Tuesday, 15 December 2009

Sex, drugs and sausage rolls or Xmas parties will never be the same now I'm an old bastard

This is a long one so make yourself a cup of coffee, get out the hob nobs, relax and hopefully, enjoy.
I’m no oil painting to look at, more of a train wreck. I also get pissed pretty quickly although I can drink through that and last longer than most. These two setbacks mean that I always struggled to chat Women up because most of the time I was too pissed to talk and didn’t have the looks to overcome that obstacle. But what I lack in those departments I more than make up for by being intelligent, having a great sense of humour and endearing personality.
These traits come to the fore when you interact with the opposite sex over a period of time. Luckily I’ve spent most of my working life in offices and therefore have had plenty of opportunities to win Women over. Normally their first impressions are “what a prick”. After a couple of weeks its “he’s sweet” and a few months down the road after much joking, opening doors, making them tea and listening to all their problems it’s “Rubbish is brilliant”. You might say I’m a bit of an acquired taste but eventually I’ve had most of the Women I’ve worked with eating out of my hand. And that’s why I love Xmas works parties.
My first job was in an Accountants as a wages clerk. Having gone to an all boys Grammar School, I hadn’t really spent much time in the company of the opposite sex. I’d had a few girlfriends but I was very much one of the boys, playing sport and getting pissed. The Chief Accountant or whatever they’re called was a raging alcoholic and would turn up at eleven in the morning and be in the pub next door by half past. It was a pretty wild office to work in. The Daughter of one of the Secretary’s had just come second in Miss Wales and she clearly had inherited her Mothers looks. I was smitten with her, the Mother that is. She only had to snap her fingers and I was by her side like a little lap dog. The receptionist, a twenty one year old stunner called Rachel, hated this. I think it was because I paid her little attention and followed a forty year old Mum of three around, hanging on her every word. I was in the kitchen one day, early in December and Rachel followed me in and whispered in my ear “come the Xmas party you’re having it”. I thought she was threatening me being quite young and naive.
As it happened I couldn’t go to the Xmas do for reasons I can’t remember but Christmas Eve was on a Friday and we were due to work. One of the Accountants, an ex pro gambler called Mike, told me to catch the bus in because we were having a few drinks. I turn up at nine and there’s a can on my desk. By twelve we were in the pub. Rachel was wearing a tight little cocktail dress. She was quite tall and had lovely long legs. With her stilettos on she towered over me.
My favourite Mum disappeared quite early, though I did get a little peck on the cheek and this was Rachel’s cue to move in.
“Right Rubbish, now that she’s gone you have got five minutes to start paying me a bit of attention or you’ve had it”.
Mike leaned in to me “you jammy little bastard”.
Finally the light turned on and I realized what “you’re having it” meant.
There was one problem though. I lived miles away and if I didn’t catch the last bus I wouldn’t get home. Mike had landed a decent win on the horses so the beers were flowing. My last bus came and went. Finally Rachel grabbed my arm and informed me that we were leaving.
We got to her house and she disappeared upstairs whilst I slumped on the sofa. Five minutes later she reappeared to tell me that her Mum who was a nurse was working Xmas morning and would give me a lift. Sorted.
We went into the kitchen for a night cap and I noticed that her cocktail dress had ridden up ever so slightly giving me a tantalizing view of her stocking tops. Ten seconds later she was bent over the kitchen table and I was going like a little jack rabbit when her Mum walked in to make a cuppa. Time stood still. Her Mum froze in the doorway, chin on the floor before turning around to beat a hasty retreat. I almost mumbled “Merry Xmas” but thought better of it.
Rachel’s Mum woke me up the next morning and I suffered the most excruciating car journey ever. The drive of shame. She couldn’t really ask me if I had had a nice evening knowing I had been shagging her Daughter and I just couldn’t think of anything to say. It was purgatory. Welcome to the World of the Office Xmas party.
Fast forward a few years and I was working for a Finance House. The Office was situated on the top floor of the tallest building in Cardiff. On my first day I walked in and asked the Commissionaire where the office was and he pointed to the lift and told me it was the 23rd floor. What he didn’t tell me was that it was an express lift which didn’t stop at the first 15 floors. I was later told it was the fastest lift in Europe at that time although I’m not sure how true that was. I got in the lift and pressed the button and the fucking thing took off like a rocket. About ten seconds later I collapsed out of it a gibbering wreck. I never used that lift again.
Every day I would walk the twenty three flights of stairs to work. I’d wander up and down them for dinner and then walk down them to go home. It became a standing joke amongst all my colleagues.
And what a crew I worked with, Ian, the Branch Manager was the oldest and he was only thirty two. Other than two Zone Managers who were hardly in the office I was the only other male there. One girl, Liz, had taken a shine to me. She was dark haired, quite petite with a dirty laugh and nice rack. Most of the girls were of similar age and would gossip about everything and everyone. Their main topic of conversation was this punk girl who worked with us called Jo.
Jo used to turn up to work with different coloured hair every week. Bright orange, shocking green, you name it she dyed it that colour. She used to wear baggy tops and camouflage trousers years before they became de rigueur for the masses. Her make up was a mess. Black eyeliner and lipstick which made her look like one of the undead. That said, she was a lovely girl and had something about her.
On the day of the Xmas do everyone turned up with their glad rags on. All the girls looked the business in little black numbers and I even wore a suit for a change. We were sat around chatting when Jo walked in. The silence was deafening.
