Tales of a Lagan Lover

I managed to get out without Kully on Friday night. My next door neighbour Andy a 43 year old systems analyst with a serious drug and alcohol habit asked me to some works do. He asked Kully too but she reckoned he was an old deviant so she stayed in.

Andy is a good laugh, one of these guys who likes having fun and doesn't dwell too much on the consequences. He was one of those eighties students who did loads of hitching across Europe, taking drugs and sleeping in huts, watching Liverpool in European Cup finals and getting into all that Summer of Love ecstasy crap at the start. He has a fine collection of shit albums by guys like the Stone Roses and Happy Mondays. In the 90's he grew up got a decent job then in keeping with times (he really is Mr Zeitgeist)jacked it in to bum around Moshav work camps, Egypt and eventually India for a couple of years. When he came back he lived in a few London squats before marrying some crazy woman from Walthamstow who ripped him off and divorced him once he'd bought the big house for her. That was about four years ago, he moved in beside me shortly afterwards and our shared interest in beer and shagging has led to some decent nights out.

Anyway I have rambled a bit but its useful background for what happened this weekend. Andy's colleagues are the usual bunch of IT twats with plenty of money and no commonsense and that geek's idea of a good time. Once the free bar closed me and Andy went off to the pub next door and got talking to a couple of eighties throwbacks, goth females one with wild Siouxsie hair and the other with blond crimped hair. We almost wet ourselves looking at them, the Siouxsie clone was called Skippy or Chippy I couldn't tell the music was too loud. The other one was called Sarah and I got on quite well with her.

At closing time we went to their favourite club, where me and Andy looked like the freaks, two catalogue men (mature section) in a world of black clothes and white face powder. By two o'clock we were walking back to Sarah and Chippy's place. Andy and Chippy were bickering about the Mission and the Jesus and Mary Chain. Sarah and me were arm in arm and getting friendlier.

At their place after an hour of so of polite conversation Andy was unconscious and I was in bed with Sarah. Sounds great so far eh! Well not quite a home run, lots of kissing and petting but no penetration. A real disappointment. Sarah had a very similar build and body to Kully and strangely the same stringy nipples, must be something in the water round here. I did have the odd pang of guilt about my live in lover, back home but it didn't out me off.

We talked a lot too and it soon became clear she had a boyfriend and that was why the action wasn't going to a conclusion. I asked where he was and she said he was a soldier. 'In Iraq or Afghanistan?' I asked. 'Neither he's a deserter, and he's on the run. He didn't fancy going back to Iraq so he slipped out of Catterick six months ago and has been lying low ever since'. 'One of these guys who didn't like the army when it stopped being a shoe polishing club, is that it?' I said. 'No, it was the stress out in Iraq. He couldn't face the hostility of the people he was trying to help' she whimpered. 'I've enough experience of the Brits idea of helping the locals at Killyleagh border post to understand exactly why the local Iraqis treat them with a little hostility' says I.

She took my cynicism rather well and told me his name was Bill, a scouser and surprisingly a para. In Iraq apparently the first time his unit met some hostiles late one night, they dropped to the floor and he admitted to shitting himself unable to look up or fire. Seemingly he wasn't the only one who bottled it. There were lots of smelly blokes after the firefight ended.

The next morning she made breakfast and we stayed in bed most of the day talking and petting. I turned off my mobile to avoid any calls from Kully. Andy had disappeared before anyone else got up. On Saturday evening we went back out to the pub I met them in, along with a lod of their pals including an arse called Chris from Newry with a real attitude problem. The kind of kid who missed the worst of the troubles but still feels oppressed by the British state. We argued intermittently. We went back to the Goth club and then home to Sarah's for a late night bevvy and boring drug smoking session. We retired to bed for more snogging and fondling. I was getting a bit smelly by this stage and determined to go home asap but Sarah seemed to like me so I stayed the night.

After breakfast on Sunday morning I said my goodbyes, exchanged phone no's and promised to be in touch. Sarah seemed keen to see me again. I wandered home to face the music, suddenly concerned about how I had treated Kully. The flat was empty, her clothes were gone, there was no note, the only trace of her was several empty Nescafe jars on the draining board. I sat down listened to some fraught and abusive answer phone messages but didn't feel too upset at her departure.

After lunch I knocked Andy's door, he answered rather sheepishly. 'Oh I'm really sorry mate, I didn't mean any harm' he gibbered. 'What the fuck are you talking about?' I retorted. 'You don't know?' he gasped. 'She didn't tell you?' 'No she called me a few names on Saturday morning but nothing since then. What happened?'

I sat down in his living room and he told me a story that really confirmed that life is stranger than fiction. He got home about nine on Saturday morning and went to bed. Kully practically kicked his door in an hour later, demanding to know where I was. Andy, possibly due to the drugs, just can't tell lies and generally doesn't bother especially if he is hungover. He told her the full story and suggested that I had gone to bed with sarah but he couldn't be sure because he had fallen asleep. She went ballistic then burst into tears and went back to my flat. Andy could hear her sobbing through the wall. Being a sensitive soul he went round and made her something to eat and gave her a hug. According to him Kully went a bit wild and started snogging him. Before he knew it they were naked in my bed. Just as he was about to enter her she leapt up, shouted this is not right, get out you old pervert. He tried to remonstrate but she pushed him naked out the dooor and threw his clothes after him. Through his spyhole he saw her leave an hour later with her suitcases. Hence his sheepishness.

