Preliminary Oral Exams for my PhD
VERY stressful! I studied for months. I was to go before six full professors who would decide if I was good enough to pursue my PhD at an American Tier 1 research university, in a world-renowned entomology department (one of the top 10 in the country).

Because my proposed project dealt with the perception of odors by insects, they wanted to know if I understood the ins and outs of nerve transmission from an odor component.

"Well," I started off, "first, along a nerve axon, you have a polarity difference between the interior and exterior of the axon. As the impulse travels down the axon, ion channels open and the change in polarity propagates the signal." For illustration, I went to the board and drew:




"The signal reaches an area called the 'buton,' which I'll enlarge at the end of the axon for clarity."




"A neurotransmitter is needed for the signal to cross the synapse. This is accomplished by the binding of a neurotransmitter vessicle to the pre-synaptic membrane. The membrane opens and the neurotransmitter molecules flow out into the synapse to be taken up by receptors in the post-synaptic membrane."




Smug, I sat back down and we discussed other things, until my major prof said: "Getting back to the giant penis on the board..."

Six full professors of a major tier 1 research university with one of the top ten entomology departments in the country required several minutes to regain their composure.

B3ta, you'da been proud!
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 17:50, Reply)

The letter 'W'
I had to have special handrwriting lessons in my second year at secondary school (not because I was dim, just because my scrawl was utterly illegible - think drunken neurotic spider with a twitch).

The teacher who gave these 'special' lessons was Miss Reeves, the amazingly attractive English teacher, who was also my form teacher that year.

I didn't tell anyone about the lessons, mainly to avoid being teased for being a spaz and for having 'private' lessons with a teacher that all of the overdeveloped testosterone freaks in my year were obsessed with.

Anyway, to teach me to write like a normal person she sat next to me at a desk and observed the way I wrote and suggested writing exercises to improve my hand.

Sometimes her leg would brush against mine, sending a jolt of *something* all the way through me.

One occasion she got me writing the lower case letter 'w'. Big strings of them. To me in this strange situation they looked like breasts. Big bouncy breasts. Cue instant combination of horniness and utter embarrassment - surely she could see that I had drawn breasts. Lovely, long lines of pert, jiggling breasts. I spent the rest of the lesson in the most wierdly charged erotic state (or at least as much of a state that my twelve year old self could get into).

Every time I write the letter 'w' I think of breasts and I think of Miss Reeves.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Thu 2 Feb 2006, 14:18, Reply)

Sports Injury Clinic
Back in the days when I could play football rather than just watch it on telly, I was quite injury prone and had the need to attend a Sports Injury Clinic on quite a regular basis.
At the time I lived in a flat and a mate lived below me who was into body building and also attended the same clinic for various muscle complaints.

On the particular visit in question I had been suffering from a problem with my lower back which required me to strip down to my skimpies and receive some painful spine cracking and joint manipulation. Now the lady physio who saw to me was a strange looking thing, but not entirely unattractive, she was like a cross between Uma Thurman and Marty Feldman. She was a very friendly girl who was obviously used to man-handling her patients in sometimes intimate areas.

Due to the location of my injury she had given me a very deep back massage that required the moving of my pants half way down my arsecrack (I was lying face down on the couch at the time). The massage was very pleasant and as well as nearly sending me to sleep, had given me a decent sized semi. I couldn't help it.
As she finished the massage and washed the oil from her hands, she asked me to stand up so she could examine my hips. I paused before I slid off the couch to to my feet trying to think of things to shrink my bouncing semi.

Now, as I got to my feet, pants half down and willy half up, she dropped to her knees and put her arms on my hips gripping my pant elastic, and said to me, "So, how is Mr Muscle downstairs ? I haven't seen him for a while, is he still pumping ?"

In one bizarre moment my cock twitched like it received 10,000 volts, as I was aroused, surprised, shocked, and finally......... dissapointed to realise that she was not refering to my now shrinking with embarassment Love Muscle, but to my muscle-bound neighbour who lived in the flat underneath me.

She pulled my pant elastic back to it's rightful place and told me I could now get dressed.

I have no idea if she was deliberately using double entendres, but I left the surgery red faced, and with a damp patch in my Calvin Kleins.


