We all have stories to tell, so this is the first of a sporadic series where I recount the tales of others.
One pleasant Sunday afternoon, I was sat in Eden Bar with a good friend. The bright sun failed to penetrate the comfortingly dim interior, with its dark walls and heavy velvet drapes, that wouldn’t look out of place in Miss Havisham’s Dickensian drawing room. It was the perfect setting for my friend to tell me a story, although maybe a ghost story would have been more appropriate. In fact, any story would have been more appropriate that this most inappropriate of tales.
My friend and I have a mutual mate called Luke, who speaks his mind with uncompromising directness and is armed with a hilariously sick sense of humour, a character trait that he has possessed since childhood, apparently.
Back when Luke and his brother Jack where aged 11 and 15 respectively, they were staying overnight at their grandmother’s home. There was only the one bed available, so their nan dutifully allowed the boys to sleep in it, while she fashioned herself a nest on the floor from spare blankets and pillows.
During the night, Luke woke up and glanced down at where his nan was slumbering. In her bid to get comfortable, Nan had discarded her sheets and was sprawled uncovered on her makeshift bed. Luke was horrified to see that her nocturnal squirming had caused her nightie to ride up and expose Nanny’s naked nether regions, out there and glistening in the moonlight.
Luke frantically woke his brother, and the two boys descended into a stifled fit of adolescent giggles, as they peered over the edge of the bed at the startling sight.
“Look, look, look… Nanny’s fanny!” Luke sniggered. Suddenly, a twisted idea came to him and, seizing an opportunity to torment his brother in a way that only a sibling could, Luke challenged, “I bet it stinks. Dare you to sniff it!”
“Go on, sniff it. I dare you!”
“I’m not doing it!!”
“You’ve got to, it’s a dare. Sniff Nanny’s fanny.”
“If you don’t sniff Nanny’s fanny, you are a chicken.”
“Chicken… chicken… chicken.”
Finally, after much taunting and goading, Luke managed to pressure his older brother into complying.
Jack crept stealthily off the bed and over to their grandmother’s sleeping form. Egged on by his younger brother, he knelt and lowered his head until his nose hovered just above the exposed region.
Suddenly, quick as a flash, Luke thrust out his arm, grabbed the back of his brother’s head and shoved him face first into the crotch.
Nan awoke in confusion to find her grandson nose deep in her vagina and pandemonium naturally ensued. Jack the ‘Vagina Miner’ vigorously claimed that he had got up to use the bathroom and tripped, while Luke feigned innocence and pretended that the commotion had just woken him up.
So wrong, but so funny.
A few months after being told this tale, I had the pleasure of hearing Luke tell it himself on a packed train to London… much to the distain of the elderly gentleman sat across the aisle from us.
Back on that sunny Sunday afternoon in Eden Bar, my friend and I raised a glass to, “The original Fanny Chmelar”.