I did."
"What? In the bollocks?"
"Yep."
"How...?"
"Kicked...ah, you mean how many? I was pretty pissed but my mate told me he counted about eight, and then when I didn't go down, another five or so got up and had a go. I won outright, the guy on the mic said he'd never seen anything like it."
"You're fucking having a laugh! No fucking way, man. No way."
"I shit you not. I stayed standing. I just thought it was because they kept missing or something, but whatever it was, they kept coming, and it didn't hurt one bit."
This was the crunch point. Maybe I'd overdone it - but then I figured if he thought I was bullshitting he'd try anyway. So I downed my whisky, poured us both another and looked right at him.
"Try it."
"What?"
"If you don't believe me, try it."
"No way man - I'm not gonna do that!"
"What, you never kicked someone in the balls before?"
"Yeah, in a fight, but only when I was in trouble - that's low man, I'd never do it unless I really fucking had to. I mean...fuck...it just ain't on. It's dirty. Fightin dirty. Nah. No way. No fucking way!"
"Okay." I looked away and took a slug. I was feeling more than a little shitfaced, and was rock hard. No way was I letting this go. "So you believe me then?"
He thought about this. "Wh...Wh....but, c'mon mate, why the fuck? I mean, thirteen? Je-sus! Nah...you're having me on. No way."
"I shit you not, and I tell ya, I hadn't had as much to drink as this. I reckon I could do twenty. Easy."
"Yeah, right."
It was now or never. Fuck it, I thought. Go for it.
"Try it."
"I told you. That's out of order."
"What? Worried you can't bring me down, eh?"
"look mate. Watch what you say. I've fucked over pussies way tougher than you."
"Well then, fucking prove it!"
"You want me to? I'm warning you."
"Lets make it interesting." My voice cracked a little, but he didn't notice. There was something about him - I wanted to make it more than interesting. "I hold out for twenty. I get twenty quid. Every one I take after twenty, I get another quid."
"What do I get?"
"Okay. Fair enough. How about this? You start off on a hundred. You do it in one, you get the hundred. Every one on from that, you lose a quid."
"A hundred? Fucking hell. Are you some kind of fucking freak?"
Yes.
"No, honest - shit you not. See, if I make it through the hundred - I get a hundred quid from you. It'll be easy money for me - trust me!"
Silence. He looked away, and for a second I thought he was going to fuck off and I'd have wasted a perfectly good bottle of whisky. Then came another announcement.
"This is your guard speaking. I'm sorry to say that the electrical fault is actually a power outage. As we are mid track we can't leave the train for safety reasons. A crew has been called out, but it looks like at least another hour. Southeastern Trains apologises for the inconvenience and will be distributing refund forms on our arrival, whenever that may be. In the meantime, if you need any further assistance, I will be located in the buffet car, which I will be reopening for any refreshment you may need while we wait."
I looked at Des. He looked monumentally fucked off. Without a word he got up and left the carriage. Shit. My raging hard on softened into a puddle of pre cum I'd been dribbling throughout our conversation. Fuck it, I thought, and closed my eyes.
I opened them when I was sharply nudged in the arm. I turned and it was Des. With four beers from the buffet. He opened one, took a slug and sat down, sliding another over to me.
"The train's fucking dead. Hardly anyone on it. Guard says he reckons it'll be more than an hour. Fuck knows how I get home from the station. Going to have to get a cab. Will cost a fucking fortune."
I nodded and looked at him. He was so thick I could practically see the cogs turning in his skull. I opened the can and took a slug of beer, clearing my throat.
"It'll be expensive. Shame you can't get your hands on more cash."
He gave me a look that, to be honest, shit me up a bit. It occurred to me he could just take the money, but then again we were on a train that wasn't going anywhere for a while. He cracked a knuckle.
"To be honest I'm so fucking wound up by all of this, I could really do with giving something a fucking good smack..."
He tailed off. Fuck! I was so close to getting it. My cock sprang up again. He drank from his can, looking straight at me.
"How do I know you won't get me done for it?"
I knew he was going off the boil, I had to act quickly.
"Who would believe me? C'mon. It's a fucking bet, man. I wouldn't offer if I thought I couldn't do it."
A lie. But I thought it was now or never. I stood up and stood with my legs apart.
"A hundred quid...?"
He sighed, put down his can, and went to hit but pulled back. He did this a couple of times, muttering 'nah' and 'what the fuck?'. He drained the rest of his can, put it down, and without another word planted a fist in my crotch.
I swallowed. It wasn't so hard - almost like finding the target. I thought that we could be interrupted at any time, so I upped the ante. I laughed.
"what? Is that it? You're down to 99."
"this fucking table's in the way"
"let's move then"
We went a few rows down the carriage toward the end, where there was a row of three seats and a wheelchair space.
"okay. Where do you want me?"
"I dunno"
"well, don't you want to do maximum damage?"
"you what?"
"the more times you hit, the less money you get"
"oh yeah. Suppose."
I sat on the edge the middle seat, on my hands with my legs spread wide. he stood above me, pacing. He was thinking about something.
