Birthday Treat?

The must-have at any Durham birthday party is a rather talented individual named Debbie Dumpling. But what’s all the fuss is about?


A cold, snowy, Saturday night brought about my good mate’s 20th birthday. Let’s call him John. As any man is aware, your birthday at university is far from the loving affair of your youth. Parents and friends would treat their sweetheart with cake, covered in Smarties, marshmallows and a little dose of love. Aaahhh! So nostalgic! Unfortunately, University mutates our nurturing nature, creating a far more brutal and punishing day. A man’s birthday is one of the most feared events in his calendar. Dirty Pints, forced drinking and general abuse are now a crucial part of our ‘UNAY’ Culture.

Pre-UNAY. When birthdays were all about the cake.

Flip back to the scene that Saturday. Evening came and a lovely dinner was served in our basement.  John’s closest friends were all gathered together, wine flowed freely and laughter echoed through the house, inevitably pissing off our neighbours.  John was surviving. He had avoided birthday beats, the drinking was manageable and he believed he had got through, free from total humiliation, dignity intact.

He should be so lucky.

Unbeknownst to John and his companions a ‘little’ treat, laden with her ‘bag of tricks,’ was on the way in honour of such a special occasion. Earlier that evening a rare moment of brilliance popped into my head. I acquired the number through deviant and very subtle means – absolute discretion was a necessity.

‘You want fit or roly-Poly?’ asked the delightful man on the other end of the phone. Keeping with the spirit of humiliation it would have to be ‘Roly-Poly.’ Did I want ‘Suzy-Sunshine’ or ‘Debbie-Dumpling?’ On the basis of name alone it would have to be ‘Debbie-Dumpling.’ A 9:30 arrival was scheduled and all that was left to do was wait…and get John drunk.

The delectable Debbie Dumpling

A little pink cheeked and unaware, John was enjoying a perfect birthday. My phone buzzes. ‘Your Roly-Poly’s outside pet.’ At last. I faked a loo break and headed to collect Ms Dumpling. All the while, John bumbled ‘on.

Without wanting to insult Ms Dumpling, she was perfect! The Fountain of Youth had all but drained away and she defined ‘Roly-Poly’. Small in height but wide in stature, she was kind, approachable and very, very game for a good time.

‘Who’s the victim?’ she asked. ‘John’ I responded.

We had ensured that John would be seated perfectly – a front row seat for the interactive Dumpling experience. Hiding her on the stairs, a difficult feat in itself, the scene was set and John was informed that there was a surprise for him.

She emerged.

It is difficult to go into detail when there are so few words that can describe it, or at least, can describe it without upsetting our more conservative readers. Having declined the chance to have a fully nude strip and opting for topless, Debbie set to work.

Poor John.

Sun Cream, Whipped Cream, Whips and Debbie’s fantastic…assets, were used to humiliate John as much as possible, much to the entertainment of the assembled viewers.

Another victim gets the sun cream treatment.

I can honestly say that I have never seen someone look more uncomfortable rubbing in sun cream. Then again, I have never seen someone rub sun cream onto the assets of an old ‘Roly-Poly’ topless woman laden with a whip and cane. After Debbie’s nightly UV protection routine, John was informed to remove his trousers. His belt removed, it was used to whip his bare backside as the blokes yelled ‘harder,’ whilst the girls cried for the end.

Many more routines and activities were used to embarrass John. A word limit and a conscience for John’s reputation restrain me from going into too much detail. Needless to say it was very entertaining.

I have never humiliated someone as much as I did that night. I have never laughed as hard at someone’s humiliation. Most importantly, never have I parted with money more gladly or more willingly than I did for Debbie Dumpling.