Love For SALE! Good Price!

About a year or so ago, on a damp September Monday evening, I was out in Reading town centre having a few drinks with a couple of friends of mine. If you've ever lived in Reading you'll know that for 362 days a year there's little else to do other than get out of your mind on drink and forget your less than salubrious surroundings. And for those other 3 days of the year, your getting out of your mind on drink at Reading Festival. Well this night was just one of those, when 4 young men realised they had little better to do but sit in a dinghy little pub, pumping money into the out of date juke box and just get drunk enough for the next day at work to be fucking unbearable. We were sat around chatting about precisely nothing when another friend burst through the door drunk and laughing;"Lads! Take a look at what i found in the phonebox across the road! It's gotta be a fucking joke!" he said, before he tossed a scruffy hand written piece of card on the beer splattered table. My friend Barry slapped his hand to the wooden table, as if he was trying to win a game of Snap, and grabbed at the note, knocking more beer out of the pint glasses in the process, and began to read it to himself, his lips moving silently as his eyes scanned the writing."Read it out then, you fat knacker!" another friend piped up, confirming his request with a quick elbow in the ribs. "Ow!! Ha Ha! Alright, you impatient cunt! Take a listen to this..... Fucking hell!", he replied in his thick Irish brogue. "Jaysus! This is mental" and he began to read, trying to stiffle his giggles as he did so; Do you want to have sex with my Hot Italian wife?Anything you want to do to her - £40Ring this number: 0??? ???????? The table came alive with interest as disbelieving hands reached out to grab the scrawled calling card. "Fuck right off!" Barry declared, still laughing and fending off as many clamouring hands as he could manage, "It's mine!""Just let me have a look, you dick!" I said and snatched it out of his hand when his eyes were diverted elsewhere."That's got to be bollocks! No one would whore out their wife for £40! That's either a husband who's been cheated on looking for revenge or just a complete wind up!""You're such a cynical fucker!" Barry exclaimed to me, snatching the advert back out of my hand. "And anyway, if it is a wind up we'll soon find out." With that he pulled his mobile out his pocket and started to tap in the numbers from the card."What are you doing?" my friend Brian questioned."What the feck does it look like i'm doing? I'm gonna phone up and see what the craic is. Now shush!""Ha ha! Brilliant!!""Shhhhh! It's ringing" Barry said firmly but with a glint in his eye. And with that we all stopped chattering and listened, desperately trying to hear the illicit phonecall that was about to take place."Er hello? Um yes. I've just found a card with this number in a phone box outside Broad Street Mall. Yep I think thats the same one. Is it for real? Whats the deal then? ""The deal is you're going to get arse raped!", someone chimed in. The tables stifled laughter from the four of us sat listening intently got louder and was greeted with a steely glare from Barry. We shut up and he continued;"No, that's nothing. I'm just sat at home with the TV on" he lied, "So it's definitely not a wind up? OK. And whereabouts are you based? Yeah i know that. Is she busy tonight? Oh great. I'll be around a bit later then if that's alright with you. Yeah the names Barry. I'll be sure to drop you a text when i'm on my way then, Alan. OK, yep. Bye then", and with that he hung up and looked on proudly as we all fell about the table in laughter. He spent the next 5 minutes fielding questions about whether he was really going to go through with it from one of my friends, with me telling him that it was probably still a wind up and he'd be a mug to even go near the place, whilst my other two mates egged him on to take the situation as far as he possibly could. Regardless of all these suggestions, Barry had already made up his own mind the minute he saw the words "have sex" and "£40" in the same sentence. Barry is, what most people would call a bit of a perve. This is a man who, in the past, has proudly admitted to wanking off to women’s tennis and, due to a distinct lack of female companionship, has a stack of the sickest grot mags imaginable nearly as tall as himself. He’s paid for sex before and had absolutely no qualms whatsoever about riding another mans missus for the seemingly paltry sum of £40. Despite two of my friends continuing to goad him into it, I spent the next hour trying to come up with really great excuses as to why we shouldn’t go; ‘She’s got to be bog monster, the mans bound to be a psycho, you’ll get relentlessly buggered before they stuff an orange rubber ball in your mouth and shove you in a box’. You know? That kind of thing. I spent the second hour with him slowly coming to terms with the fact that, no matter what I said, he was definitely going to go through with it. To say I was apprehensive about the whole thing would be a massive understatement. Having only recently seen the film Hostel, where a group of horny young boys get chopped into nasty little bits because they listened to their penises rather than their brains, I was fearing the worst. After a couple more drinks,three of my mates got their stuff together and exclaimed that they had work in the morning and left, shouting encouragement through the open pub door as they left. Barry lapped it up before picking up his mobile and waving it at them, before he began sending the fateful text to Alan. His eyes squinted at the screen as he sent his proposition. He pulled out the card from his top pocket and tapped the number in again, before setting it down next to his glass and asking, as cool as like, "Do you want another drink?" His phone soon bleeped with a response confirming that Alan was definitely up for it, his wife was looking forward