When I was young, free and innocent, I went out on a date with a sexy older Irishman. He had an accent that could make the stoniest of hearts melt and a cock the size of a small french stick (ooh, I'm not joking)!

Anyway, we had a lovely dinner and afterwards, we decided to head on back to his place for 'coffee'. We had hardly reached the hallway when he pulled my skirt down and took me from behind. The sex was great and we both came noisily. He then asked seductively if I wanted to come on in to the bedroom.

Forgetting that my skirt was around my ankles, I stumbled forward, hit my head against the glass front door, gashed my forehead badly (I needed 6 stitches) and subsequently knocked myself unconcious.

Eventually, I woke up in hospital throughly embarrased, but as for me and him - well, we got married two years later and have been together for fifteen now. Life, eh?