* My first post after months of lurking in the shadows !
(Hotshot, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 15:06, Reply)

The Ginger Ninja
Back when I was about 11 or 12 the new craze in shops were those machines where you could print up your own business cards. No one could go into Woolworths or Clintons without mocking up a card that said 'Mr Tits' and then, giggling like schoolgirls all the while, cancelling it when they had to pay to get them printed. My brother decided to go one step further. He was the kind of person that didn't let being horrendously ginger get him down, more than that he actually celebrated the fact. So, he took a couple of quid of his hard earned money and actually printed himself 50 business cards with his name and phone number on, but with the added title of 'The Ginger Ninja: King Of Carnal Knowledge, Master Of The Mammories'.

Well chuffed with himself he started handing them out to all the girls at school. They laughed slightly for the first ten seconds and then generally threw them away. The inappropriately erotic part of this story refers to the phone calls he started getting just shortly afterwards. There has still been nothing funnier than watching my brother answering the phone and going bright red, as 13 year old boys tend to do, when desperate middle age women ring them up and ask how much 'The Ginger Ninja' charges to 'Master Their Mammories' and telling him in great detail how they'd like it done. Maybe I shouldn't have collected all the cards the girls at school discarded and put them in random phone boxes around the area.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sat 4 Feb 2006, 8:17, Reply)

accidental erection
I am an invalid and damn proud of it.
This was a month after I broke my neck and got completely paralyzed, I can't move or feel anything beneath my head. I had just woken up from coma, and the sexiest nurse in the whole hospital is going to give me a sponge bath. Needless to say my body reacts without my permission and accomplish a nice erection. Instead of just be quite about it, the nurse becomes really happy and shouts out loud: Hooray at least you can move something, aren't you happy!?!
I was not happy...
( gremme, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 0:18, Reply)

First Aid Course o' Woe
Here's a handy hint:

Mid-afternoon boredom is a terrible thing. Thussly, it is neither big nor clever to get a lob-on on the first day of a week-long first aid course, particularly when your instructor is wearing a far-too-tight nurse's uniform, which your somewhat drowsy attention has settled on following a liquid lunch.

It is also best to make sure you attend this course wearing ...um... robust trousers, and not that pair of jeans with the dodgy fly that comes undone at the drop of a nurse's hat. This advice will save you from one thing: woe.

This kind of woe to be precise: The woe that comes from at least four days of ribbing from said instructor, when, after a triumphant go on the Resusci-Anne doll you stand in front of the entire class, your manly bulge is proudly on display.

"For a small fee", she said, "I'll let you take her home tonight."

Woe, indeed.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 14:55, Reply)

Picture this...
...Waking up late because you got stoned the night before, rushing round getting ready for work (for which you know you'll be late); speed walking, still half alseep, to the bus stop; getting on the crowded bus and slumping into your seat, listening to your walkman (as it was back in the day); thinking about the shitty day ahead - and you're already knackered...

...And then for some unknown reason, all of a sudden, IT STRIKES!

DELAYED MORNING WOOD!!!!!

WTF!

AND I HAVE TO GET OFF AT THE NEXT STOP!!!!

GO AWAY!!!...

...

...

ITS NOT GOING AWAY!!!!

PANIC..

PANIC..

MAGGY THATCHER..

MAGGY THATCHER..

MAGGY THATCHER..

...

BERNARD MANNING...

NAKED...

WITH DIAHOREAH...

...

ITS NOT WORKING!!!!

*bus stopping*

GULP...

*strategically places arm in "straight down" position*

*shuffles off bus looking like some weird hunchback with a hard-on!*

its not funny at the time i can tell ya!
(A Hospital Carpark, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 16:11, Reply)

Typing stories into websites gives me a raging horn
I usually only last a couple of sentences before I...eeeugh...
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 13:27, Reply)

The rabbit from the Caramel advert

When I was about 8 years old, I used to get extremely strange feelings down below when that cartoon rabbit from the Cadbury’s Caramel advert was on TV. She used to giggle, and said something like “Relax, with Cadbury’s Caramel” in a very, very dirty tone of voice.

I was foolish enough to tell my older brother about this, who ridiculed me for the next 20 years. This only stopped in summer 2004, when he mentioned it in front of his new girlfriend. As he sat there, rolling around laughing, and she looked extremely embarrassed, I reminded him of an incident that occurred around the same time. After watching an episode of Playschool in which the female presenter took off her socks and shoes, he asked my mum over dinner: “Mummy, why does my willy go hard when I see lady’s feet?”

That shut the kunt up.
(geegee, Mon 6 Feb 2006, 14:26, Reply)

Pigeons
It should have been an intimate moment, but only in the sense that it should have been private and personal. Arousal should never have occurred on the part of either of us given the circumstances.