I laughed 'Don't worry you did me a favour, pal, if she was in when I got home she would've killed me.'

On Kully's orders I went to IKEA this afternoon to buy some wardrobes. Never really been before but my mate Andy swears by the meatballs and the coffee.

I arrived at one and went in for lunch, no point in humphing furniture on an empty stomach. I had the big portion of meatballs and jam which tasted great. Sweden has gone up in my estimation, the coffee was fantastic, I took advantage of the free refills to try the hot chocolate too. Sitting alone in the restaurant I realised that IKEA was a kind of hotspot for 'ladies who lunch' all around me were rather good looking ladies of a certain age and their equally attractive daughters.

After ogling quietly for half an hour I set off round the shop looking for Kully's desired wardrobe, apparently mine is too old and too small. Women don't realise that men don't need much space for their clothes.

Wandering round I found myself behind one group which consisted of a young couple about 22 (the wife plumply attractive in a Kirty Allsop kind of way) and the wife's mother a beautiful slightly faded woman in I would say he mid forties. Mom and me exchanged a rather warm smile over a Malm chest of drawers. The daughter cast her mother a disparaging look and I moved swiftly on.

By the kitchens I bumped into a tall woman with short dark hair and glasses. She had the body of a retired swimmer with broad shoulders and huge breasts. We exchanged apologies and warm smiles, I moved on slowly this woman made me throb and she was alone. No daughter or husband to cramp her style. We passed and re-passed each other throwing out those little sideways looks that show the chase is on.

At the wardrobe section I had to stop and ask the assistant where I could find the one I was after. He was a doddery old beggar who flapped visibly at being asked to use his computer. As granpa fooled around with the keyboard the tall woman stopped at the bed section and made a great show of bending over looking at beds within feet of me. I felt as if she was deliberately pointing her ass and cleavage at me. I was lost in the throes of passion until Granpa brought me back with; "There in row 20 and section A you'll find them no-bother". "Thanks" I grumbled and looked around to find the tall woman had disappeared.

I caught up with her at the bathroom accessories section. I picked up a toilet brush (another Kully order)and looked up to seek the big girl exposing huge amounts of cleavage leaning over the shelf to my left. I looked at her, smiled and said hello. She smiled back and I bravely asked her if I could buy her a drink in the restaurant. You're a bit presumptious she growled. I laughed and said I was a lonely bloke out on a shopping trip for his girlfriend, I need some female company. "OK" she says "as long as you buy".

I bought her a glass of ligonberry juice(classy!)and we sat down. Her name was Vicky, married with two kids. She found the name Tufty rather amusing. I held her hand and we sat side by side on the bench chatting quietly. I squeezed her thigh, she hugged me, kissed me and said this wasn't such a good idea. I protested, she gave me her mobile no and said "Call me sometime if you want a chat". Then she left. I considered following her but felt it probably wasn't a good idea.

I went downstairs, bought my wardrobes, wished Vicky had stuck around because a big girl like her would have come in useful lifting the big boxes. I got home built the wardrobes, in time for Kully coming home and sat down to home cooked paratha for tea. Not a bad life in some ways. I suggested a few other IKEA products we might want, I feel another visit coming on soon.

I

Its almost been a week now. Waking up beside a good looking woman every morning is great. Having sex every night ain't too bad either. The only problem is when its the same woman every night. I'm enjoying the romance and closeness but I do miss the thrill of the chase. Sometimes it would be nice to have the space to lie down and have a ham shank.

Yup having Kully in my life 24 hours a day is getting stressful. I need space and she wants attention. We're not compatible but she doesn't seem to realise. We are the best pals in all the world in her eyes, she's probably planning the wedding already. Every suggestion that she might want to go home is ignored and any hint that I might want to spend the evening with someone else is met with naked breasts or a lifted skirt. This affair is not healthy but I can't deny that the woman knows how to keep a man happy.

My mates laugh at me, the king of the one night stands entrapped by a 5 foot manipulative nympho. I want a return to my own company midweek and weekend jumps with uncomplicated women. Am I being unreasonable?

Kully came round on Wednesday and hasn't gone home yet. I'm having fun but it all feels too respectable. She's a nice girl who is a bit highly strung with a serious Nescafe addiction; ten cups a day with five or six spoonfuls in each.

She does every thing at speed, cooks cleans and is a very enthusiastic lover. My only complaint is lack of personal space she's hooked onto me day and night. I am desperately trying to think of some way of ditching her that doesn't cause too much pain. Short of her catching me with someone else I can't see her leaving.

My habits are changing, we didn't go to the pub at all this weekend! We went for a meal tonight and last night we went to the pictures. She's in bed now waiting for me to finish off a report for work before I perform my conjugal duties. I not used to this level of affection and organisation. Somethings got to give.

