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07 April 2010
A hand shandy on the Turl
There was really only one reason for me to be in Turl Street at 2.00am and that was hunger. In today's Oxford the sleek catering vans are everywhere, but that was not the case a generation ago. Then you had to go and hunt for one of Foley's vans and buy a deathburger and coke, with botulism as an added bonus. There was usually a van along the High Street and I was making my way home via the Turl with burger in hand when I met the girl.

She was wearing a full length gown and was walking bare foot with her shoes in one hand. She waved as if she knew me and announced that she was hungry, so I leaned against the barber's shop doorway and invited her to take a bite out of the burger.

She did more than that, grabbing the whole thing and proceeded to wolf it down. I gave her a very firm smack to the rump which made her jump, but instead of returning my supper she just ruefully rubbed her bottom and said again how hungry she was. I noticed that she wasn't wearing a bra, so on impulse I tweaked one of her nipples to make it hard, which made her pout and cast her eyes downward, which is always a good sign

"You should pay for your supper," I told her, whereupon without further ado madam unzipped my trousers with her free hand and proceeded to give me a hand shandy in the middle of Turl Street. Could anyone make this up? I think not - there I was receiving a hand job from a girl who had my cock in one hand and was eating my burger with the other. Needless to say I shot my load in pretty short order.

We both then made our way to the High Street as I wanted to get another burger and that was madam's direction, anyway. I stopped at the deathburger van intending to buy her another one of Mr. Foley's mouthwatering delights but she just carried on walking down the street, shoes still in her hands.

She vanished in the direction of St. Hilda's College so that was probably her final destination. Those Hildabeests, they really were gems, believe you me.



Good one! Mind you, not so nice being reminded of Foley and his Deathburger vans...Still, this time at least you got the handjob and she got the botulism...

7 April 2010 at 14:50  

Foley's vans don't seem to exist any more. The place is full of long, sleek kebab wagons run by swarthy types named Stavros or Mustapha.

7 April 2010 at 22:30  

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