Directional Problems

A tragic tale of confusion following what is a fairly standard format on Literotica.

Or is it?

I staggered out of my local pub, drunk as a Lord, and was half way home before realising that I'd turned left out of the damn place rather than right. Not for the first time I might add, as I was well known for my poor (read terrible) sense of direction. Giggling to myself, the way one does when you've downed seven pints of the landlord's finest, I turned round and retraced my steps, passing the now closed pub, which was probably just as well really, and down the hill towards my house.

I seemed to continue with confusing my left with my right, but eventually thirty odd minutes later I did manage to complete the five minute walk back to our street, though somehow seemed to have arrived at the wrong end.

Reaching my house, eventually that is, I looked up, totally astonished to find my house was no longer there. However, using my addled brain, I at last worked out what the problem might be, and turning around there was our semi detached bungalow on the other side of the road. So, not bothering to worry too much about why or when my house had or hadn't been moved, I zig-zagged across the road, only to spend the next few minutes trying to open the hedge. Realising after a while that hedges don't actually open, I decided on a different track, and feeling my way along the hedge I eventually found a gate, opened it, and proceeded round the back and let myself in through the back door. Always left that unlocked after a night at the pub due to previous difficulty in finding that elusive little hole to put the key in. In fact like the neighbours we hardly ever locked any of ours doors as burglary was unknown. We used to joke that the police would need to consult their GPS to even find us.

Wondering what the chances were of a little bit of rumpty-tumpty with the wife, I swaggered down the corridor with a devilish grin on my face. Imperially pushing open the bedroom door, and in the half light, I was shocked to see my scrawny next door neighbour Jim lying there in my bed with my wife right there next to him.

It took me a few moments to take in what this meant, and a few more to decide what to do about it. But fear not, despite my befuddled state, I was an avid reader of LV on Literotica and knew exactly what to do.

Furious, as one would be, I charged across the room, grabbed hold of him, dragged him over to the window, remembering to open it, and launched the bastard through it.

It was only a ground floor window of course, but the rose bush outside the window would make up for that.

I turned expecting, as all good Literotica wives are, for the wife to be humbled. For her to claim 'It was the first time' or 'She didn't love him,' or even 'It's not what you think.' But no! Not only NO but to my astonishment she was charging me and screaming blue murder.

Cheek of the cheating bitch!

Managing to ward off her blows, I grabbed her, bent her over the bed, pulled up her nightgown, and gave her ten well deserved smacks on her bare bottom.

If I expected that to quieten her down I was wrong and she kept up the screaming, so naturally that left me with just one option. Grabbing her by her long blonde pony tail I dragged her to the window and hurled the cheating bitch through it as well, closing the window behind the pair of them, and leaving them to extract themselves from that lovely rosebush.

I felt good about that, but it didn't last.

Grumbling angrily, I headed back to our bed, missed it completely, tripped up on something, that shouldn't have been there, fell face down on the floor and promptly fell asleep.

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I woke some time later with the daybreak sun shining in, rather puzzled when I didn't recognise the wallpaper.

That turned to concern when I didn't recognise any of the furniture either!

I started to worry when it occurred to me that my wife didn't have long blonde hair, or a poney tail for that matter, but Jim next door's wife sure did!

The cruncher of course, was that we didn't have a rosebush!

It was only when the banging on the front door began that I realised the extent of my problem!

It was only when whoever was banging on the door called out 'Police... open up in the name of the law,' that I realised not only did I have a serious problem, but that police cars must have those GPS thingys fitted.

I lay there pondering whether 'A poor sense of direction' has ever been successfully used as a defence plea?

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Three months later;

It hadn't, and still hasn't, but at least I would be getting drunk for the next six months. In fact I wouldn't be going anywhere much for the next six months.