I whispered goodbye in her ear. I was now at ease with the fact that the time had come for us to part. But something inside me would not allow me to let go. It felt as though a brace of tiny, atomic pigeon's eggs had been laid in the depths of my stomach and were now hatching. And the hatchlings, before they had even emerged fully from their respective ova, were battling for avian supremacy over this secondary womb, hurling bile at one another and clawing at my stomach lining in their desperation.

I looked upon her face. She was beautiful. I began sobbing as I kissed her thin lips passionately, grasping as much of her clothed breastflesh in my hand as I could, for I knew that this was the last time I would have the opportunity to do so.

Men in suits lunged to pull me away and they did this in earnest, but not before I had produced my desperate member from beneath my sad black trousers, and it twitched as though holding back tears of its own.

The vicar stepped forward mournfully as though he had witnessed this sorry scene too many times before. He shook his head before bidding the men to close the coffin. And so they did, and that was the last time anyone laid eyes on my dear grandmother.

That night I remained in my room. I wept until dawn. So did my penis.
(stusut79, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 12:35, Reply)

Gay English Teacher
Mr McLaughlin is one of the eccentric english staff of my School. He is particularly interesting because of his many mannerisms indicating a Grade A bummerer of men. Anyway...
Mr McLaughlin comes walking up the corridor, spots me and simply says "Have you seen m'shoes?"
Eep.
Not knowing quite what to do I stare at him. He looks like he really wants an answer to this. Here it goes: I scan his body down slowly in what looks like something straight out of a porno, but it was really my terror debilitating me. Finally I reach the shoes.
"Yes Sir." I flatly reply.
He's still waiting...
"Well where is she?" he adds.
"Who??"
"Miss Hughes? Have You seen her?"
"Oh..Shit."
(The_Inedible_Hulk Whats ET short for? Wee legs..., Sat 4 Feb 2006, 17:49, Reply)

Probably not the right time
Mrs Rabbits was about six hours into labour when we were asked if a student midwife could join the delivery team. Not a problem, we said. Only it turned out that said student was a 21 year old blonde nurse from Germany. Seeing this young lady with several fingers probing Mrs Rabbits front bottom and whispering 'Is that ok, jah?' created some troubling feelings deep within me.

In an act of faith I did confess such feelings at a later date to Mrs Rabbits. We have had no more children since.
(tell me about the rabbits, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 12:13, Reply)

It was like that when I found it
When I was 17 I picked up my motorbike after some dickhead had kicked it over, and as I did so I felt a horrible burning tearing sensation in my lower abdomen. Fast forward a couple of years (you’ll have to imagine the wavy shimmery lines and fade-out)….

…aaaand I found myself laying in a hospital bed shortly due to be wheeled into theatre for an operation to repair a grapefruit-sized abdominal hernia. It was situated just above the groin on the right hand side of my body, and as you may expect it was necessary to remove a bit of hair from this area before they could slit me open.

A nurse came over to the bed with a paper sheet, metal bowl and a disposable razor and informed me that I would need to shave off my pubes. No problem, thought I, kinda cool and amusing to see what it’ll all look like. So I smiled confidently to her, took the razor and said no worries, be done in two minutes.

As she began to draw the curtain around the bed, I glanced up and happened to rest my eyes upon the other nurse on duty on the ward. She was early twenties, Irish, jet black hair and snow white skin, and bloody gorgeous.

Oh, and she was sat behind a desk with no “modesty board” and had her legs quite wide apart – I could quite clearly see straight up her kilt with a perfect view of her skimpy little drawers with a clear camel-toe line up the middle and bits of hairy black bush* peeping out either side.

The curtains closed, and on cue two minutes later they opened again and nurse number one came back in, to find me sat on the bed naked from the waist down, shaved quite clear of pubes – and with the most enormous raging** erection she could surely have seen for quite some time.

She looked at me, I looked at her, and said “um, it’s, er, it’s not what it looks like....”

The worst thing was I didn’t even get the chance to wank the thing away for another two days.

* hey, it was the 80s
** hey, I was nineteen
.
(Ali Bongo 9000 Ali Bongo 9000, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 14:13, Reply)

Maggie's Minge
I was working as a lifeguard at the local swimming pool. All day the gits I worked with had been winding me up about it being "nudey night" - the hiring of the pool by local naturists. At least I thought they were winding me up.

