Have a roasted pea
Back at uni, during what was technically my second first year, I was in a bit of a state mentally as I had split up with my long term missus, tried to commit suicide, and was diagnosed with bipolarity type 2 on pretty much the same day. A few weeks after that and after a brief trip to hospital because of problems with drink and pills, I am now on proper medication, citalopram and zopiclone (cita is an anti-depressant and zopi are sleeping pills) as opposed to alcohol. So I'm fairly hopped up on the above pills, and not entirely with it. A wee bit stoned, you might say.

Somehow I fail to notice that one of my housemates brothers, we shall call him W, has turned up. Given that my bedroom door was about 5 foot away from the front door, you may begin to see just how fucked I was on these pills. I had learnt my lesson from the first incident, and locked my door whenever I was wanking, so people now knocked on my door if they wanted to speak to me.

So I hear a knock on my door just as I hit the vinegar strokes.

"What is it?" I call, boxers still around ankles and todger still firmly in hand just as I finish up into my hand.
"W's here, he wants to say hi to you." I hear B shout through the door.

Shit. At this point, my mind clears enough for me to drag my boxers and jeans up, do my belt and flies up, and for me to open the door and say hi. However, my mind hasn't cleared enough for me to remember that I should have wiped my hand really clean as opposed to a quick wipe across the back of my jeans.

I remember this too late.

There was an audible squelch as we shook hands.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 17 Feb 2011, 15:26, Reply)