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A day out with Joe Calzaghe...
I've always regarded Joe as a fair second-tier dish and, while he doesn't have the six pack and pecs of Haye, I'd often wondered about his speed, stamina and output. Sure, if he entered me anally there'd perhaps not be much power behind the thrusts, but getting his tummy trombone pushed in me 1200 times in half an hour would surely do the job?
Well, I had my chance when I won a "Spend the Day with Joe Calzaghe" competition, and used my wits to come up with a subtle and surefire way to ensure I'd get a good bumming - I bought £750 worth of rohypnol tablets and stuck them in his drink.
As I met Joe I was charmed by his lovely smile. I asked him how his day had been and he greeted me with the phrase "listen... at the end of the day, I just came down on the train, isn't it? It was a little delayed, maybe by four minutes, but listen... I'm still undefeated, isn't it?"
It was at this moment that I realised what a tedious **** the man was while talking, and I suddenly felt that the only tears I'd be crying would be tears of disappointment, and not white tears of love from my pan handle.
Despite this setback, I decided to let Joe bum me regardless, almost out of a sense of dutiful politeness. As I've explained, I'm not a ****sexual, and set out to enlist such an act merely as a way of experiencing the world of boxing first hand.
Things were problematical, however. Having swallowed 18,000 rohypnol tablets, Joe's legs were unsteady, and he fell on the floor and had to be helped back up.
"Listen," he said, "I went down early, but at the end of the day, I got back up to carry on with the bumming, isn't it? Listen... at the end of the day, that's what great champions do, isn't it?"
I was relieved he was able to continue as he quickly entered me and began thrusting in and out with astonishing rapidity and output. His taddywhacker was in and out of my lower colon at around 100 times a minute... however, only the tip, so there wasn't much power behind it.
Sadly, things started to go wrong. Like I said, I'm not gay, but I wanted to enjoy it. "Slap my arse while you're fucking me, Joe", I cried out. To my horror he closed his fist and punched me full force in my right arse cheek.
"Jesus Christ!" I yelped, tears rolling down my face, "why did you punch me in the arse for, Joe? That fucking hurt!"
"Hey, listen," he explained, "I'm sorry, isn't it, but I got confused... you asked me to slap you, so I thought you meant a punch."
Well, it was all over. The punch had caused my sphincter to tighten, which in turn brought Joe off inside me. I started to regret taking on the bumming, as, while I felt the speed and output, I never really felt Joe press against my kidneys... effectively I felt like the sodomy he'd dealt out to me was akin to the beating he'd dished out to Peter Manfredo Jr. I later called up Terry O'Connor and he assured me that Joe pulled out for my own good, and that I'd had multiple ******s.
By this stage I just wanted Joe to leave, and felt unloved and cheapened by the experience. Things turned to conflict when the tablets had begun to wear off, and Joe realised he hadn't been shagging that ex girlfriend of his, even though she did look a bit like a bloke with all that plastic surgery.
"Listen," he said, "I don't like being tricked, isn't it? At the end of the day, I only shag two things - if it's not a vagina or covered by wool, I'm not interested, isn't it? And for your audacity in getting me to bum you, I'm going to give you some punches."
This was a development I hadn't seen. The competition had promised the winner a "slap up meal" with Joe... little did I realise the one getting slapped up would be me.
Taking my chances as the last of the rohypnols were still in his system and he was still confused, I asked Joe to wank me off. He did so, providing I made a "baaaaaa" noise, and I soon got the climax that had alluded me.
However, my cunning plan was not to elicit an ejaculate, but merely to put Joe out of action - the wanking he'd done had broken his hands.
"Let's see you give me a slap now, Joe" I taunted, and quickly made a run for the door. Too late. Stepping through the other side was his da, Enzo.
"FACKIN' 'ELL, JOE!" he raged, "ARE YOU GONNA FACKING LET THIS KID FACKING DRUG YOU AND GET YOU TO FACKING BUM HIM? GET HIM BACK IN THE FACKING ROOM AND GIVE HIM A FACKING SLAP FOR FACK'S SAKE!"
