In the heady days of BAOR you couldn't go into the bogs in the block without hearing the rythmic "slap slap slap" of knackers and page turning of boxhead filth. I remember having to wake some chap up when i was on stag at 0530hrs on a Sunday and having to walk past the pit space of a fellow who clearly came in from town sozzled and thought it would be good to tug himself sober, only to fall asleep. I found him starkers on his pit, flaccid member in hand and a girl on girl scene paused on his VHS. A quick check of his top drawer and his camera was found and pictures were duly taken. I digress. As a young chap i came home on my first leave from Deutschland with my bag loaded with porn (mags & vids) and Asbach. Being 1990, hardcore porn was not freely available in the good old UK. Anyway, i arrive home and go through the routine with the family and promptly go out to get trollied with my civvy chums. Many, many beers, shorts and fags later, i go home at silly o clock with the raging horn. Despite my many tales of derring do, the ladies of West London were not putting out and rohypnol was unheard of then. As the family Blackrat were all abed, my drunken mind informed me that it would be perfectly acceptable to stick a porn vid on in the front room and thrap myself into oblivion. Making no more noise than a herd of elephants trapped in a greenhouse full of bear traps, i managed to locate a suitable film from the depths of my bag and sneak downstairs. With a trembling hand, i placed said video into the VHS and pressed play. Nothing. Blank screen. The TV was not on. Turning the TV on i was then subjected to a barrage of noise akin to the Krakatoa eruption. Casa Blackrat was treated to "Ja ja mit der klinker" (or something like that) at high volume. Shite!! I located the remote eventually (after several "Ja ja. Sehr schon"'s and one "Ich Spritze") and put the volume on very low. Good. Assembling my thrap kit of tissues, remotes and a pint of water, i settled down, placed my trousers and boxers around my ankles and began burping the worm at a sedate pace. Five minutes later and close to arrival, i hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Shhhhhhhhhiiiitttttttt!! At this stage dear reader, imagine Yakkity Sax (from Benny Hill) playing. At the speed of a million gazelles i had to: 1. Pull trousers & boxers up 2. Stop the video 3. Turn off the TV 4. Hide the tissues 5. Conceal a massive hardon All from whoever was coming downstairs. Now, i think i had around 10 seconds to do this. Sounds logical. What i did was: (Cue Yakkity Sax) 1. Fall over trying to pull up trousers & kex 2. Spill water over the remotes 3. Smack head off the coffee table 4. Be sick over the carpet I was then confronted by my elder brother (luckily not Mother Blackrat). He took in the scene of me on the deck, naked from the waist down, hardon, vomit on the floor and on the TV, a nice Frauline getting pummelled up Das Hoop by Rudi Voller, and said "What the fcuk is going on?" (Very observant is brother Blackrat). I bribed him a tenner to keep shtumm and told him i would cook him breakfast for a week. He agreed. Two nights later, all my mates knew. So much for brother love. Come on ARRSER's, confess. Any similar situations? PS. Brother Blackrat. If by chance you have stumbled on here and are reading this, i jacked in your scrambled eggs.