Helios, rather aptly named, I thought later when we introduced ourselves, stood to one side of the dancefloor in conversation with two other guys. As I stood there ogling him with my mouth hanging open, all three men then turned and looked in my direction. Not wanting to be rude, I averted my gaze, absolutely sure that he was out of my league. Resignedly, I then departed back toward the bar next door.After a minute or two, I felt a tap on my shoulder. As I did so, I was stunned to see the mythological creature standing before me.“Would you like to boogie with me?” he asked.‘Jesus, is a frog's arsehole watertight?’ I thought to myself, before practically pissing in my pants and replying, “Sure.”Helios loved dancing as much as I did and for the next forty minutes, as we gyrated, he kept smiling and winking at me. I kept waiting for a crew from one of those television series to appear and tell me that I had been set up in a ‘Candid Camera’ episode of sorts. Fortunately, that did not. He looks the right poncy puffta strutting around the country with his railway guide clutched to his chest.“I’ve got what I fucking dressed in, don’t have any tee-shirts and with my body, you know why,” shrieked Marion, her enormous, wobbling bosoms held high on her crossed arms. Her floral patterned dress hem had risen several inches above her bare, knobbly, fat knees, leaving Carven, in a programme logoed pale blue loose tee-shirt, who was sat on the floor, she took up two seats, gazing blankly round, still trying to work out why he had agreed to this stupid idea with these horrid people. He was also trying to ignore those horridly unsavoury views up the fat dykes obese thighs.Mitt - dressed very sensibly in jeans and coincidently the same shirt as Carven and lounging behind Elspeth, was thinking how he’d like to get down and dirty with Zandra, who was scanning People magazine. She wore the skimpiest of black mini skirts, with a high neck line, body hugging black tee-shirt, opaque.
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