Shafting some Bunglas with a FTC 871 - Sex Stories

Shafting some Bunglas with a FTC 871

FTC 871 is the part number for a Land Rover left hand rear half shaft. That is the only fact based statement in this work of fiction and all the characters are completely fictitious although with such lifelike characters you probably know someone just like them. The pavement glistened moistly after the rain storm as we huddled together in the 99p shop doorway as we kept an eye on Parson's Street one Friday in late August 2001. "That's the cunt," 'Nobby' Bagthorpe said quietly as he pointed to this ageing Asian bloke with his head down as he legged it up the street as he headed home from Friday prayers at the Parson's Street Mosque. "Yeah that's him," Al confirmed. "What him, he looks past it?" I queried. "Get a grip Allthwaite," Nobby moans, "It's the cunt's kid, fucking Imran as been doing our Sheila not that cunt." "Right," I says, "So what we following that cunt for?" "Like the fucking Mafia Johnno," Al says, "That lot." "Fucking top man Kuptar," Nobby adds. "Right," I agrees, totally confused, "Now what?" "Talk to the cunt," Nobby says. "Right," I agreed, "So we fucking threaten him and get the whole fucking tribe round our gaff or worse claiming racial harassment?" "You got a better idea?" Nobby asks, well as it happens my idea was fuck off down the Flying Horse for a few bevvies, maybe a curry and crawl away and throw up in canal, "Thought not," he added. The bloke kept walking and we followed, we would have caught him up and had a chat except Nobby started wheezing ...

... because of the fags and that and Al said he had stitch and I didn't fancy it on my own as our dad said they carried daggers down their socks. So we followed 'Kuptar,' to his gaff the corner shop on the corner of Mafeking Street and Ladysmith Street and we went in, Mrs Kuptar was serving behind the high counter and she hid her copy of 'Playgirl,' and switched her telly to the Asian network instead of one of them porn channels she usually watched as we walked in. "Hiya sexy!" Nobby said. She stared at him through the rectangular hole in the black tent she wore and she cursed him in Urdu with a Lancashire accent. "You want something or you come to take the piss?" she asked nastily. "Where's the boss?" Al asked, "We know he's here?" "Michael," she shouts, fucking Asian called fucking Michael, you couldn't make it up. "Yes," he bellows. "Some rough yobbos are here to see you Michael," she says in English to wind us up. "Who are they?" he asks. "Johnno Althwaite and Nobby Bagthorpe, you know Sandra's brother," I says. "I owe the girl nothing!" he said, "Nothing!" "Not you fucking Imran, he got her up the duff," Nobby insists, "Ring on finger time savvy?" Kuptar appears, "Then you must take it up with Imran." "Look you're fucking head of the family, you have a word right?" Al interjects. "He is his own man and will marry whom he chooses," Kuptar says and his missus has the decency to blush as we all knew the family planned who married who, a cousin from Bungla probably. "Tell him to ...