Round Jean-Claude Van Damme’s House

I never wanted to come here in the first place. I like JC, but his in-your-face machismo is too much for me at times. I’m from Yorkshire. The dinner party he had planned for the evening started off well enough- everyone else was there already and we had some Liebfraumilch and cheese straws.
The drawing room was tasteful enough in it’s décor, wood panelling, nice big telly, but the glass case full of pewter dragons with jewels seemed slightly incongruous (he later explained they were his ex-wife’s, and he didn’t have the heart to get rid of them).

So the first course, moules marinieres- I said “are these mussels from Brussels?” but no-one seemed to find it funny. The dining room has an impressive glass table and he has a bang and olufsen stereo (they cost a bomb!). Main- Coq-Au-Vin. A bit heavy on the wine but eatable. I got some gravy on my shirt which made me self-conscious and started to get the impression everyone was staring at me.

Pudding- Knickerbocker Glory. Delicious.

It was obvious that everyone was much more drunk than me and the party became ever more racy as the evening went on. One of the ladies started to take her clothes off. Although I am a red-blooded male and a fan of the female form, this was getting too rich for my blood. JC poo-pooed my protestations that this was getting out of hand- it seemed he was actively encouraging this sexiness! By this time other revellers were getting involved and I was getting very uncomfortable. I asked JC what his daughters would make of this debauchery, and shouted at everyone, calling them disgusting perverts or something (I was raging, I don’t know what exactly I said in the heat of the moment). He tried to calm me down, saying he thought that I would enjoy it, that I should “loosen up”, and so on. I left, and told JC not to call me again.

When I got home, I realised what a fool I’d been. Why do I always ruin sexy parties?

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