We had got drunk together numerous times, as part of a group, and just us I suppose, once or twice, he'd crashed at mine as well, a few times, came back for some chilli, a floor space. He was sort of funny, a little older than me, smart, he lived miles away. Once we were at mine, a room in a shared house, we were sitting on my bed, and he started to stroke my back, sort of, affectionately, drunkenly, just stroking the backs of his fingers up and down, I let him, not to make a scene, it didn't bo
Part of the 'Butt Monkey' series of stories by Robert Furlong
"This is why I don't come to office Christmas parties," I thought to myself as I stood near the photocopier feeling awkwardly self-conscious and uncomfortable.
I was trying to look as casual I could, exchanging half-hearted pleasantries with guys from different departments who I barely knew, and trying desperately to spot Cameron through the throngs of tedious people.
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