to it too and to go round in 45 minutes. There was little point in attempting to talk him out of it now, but i gave it one last try;"You're fucking mental, Barry" I said shaking my head, "you must have a death wish""Death wish? More like a fucking sex wish!" he retorted "If you're so worried about me going alone why don't you come with me?""Go to some nutters house? Like fuck!""Ah, go on! I thought one of those boys would have done but they've got work. You haven't. I'm sure it'll be fine. The bloke didn't sound like a nutcase.""He's whoring out his wife, for fucks sake!!! How can he sound like anything but a nutcase?!?!"Aw, you know what i mean! He doesn't sound hard. He was very softly spoken. And he said his wife was fit!""Well he would say that, wouldn't he . Firstly he's fucking married to her and secondly, he's trying to pimp her out to you!""Aw go on!""No chance mate"And for the next couple of minutes he tried to talk me into accompanying him, before he pulled out the big guns and reminded me of a time (the details of which I won't mention here) when he had gone above and beyond to help me out. "Oh for fucks sake! I knew you'd bring that up eventually! Alright alright, i'll fucking go with you!""Ha har, yes!" he said triumphantly "I knew you wouldn't let me down" before patting me on the back."Not much choice when you bring that up, you fucker! I'm not happy about this!" So we spent the next 40 drinking and chatting, barely mentioning the seedy encounter both of us were about to enter into. At the beginning of the night I had been dead against the the whole crazy idea of riding another mans wife but maybe it was the booze and the adrenaline coursing through my veins or the fact that I now had to go up there anyway that made me blurt out as we were leaving, “I’m not going second!”. We spent the short walk out of town debating who would go in pole position. I told him, in no uncertain terms, that if we were to go ahead with it, I would only do it if she was fit and there was absolutely no chance in hell I was going to get on up on her after he’d had laid his greasy fat paws on her. He argued, that it had been his idea, he had found the card and that he should get first dibs. After I threatened to go home once more, he said there was only one fair way to decide it; we’d have to flip a coin for 1st place. I lost. The urge to turn and run took over me again, but my friend kindly reminded me that any man who reneges on their word on the sacred flipping of a coin is a total arsehole. We arrived at the door with me still cursing and insisting it was a bad idea, but we were here now, there was no going back. Barry rang the doorbell and we could see a man getting out of a chair through the frosted glass window, as he got closer to the door it became apparent that, thankfully, he wasn’t the man-buggering mountain we had both feared. He opened the door and stood before us was a pony-tailed, slightish, man, about 30 years of age, fairly innocuous looking but maybe he could still be a knife-wielding psycho and he’d run in and maim me when I was humping his loved one. “Oh two of you! Come in guys” he said, as if he were greeting a couple of old friends. He offered us a drink of wine, which we both politely declined. We had spoke about this in the pub and if they were going to drug, bum and murder us, we’d have to make it a whole lot more difficult for them to get the rohypnol in our systems then drinking a glass of spiked Liebfraumilch. He told us to sit down in the living room, where he had been calmly watching the tale-end of Eastenders alone. I could smell weed in the air and it was obvious by the dog-ends in the ashtray next to him that he had just put out a spliff. We all sat there for a moment without speaking, just watching the screen before he finally piped up, “My wife’s upstairs, she’ll be down in a minute.” “Um, are you gonna watch us?" Barry finally said. I was glad he had said it because it had been playing on both our minds and I was struck dumb with the bizarreness of the situation. “Don’t be silly, I’m not into that kind of stuff!”, Alan said. He actually seemed quite annoyed at the suggestion. Here was a man who was about to let two lads ride his wife and we were the “silly” ones for suggesting that he might like to watch! “Have you got the cash guys?” he said, “that’ll be £80 for the both of you. Separately. Aida’s not into threesomes.”Maybe it was the fear, or perhaps the sound of the woman’s name subconsciously put me off the whole idea but, in hindsight, I can proudly say that I bottled it. “Its not the two of us mate, it’s just him” I said thumbing at Barry, “I’m just tagging along”. Barry nudged me, not very subtlely, repeatedly with his knee, I turned round and he glared at me. The look in his eyes said “You cunt!”. I did feel a bit bad at that point, but now that the pressure was off and I knew I wasn’t shortly going to be riding this guys missus, I could have a bit of a friendly chat with him. I went on to tell him that we had both been a bit worried about the situation and I was here as back up. I think the words “Safety in numbers” actually came out of my mouth before Alan stopped me and reassured us that he and his wife did this thing all the time. I asked him why he didn’t utilise the powers of the internet to find potential suitors for his wife, surely it would be safer than leaving scrawled notes in telephone boxes. He told us he didn’t like computers and by the looks his house, he probably couldn’t afford one anyway after spending all his money on pot. At that moment, we heard a creaking on the stairway, which lead down into the living room. I looked up and could see some feet, some decidedly chubby ankles and the bottom of a robe. Aida made her way down the steps. To call her obese wouldn’t be fair but she was certainly big boned about 5 foot nothing with black hair and was wearing a blue towelling men’s robe. She looked, as Alan had already told us she was, very Italian