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This is a question The Dark

17,000 writes: Everything bad happens in the dark. Tell us your stories of noises and bumps in the night, power cuts, blindfolds and cinema fumbling.

(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 15:49)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

We had only a couple of hours in which to see Dylan at the funeral home before the coffin had to be closed.
Everyone who could be there looked at his handsome face for the last time and left in tears. He was so young.

I stayed a long time, ruffling his hair and tellng him that I loved him and was not angry with him. His hair was the longest I'd ever seen it - he was growing it, it seems, for the first time.

After a while, I realised that I was still there because I couldn't leave. I couldn't leave him alone there without anyone he loved to hold his hand or whisper that it was all right, I'm here and you're safe.

This was a problem which I needed to solve. So I called Rob the funeral director in and explained, and he understood.

Dylan was never afraid of the dark as a child - well, a little, but he was very brave - so I kissed and hugged him for a last time, then stood by the door and said, goodnight Dyl, I'll see you in the morning, and Rob put out the lights, one by one, just on cue. I couldn't see Dylan any more then and quietly closed the door and tiptoed away, just as when he was a little boy.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 9:14, 16 replies)
"Daddy, I'm scared of the dark!"
...said my daughter as I switched the light out one evening. Perfectly reasonable behaviour from a three-year-old, and it rested with me to do something about it.

I - like a fool - tried to reason with her.

"What," I asked, "are you scared of?"

She looked at me, abject fear written across her face and said: "Wigglewig coming."

"Wigglewig?"

"Yeah," she repeated vewy vewy softly "Wigglewig coming"

"Who... what.. is Wigglewig?"

"He big an' fuzzy an' scary wiv a big tail an' he got sharp teeth an' HE COMING"

"So, where does he live? Under your bed?"

She pointed.

She pointed over my shoulder, out of her bedroom to the room over the landing. The bathroom.

"He lives in the bathroom."

"Yeh. Wigglewig coming."

"Where?"

She jumped out of bed, clutched Kung Fu Bunny to her chest, said "Shhh! Don't wake him up!" and led me by the hand.

"There he is. Is Wigglewig."

"That's the bog brush."

"Yeah. Wigglewig. He coming to get me."

She is nearly fifteen now. I can't wait until - one day - the Father-of-the-Bride speech.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 12:07, 9 replies)
I got nothing this week.
But, while I am here, I have to say, I love driving in the dark when it's snowing.

I pretend I am in the Millenium Falcon
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:24, 9 replies)
Children of the Sun
I don’t mind the dark. Ever since I was a kid I had no problem wandering around the house at night wearing my jim jams with teddy in tow.

So with this in mind, coupled with the fact that I don’t sleep very well and never have, often meant that I walked around the house at night, watched telly very low, read books, drank milk etc. My parents knew I did this but obviously couldn’t really do anything about it if they were asleep and as long as I were quiet they didn’t mind.

One Sunday evening, I couldn’t really sleep. I went downstairs with Teddy, and got some milk from the kitchen. Being a clumsy little twad, I spilt some milk onto the floor. Quite a lot actually.

So I got a mop and started mopping away, singing under my breath, as you do. “Enfant du soleil, tu parcours la terre le ciel, cherche ton chemin, c'est ta vie, c'est ton destin, et le jour, la nuit, avec tes deux meilleurs amis, a bord du Grand Condor, tu recherches les Cites d'Or”. (Having lived in France, I only knew the French lyrics to the Cities of Gold and I typed that from memory so it’s probably wrong)

I then saw a large shape loom out of the darkness and I screamed and tried to use the mop on it.

From my somewhat nervous dad’s perspective, he had awoken to a low swishing noise, and someone whispering. Terror struck him, but he faced his fear and went to the kitchen. It wasn’t too far as we lived in a bungalow and the sound had carried rather too well.

He saw a small hunched figure wielding some sort of ‘axe or hammer’ and muttering about children of the sun. He thought, perhaps irrationally, that this was an escaped mental patient who had broken in, instead of his naughty insomniac son. He moved closer to apprehend this peril but the escaped mental patient shouted ‘kill you!’ at him (that’s what he thinks I said, and still maintains to this day) and lunged directly at his eyes with the hammer. He recoiled backwards in bowel clamping terror and muttered about Jesus preserving him.

I just turned on the light and continued mopping. Dads eh? Tchoh.
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 21:15, 9 replies)
The dark, the ring and the scared shitless
Going back a few years now I did something truly evil in the dark and I have still not had my apology accepted.

After spending a lovely boozy night out with my friend Ana we had made it back to her flat in the wee hours of the morning a little how shall we say, inebriated and in a bit of a silly mood.

