I went to a whorehouse...
...in Leeds with a couple of mates. It was a most odd situation - a normal house with a normal front door. A little slot opened when we knocked (presumably to check we weren’t feds) and the door opened into a reception area, about 2 foot square with a barred “hatch” on one side and a big, solid looking door on the other. My mates paid for me to get in as I wasn’t convinced that this was such a good idea, but they seemed quite keen. You did get a “free” massage and shower for your entrance fee though.

Once we had paid, a door opened into….a normal looking living room, with a few scantily clad tarts sitting watching the TV. Now don’t get me wrong, these were fantastic looking scantily clad tarts, not rough old dogs as many of the stories on here seem to suggest!

So, in we went, sat down and started chatting to these birds. They all seemed quite normal really. After a couple of minutes we were told to choose which one we wanted. My mates quickly chose theirs and disappeared into the “back”. Now as I said, I wasn’t sure about this and decided that victory would be the better part of valour and declined. And besides, at this stage I was a “good boy”.

So, my trip to the brothel in Leeds consisted of sitting in a normal living room, with a glass of water, 4 or 5 half naked women chatting with them about going out, what they’d been up to, having a right laugh and watching an episode of the Bill on telly.

After about half an hour (these were the days when the Bill was only on for half an hour) both mates came out, one looking rather sheepish as he had a girlfriend and couldn’t believe what he’d just done and the other looking rather pleased with himself.

“What was it like then lads?” I asked on the way to the pub.

Sheepish bloke – “I don’t want to talk about it, and if either of you tell my bird, I’ll kick the crap out of you”.
Pleased bloke – “That was fuckin’ great. Apart from the fact I made the bitch bleed”.
(Bertie Dastard Wax on, wax off, Wed 25 Jan 2006, 11:14, Reply)