The Leadmill, Sheffield
I used to go to the Leadmill fairly often when I was an undergrad. Interesting place. In my first year the girl I was then dating was aggressively pawed up in the ladies by a mutton chopped whiskery lesbian. In my second year I narrowly missed being sprayed with baby batter after a young gentleman received a hand shandy from a young lady on the dance floor.

In my third year things, relatively, improved. One night I was in there with some friends and we got talking to two girls.

Girl A was short and squat, with a shaven head, wearing a Chris Waddle t-shirt. She was trashed.

Girl B was tall and pretty damned attractive, aside from the ridiculous Ugg boots she was wearing. She was also trashed.

After a while of drunken shouting at each other and dancing, Girl A said to me 'Girl B likes you'. Wahey thinks I. Tonight I at least stand a half chance of deeply unsatisfactory drunken sex which tomorrow morning I probably won't be able to remember clearly.

I moved closer to Girl B, the rhythm of our dancing merging like two drunk polar bears on ice-skates skating over a glass floor covered in marbles. My hand found hers, her lipstick smeared mouth parted to give the briefest toothy smile. She gazed into my eyes and shouted at me. I shouted back, subtly manoeuvring her away from my friends and her friend, who was now doing the internationally recognised Charades move for sexy time. I moved in to kiss her, my hand brushing her hair, feeling the softness of her tongue as it brushed against mine, the taste of cigarettes, stale vodka and vomit that permeated her mouth. I pulled away, an awkward half smile on my face as I tried to remember whether or not I had eaten carrot earlier, or whether I had collected an unwanted bilious traveller. She looked at me, patted me gently on the crotch and demurely asked me if I would like to come back to hers for some coffee and a frank exchange of views. Like a gentleman, I accepted.

She then turned to Girl A to tell her she was leaving, just as Girl A was sparking up a cigarette. Girl B tripped on her Ugg boots, and headbutted Girl A right in the mouth. The sparks from the cigarette flew all over the place. Girl A staggered and then fell back, followed shortly by Girl B who collapse on top of her, and then vomited. Again.

I went home alone.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 2:16, 7 replies)

Yeah, OK...
...have a click for 'unwanted bilious traveller'...
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 2:52, closed)

Nicely put, Zap.
*click*
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 7:44, closed)

unwanted bilious traveller
BRILLIANT!

*click*
(lochii, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 11:50, closed)

Bin there
Bin to Sheffield
click
(SBCkittencure, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 12:30, closed)

That was
excellent
(vibrating tuna, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 12:36, closed)

Well...
you can be too fussy in these situations.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Sat 11 Apr 2009, 22:42, closed)

I think
it was the moment afterwards when she stood back up, drenched in vomit, and went to kiss me again that I declined.

I was drunk but not that drunk.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Mon 13 Apr 2009, 1:04, closed)