Zigzagging up her garden path Ana was at the front door struggling with her keys while I wandered up to the living room window and spied her hubby and his mates all crashed out on the sofas watching a film. I proceeded to wave manically at the guys expecting one of them to notice me and let us in – this didn’t happen. It was then I realised they couldn’t see me through the window as it was so dark outside so I did what any sensible well-adjusted grownup would do and pulled faces at them and stuck my fingers up, Ana hearing my hysterical giggles staggered over and joined in.

After a few minutes I stopped being a dick and noticed what they were watching on the TV, it was The Ring. Ahaahahahaaaaa thought I – bloody brilliant! Seeing as I had seen the film already I knew roughly how far they were into it and I realised that in about 5 minutes time the phone would ring on the screen. I rummaged crazily for my mobile whilst filling in Ana on my dastardly plan.

The second the phone appeared on the screen and we could just about hear it ringing through the window I frantically rang Ana’s other half and we prayed that he had his mobile phone near him… he did. We watched with glee as all the guys started giggling nervously and pointed at his phone. He picked it up, pressed the call button and I put on my best spooky voice and whispered ‘In seven days you will die’ I then hung up the phone and me and Ana threw ourselves against the window in unison, scaring the shit out of every guy in the room and making them produce high pitch squeals that would make a 4 year old girl proud!!

It goes down in history as being the most successful prank I have every played to this day and if mentioned around the boys it always receives the same response – ‘we knew it was you, I wasn’t scared’… sure, sure! Mwah ha haaaa!
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 17:06, 23 replies)
Caught short
Once walking home about half midnight felt the need to pop a sausage from my bum. Trouble was I was nowhere near my house and no toilets anywhere.
So I climbed over a small wall and thru a hedge into what I thought was a little garden/park. It was pitch black, couldn't see a thing. Pulled my trousers down and dumped.
Next day I was walking back along the same road and decided to look in said park/garden to see if my plop was about.
Walked through the gate and around the big hedge I'd climbed thru and found a tennis court.
And right in the middle was a huge poo, MY POO.
And there were two people staring at it wanting to play tennis in their lovely white tennis clothes.
I was so proud I shouted "That's mine" then ran off.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 7:34, 3 replies)
Public Sex pt.2 - In the Dark

I didn’t have time to do this post for the Public Sex question, but it fits better here anyway.

This is going back a few years now, to a time when I was seeing a very nice gentleman called Brian. We were both divorced and unused to the dating game, but he was a lot of fun and a very proficient lover. We saw each other for a few months but then decided that we should end it while we were still friends, as both of us were looking for something more permanent and agreed that we were never going to ‘fall in love’ with each other.

Anyway, back to the story. There was an item either on ‘In Touch’ or ‘The Food Programme’ on Radio 4 about a restaurant that serves food in the dark. It’s staffed by blind and partially sighted waiters and sounded a bit different. Brian suggested that it sounded like a bit of a laugh and I said it sounded like a good opportunity for a bit of a public fumble.

So, we booked a couple of places (everyone sits at one long table on benches, to make things easier), packed the kids off to my parents for the night and, after a quickie to get us in the mood, we showered and got changed. We’d decided to be a bit daring and both go ‘commando’, in case the chance for a bit of you-know-what presented itself. Brian was wearing loose jeans with a button fly and I had a flowing, knee length summer dress which buttoned up the front. Brian also put a Johnny in his pocket, just in case.

So, we arrived at ‘Dans le Noir’ and were shown into the bar by the sighted Maitre d’ for a drink. The lighting was low to get us accustomed gradually to the dark. There were couples and small groups sitting around and I noticed a fair few blind customers with their partners or families. We both opted for the ‘surprise menu’, where you rely on touch, taste and smell to discover what’s on your plate.

The big moment arrived and were led down a dim corridor, each customer with their hand on the shoulder of the person in front. It was a bit like finding your way to your seat in the cinema after the lights have gone down; there were tiny lights along the corridor and you could just make out the person in front of you. Then, we pushed through some black velvet curtains and we were in COMPLETE and UTTER darkness. With some bashing of shins and kicking each other, we all stepped over the bench and sat down.

If you want to know what it was like, go into a dark-room, leave the light off and close the door. Then put a hood over your head and a blindfold over that.

The dinner was probably the strangest I’ve attended but possibly the most exciting too.

