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Drunken Promises

#1
You are at that stage of inebriation where anything is possible. Your aspirations know no bounds and are particularly over the top if there is even the slightest hint that you may get your leg over. You promise the earth and are full of generosity and a willingness to do good deeds.

There are of course all the usual whispered promises of multiple orgasms and the hardest fucking of your life whispered between urgent breathless kissing and fumbling in the back of a taxi. Or getting on all fours in a hotel room and promising that they can do what ever they like to you, then regretting it slightly the morning when you have a torn chuff, sore arse and more friction burns than an epileptic convention at a carpet warehouse. But these are of course all part and parcel of drunken shagging.

What about the more obscure promises? The ones with lasting consequences? I once promised to be a birthing partner to a girl I worked with and am forever scarred with the memory of watching her scream her way through the labour and just at the moment I decided to have a gander at the miracle that is “crowning” I saw her gash tear, splitting open like a boiled peanut only with blood and possibly shit and a ripping sound that saw me flat on my back with my legs above my head in a bid to stay conscious. When the blood had returned to my brain the morbid fascination had taken over and i went for another look only to see the infant slither out of her clunge leaving behind a horrific gaping, gulping, blood and mucus rich mess, like a yawning hippo that been slotted by shotgun in its oesophagus.

Ladies and Gents your promises please.
 

old_fat_and_hairy

LE
Book Reviewer
Reviews Editor
#3
D0lly86 said:
You are at that stage of inebriation where anything is possible. Your aspirations know no bounds and are particularly over the top if there is even the slightest hint that you may get your leg over. You promise the earth and are full of generosity and a willingness to do good deeds.

There are of course all the usual whispered promises of multiple orgasms and the hardest fucking of your life whispered between urgent breathless kissing and fumbling in the back of a taxi. Or getting on all fours in a hotel room and promising that they can do what ever they like to you, then regretting it slightly the morning when you have a torn chuff, sore arse and more friction burns than an epileptic convention at a carpet warehouse. But these are of course all part and parcel of drunken shagging.

What about the more obscure promises? The ones with lasting consequences? I once promised to be a birthing partner to a girl I worked with and am forever scarred with the memory of watching her scream her way through the labour and just at the moment I decided to have a gander at the miracle that is “crowning” I saw her gash tear, splitting open like a boiled peanut only with blood and possibly shit and a ripping sound that saw me flat on my back with my legs above my head in a bid to stay conscious. When the blood had returned to my brain the morbid fascination had taken over and i went for another look only to see the infant slither out of her clunge leaving behind a horrific gaping, gulping, blood and mucus rich mess, like a yawning hippo that been slotted by shotgun in its oesophagus.

Ladies and Gents your promises please.
Not an unusual position to find yourself in?

I never make promises. Just apologies.
 
#4
I have to admit that you descriptive prose reads like a well oiled engine, with smooth diction and flowing use of prose, nouns and the like! No doubt already asked, have you thought about a job on the labour ward?
 
#5
I was in Saudi Arabia a few years ago with a few work colleagues.

After imbibing a few black market beers and tequila chasers the banter, backslapping and all round bonhomie was uplifting.

As we were due to enter into a fairly significant "war" soon, I made a sombre albeit very drunken pledge to look after my guys and if necessary lay down my life for them.

Instead, at the first sign of of a pagga I sprinted away like a Kosovan pickpocket.

Regards,

Chris Ryan
 
#8
Twizzlelehope said:
I have to admit that you descriptive prose reads like a well oiled engine, with smooth diction and flowing use of prose, nouns and the like! No doubt already asked, have you thought about a job on the labour ward?
In the interests of political neutrality and to give balance, you should say that other wards are available, Tory, Lib Dem, Green and monster raving Loony etc
 
#9
Father_Famine said:
Twizzlelehope said:
I have to admit that you descriptive prose reads like a well oiled engine, with smooth diction and flowing use of prose, nouns and the like! No doubt already asked, have you thought about a job on the labour ward?
In the interests of political neutrality and to give balance, you should say that other wards are available, Tory, Lib Dem, Green and monster raving Loony etc
Don't post politically themed drivel on the thread.

