It's funny how things turn out.

We recently played a gig in Colchester and it was business as usual. The last few punters were pulling on their coats and the brass section were lining up another round, whilst the others loaded the van. I was standing by the stage chatting to Claire, who walked away to take a phone call leaving me alone. “Is that your girlfriend?" came a voice from behind me. I turned around and saw a short dark girl wearing a Barry White t-shirt – a good start, I'm sure you'll agree.

She was gorgeous - seriously, you'd shag this girl in front of your wife. “I'm Gail” she said. “Why do they call you Bobby Big Balls?” I used my stock answer – it had to work one of these days. “Well, I don't rightly know, but – I gotta tell ya – I could stand having them drained.” I threw her a boyish grin, she returned it with raised eyebrow. “I've always wondered what goes on backstage.” she said. Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I led her towards the area we'd used to change in. With any luck there'd be a Gail blowing in my dressing room tonight!

“Show me what you've got then.” You didn't have to tell me twice. I dropped my jeans, and kicked off my boots and stood for a moment. Without taking my eyes off her I pulled off my t-shirt to reveal my taut, tanned and muscular torso beneath. All those sprints to the off-licence minutes before closing had paid off. I was near naked, and looking good.
…. Apart from my socks.

I couldn't think of a way to remove them and still look dynamic. In true porno style I decided to keep them on. I'd awakened something in Gail. “Ah, - porn king, eh? Speak to me in a Dutch accent.” “Sure, priddy lady.” “ Like, are you liking to remove my tide shorttss?” “Maybe hum on my gongs?” “ Rog an'roll!!” It seemed to work. “Now for you to seeing my grizzy bolls.” I gathered her up and carried her to the changing room. We fell upon the sofa with the usual, slightly undignified thud and tangle of limbs that usually accompanies this manoeuvre. I placed my mouth against hers and began to tease her tongue. She stood up, stepped back, pulled her bra through the sleeve of her t-shirt and flung it over her shoulder, landing on Les' sax. That was as near as his horn would get to her perfect titties, I thought.

She was all bad girl saying, “Here I am – do you want it?” She tucked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties. As she pulled the material slightly away from her skin, the whiteness of her belly appeared. She stopped for a moment, smiled and in one swift movement dropped her knickers into my lap. “Well” she asked, “what do you say to that?” The words ‘please' and ‘thanks very much' came to mind – but instead I decided to stay in character. “Kip your shooss on, Honeychild.” She drew me towards the floor and we fell into each other's arms. Our mouths pressed against each other. The cool seduction was replaced by hot, lustful passion. My hands kneaded her breasts through the thin fabric of her shirt. I could feel her nipples hardening, and slipped my fingers beneath the cotton in order to tease them further. She pulled hard with one hand against my rear, and thrust the other between our bodies struggling at my zip. Her knuckles scraped against my straining member as she released me from my pants. She grasped my hand and forced it against her sex. The romance was in full throttle and we began to work our bodies against each other until she opened her thighs and allowed me to slip between them with one smooth, gentle motion.
.... Except of course I didn't.

That's what what happens in films. In films, one lover can guide another without so much as breaking their embrace. In real life, however, you have to fiddle around. “Almost" she breathed. “Down, down - DON'T YOU DARE!” Finally she placed me into the correct orifice and the passion began to once more to take control. She arched her back, I plunged my hands under her buttocks. As I entered her, she scrambled backwards away from the pain of my impressive love baton. She swore at me “shit - you're enormous!” Her voice a ragged whisper. The fluttering in her belly built to a tremor within and she forced up a silence that ended in a scream, then breathed quickly, desperately, like a beached mermaid. As we rushed towards climax it seemed as though we might actually finish together. In the mirror, I threw myself a half smile and drew back for one last, glorious plunge….

....Then slipped out and banged into the headboard, bending my manhood in half and screeching with pain. She joined in at the chorus – “yes, yes, yes, yesssss!!” “Oh, Bobby – you're a nearly good lover.” She whimpered, “I can't wait to tell all of my mates, who are definitely page three models, so you can have a go on them too.

FANTASTIC!! All in a nights work.

We said our goodbyes and left through the fire escape, out into the cold Colchester evening. In the van on the way home, guess what? No bastard believed me!

Funny how things turn out.

Bobby B. Balls

(Bobby’s lines are most effective at around five to two, in a dark club, on a hen night).
(Bobby takes no responsibility for useless twats who are just too fat and ugly to make his foolproof methods work).