Ten Biscuits and A Goat Called Delboy by Delboy

To paraphrase Hartley: The future and Second Life is a different country; they do things differently there. Very differently.

So, I put myself forward for this slave auction and got accepted. At the specified time, I turned up in my best bib and tucker,(well, a pair of jeans and a Jam tee shirt), and was welcomed by Miss Eva and told to go into one of these cubicle jobs, get naked and wait. Which, with help from the ever patient Miss Eva, I managed to do, (getting into the cubicle. that is, not getting naked). Then all I had to do was attach a hastily purchased cock to somewhere other than my right kneecap and wait.

I was fourth up.

When I was called up I clumsily bashed around trying to get on the dais; clicking on various options, none of which the right one, (I swear that, at one stage, I clicked on an internet radio playing Johnny Cash's version of “Hurt”, but I could be wrong). When I eventually got on the dais I was facing the wrong way. Obviously that got sorted.

Then there were huge problems with my microphone; volume turned up too loud or some such thing that, added to my less than spectacular entrance, didn't do me any favours. In my defence, I'm partially deaf and pretty much need the sound to be turned up to eleven.
And so, to the questions from the ladies.

I wasn't looking forward to it. One of the earlier candidates had been asked where the clitoris was.  Thank Christ I wasn't asked that, my memory doesn't stretch back that far. The closest I come to sex nowadays is with 'Lilo Lil' my inflatable companion...and she's got a puncture.
I'd written out, in longhand, a couple of A4 sheets of stuff; a wee story and some bits and bobs about myself. For my grand finale, I had intended to read the brilliant John Cooper Clarke's 'I Wanna Be Yours', but that all went out the window.

Given the grilling the others before me had gone through, I had an easy time of it, very easy indeed. A bit of Only Fools and Horses and a smidgen of biscuit listing; I have to hold my hands up; I cheated a little on the biscuit front; a Jaffa Cake isn't a biscuit, (the clue's in the name), but, shhh, that's just between me and you.

To say the bidding on me was frenzied would be a more than mild exaggeration; I think I went for three baseball cards and a half eaten Jaffa Cake.

I will say to any blokes thinking of putting themselves forward; give it a go, but don't take it or yourself too seriously.
Oh, if a potential candidate with a slightly fragile ego should happen to read this goes on to be auctioned; just one snippet of advice; never ever read local chat while you are being auctioned.

Seriously, never EVER read local chat. I found it funny then and still do now, but I'm weird.

I'd like to thank all the ladies, even the ones who ripped into me, you made me smile.

Special thanks must go to Miss Eva and Miss Mo for their understanding, their patience and, most of all, their warmth.

Oh, I still don't cry.... well hardly ever.... well maybe just the odd tear when I listen to Anna Netrebko and Elina Garanca sing Delibes'Flower Duet, but that is too achingly beautiful to not let yourself drown in.