"are you fucking sure about this, man? I mean - I'm not gonna hold back."
"just hit as hard as you fucking can and when I fall off the seat what's left of the cash is yours. They're my balls and I've asked you, so what do you fucking care? You never wanted to fuck up another man's chance of ever having kids? Or..."
"ever having fucking sex again? Fuck yeah. Let's do this shit."
He grinned. Something in his eyes changed. Like it had finally clicked in his tiny head. Then he surprised me. He knelt down.
"Here we go, you fucking sick fucker!"
They say good things come in threes. If the first was hard, the second was harder and the third was fucking brutal. Even with all my experience it felt like my bollocks had been knocked into my skull, I felt that wave of nausea that I craved so much and my balls were burning hot into my thigh. I began to slide off the seat. He grabbed me and pushed me back.
"oh no fucking no you don't you fucker. This is fucking brilliant - I'm not fucking stopping."
I coughed. "but you've got £96?."
He laughed. "cab will be a tenner. You were the big guy, claimed you could take it, so fucking shut up, sit back, spread those fucking legs and take it, or I'll beat fucking two tons of shit out of you."
I think he'd got to 87 when I threw up a little. He took a beer break at 83. I'd tried to resist at 84 but he punched me in the mouth and told me to shut up.
"I'm going to turn your fucking balls into a fucking pussy. Shut the fuck up - I'm nowhere near done, in fact, I'm just starting to enjoy myself."
He managed to encourage himself over the next twelve or so. Things like "fuck yeh' 'here it comes' 'dead balls' 'this is the one'. He was tiring, such was the force, so he was now taking his time between punches. This gave the unexpected side effect of my enjoyment returning. I was pretty sure my balls weren't going to make it, but the amount of booze in my system was whispering that this was what I wanted. So, oddly, somewhere in the high sixties I started to encourage him. Things like 'yeah, mate that's it' 'destroy my nuts' 'finish them off' 'make them pop with this one'. He looked at me strangely and even paused at first, and it may well have just been that my bollocks were tenderised but it felt as though it made him hit harder.
We'd got to the fifties and I was delirious. He was totally drunk and he'd sort of lost his spark. I must have been insane, cause I lifted my head and said. "you like football?"
"of course. Why?"
"kick em."
"Aw...mate, no...that's just..."
"fucking kick em - finish em off with a penalty or ten. Fucking kick em."
I stood up and dropped my jeans. The balls were swollen so much the bulge was massive. He looked and laughed and frowned at the same time.
"fuck me. Jesus. Were they that fucking big before?"
"nope. All your work. Now, finish the fucking job. Kick em."
I then looked at the desert boots. Shit.
"you sick fuck. Okay. I'll kick em. Leave the jeans off - I want to see em swell and pop. Let's see if we can't get a couple of real fucking footballs to play with."
I lay on the ground, face down, raised myself to all fours and he was stood behind me, and kicked my knees further apart. I felt a boot gently brush my nuts to locate them - though even a blind man couldn't miss em at this point.
"where were we up to?"
"59. But let's say kicks count as three."
"fuck off. No fucking way. It's one, it's your fucking queer bastard fault that you're getting kicked, no changing the rules now, you're gonna be fucking sterile after this fucking lot - fuck that, I'll make sure you never get a fucking hard on again. You'll be a fucking pussy."
He let out a yell and kicked so hard my whole body lifted off the ground. I fell, my stomach on the floor, and he grabbed my ankles, bent my legs and spread them, just now randomly kicking as hard as he could with no pauses.
I attempted to wriggle away but he flipped me over and knelt on my thighs. He was almost purple with rage, spitting as he raised his fist, punch after punch after punch. The speed was lighting fast and my body barely had time to recognise the balls being it before the next one landed. This was a massacre. I became groggy, sort of like when you're coming around from anaesthetic, but the odd slap to the face kept me with him. It must have been less that five minutes that the last fifty was spent, and I think he was down to 8 that with a lurch the train started moving.
With this I think he panicked. He wanted to finish the job. More punches came, more kicks, more punches, he was yelling, screaming, words that made no sense, and then the guard made some kind of announcement and he leant back, gathering as much of the swollen scrotum he could in one hand, raised a fist with the other and rammed it home.
I swear. We both heard a pop.
He let go and sat back, wiping the sweat from his brow and spit from his mouth. He looked at me.
"Fucking did it. Fucking popped one of your fucking bastard worthless fucking nuts. Just like you asked. You're fucking half a man, you fucking sick twisted fuck. I'd fucking pop the other one right now, if you like."
"no. Please..."
"told you. Fucking idiot. Be fucking careful what you wish for."
He reached into his wallet.
"here's a fucking tenner. Get yourself a cab. What's your name, mate?"
"Toby."
"well, Toby, I'm Des. I'm from Edinburgh. And I have just cracked open and fucking destroyed one of your fucking bollocks. You won't ever forget me."
Once I'd got home, and emptied the biggest load I swear I have ever shot with such force it covered my face in dead spunk, turns out he was right.
On both counts.
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