He'd been born with Down's Syndrome, and his pill-popping evangelical Xian mam had given him a 'skinned rabbit' haircut and sent him off to a special school, where they made the kids pack crayons into boxes and rewarded good behaviour with a carton of Ribena. He once found a porn mag and spent an hour gawping at it, and one of the special teachers told him he'd been very bad, 'not nice girls at all! silly, nasty little girls in that magazine - forget you ever saw it', and one of the other special teachers said, 'so what if he saw it, they don't have sex drives anyway'. But no matter how often they told him he'd been good, trained him up for a career in shelf-stacking at ASDA and plied him with strawberry-flavoured gumrot, he desperately wanted to experience a GOOD FUCK.
She was walking around with a whippet with a studded collar when he met her. She was convinced she'd been put on Earth to shine a light for Jesus. She always carried a bible around with her and would dole out fivers to tramps, but she dressed like her heroine, Jodie Marsh. People slagged Jodie but ignored her good heart, and she didn't see anything contrary to the spirit of the New Testament in physically emulating the glamour model.
She took him into a public toilet in Baker Street station and eased his cock into her mouth, he bellowed as he flooded her tonsils with 300ml of manfat. Never worked out between them, though. While visiting her grandfather in hospital, she met an OAP with MRSA and no immune system, just marking time before the inevitable - who she fell in love with.
Now ne never sees her anymore and he's alone, on 100 quid a week, stacking shelves at ASDA. His co-workers never invite him down the pub after work, and they snicker behind his back, but he wonders how many of them got sucked fucking bandy by Jodie Marsh.