In amongst all the confusion I ran as fast as I could, and left the hotel beside myself, almost drowning in my own tears. I'd gone on the date to try and find love and fulfilment, and been greeted with only disappointment and heartache.
Well, I had my chance when I won a "Spend the Day with Joe Calzaghe" competition, and used my wits to come up with a subtle and surefire way to ensure I'd get a good bumming - I bought £750 worth of rohypnol tablets and stuck them in his drink.
As I met Joe I was charmed by his lovely smile. I asked him how his day had been and he greeted me with the phrase "listen... at the end of the day, I just came down on the train, isn't it? It was a little delayed, maybe by four minutes, but listen... I'm still undefeated, isn't it?"
It was at this moment that I realised what a tedious **** the man was while talking, and I suddenly felt that the only tears I'd be crying would be tears of disappointment, and not white tears of love from my pan handle.
Despite this setback, I decided to let Joe bum me regardless, almost out of a sense of dutiful politeness. As I've explained, I'm not a ****sexual, and set out to enlist such an act merely as a way of experiencing the world of boxing first hand.
Things were problematical, however. Having swallowed 18,000 rohypnol tablets, Joe's legs were unsteady, and he fell on the floor and had to be helped back up.
"Listen," he said, "I went down early, but at the end of the day, I got back up to carry on with the bumming, isn't it? Listen... at the end of the day, that's what great champions do, isn't it?"
I was relieved he was able to continue as he quickly entered me and began thrusting in and out with astonishing rapidity and output. His taddywhacker was in and out of my lower colon at around 100 times a minute... however, only the tip, so there wasn't much power behind it.
Sadly, things started to go wrong. Like I said, I'm not gay, but I wanted to enjoy it. "Slap my arse while you're fucking me, Joe", I cried out. To my horror he closed his fist and punched me full force in my right arse cheek.
"Jesus Christ!" I yelped, tears rolling down my face, "why did you punch me in the arse for, Joe? That fucking hurt!"
"Hey, listen," he explained, "I'm sorry, isn't it, but I got confused... you asked me to slap you, so I thought you meant a punch."
Well, it was all over. The punch had caused my sphincter to tighten, which in turn brought Joe off inside me. I started to regret taking on the bumming, as, while I felt the speed and output, I never really felt Joe press against my kidneys... effectively I felt like the sodomy he'd dealt out to me was akin to the beating he'd dished out to Peter Manfredo Jr. I later called up Terry O'Connor and he assured me that Joe pulled out for my own good, and that I'd had multiple ******s.
By this stage I just wanted Joe to leave, and felt unloved and cheapened by the experience. Things turned to conflict when the tablets had begun to wear off, and Joe realised he hadn't been shagging that ex girlfriend of his, even though she did look a bit like a bloke with all that plastic surgery.
"Listen," he said, "I don't like being tricked, isn't it? At the end of the day, I only shag two things - if it's not a vagina or covered by wool, I'm not interested, isn't it? And for your audacity in getting me to bum you, I'm going to give you some punches."
This was a development I hadn't seen. The competition had promised the winner a "slap up meal" with Joe... little did I realise the one getting slapped up would be me.
Taking my chances as the last of the rohypnols were still in his system and he was still confused, I asked Joe to wank me off. He did so, providing I made a "baaaaaa" noise, and I soon got the climax that had alluded me.
However, my cunning plan was not to elicit an ejaculate, but merely to put Joe out of action - the wanking he'd done had broken his hands.
"Let's see you give me a slap now, Joe" I taunted, and quickly made a run for the door. Too late. Stepping through the other side was his da, Enzo.
"FACKIN' 'ELL, JOE!" he raged, "ARE YOU GONNA FACKING LET THIS KID FACKING DRUG YOU AND GET YOU TO FACKING BUM HIM? GET HIM BACK IN THE FACKING ROOM AND GIVE HIM A FACKING SLAP FOR FACK'S SAKE!"
In amongst all the confusion I ran as fast as I could, and left the hotel beside myself, almost drowning in my own tears. I'd gone on the date to try and find love and fulfilment, and been greeted with only disappointment and heartache.
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