Kind of. I used to go out clubbing back in the late 1980s and would drive down to a mate’s house and a group of about 5 or 6 would go to a great club: not too big, great music, good fun. One time we’d had a lot to drink and I left the group to go back to my mate’s house, feeling a bit worse for wear. I took his spare key and walked the mile or so back his flat. It was about 1.00am. I was in a suit and the cool air certainly helped. The club had been steaming. I loosened my tie and ambled along dark back country roads. Still feeling hot I slipped off my jacket. And then – where do these ideas come from? – decided to take everything off. Tie, shirt, shoes. Socks, trousers, underwear. I clasped my clothes to cover my erection, but was totally nude by the time I got to the carpark under the flat. I staggered up the cold concrete stairs, nude but exhilarated and fortunately still had the door key. I’d been tempted to leave all my clothes in the street as I stripped them off big sanity just about prevailed! It was lucky the flat was empty! I’d forgotten all about that incident?!
Ed likes this