Share your Drunken promises. Surely you have promised a heroin riddled teenage prozzie a better life whilst carring out a sweaty, arrhythmical, humping session on the backseat of your Mondeo? Pushing her lank hair back with your stubby fingers and telling her expressionless face with the dead eyes that she is beautiful and you will take her away from all of this in an effort to quell your guilt make yourself feel you have something more to offer her than the grateful, sleazy sex purchased with a handful of loose change and three limp £5 pound notes.
 
#10
parahopes said:
Marriage Walt. You're only 15.... and why aren't you in school you skiving little gnome?

Drunken promises? Everytime I go to The Traf or A v N. "It won't happen again Mrs Sfub, promise...."
 
#11
This one time, in band camp (AKA Aldergrove)...

I'd gone out on the lash in Antrim - which for those of you who have not been fortunate enough to sample the mixed loyalist / republican mini-town, it's about as exciting as being on holiday with a load of Germans.

At some point in the evening I'd met a rather voluptuous young lady who I instantly wanted to invite back to mine for a little bit of parallel parking. Gorgeous, confident, funny, sassy – everything you could ask for in a woman (including domesticated).

Of course, I’d fed her the usual line of working for Manx airlines, or whatever it was back then – here on a course and come those awkward questions about where I’m staying, what brings me to Antrim etc – I defended myself quite well, managing to (just for fucking once) pick a location that my ‘mark’ did not know of.

So we swapped numbers at the end of the night, whilst I metaphorically rubbed my hands together at the thought of having the next 5 months of my tour relatively active on the squelchy-squelchy side. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but she’d written her full name and number down on the bit of card she gave me, and when I looked back at it, the name was one of those that you instantly associate with something. Obviously I can’t repeat it on here, but it might have well as read “Lynley McGuinness”, or “Moira Philomena Adams”. Either way, it looked like if I was going to be up to my nuts in guts from this day forward – I would need to reinforce my Manx Airlines story somewhat, and prepare to be boarded by a load of angry republicans.

The following evening we met up, she decided to bring ‘just a few of her close family’, which in their world meant we needed to book a table for 12 in Fermana’s Chinese restaurant. And all that night came the British insults, and tales of the Potato Famine, Ivan Toombs, Mass (not necessarily in any order), the Marxist analysis of the divide that exists between British ‘interests’ and a United Ireland etc etc etc.

That I could pretty much handle like water off a ducks back. But then came the personal threats of what would happen to me if I hurt their ‘little angel’, and that if they hear of me using any form of birth control etc, expecting me to honour the relationship should a ‘bey-beh’ come along.

Well – the only real method of surviving such a meal was to drink copious amounts of vodka, agree to anything, and share the love. I imagine I must have promised the world that night – babies, marriage, no condoms, house, mortgage the works.

I spent the remainder of my tour either in the Gag & Puke, Dark Side or Rose Bowl.



Edited to add: I blame Gordon Brown.
 
#12
D0lly86 said:
Father_Famine said:
Twizzlelehope said:
I have to admit that you descriptive prose reads like a well oiled engine, with smooth diction and flowing use of prose, nouns and the like! No doubt already asked, have you thought about a job on the labour ward?
In the interests of political neutrality and to give balance, you should say that other wards are available, Tory, Lib Dem, Green and monster raving Loony etc
Don't post politically themed drivel on the thread.

Share your Drunken promises. Surely you have promised a heroin riddled teenage prozzie a better life whilst carring out a sweaty, arrhythmical, humping session on the backseat of your Mondeo? Pushing her lank hair back with your stubby fingers and telling her expressionless face with the dead eyes that she is beautiful and you will take her away from all of this in an effort to quell your guilt make yourself feel you have something more to offer her than the grateful, sleazy sex purchased with a handful of loose change and three limp £5 pound notes.
No.

But, I have had a few spacehoppers and Grannys, infact sometimes SpaceHopping Grannies.

Promise em the world but, never give em your real number.
Thats the good thing about the Navy, ship comes in to port and Fcuks off after a few days never to return.
Get a Port in every Girl, do you prefer Ruby or Crusted?
 

Fugly

ADC
DirtyBAT
#13
I always used to make the usual drunken promise of "Of course I'll respect you in the morning. I'm different love, honestly. I'm not like all the other squaddies, they're horrible people. You can trust me, we don't even have to do anything tonight".