As soon as we were comfortable and had found our asparagus tips and mayonnaise, I undid a couple of the lowest buttons on my dress, then found Brian’s right hand and guided it to my lap. He reciprocated, undoing his fly, releasing the beast and guiding my left hand. There then followed a conversation of such filthy double entendres as has ever been carried out in a public restaurant. “Wow, that asparagus is really firm.” “Have you tried dipping it in the mayonnaise?” etc. etc.

Meanwhile I was gently handling his rigid cock and his fingers were fiddling with my clit as I spread my legs wide apart on the bench. The main course was some type of fish with new potatoes and green beans but I could hardly concentrate on finding it on my plate as I was nearing orgasm. I had to try to keep my ragged breathing quiet as all sounds were magnified in the dark and my heartbeat sounded loud enough in my ears to be audible to the guy sitting on my right. Brian kept sliding his fingers into me and I was pumping his cock for all I was worth.

We had to stop as they cleared the dishes and brought in the dessert - apricot tart with a scoop of delicious ice-cream. I almost screamed as Brian recommenced with a spot of ice-cream on his fingers and as I stuffed apricot tart into my mouth I covered my orgasm with a groan of delight, commenting on the food. Brian slipped the Johnny on and I finished him off as he downed a glass of wine. “God, I love sticky puddings with cream on the side.”.

We were both completely sated by this time and I took the opportunity of the dark room to lick my plate clean before doing up my buttons again. Brian carefully took the full Johnny off, tied it off and put it back in his pocket before wiping himself with the napkin and buttoning up.

“OK folks, if you all stand and put your hand on the shoulder of the person in front of you, we will now leave the dining room.”

As we emerged into the dim corridor and then the gently lit bar we were more than a little surprised to see that the Maitre d’, who had been leading us, was wearing night-vision goggles. He gave the pair of us a huge grin as he took them off and said, “I trust that was a uniquely enjoyable experience for you. It certainly was for me.”

Oh boy. Nice one K, you did it again.
(, Tue 28 Jul 2009, 14:09, 9 replies)
Damn the Dark
It had been a great night. Alcohol had been consumed in vast quantities, cigarettes had been smoked in abundance, and rug had been cut on the dance floor.
‘What would really top this night off’, I thought to myself, my drunk thoughts tripping over themselves, ‘would be a shag. A sweaty, lust-filled, over-in-minutes, shag’.
Fortunately, I had made it to the relative safety of my home with two girls, Nancy and Lisa, who I had been with all night as part of a large group of friends. Unfortunately, they were only with me as they had travelled from Cardiff (I live in Bucks) and they needed somewhere to crash for the night, and they had made it perfectly clear that they were up for no naughtiness (especially with me).

We’d been sat around on sofas in my front room for half an hour or so, the girls wrapped up in duvets whilst I ate a greasy kebab (fnarr!); and all the while I was trying to charm the two Welsh ladies into bed but they were having none of it. They were both tired, and had started to sober up slightly so my chances of a quick fumble with either girl had all but vanished. Then talk turned to ghost stories. Lisa started off with a story about her local church being haunted and that she’d actually seen a ghost there. Nancy got scared by this, and pulled up her duvet around her neck.

“Please don’t talk about ghosts”, she said quietly, “I won’t be able to sleep, especially in the dark”. Lisa and I laughed and carried on regardless, talking about various clips and stories we’d seen on the internet. As we went on, I could see Nancy literally start shaking with fear, her eyes filling up with tears.

“Guys, seriously, I’ll need the lights on now otherwise I won’t be able to sleep on my own” she said, pleadingly. My drunken brain hatched a plan. I’d cut the electric, plunging the house into darkness, and Nancy would have to have someone in bed with her. That someone would be me.
I excused myself and went to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the circuit breaker. Everything went dark; lights went out, the TV went off and the kettle stopped boiling. The only thing that broke the tranquility of the dark was the screams emanating from the front room. Nancy and Lisa were shrieking.

“It’s ok, it’s just a power cut”, I shouted as I returned, feeling along the walls to aid me. “Happens all the time round here”, I lied.
========== =========== ============== ================== ========================== ====================

Lisa and Nancy lay side by side on the King size bed, with me on the outside next to Lisa, wearing just my underwear. Nancy had point-blankly refused to sleep in the room I had provided and Lisa was also too scared to be left alone. The dark has a habit of playing tricks with people’s minds, it amplifies the vulnerability of situations, and this had played to my advantage. All the talk of ghosts, and now the ‘power cut’ had scared the girls quite splendidly, and they wanted me around to ‘protect them’.