After we'd shut to the public, and the disabled group (the self-named "Sealions" - a great name for a 'tard swimming club, no?) were back licking the windows of their bus, hoardes of pensioners turn up. Ah. Senior citizens gala, I tried to fool myself...

Next thing I knew, the place was swarming with naked old people. Dozens and dozens of the wrinkly buggers. Think Margaret Thatcher on a cold day. Problem was, that horrific sight was enough to get this 16 year olds hormones pumping.

Cue two hours spent hand-in-shorts-pocket, desperately trying to conceal a raging boner against the inside of my thigh.

I didn't get off on the spastics though.
(Ploptimus, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 23:30, Reply)

Late one evening, slightly worse for wear
I suggested to my friend that he attempt to jump from a signpost to a lamp-post. I turned round giggling at the prospect and started mumbling at someone else, not realising he would actually go and bloody try it. The fool. He did it, and to cut a long story short, split his urethra and had to be rushed to hospital. This is where it gets relevant.

This friend was subsequently diagnosed with a broken dick, reblooded as he had lost quite a bit of the red juice, and stitched up.

As all men will know, there is a phenomenen, as yet unexplained, know in scientific circles as "morning wood".

My friend found out that this is sufficient to break medical stitches.

Every bloody morning

Possibly leading to him having to stay in hospital for 10 days.

And to cap it all off, all of these minor medical matters (changing bandages, re-stitching, shaving, inserting cameras up the urethra etc.) were done by rather attractive nurses.

Ah.

He lost count of the numbers of times he had to be restitched.

Apologies for length, girth, and scars
(Quantum Sheep was going to type something clever here...but...oh, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 21:46, Reply)

I had a lovely 83 year old neighbour, she carked it and I went to her funeral
I'm sat there, not knowing many people, being ignored, when this vision of carnal-desire appeared, just sex on legs. She's up at the podium reading some sad shit when she starts crying, up springs captain-wobbly, hard as hell. She comes and sits close enough that I can smell her perfume, I have a raging, pulsating erection. Off the coffin goes down the conveyor and everyone gets up to leave, of course I can't stand so I stay a little longer as I'm "so overwhelmed with sadness", everyone thinks I'm sensitive. Knocked one out in the bogs at the wake though.
(Chopper3, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 19:34, Reply)

Roommate passion
I had a roommate I was absolutely in love with, a beautiful petite blond girl. My other roommate was sadly her boyfriend, so nix my chances. I was reading one night, when I heard a thumping, and started listening closer, turned on. I'm not sure exactly when I realized it was the washing machine imbalanced, but it was a very sad to be aroused by an inanimate object.
(mikebaja, Sun 5 Feb 2006, 19:38, Reply)

More Than Meets The Eye
Okay! Okay! I'll admit it! When I was seven, Optimus Prime made my winky go ZING!

I've been avoiding the question so far, considering it far too embarrassing but if people can admit to getting a bonk on over Minnie Mouse even now then I can admit to my first gay crush being aimed at a cartoon robot. In fact, I'd go so far as to blame the leader of the Autobots for making me gay. It does lead to hilarity however. After coming out to people they invariably ask when you first knew. If I'm being nice I say it was when I realised I only played strip poker with other boys. If I'm feeling evil I tell them it was shortly after the battle begun on Cybertron and make some joke about Prime's exhaust pipe.

Top tip though, do not reveal this little piece of information to anyone you are considering sleeping with. This could lead to the one memorable occasion when, getting hot and heavy with a bloke, he removes his pants and, as his erection springs up, he makes the transforming noise. Contrary to popular belief this will not regress you to a state of raging repressed childhood horniness but will in fact make you laugh so hard it renders you incapable of doing anything remotely erotic for a good half an hour.

There, I've said it! Make the voices stop now!
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Sat 4 Feb 2006, 8:48, Reply)

ah, one more
When queuing in a very boring check-in line at Tescos one Saturday, I notice a woman with her daughter behind us just being a little louder than normal people. So interested, and having little else in the way of entertainment, I check out the daughter, even though she must've been about 14. After about 10 seconds, it become obvious her daughter's a bit funny in the head, and she's trying to kiss everyone in the queue in a kinda spacker, not-quite-right way.

Not wanting to miss out on a potential pull, I stare at her screaming 'meeeeeeeeeee!' (in my head). Apparently, she heard that; so she turns around, set her cross-eyed focus on me through her Penfold lenses, comes right up to me and landed me one - right on the lips! "Wehay!" thinks I. "Scored!". Wait till I tell the lads!

