To Shagaluf and back (in 24 hours)
I thought I'd share my best night out ever with you, culminating with a bit of a stressful road trip. It's a long story (apologies for length already) with a lot of scene-setting so bear with me. By the way I'm a long time lurker but a B3TA virgin poster... Be gentle with me!

Anyway, way back in '98, I was a horny, party-mad young lad on a shoestring budget and I desperately wanted to get away for my 1st summer holiday without the folks. After a very brief check of the finances, two of my closest (and equally dirty) hombres Adam, Ali and I booked a cheap and cheerful holiday via Ceefax (without reading the T+Cs) to Magaluf. Big mistake.

We arrived excited and a bit lagered up in Majorca and met our tour rep who happily informed us that though we flew into Palma (where we wanted to be), our actual hotel was based in a tiny German resort called Sa Coma, 40km away from the party/shagathon capital that was Magaluf. Fucksocks.

We turned up in this quaint village with two pubs and a beach, and what seemed like the entire population of Dusseldorf in our hotel. Never to be held back by adversity, we did our best to have a laugh (skinny dipping - a bit gay without girls), drink our own bodyweight in drinks and try to meet the local lasses (there were NONE). Despondant after a dull week, we begged our tour rep for guidance and help. God bless her, she was off to Magaluf for our last night (as she was picking up her sister from the airport) and was going out for a night on the tiles. Would we like to grab a lift? We very nearly bit her arm clean off. Away we went and holiday saved! Hooray!

Magaluf for those that don't know, is a dive. However, it is packed with bars, clubs and hot, nee easy women. It's known as shagaluf for a reason. Needless to say, I ran around like a kid in a toy shop trying to play with everything at once, whilst pumping myself full of about 20 vodka redbulls. Absolutely battered, I was having a ball but I was still desperately horny and it was about 4am. Our lift back to the hotel with the rep was at 6, so I told my mates 'I'll be right back' and I literally went up to ever girl in the club with a one word ice breaker/inappropriate proposition - 'Shag?' After several slaps, I struck gold with a cute Scottish lass - lets call her Bonny.

Bonny and I nip off to the beach and proceeded to get our jiggy on in the sea. Now this is no easy task. With me on top and desperately trying to get decent footing in the wet sand, it was like sprinting in well, wet sand and I started sweating like a glass blower's arse. Panting, I suggested that we move to a sunlounger to finish off which we duly did, and a good time was had by all. At this point I check my watch - 5:50am. FUCK. I don't know where I am, it's pitch black and my ride to Germanville leaves in 10 minutes.

So I start sprinting. My vodka addled brain doesn't have a clue where it is taking me, but the red bull powered legs have given me Linford Christie's speed and stamina. Sadly, I run in completely the wrong direction, straight away from the town centre and along a dual carriageway for a couple of miles until I think I'm going to pass out through exhaustion. It's about half six by now and my lift/mates had definitely gone back to our hotel, and we had to be out of our room by ten or we got charged for another night, plus our bus transfer to the airport leaves at 12. That's when I start hitching (and this is where the road trip comes in - keep up!)

I get utterly ignored by lots of scared looking Spaniards who wizzed past (I was covered in luminous face paint, my shirt was hanging in tatters etc) and I started to panic. I had no cash for a taxi, I had run into the middle of nowhere and I was slowly dying of thirst. I walked for about an hour (reasoning that I could cover the 40km to the airport in a couple of hours) and the bastard sun had come up too so I started to burn. That was when I caught a break and another Scot - lets call him Hamish - decided to save my life. He pulled over in his shitty little Fiat Panda, offered me an ice cold lucozade and gave me a lift to a taxi rank where he explained to Pedro that I would pay for the ride when I got back to the hotel where my cash was kept. After I thanked him to within an inch of his life (hmm.. sounds weird) he then drove off into the sunrise. An utter, utter hero. Hamish I owe you massively mate!

I finally got to the hotel room by half nine (I got utterly fleeced on the taxi but I didn't care)where I was greeted by two irate and very worried mates who thought I had been kidnapped/murdered. They saw the funny side eventually though when I told them of my antics, and pissed themselves when I had a shower to wash the sand off from under my bellend, and screamed like a banshee when the hot water hit my red raw cock.

Totally worth it.

Length? Not much when the water hit it.

Ps - for those of you who care, we checked out on time, and got the bus straight back into Magaluf and to the airport not 6 hours after I had left it. Pointless roadtrip but I still think back on such larks fondly.
(Mr Fudge It shouldn't be illegal to have sex with an eagle, Thu 21 Jul 2011, 12:52, Reply)