Fast foward 5 hours, to find me wiping my cock on the curtains, sneaking out, doing my best swastika impression and vanishing for the horizon.

My surprise departure would always backfire the following weekend, when I would usually take a vodka+coke to the face for trying to chat their mate up.
 
#14
Once (well several time, actually) got mullered in the Drummer in Tidworth and made a rather rash promise.
The following morning I was turfed from my pit, hangover and all, and driven to a church in Andover where I was to become godfather to a bloke 10 years older than me, in order for him to get married in church.
The vicar didn't look to pleasedto hve my beery breath wafted around his church, and it began to go down hill when it became apparent that we had to have holy communion as well.
The alter wine nearly made me ralph and it was all i could do to stop from passing out. couldn't get back to the pub quick enough for a livener

silver lineings, though. At the wedding I got to proper snog the bride's divorced mum, and get a good feel of her tits before her sense of occasion got the better of her
 
#17
Ah, the dangers of the drunken promise.

An acquaintance of mine was on very friendly terms with a stunning but rather younger female where he worked. So friendly in fact that they had progressed through tonsil tennis and had well sealed their relationship. The problem was the friend had a Mrs Friend who was not so liberal minded that she would have condoned the special work relationship between friend and the stunner.

On particular sunny day during a champagne fuelled corporate event at the races, he rather unwisely stated that he rather liked the lady in question and would leave his wife for her if she would only confirm she had similar feelings (why don’t women read that to mean men want a shag?).

Fast forward a few hours and several bottles of champagne later and the woman having also stated her undying love for the chap took him back to her place. Chap thinking he was as clever as a fox who had got himself locked in a hen coup decides that he would switch off his mobile so the Mrs Chap could not disturb his night of passion but leaves the phone in the kitchen. The plan worked and by all accounts a rather good night was had by both parties. As the stunner was a stunner and a work colleague, our friend did not even think of initiating an E&E plan and who could blame him.

Fast forward again and after a morning bout of OTT colleague bonding just to prove that our chap was the virile stud he thought he was, the chap starts to say he should really be going and will see stunner in work on Monday to which the stunner apparently replied “it would not take you that long to pack”. Our friend asks stunner what she is talking about. She replies that whilst he was getting a shower she had taken the opportunity to text Mrs Friend about the new living arrangements to which Mrs Friend had first demanded to know who the f*ck had her husbands phone, where was he and why had he not gone home that night. Our friend is now starting to get as worried as one of the chickens in the aforesaid hen coup when it discovers that they have a new boarding companion in the form of a fox but hopes it is a desperate wind up of the heart attack inducing proportions. “No” replies the stunner and proceeds to show our friend a text exchange which ends with Mrs Friend stating that she would be in the office on Monday morning and our friends kit was not so packed and at the front door, more thrown all over the front garden. Mrs Friend had had her suspicions about the late working hours that our friend was working with his new colleague!

Queue Monday morning and Albertous here is tasked with taking Mrs Friend for a coffee and trying to calm her down so that she stops causing a scene. That mission accomplished I go back to the office for a full debrief on why I had a screaming wife in reception to be greeted with the words from the friend “It all started with a drunken f*cking promise at the races on Friday!”.

There was no happy ending as the Stunner was not impressed that it was just a drunken promise and our friend really wanted Mrs Friend back. Mrs Friend said goodbye in the form of keeping the house and a large chunk of our friends money and assets via an expensive court case.
 
L

Lechies

Guest
#19
I make loads of promises sober that I have no intention of honouring, well, I would, I'm a right cnut.
 
#20
I promised a real stunner, that I had been trying to get into for ages that I would fit her new 'expensive?' 'wooden?' floor......

She fucked me all over the house, she looked like a little doll, but was possibly employed as an instructor of whores!

Next morning, one hang over, no breakfast, a child of dubious origin that I knew nothing about, and cries of hurry up, 'my parents are coming round at 11, it is in the shed (I think she meant the floor?)'

Sure thing thought I, but missed the shed and accidentally hopped over the fence straight to a cafe. I must have smelt like Hinge and Brackets pisspot - the THINGS that girl did...... I miss her to this day!
 

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