Kully came round last night, a real surprise as I thought it was a one nighter. Like many unmarried Celtic blokes living in England I don't have much of a mid-week social life unless I'm down the pub. Midweek I tend to stay sober just because it makes work just about bearable. If I go to work with a hangover these days I'm in danger of strangling my boss.

Anyway I digress for a reason, sitting watching telly in a semi-comatose state is my natural Monday routine. Enertaining a young lady is not high up the planned agenda (weekends only you understand, saving on washing). I felt a bit put out and had to restrain myself from turning into a cross between Mrs Doyle and Father Dougal. "Would ya like a cup o tea, go on you know you do" followed by "What brings ya round here, we don't get many passersby on a Monday!!"

You guessed it, I was rattled, the prospect of bad news (AIDS, the Clap, Psycho Husband!!) or worse good news (I've missed you, can we see each other more often, lets get married aargh!!) was making my stomach churn. Worringly she made no demands just burst into conversation like we were old pals. Talked about relatives, mad uncles in Coventry, cousins who were always getting beat up, a typically Irish conversation. The Donegalis and the Bengalis have very similar interests it would seem; death, family, drink and food.

After an hour or two it was getting dark, I offered to walk her home, she smiled, pulled out her toothbrush and nightdress froma suspiciously large handbag and said she was staying over. "Is that right, says I". "Yea fella you need a good woman to look after ya. At your age you should be married with big kids not hanging about discos looking for ten to two shags".

Realising resistance would lead to an uncomfortable situation I smiled and said "You can stay tonight but lets not get carried away, we don't know each other very well. You're not moving in yet."

"Fine boyo, come here" said a now naked Kully. Never one to resist an invitation I stepped in and almost swallowed her whole. Aniseed flavoured Indian women are hard to beat on a Monday night. This morning she was up at six and out by seven, dressed and fed as well as my humble kitchen can manage. She promised to call on Wednesday as she went out the door.

Not quite sure where this is going but I am not going to worry too much about it. Most women realise pretty quickly that I'm not marriage material and escape before things get too rough. She's a nice girl but I'm not interested enough for there to be much of a future.

Found myself standing at the edge of the dancefloor staring at women. Friday was drawing to a close and it looked as if I was heading home for a lonely night. God I felt like a failure.

Then I realised that someone was staring back. I smiled suggestively, it appeared to work. After swallowing a bucket I find non verbal communication the most effective approach. We met mid dancefloor and started to move in that shuffling way that only drunks can. She looked good, about 5'3", wavy mousey hair and a pretty face. Some conversation was exchanged, I established that she was a student called Andrea with a vaguely Antipodean twang. I asked if she was Australian and she laughed and said no I'm from Chatham. Then I kissed her. Got to act before you drive them off, more men should do this, it would avoid loads of marital strife.

After about ten minutes of near frenzied snogging I suggested we head back to my place. She refused and suggested her place was nearer. Fine by me, its a lot easier to leave than it is to try and kick out a guest who outstays her welcome.

Her place was one of those typical student terraced houses that stinks of tobacco, dope and joss-sticks. Upstairs we got straight into bed, no messing and not much talking. Her body was pleasingly plump but well tanned with little breasts enhanced by wonderfully pointy nipples. After pumping like pistons for ten minutes or so, we slowed down. I thought conversation was going to break out but I could see she was just falling asleep and trying new stuff to keep awake. I knew the game was up when she fell asleep mid BJ. I gently disconnected her and went to sleep.

After an hour I sparked back into life but my little Andrea was still snoring happily. Like a true gent I hopped out of bed, got dressed and left. There's nothing worse than sticking around for breakfast with a woman who won't have a clue who you are or where she met you.

The other night I bumped into a small but perfectly formed Indian girl called Kully. At first I thought her name was Kelly, but she certainly didn't look Irish. Before I could probe her identity too deeply she was kissing me and checking that I had the right parts. Don't blame her, they say there are a lot of women dressed as men around these days, preying on young girls.

After some tonsil tickling and dancefloor we retired to my mansion for a spot of wrestling and lubricant application. I haven't met such an enthusiastic girl for a long time. I now understand the phrase 'full of eastern promise'. On Sunday morning we smiled at each other over breakfast, wandered around in the morning sunshine and promised to keep in touch.

I waved her off at the edge of the city centre with a little sigh of relief. Lovely girl but a bit too serious for me. Will I see her again? Don't know, she knows where I live and she's got my number. She'll turn up if she's interested. Otherwise I will carry on my mission to conquer a new woman every time I step out the door.

I want to put the record straight about being an Irishman in England. We're the forgotten minority these days with all teh shit about Muslims and caribbean drugs shootings. Since the IRA packed in the media have started to ignore the Irish. The plays and the films have dried up, but I tell ya we're still here and just as potent as ever.

The girls love Donegal men like me with our lovely brogue and hard drinking ways. I might not be tall, dark or handsome but I can pull the babes. Now I'm gonna tell you folks about it.