As we lay in pitch black darkness, the only sounds I could hear was the soft breathing of the girls, and the clock ticking on my wall. I didn’t know if either Lisa or Nancy were awake, the conversation had died out 20 or so minutes earlier, but I did know that I was horny. Their sweet, fruity perfume tickled my nostrils as I inhaled, and in moments my gristle truncheon was standing proud as I thought of undressing each girl slowly and having my wicked way with them. I tucked my bobbing member under the elastic of my boxers, keeping it flat against me so that Lisa would not bump into it. I would not have minded if she did, but I didn’t want her to think I was some sort of sexual pervert. I wanted to play it cool.

I lay silently for what must have been about 10 minutes, fighting the urge to start kissing Lisa on the small of her back. I wanted her to roll over and feel my erection and get turned on, getting carried away with the situation, so we could hump like animals throughout the night. ‘Nancy would join in’, I thought. ‘Yeah, she definitely would. First she’d play with herself and then she’d join in’. We would wake in a sticky, sweaty mess, holding each other, and start all over again.

Then I farted. It was a loud, reverberating fart, that if I hadn’t been in the company of two females, I would have been proud of. I would have laughed at it. It was a kebab-backed, deep, meaty fart; a hearty *pop*, like a shotgun. My guts twisted and churned and I placed my hands on my stomach as if to hold any further anal explosions in. Luckily, Nancy and Lisa didn’t say anything; their breathing remained constant – I hadn’t been heard. My bowels felt like they were rolling over in my belly, as my sphincter clenched tightly. ‘Dodgy kebab’ I muttered and I got up out of bed to feel my way to the toilet. As it was a cold night, I reached down for my dressing gown, dressed and crept slowly and silently out of the bedroom, being careful not to stride too far in fear of fecal matter seeping from my anus. The relief as I sat on the porcelain throne was instant. Vile smelling, sticky fluid poured from my back passage, hitting the water with a great force causing splash-back. It tickled slightly. The stench was putrid. Once I was sure I was empty, I wiped and went back the bedroom, where the girls were still asleep, whimpering quietly to myself.

The next thing I knew, it was morning. I had fallen asleep and missed my chance. I woke to glorious sunlight seeping through the curtains. Nancy and Lisa were still in bed, talking about the night before.

“Morning ladies, fancy a cuppa? I should be able to find the emergency backup switch now there’s some light”. Nancy wanted tea, Lisa an orange juice, so I felt down to the floor for my dressing gown. As I picked it up I span my legs out of the bed and onto the floor, and then lifted the dressing gown to cover my morning wood. With my back to the girls, I slipped it on.

“Erm, why are you wearing my dressing gown?” Lisa asked. I looked at what I was wearing. A pink fluffy dressing gown. I looked over at the door and there hung my BHS blue dressing gown. I turned to look at Lisa and her face dropped – “What the f*** is that on my dressing gown?” she shouted, pointing at me accusingly.
Dry, crusty poo clung to the dressing gown like a limpet.

The splash-back had been powerful.
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 17:13, 4 replies)
Egypt, 2009
Last year I was invited to Egypt as a guest of the government and the tourist board and... blah police escorts, military checkpoints, lunatic politicans and far too much drinking. Anywho. Penultimate night. Bedouin camp, 10 miles into the desert. Perfect darkness.

I walked away from the lights, away from the life. Light is safety, warmth and security. I walked until all around me was dark. The only senses I could rely on were touch and sound. For long minutes I walked on, eyes down, letting myself adjust to the stygian blackness, the nothingness.

I've never felt so disembodied or disorientated. I sat on the sand, alone in the desert. Slowly I looked up.

In that moment I saw all the splendour and wonder of the universe. Galaxies, shooting stars, the Milky Way itself. I saw all life and all creation in the sky. I felt that, at that moment, something I've never experienced before or since.

I got up and slowly walked back to the camp in the blinding dark. Shuffling, walking, guessing.

I'll probably never see what I saw that night, the modern world is slowly killing the stars. The light blocks out the dark.

The dark isn't scary.

Sometimes, you have to go into dark places to see the light.
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 22:09, 14 replies)
The strangest boreen in Ireland.
For those who are unfamiliar with the word, a boreen is a small country road. No paving or anything like that - more like a track. My family holidays more often than not consisted of trips to Clare where we would stay in a variety of damp holiday cottages situated along a boreen far from the nearest village.

One year the whole family went at the same time. Mum and Dad hired a cottage at one end of the lane and my aunts clubbed together to stay in another about half a mile further up the road, on the other side of the road. Halfway between the two, on our side of the road, was a ruined cottage with no roof, door or windows (you see these all over the place in Ireland) and that was it - no other houses or buildings for a couple of miles.