and, by the size of her, she’d obviously had a few too many meatballs. At that moment, I was so so glad that I had already made my excuses and I sat there waiting for my mate to come out with his before we ran out the door, but they didn’t come. “Aida this is Barry and Paul” Alan said. “Hello boys”, Aida said in a really annoying Italian voice that I think was supposed to sound seductive. Now she wasn’t exactly ugly but she certainly was by no means a looker and I’m sure she was cultivating a nice moustache, which was probably a sign of the hairy things to come. Alan explained the situation to Aida and she looked at me in disappointment when he told her that I wasn’t going to be joining her in the bedroom. “Aahh, that’s a shame”, she said. At that point I wasn’t sure if she was doing it for the cash or for the love of cock, but I felt the need to explain myself. “Umm yeah, sorry I can’t. I’ve got a missus” “So has he!” Barry said quickly, pointing at Alan. We all laughed a bit but I could tell, by his tone, that my mate was still annoyed with me and that Alan really just didn’t give a shit about people ‘doing the naughty’ with his wife. Aida walked towards my mate on the chair and took him by the hand, “Come on then” she said. He got up slowly and they both walked towards the staircase. “Have fun darling” Alan said to his wife. “You know I will” came the reply. As the walked up the stairs, my friend turned round and gave me one last telling glance. He wasn’t happy. I know he was bang up for it before but he had been clearly sold down the river about this womans hotness. I didn’t know why we hadn’t run and why he was going to go through with it, but if he was able to get a boner with that woman and was going to ride her with her husband only sat downstairs, then he was a better man than I. The door closed upstairs and Alan turned round to me and said “Have you got that money?” After bottling it, shelling out £40 was the least I could do, so I handed him two £20 notes. As stood up and he stuffed the two bits of paper into his pocket, I was struck with what a tiny amount it was to let someone jump your wife. He then just sat down and casually flicked on Casualty. With that a loud THUD came from upstairs. ‘Oh fuck! She’s killed him” I thought. Then the sound of the bed creaking and a low moan from Aida allayed my fears. “Christ! They’re really going for it.” Alan said. That was it. This was just too much. I was sat in a room with a man, watching the telly, whilst his wife was being ragged. “What’s the eh, the um, reason you and your wife do this Alan?” I was about to add, “Is it for the cash?” but he interjected, “Aida’s just loves sex and I have trouble keeping up with her. What can I say? She’s a fiery Italian woman” “She’s a fat Italian woman”, I thought to myself. After I stoney silence, broken only by the sound of the bed creaking rhythmically upstairs “What about the money?” I finally asked. “That’s just a bonus for me. It keeps me in this” he said pulling a big bag of weed out of his pocket. The arrangement became crystal clear. His wife got sex with strangers. He got skunk. “Do you want some spliff?” “Alright” I replied, completely forgetting the no drink or drugs policy. What was already one of the most surreal nights of my life had just turned even more so, as I sat smoking a potent joint, watching The fucking Casualty with a complete stranger, whilst my mate had intercourse with his wife. About 25 minutes after they had gone upstairs, the squeaking of the bed and the sex noises stopped. I hardly noticed it as I was quite stoned and engrossed in a wonderful episode of the hospital drama. My mate came down five minutes later alone. I stood up. We both shook hands with Alan, as if we’d just completed a run of the mill business deal and left the house. As we walked down the path and Alan shut the door, my mate gave me an almighty kick up the arse and started calling me a bastard. I just laughed as he went on to explain that the minute they walked through the door, she had flung her robe off to reveal a stumpy, chubby body and a big Italian black bush. She had torn at his clothes and had rough sex with him, scratching his back and his arse, all the while swearing at him in Italian. I asked him for the £40 and he told me in no uncertain terms to “Get fucked!” and the “he had taken a bullet for me". "But I didn't even want to to do it!""Nor did i once I clocked her coming down the stairs, but we both couldn't pussy out and insult the mans wife.""Insult him by not having sex with his wife?" I said whilst giggling"Yeah. That'd be like saying she was a fat ugly bitch", he replied."But she fucking was!!!""I know, but she was fucking mental in bed!!" Barry replied and then went into graphic detail about what had taken place upstairs. There was no point in me pushing it as there was no way he would ever pay up. To be honest, I was stoned and giggling like a girl at this point as he went into even more detail about her big minge. The laughs alone were worth it and I just thanked the Lord that I had bottled it, so I wasn’t entirely worried about the cash. I asked Barry if he wanted to go for a drink."Fuck that! i'm going straight home for a shower!"So we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, with me laughing to myself all the way on mine.I phoned him the next morning to rib him about what had taken place. He pretended to still be angry with me for chickening out, but i could tell by the sound of his voice that he was joking."So any regrets about last night?" I asked him."My only regret was bringing you, you useless cunt!""Ha ha, seriously you must feel a bit wrong for sleeping with that bush pig?"He’d had a night to sleep on it and collect his thoughts;"Paul, that was the single greatest sexual experience of my life! I'm fucking going back next week for some more!" This time, from the sound of his voice, I could tell he that he meant it. To be continued.........................................