She had dyed her hair blonde and had slicked it back instead of its usual spiky style. Her dress was a tight yellow mini dress a bit like the one Liz Hurley wore to that film premiere but not quite as daring. A shapely pair of pins was revealed in a pair of fishnet stockings and a lovely pearl necklace highlighted a stunning cleavage. Not forgetting her punk roots she topped it all off with a pair of Doc Martens boots. The traditional war paint had disappeared and replaced with a flattering pinkish lipstick and understated eyeliner. She looked stunning.
Steve, one of the Zone Managers, turned to me and said, “Fuck me son, who would have guessed?” And he was right. Sara, the biggest bitch in the office let out a whistle, “Christ alive Jo, you look gorgeous”. Jo blushed which only made her look more attractive.
Not a lot of work was done in the morning and at twelve we all headed to the pub. Two hours later Ian and Steve nipped to Marks and Spencer’s to get some booze and we all strolled back to the office. I had a quick chat with Terry the commissionaire before walking to the stairwell. Jo was waiting for me in the lift.
“Rubbish” she called “get in the lift with me now and I’ll shag you stupid”.
With that she hitched up her dress to reveal she wasn’t wearing any knickers.
As much as I wanted to I just couldn’t step into the lift and mumbled some excuses before tackling the 23 floors on foot, berating myself every single step of the way. When I walked in the office all the girls were laughing. Jo had told them.
An hour or so later Steve gave me a wink and we sloped off onto the roof to smoke some weed. This was a regular occurrence and hey, we were on the roof of the tallest building in Cardiff so it wasn’t as if anyone could see us. Jo joined us and as we sat there smoking she slipped me a pill and said “take this now”.
Twenty minutes later I felt indestructible. We were all quaffing Champagne and playing stupid games and I excused myself to go to the toilet. When I walked out Jo was again in the lift. This time, probably because of what she had slipped me, I managed to grow a pair and got in the lift with her. We went down two floors before she pressed the emergency stop and got my dick out. A minute later Terry’s voice came over the intercom.
“Is anyone in there?”
“Yes Terry, it’s me Rubbish”.
“Fucking hell Rubbish what you doing in the lift?”
“I’m with someone Terry”.
“Can’t say”.
There was a slight pause followed by a snort.
“Okay mate, don’t be long and don’t make a mess”.
I’m not sure if it was talking to Terry or the fact that he had mentioned the lift but I started having a panic attack. Sweat was pouring out of me and I was shaking like a leaf. Within seconds I was the one on my knees begging Jo to get me out of there. The look of disappointment on her face would have given Shakespeare enough material to write a trilogy. Reluctantly she started the lift up and I fell out, straight into the toilet to puke my guts up. I walked back into the office to be greeted by everyone shouting “fore” at me. Everyone that is except Jo who was standing by her desk slowly drumming her fingers and Liz who looked like she was going to burst into tears.
“What the fuck is that about Steve?” I enquired.
Not even trying to mask his amusement Steve told me that Jo had walked in and casually told the entire office that she had enticed me into the lift and had started blowing me only for me to start crying like a baby and pleading with her to let me out. The fore was actually “four” relating to how many minutes I’d managed to last in the fucking death trap.
We all went for a meal in the evening and then hit a few clubs. I then experienced one of the most surreal moments of my life when Jo wanked me off in the middle of a MacDonald’s. I took her back to my place and made up for lost time and was quite pleased to find out in the New Year that she’d given me an 8.5 out of 10 rating for my performance between the sheets. Liz wasn’t so pleased as she spat out that bit of information. Jo left a few months later and Liz and I hooked up for a couple of years before parting ways when she took another job in London.
For twelve years I was fortunate enough to be employed in my dream job. I ran the ticket office for a famous sporting body and had, at times, fifty people under me. The Christmas parties were wild.
When the new Stadium was built we relocated offices and ended up in an office block with HSBC bank amongst others. I was quite friendly with one of the guys there and we decided on having an office block party. This was made easy because in the basement there was a pub. I talked the Manager into laying on a buffet and we all met up at three in the afternoon. It was a cracking day, socializing with people from other offices and the Manger made a small fortune.
I was seeing a girl called Mandy at the time who worked in a different Department. She was a bit of a Liz clone but barking mad as well. At the end of the evening the pair of us were sat at the bar talking to this Australian girl. Most people had fallen by the wayside at this point and I was flagging so we made our excuses and left. Oz followed us out and while we were waiting for a taxi asked us where we were heading. Has luck would have it she lived quite near to Mandy so we shared a taxi. When we got to Mandy’s house Oz jumped out and came in for a nightcap. We sat around the kitchen table drinking wine and Mandy started rubbing my balls with her foot. It wasn’t too long after that we were heading up the stairs, telling Oz to slam the door on her way out.
Not long later I’m lying in bed whilst Mandy did what she did best and the bedroom door opens. We both look around and Oz is stood there.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
I looked at Mandy who had her mouth full and she just shrugged so I willingly agreed and with that she stripped off and jumped in with us. A few hours later she climbed out of bed and stated that she was off home. Looking back it was quite bizarre but I wasn’t complaining.
When we got back to work I visited every office in our block making small talk with people I knew. “How was your Christmas, what did you get up to for the New Year, have you got an Australian girl working with you?” No one knew her. Fuck knows who she was but she’ll always have a special place in my heart.
Congratulations if you’ve got this far, hope you enjoyed my favourite Xmas party experiences. Feel free to share any of your own.


