Seven Week Itch

(moved from 2005 due to a massive row with the NB)

So, the NB leans over and says, "Darling, you know how I never give you anything? Well..."

It turns out that his's flyer-posting roommate may not have paid much rent, but did leave a nice little present in his bed.

The next morning we sailed into Boots, hand in hand.

The manager leaned over the counter, "Can I help you, gentlemen?"

We grinned. "We'd like something for crabs, please!"

"Sorry?"

"Crabs!" we roared happily.

Thanks to a special offer, we also got a bag of chocolate truffles for 99p.

I've done many weird things in my time. I've done some romantic things. But what followed was weirldy romantic, as we slathered each other in crab paste, wincing and giggling as we went. It was rather like sun-tan lotion. Only nasty, as in "Hang on - I think you've missed a bit. Would you mind? Ow! Yep. Thanks."

Afterwards the agonising burning sensation changed to something puzzlingly... warming and not... unpleasant.

The NB paused. "I've just had a ghoulish thought. You don't think... I mean... how would it work as lube?"