Monday, March 25th
Questions, questions, questions, so many I didn’t know where to start. In a matter of a few days, I will be a married man. With RESPONSIBILITIES! It frightened the frickin’ life out of me. I was hoping for a period of adjustment, a kind of reckoning with the world-to-be and the one I was leaving behind.
But Sonia knew far better: kisses, kisses and more kisses. Not all aimed at my lips 😉 What questions? Ha ha.
This was clearly her strategy to anything difficult, and it worked. That weekend was a blur; there were family duties, cards and stuff, visits to far-off rellies (or what seemed liked it) in Brent and Northwood. Some were quite disbelieving about the event itself (thanks, people! Nitin married??! But has he stopped drinking?) and then expressed shock at how quickly we were actually to be married (obviously, pregnant – these modern boys and girls cannot keep their hands off each other like Salman and Katrina…that too a doctor’s daughter…bah!) It mattered not to either of us, these sorts of whispers, rumours or slurs – marriage was a sign of our commitment to each other, not some act we undertook to make others happy, however dear to us. I went around talking the big game…this was a girl, a woman, a person, a family, I felt immensely blessed to be part of… the Lord does work in strange ways, just as he had brought Arsene to Arsenal. Ok, that might have been David Dein, but not far off…
Hastily too, I went over to Rakesh, my best mate at school. It was true I had neglected him somewhat. Since he got married a year earlier, and had a kid, we saw too little of each other. Slowly, our lives had moved in different directions. We spoke on the phone a bit, but the days of going for a beer (well, more than one) had vanished. He knew about Sonjs, had not met her, but liked the sound of it all, encouraged me after the muddle Martine had triggered; all of mine own doing too, fair dos to her. Unlike the work crew, Rakesh knew me inside and out.
‘So you want me to arrange your stag?’ said Rakesh, his eyes lighting up like a kid at Diwali.
Central London. About 8.30pm Friday March 22, a van full of a dozen miscreants, nobodies and losers. Not in a police van, but with Rakesh and me. First up, Pitcher and Piano in Soho, some drinking games. I felt sloshed after six, my days as hardened boozer were long past. I was a mess. And the evening had barely started. The boys stuck an L sign around my neck and forced me to wear a blonde wig and a gold thong – over my trousers. Soon enough gals were teasing me and flirting with my mob. Was happy, I could get married every week. There was one, always one, isn’t there? Black, she was. As comely as Fabregas pass. My eyes were playing games, my balance was far from perfect, and all I could focus on was these large orbs of flesh jutting at me in a lovely yellow dress and winking. Not her, just them. Oh Mama. Think Sonia. Think Sonia. That didn’t help. Dimensions, dudes, dimensions. At one point they did more than wink, in fact there was some light bruising to my good self…Suks dragged me away, hoping to seize his moment. Moments later, I was slumped in a corner and she was gone…Suks wearing his rather familiar, what happened there I was so close, look.
There was then horrific dancing in some Leicester Square joint, I left that to the experts, rested my head on Rakesh’s shoulders and told him after several G&Ts, I loved him and we could not go so long without chewing the chaddy or whatever. I was ready for bed and all, when we were rounded up into the van (like suspects) and taken to some type of Travelodge (thankful, it wasn’t prison) place in North London, where we were all staying as pre-arranged, but for some weird reason, we were all herded into one room. Before I could protest, a scantily clad blonde woman in her 20s, had appeared in high heels and demanded payment. Hey? For what? The others were laughing…and taking pics…she then took out one of those soft whips and began whacking me… she wrestled me to the floor with some help and started stripping me. More pics. Jeez. My marriage will be over…what are these fools doing? I couldn’t resist…my brain issued the necessary orders, my body did not respond. I was down to my best Calvin Kleins, my shirt had been ripped. I am a big bloke but this petite woman in four inch heels, calling herself Cindy, had reduced me to a blabbering wreck. No, surely…no, c’mon. Let’s have some decency here.
She got up off me and left. Phew, I smiled. Rakesh, Ben and Suks helped me up, told me it was ‘over’. I was relieved. Then suddenly, Cindy returned with well…I can’t even bring myself to say it, a marital aid used by some lesbians…Ben, Raks, and Suki bundled me over, I could feel my Calvins being pulled down from the back…oh my lord, more pictures of the most incriminating nature. I was ready to die, the others were on their way too, from laughing too much. Tony, what’s a man to do?
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