  1. lol n1 rubbish...always got a good tale for us ;)

  2. I'm afraid I saw the whole thing with the girl's Mum coming, dear.

    You walked UP 23 flights of stairs twice every day? Christ in a sidecar, Rubbage - I think I'd learn to deal with the lift. You must be in GREAT shape!

    After reading this post (yes, in it's entirety), I have to say I wondered exactly what you meant by "fifty people under me." You're an adventurous bastard, aren't you?

  3. They seem to treat you like a sex toy, don't they? Shame you didn't service the 40-year-old mum, I bet she'd have loved it.

  4. had macdonalds run out of mayo then...?

  5. Mate forget about hob nobs, or what every it was you were on about at the start, I just drank a large glass of red in the time it took to read that.

    And all this is true? This isn't just one of your dreams right? I wish you'd write a book, but you'd print it on white paper with black text rather than bloody white text on black paper.

    Fantastic post.

  6. Dirty stories are so much fun. I'm too chicken to share mine but ohhh the fun I have had. Nothing like you tho!

  7. LMAO. One simple word... quality.

  8. Wow. When I first met you, for some reason the closing credits to 40 Year Old Virgin popped into my head :-)

    That didn't last long though did it eh?

  9. The first comment I have left but have loved your blog since finding it off UkGatsby a few months back. This is one of the most entertaining posts I have ever read. Hope to see you at APAT in Manchester.

  10. NH Sir, No tales of shame though? All my office Xmas do stories seem to end with me getting a first and final warning.

  11. It's always the little ones that are randy.

    23 flights of stairs. Hell no.

  12. LOL, N1 Rubbish. Any chance of link M8?


    I've linked you up.

  13. Thanks for the comments guys and gals.
    Jan, I was super fit in those days,
    GB, one of lifes regrets mate
    Mo, all true
    Dave, 12 hours I think
    Kev, the lift one was quite embarassing
    Dan, I'll link you up tonight