Continued from Part One..

We got into The Cave just in time not to pay the £5 entrance fee. For those who don’t know Chelmsford, or indeed the The Cave, it’s a lap dancing bar set in the railway viaducts. Someone ordered a round of drinks and we found a spot at the bar to loiter and watch the world go by. I was already feeling fairly tipsy by this point, so my memory is a bit hazy. I’ll try to remember what I can. 


Almost straight away one of the girls came over offering a dance. Without missing a beat, Chris thrust his hand in his wallet, handed her a tenner and motioned it was for me. I was taken to the ‘Dance Area’ and watched her dance. I seem to remember I came away feeling a bit ‘meh’ about it. When the dance was over I got the cursory peck on the cheek and returned to the group. There was another girl with them. 


Someone else pulled out a tenner, gave it to her, motioned it was for me and I was taken off again. This happened four times… I got back to the bar only to be dragged away again. As one of the dancers was taking me away I could hear the boys giggling away. 

She turned to me and said, ‘So what’s the occasion?’
I said ‘Er.. well, we’re wetting the babies head.’
She looked puzzled… ‘Oh’ she paused ‘Your friends said you’d just got out of prison!’
‘No. Really, I haven’t’ I protested. I don’t think she believed me.




The drinks seemed to be flowing thick and fast. I lost count of the JD’s I’d had. I’ve got some lovely generous, and probably now very poor, friends.

After my handful of dances in a short space of time, another dancer came over and draped her arm on me.
‘So would you like a dance?’
I was just about to start my rejection to her when she stopped and shrieked.
‘ERRRRR Why do you have blood on your shirt? I just touched it! ERRRRR!’
I was confused. There were dark spots on my shirt. Some of the chaps heard the commotion and spotted them too.
‘Where the hell has that come from?!’ I was bemused.
Then, a horrid thought entered my mind – I seemed to recall a leg being slung over me.  No. It couldn’t be? Could it? I had a little ‘sick in mouth’ moment.
‘Oh God! I think it might be one of the dancers…’
The dancer looked horrified, ‘Which one have you had?!’ She demanded. ‘We need to tell her’.

This is probably the point where I looked like a bit of a pervert… I told her I’d had five dances almost back to back and I couldn’t remember who did what, all I remembered was the last one was a brunette. The dancer wanted more specifics as to who it was. I looked around and didn’t see her. I did eventually spot someone who might have been the girl, but I couldn’t say with 100% certainty. I think the dancers had to go and ‘check’ that it wasn’t them who had soiled my shirt. I felt rather self conscious and took the shirt off, leaving me in my t-shirt. Of course all my other headwetters found this rather hilarious and disgusting in equal measure.


The Cave was actually fairly quiet. A lot of the girls were sitting around looking a bit bored as they’d exhausted the clientèle. One of them was particularly nice and chatted to me and John for a while (see you don’t need to pay £70 for the VIP area!) We found out she was a Law student and her job in The Cave was funding it all! 

The night continued to slope into drunkenness, but noone seemed hammered or in a state. I think we were all at a pretty good level. My contact lenses had dried up and my last dance was a waste of money and I couldn’t see a thing, it was just a mass of flesh moving; it could have even been the bouncer for all I knew! I think I spent most of that dance gurning and blinking trying to moisten my eyes and get back my pin sharp vision. I probably looked a bit mental.


I went back to my shirt to have a look at it, and survey the ‘damage’. I was a bit puzzled as there was nothing on it at all, it looked fine. I put it down to the fact I was a bit drunk and probably wasn’t looking correctly. My final drink was a pint that I had a few mouthfuls of, but I had to concede, I couldn’t drink any more and if I did, it would probably end badly.

Chris seems to have a ‘Sixth Sense’ with me and knows when I’m at tipping point. He looked at me and said, ‘Are you alright mate?’

This fuelled my walk home.

‘No, I’ve had enough…’ I slurred, and within minutes we were out into the cold night air. This is where it all gets a bit hazy. I remember going into DFC for a Kebab and wandering home eating it with John and Abul following behind. John had also got a ‘Bab and Chips, but he’d chosen to have it in a carrier bag to eat at my house. I do remember thinking it’d taste pretty rank after 30 minutes of being out in the cold, but I didn’t really care, I just wanted to get home and get to bed. When we got home I recall locking up and showing John where the plates and glasses were and then saying, ‘Right, do what you like, I’m going to bed’ and I did. I think it was probably about 2am at this point and I was a drunken, sleepy wreck.

I awoke the next morning to find John and Abul had polished off half of the little bottle of Whisky and they’d actually been up for several more hours watching a shit zombie film on ITV4. I have no idea where they found the energy to do that! I found the ‘soiled’ shirt strewn on the dining table and I examined it again. It was clean, no blood or any other fluids on there. I’ve no idea what was on there, or what made us all think it was blood. My best guess is it was a splash of Coke. Whatever it was, I was happy not to have menstrual blood down my new shirt.

So – that was that! It was a fucking marvellous night and I really cannot thank the chaps enough for coming and being so generous with drinks and dances. I’ll never forget the night with the woman who wee-ed, Richard the Turd and the Bloody Shirt. You chaps are awesome, Thank You!

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