Right after that, her mum dragged her away - clearly seeing signs of early whoredom manifesting disturbingly early and unashamedly.

The thing is, all I kept thinking about for the rest of the day was "If only she’d have kissed me down there!". From that day fourth; I now want to bang a Spacker if it’s the last thing I do.
( slippery doctore, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 0:58, Reply)

Reassuring Hugs of Embarrasment
For some reason, whenever I give a female person in distress a comforting hug, I always get the horn. I don't know whether it's the touching or their vulnerability, but I've mastered the art of hugging with only the top half of my body so as not to accidentally prod them.
It's like my heart is saying 'is there anything I can do to make you feel better' and my libido is raising its 'hand' to make a suggestion.
(Plyck, Mon 6 Feb 2006, 12:33, Reply)

17 yr old piss stiffy and other tales of woe
I spent a bit of my time in hospital when I was 17 and woke up one day in intensive care. Now I don't know about anyone else but I CANNOT pee in those stupid little bottles they give you. So as the day wears on my body reacts by giving me a hard-on to stop me peeing myself. Bugger, thinks I. The nurse looking after me was getting concerened I hadn't been to the loo and decided, with another nurse, to check my bladder. Cue huge embarrassement from me and her as she slid her hand under my pyjamas and right on the top of my raging stiffy.

The last couple of years have been wonderful for me - NOT. Problems with my guts meant much prodding and poking and bum-fingering, but last year beat the lot.

In January I had appendicitis, young fit asian female doctor inserting her finger into my ringpiece was just the start.

Then I developed probs with my waterworks, meaning I was prodded and poked around my nether regions by a male doctor (not nice) and told I needed a camera inserting in my bladder to check for anything nasty. I hate sitting in a ward wearing nothing but a thin hospital gown trying to keep my very bored mind off the nurses for nearly an hour. Get into the theatre and find 3 nurses, all female, waiting patiently for me to lie down and lift my gown. Then one squirts some gunk down my japs eye and, heres the good bit, MASSAGES IT DOWN MY URETHRA (think backwards hand shandy). How I managed not get a lob on astounds me even now.

I'd better stop now, need to go walk the dog, yes, thats it, walk .... the ..... dog ......
(Tyrion, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 19:52, Reply)

As a teenager......
...I used to go to a hairdressers run by a slightly portly girl in her early 30's. Not a great deal to look at but god had granted her with the largest chest my young and horny eyes had ever come across. They used to brush against my shoulder as she cut my hair and I could look down her top as she cut the front. The beauty of it being a hairdressers was that my growing excitement was always hidden by the massive gown they put over you to stop the hair getting on your clothes.
I'd go for haircuts as often as possible, even if I quite obviously didn't really need one.

Thinking about it I'm quite ashamed as it's exceptionally perverted.

I'm also bald now. So there's karma for you.
( Evil Bastardo, Thu 2 Feb 2006, 13:59, Reply)

Phone Sex
Taking the 'inappropriately erotic' option from the question reminded me of a little joke my mate's girlfriend decided to try and play on me. Using her boyfriends phone she attempted to text me with a message along the lines of 'I secretly love you, when are you going to come over here and give me a right good seeing to?' kinda thing. She figured that me, being a hom, would read this message, supposedly from my mate, and of course come running right over, eager to take him up on his offer of naughty bum fun. Natch. However, her little scheme went ever so disasterously wrong when she realised, a split second too late, that in my mate's phone, my number was listed right next to his dad's number. Guess which one she sent it to?

By far the funniest part of this story was the fact that she was so embarrassed that the only person she told about this was, inexplicably, me! My mate has no idea and his dad has never mentioned it to him, such must be the shock of your own son confessing his love for you and wanting you to do him up the wrong 'un. Whenever I hear he's going to family gatherings I always imagine his dad either avoiding him completely or, much better, sitting in a chair, hands clamped on armrests in a death grip, sweating like a naughty horse and desperately trying not to take him up on the offer.
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Fri 3 Feb 2006, 16:24, Reply)

Well
it was one of those days back during uni where I had nothing really to do, so I do what any other student would do: piss around on the internet, chat to some friends, wank, chat some more, wank, and play a few games - emerging only to feed, piss, and shit.

So come the evening time, and i've basically sat on my arse the whole day without seeing anyone. Slightly bored, I bring out percy for some further punishment as I'd pretty much exhausted all the other internet options at this late stage.

