Relive the horror

Sometimes it takes someone else's reaction for you to realise the severity and/or hilariousness of a situation.

Last night I had let's-get-together-coz-I-haven't-seen-you-in-ages drinks with an old gal pal. We were dishing out the sordid details of what we had been up to over the last couple of years and practically immediately we got onto which misfits we had bumped uglies with.

The story about the last bloke I shagged made her titter (his name was either Mark or Steve, it was outside at 4 in the morning and he drove a white Cadillac. And he came from Watford), but it was the loser before that which really made her smile.

Let me set the scene with relevant background information: I moved to London when I was 19 and I was very naive and rather shoddy. I had the standard short spiky hair with blonde highlights, very bad jeans (usually borrowed from my female flatmate) and an overall look of dreadfulness.

I made some new London friends, one of them being South African (referred to as The SA), straight and (I thought at the time) very good looking. He had a gay brother back in SA, he said. He was even better looking than him, he said.

When The SA got married, his brother arrived, was the best man and was indeed very handsome. To me and my equally impressionable flatmate, Snow, he was quite unlike any man we had seen: chiselled; confident; sexy; mysterious.

He didn't look twice at me. Why would he? I wouldn't have done. The wedding ended, he went back home and that was that.

Five years later and he was back over here seeing his brother again. We all planned to go out and go dancing. The girls were dancing their g-strings off at Stringfellows, so me and the brothers were going to meet up first, head to Pacha and then the girls would come and meet us when they'd finished.

Arrived at the club slightly nervous about seeing The Brother as I remembered how much I had fancied him before, but at the same time I was fairly confident as I knew that I had come on leaps and bounds since then. I was now wearing men's jeans for a start. And my hair was now acceptable, my skin was no longer pallid and lifeless and I no longer had the whiff of the student.

When I clapped eyes on him, I was very smug indeed. Where the last five years had been somewhat kind to me, they had most definitely taken their toll on him. He had gone from being muscular to looking gaunt, he was wearing a black crocheted shirt which revealed his not-so rippling torso and he had turned into one of those men who smelt like tobacco, coffee and Armani aftershave.

And yet he had the audacity to do one of those things that drives me insane - he pretended not to remember me, so I had to be re-introduced to him. He could barely drag himself from his mobile phone to shake my hand and he made no effort at all to be polite to me, his brother's friend.

So we head into Pacha, me ignoring him and him thinking he was something special, he tried to get me to pay for him to get in (which I did not do) and also expected me to pay for him to put his coat in the cloakroom (again, I did not agree).

When I saw his old man's dancing ability on the dance floor, I was too embarrassed to stay with them, so I went for a wander upstairs and planned to wait there on my own until the girls arrived.

Had a few too many. Why not? It was the weekend. In fact, had a lot too many and needed to sit down. The Brother appears out of nowhere and sits next to me, telling me he had done too many pills and was 'totally out of it, man'. Can he rest his head in my lap, he asks. Er, OK, I think, but this is highly inappropriate behaviour considering a) we are in public and b) you are a big ole cunt.

With his head now snuggled deep into my groin, I can't fight the drunkenness any more and tell him I feel sick and need to go to the toilet. He springs into action, takes me by the hand and leads me off to the loos.

He bundles me into a cubicle, sits me down and rubs my back. Luckily, I don't actually chunder, but I didn't feel too great.

"You need to piss it out," he says.

What? Is that the old famous 'if you're drunk have a wee' remedy?

I complied anyway and got my wanger out, but there was no pissing to be done from me.

And then he unzips and gets his own todger out and just stands there smiling.

Well, I may have said it before, but my mum always taught me to be polite. There I was standing in a cubicle with a man with his knob out, so I did what anyone else would do in that situation and I got on my knees. It'd be rude not to.

In my drunken state, I was still able to do some good business. I have it on good authority that I give 'good head', from real people and, if it could speak, I'm sure the chocolate penis I was given for Christmas would say the same thing (does it make me a pervert that as I devoured it, I pretended it wasn't made of chocolate and that it was joined to Mr Olivier? And no, it wasn't cream-filled).

The fellating continued for a few minutes until he pulled himself free from my mouth and said:

"I think we should come back later and finish this off."

I would have expected something more along the lines of, "Oh, baby, I'm gonna cum," but instead I got that.

You can offer to blow someone and be rejected, but can you be rejected mid-blow?

I should've said something like 'you should consider yourself lucky to have had that thing in my mouth in the first place and you needn't think you're gonna get another shot', but rather said 'OK' and stood up.

We zipped up and headed back to the bar and rejoined The SA.

I was seething, time went by and the girls arrived, to hear all my gory details. They laughed.

Shortly after this, he sidled over and asked me if I wanted to accompany him to a fetish club in Vauxhall because he was supposed to be meeting 'some guy' there and he didn't know how to get there.

No thanks.

"Well, how about we go to the loos then, and finish off what we started?"

Finally, I said the right thing. I looked him in his once-dreamy eyes and said: "Thanks, but no thanks."

He was not happy and decided the time was right to go. He said goodbye to and kissed everyone in the group except me, who got the cold shoulder.

"Why did you suck his dick?" asked Snow. "You don't even fancy him anymore."

"I'm not really sure," I said. "I was there, it was there. I just thought 'in for a penny, in for a pound'."

The only thing that made this story more typically me was about six months later, I heard talk of him attending a family function with people I know and he was still maintaining that he was straight.

I've just added him to the list of losers.

I only hope 2007 is the year I stop being polite and only put penises in my mouth if I actually want to.

Maybe that could be my New Year's resolution.