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The Ricky Hatton Incident
I've been fortunate enough in my life to be sodomised by nearly every mainstream boxing star of all weight classes, though always in a platonic, friendly way - never as a ****sexual.
However, one challenge for which I was not prepared was when I met a man capable of destroying anyone at 140lbs - provided they were 57 and coming off a nine year layoff - in the form of Ricky "The Hitman" Hatton.
Although I am not gay, I do enjoy looking at a man who is a dish - a title which even the most ardent Hatton fans would be reluctant to apply to their hero.
I brought up the subject of bumming on a casual basis, just as a bit of small talk. Little did I know that Ricky would be a fan.
"Ricky 'atton loves a lickle bit o'cock does Ricky 'atton," he confided, "If you want bumming, Ricky 'atton will do yer up back 'un, will Ricky 'atton. Ricky 'atton's dead down t'Earth and 'umble wi' all 'is fans... Ricky 'atton's just full of modesty... that's why t'whole world loves me."
Well, his disingenuous "man of the people" act was already starting to grate on my nerves, and I certainly wasn't going to be the chimney to his sweep with a face like that. Nevertheless, polite society dictated that some form of bumming must take place, so I offered to let my dick be Pacquaio to his... well, to his Ricky Hatton.
My plan was a simple one: I was going to bum him into the middle of next week. My cunning scheme would see his kidneys so badly ruptured by my taddywhacker that he'd think the body shot against Senchencko was a kiss off a kitten.
As I bent him over, his pasty, porcelain body and carrot-coloured hair started to really turn me off... however, I found that if I squinted I could pretend it was Lindsay Lohan... only with bigger ****.
I reluctantly entered him, and after just a couple of minutes of bumming him, I was disgusted that he'd broken wind on my old fella.
"Hee hee," he laughed, "Ricky 'atton's just let one go 'as Ricky 'atton... that's what all me mates say to me down pub... I'm dead quick witted, I'm like a modern day Oscar Wilde or summat."
Well, his incessant chatter and flatulence was really starting to grate by this stage, so I planned to cum as quickly as possible and leave. Suddenly, however, I felt his entire body shaking, and saw that he was crying. Between his legs lay a small, flaccid penis, looking not unlike a milk-coloured and withered sausage roll.
"Ricky 'atton's lost his erection 'as Ricky 'atton," he wailed, "I feel like there's just nothin' I can do lately to stop letting fans down. I get beat by Floyd, but I pick meself up... I make comeback and I get twatted again... now I'm enjoying a really good bumming and I can't even keep it up."
I hugged him, tried to console him, and bury his tender yet brutally ugly face in my chest hair. Yet he pushed me away with the last ounce of defiance in his bloated and tanless frame.
"No, don't try and tell Ricky 'atton it's alright," he blubbed, "Ricky 'atton knows it's not alright... I'm going to get shotgun down from attic tonight and do a Kurt Cobain."
Well, I fixed Ricky in the eyes and snapped him out of his woes. "Think of me, Ricky," I said. "Think of me. No matter who I bum in the future, no matter how much of a dish - Haye, Kessler, Garcia, Ortiz, Sturm - I'll always look back on that one time I had my dick inside you. And although I didn't manage to stick your internal organs together with my man syrup, the intent was there. How can I ever look MYSELF in the mirror again?"
Ricky pulled himself together. "You've taught Ricky 'atton the errors of his ways, you have," he smiled, "I realise now that my own problems were things I should have gotten over, and you've made me realise that by anally penetrating me. Thanks for teaching Ricky 'atton a lesson."
I left his house somewhat elated. Even though the sexual congress had been one I'd hated, it had produced God's own work, and that made me more of a man than I ever was before.
However, one challenge for which I was not prepared was when I met a man capable of destroying anyone at 140lbs - provided they were 57 and coming off a nine year layoff - in the form of Ricky "The Hitman" Hatton.
Although I am not gay, I do enjoy looking at a man who is a dish - a title which even the most ardent Hatton fans would be reluctant to apply to their hero.
I brought up the subject of bumming on a casual basis, just as a bit of small talk. Little did I know that Ricky would be a fan.
"Ricky 'atton loves a lickle bit o'cock does Ricky 'atton," he confided, "If you want bumming, Ricky 'atton will do yer up back 'un, will Ricky 'atton. Ricky 'atton's dead down t'Earth and 'umble wi' all 'is fans... Ricky 'atton's just full of modesty... that's why t'whole world loves me."
Well, his disingenuous "man of the people" act was already starting to grate on my nerves, and I certainly wasn't going to be the chimney to his sweep with a face like that. Nevertheless, polite society dictated that some form of bumming must take place, so I offered to let my dick be Pacquaio to his... well, to his Ricky Hatton.
My plan was a simple one: I was going to bum him into the middle of next week. My cunning scheme would see his kidneys so badly ruptured by my taddywhacker that he'd think the body shot against Senchencko was a kiss off a kitten.
As I bent him over, his pasty, porcelain body and carrot-coloured hair started to really turn me off... however, I found that if I squinted I could pretend it was Lindsay Lohan... only with bigger ****.
I reluctantly entered him, and after just a couple of minutes of bumming him, I was disgusted that he'd broken wind on my old fella.
"Hee hee," he laughed, "Ricky 'atton's just let one go 'as Ricky 'atton... that's what all me mates say to me down pub... I'm dead quick witted, I'm like a modern day Oscar Wilde or summat."
Well, his incessant chatter and flatulence was really starting to grate by this stage, so I planned to cum as quickly as possible and leave. Suddenly, however, I felt his entire body shaking, and saw that he was crying. Between his legs lay a small, flaccid penis, looking not unlike a milk-coloured and withered sausage roll.
"Ricky 'atton's lost his erection 'as Ricky 'atton," he wailed, "I feel like there's just nothin' I can do lately to stop letting fans down. I get beat by Floyd, but I pick meself up... I make comeback and I get twatted again... now I'm enjoying a really good bumming and I can't even keep it up."
I hugged him, tried to console him, and bury his tender yet brutally ugly face in my chest hair. Yet he pushed me away with the last ounce of defiance in his bloated and tanless frame.
"No, don't try and tell Ricky 'atton it's alright," he blubbed, "Ricky 'atton knows it's not alright... I'm going to get shotgun down from attic tonight and do a Kurt Cobain."
Well, I fixed Ricky in the eyes and snapped him out of his woes. "Think of me, Ricky," I said. "Think of me. No matter who I bum in the future, no matter how much of a dish - Haye, Kessler, Garcia, Ortiz, Sturm - I'll always look back on that one time I had my dick inside you. And although I didn't manage to stick your internal organs together with my man syrup, the intent was there. How can I ever look MYSELF in the mirror again?"
Ricky pulled himself together. "You've taught Ricky 'atton the errors of his ways, you have," he smiled, "I realise now that my own problems were things I should have gotten over, and you've made me realise that by anally penetrating me. Thanks for teaching Ricky 'atton a lesson."
I left his house somewhat elated. Even though the sexual congress had been one I'd hated, it had produced God's own work, and that made me more of a man than I ever was before.
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