*Fwap!*

About the time I'm pumping hot white love-juice from the veiny coconut tree for about the 11th time that day, I hear a heavy knocking and Shabbir, my strictly Islamic house-mate comes wandering with something in his hand. A birthday card for his Dad no less (who happens to be an Iman or whatever they're called)

The minute this happened I do my utter best to cover up my naked cock standing to full attention by basically yanking my trousers up as high-up as they would go in a kind-of self-wedgy fashion. This kinda worked in that no longer could you see my throbbing and strangly magenta-like coloured cock (try wanking 12 times in a day, and you'll see what I mean) but it was still plainly obvious what had just happened.

So now, we're both feeling utterly awkward, but no-one wants to admit they've noticed anything.

He passes me the card in silence. I scribble my name on the inside; hand covered in said man-fat. I hand it back, silently. He leaves. I clean up.

It was his 50th aswell. Allah be praised!
( slippery doctore, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 0:43, Reply)

Not me but my brother.
He is currently 7 years old, casting my mind back a couple of years, so he would have been 5, he was watching the tweenies, like little kiddies do, and one of the girl tweenies started dancing around.
The next thing i see is my little brother panicking slightly running into the kitchen whilst pulling his trousers down shouting "mummy help its gone all big and i dont know what to do" !
Bless his little cotton socks, he was nearly in tears because he didn't understand what had happened to his willy!
The funniest part was listening to mum try and explain to a five year old that it's perfectly normal!
So there you are, my little brother used to get stiff over the tweenies!

Edit: Hammond? definately!!
( Lilith, Mon 6 Feb 2006, 17:00, Reply)

Just Remembered Why I hated Phys-Ed
I hated phys-ed in high school. Lots of accidentals there, but the taker is this:

We're doing our routine stretches: our teacher, a very attractive woman, is directly in front of me doing push-ups, and I can see right down her shirt.

Cue horrible un-hideable stiffy due to those damn gym shorts. To make matters even worse, the stretch I was doing caused me to let out a massive fart which reverberated off the walls of the gymnasium, thus attracting the attention of the entire class.
( Hosehead, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 9:52, Reply)

Some time ago I picked up my girlfriend to go to the pictures.
We said goodbye to her mum who was sitting watching the tennis. Got there, realised I'd left my wallet in the kitchen and had to go back and pick it up. Ran in only to be stopped dead in my tracks by the vision of her mum going hell for leather, staring at the telly. Obviously, she was very close because she glanced at me briefly, continued for a minute or so, then pulled down her skirt. We have never mentioned it to each other since but I really want to ask her if it Stefan Edberg or Pete Sampras who did it for her (1992 US open finals).
(goober, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 4:48, Reply)

My mate James (again)
When we were at 6th form college there was the obligitory dress up day for Children in Need (or some shit charity). Needless to say all the repressed lads in the year took it as an excuse to dress up as women.

We were over in Tesco's (opposite York 6th Form for those in the know) and a strapping 6ft fella walks past; in a mini-skirt, blonde wig, stuffed bra and tights.

James:Check that out, you would wouldn't you?
Me:Er, James, It's a bloke....
James:Oh
(cue several seconds of silence and a pondering look on his face, much like a dog attempting calculus for the first time)
Jame:But you would wouldn't you?

At which point we developed a crab like ability to shuffle sideways away from him.
( Mastic, Sun 5 Feb 2006, 16:49, Reply)

A stonking great hardon
can sometimes be the only sign of a serious back injury, parameds are taught. They discreetly check the relevant area and if priapism is evident, the patient must be immobilised to prevent further damage.

So when an attractive female paramed of my acquaintance attended an RTA a few years ago she checked the male driver and noticed that he was conscious, coherent and, you know, showing signs of 'life'.

She reassured him, told him to keep perfectly still and called for the fire brigade to urgently assist.

They rolled up, had a briefing from her, and cut the top and door off the brand new BMW, which until then only had superficial damage from being jammed in a hedge.

He was carefuly removed, placed on bodyboard, rushed to hospital, examined....

Yes, you've guessed.
He wasn't seriously injured at all, he was just pleased to see her.

She still hasn't lived it down.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 3 Feb 2006, 19:08, Reply)

Erm
I got so bored waiting for the question to change that I've just had a wank. Does that count?
( Gleeballs is mostly made out of chocolate and hate., Thu 9 Feb 2006, 15:29, Reply)