Back in the day I was in a Heavy Metal band and the singer moved from Edinburgh to Galashiels. He soon shacked up with a dame and we used to pile down at the weekend and stay in his small flat. Bodies and sleeping bags everywhere. One of the guitarists - who was so shy that he had no carnal knowledge of women at that time - was observed one night having his face eaten off by a dame. We never saw him for the rest of the night.
Around 4am we hear the door go and in he comes, covered in massive love-bites and scratches and bruises. Seemingly, his paramour had asked him back to her place, 7 miles out in the sticks, so he drove out there in the small hours. At the door, she kisses him and nips inside, closing the door on him. In a priapic rage he drives back on the winding A7 road to Gala and totals the car; it's a write-off. He's ok, though, and his father was on the way down from North Berwick to take him home.
It is then that we point out the massive ring of hickeys on his neck. Someone tells him that putting toothpaste on them will make them less visible to the old man. Which turns out not to be the case, as the toothpaste seems to make them worse and highlight them all the more. His old man - a Magnus Pyke lookalike - enters the small living room where a dozen bodies lie smirking, grunting and farting. 'My God, William! What has happened??' the father asks as he stares at his son. Willie replies, 'I...I've been with a woman, father!' A stunned silence from all follows. The father casts his eye around the beer and sweat-reeking room, turns on his heels and walks away.
Nothing like chasing dames, eh?