The boreen was kind of creepy even in daylight for no specific reason. Maybe it was the silence - it was the furthest out we had ever stayed. When we arrived the first night it was already pitch black and my uncle, who had picked up the keys earlier, was a bit jumpy after walking down on his own to let us in. He'd near shat himself when he walked into the bedroom and found himself face-to-face with a large statue of St Theresa smiling at him in the gloom. Now this was a man who was born and brought up in the wilds of Wales so it wasn't a townie reaction the dark. He was genuinely freaked out for no real reason.

A few days after we arrived, Dad pointed out that there was smoke coming out of the chimmney of the ruined cottage. We went up later and poked about but couldn't see any sign of a fire, recent or otherwise. My family all thinks of themselves as a bit fey and so no one was unduly freaked by this - there was just a bit of finger wiggling and making of ghostly noises. It was sort of intriguing but not really scarey. That said, Dad did tend to drive up and down to the other house, but that could have been laziness, so none of us, apart from my uncle, walked the road in darkness.

On one of the last nights of the holiday Mum, my sister and I spent the evening at the Aunts' house and were waiting for Dad to come and collect us. My uncle turned up in a friend's car, more than a bit worse for wear, and said that he and Dad had a few drinks in town and so Dad couldn't drive up. It late and so the only choice was for the three of us to walk down on our own in the dark.

As a cowardly teenager I did the only sensible thing and clung on to my Mum's arm for dear life as we walked along. My sister decided this was the best bet too so the three of started off down the road, all trying to talk naturally (none of us wanted to let on we were scared) but all walking far faster than normal. As we got nearer the ruined cottage the conversation trailed off and I had that panicky conviction that "something was about to happen" so I did the only thing possible and shut my eyes knowing that the other two wouldn't be able to tell in the dark. It turns out that on the other side of Mum, my sister came to the same conclusion and had decided that what ever it was, she didn't want to see it either. Thankfully, Mum was a bit braver than us or we would have ended up in a ditch.

All of a sudden Mum lurched into a run, dragging me and my sister along with her and didn't stop till we got home. Nothing was said as we ran, the adrenelin just kicked and we all legged it. Inside the door we could see that Mum was white as a sheet. According to what she said, the moon had come out behind us as we walked along and cast very clear shadows onto the road in front of us. The only problem was there were four not three.
(, Sun 26 Jul 2009, 13:27, 14 replies)
Ghost Train
It was my first trip to the fairground. My little brother and I were terribly excited. Clutching candy floss, we queued impatiently for the scariest experience imaginable: THE GHOST TRAIN! Mum bought our tickets from a creepy, wizened old man in a battered top hat and we scrambled into the tatty black train car, hearts fluttering.

The safety bar came down and it jerked into life. We squealed, rounding the first corner and entering the tunnel through a curtain of curiously sticky strands... then into pitch darkness. As the older brother, I reassured my whimpering 5-year old sibling by whispering to him "you are going to die here". A bone-chilling scream made us both jump, then we chuckled when we noticed the tinny loudspeakers. Our eyes adjusted quickly to reveal an underwhelming blackened room with plastic spiders and cobwebs dangling from the ceiling, glow-in-the-dark paintings of monsters and a few badly-dressed mannequins in odd poses. The only compensation was the lo-fi 'Thriller' being piped in at high volume.

We both had a good laugh, relaxing as it became clear that it was, in fact, rubbish. Until all hell broke loose as a fucking REAL SKELETON jumped onto our car. It shrieked wildly and stank of pure evil*; my brother and I screamed in terror as the horrible cunt waved its boney fingers about in front of our faces. The last straw came when it pressed its skull up against my face so hard, I was convinced it would kill us both. In self-defence, I punched as hard as I could and landed it right where the boney fuck's nose should have been. What I wasn't expecting was for the demon to reel back in pain, mutter "ow! you little shit!" and clamber off the car to disappear behind a curtain. We emerged back into daylight and my brother thanked me for saving us both. We jumped out of the car and ran back to our mum to tell her of the adventure.

I will never forget the parting gift as I turned to point at the exit; the tragic sight of a forlorn fat man in a badly-made skeleton outfit dabbing a tissue at his bloodied nose, mascara tears running down his mask. Take that, skeleton.

*a smell I later in life recognised to be 'gin'
(, Wed 29 Jul 2009, 7:51, 5 replies)
spider-induced wank disaster
Lying in bed struggling to sleep, I had the usual sinister sexual thoughts and decided a burst of oxytocin will aid my slumber and began the usual rhythmic movements safe in he knowledge I had my 'wankrag' (bog roll)close to hand to clean up the inevitable mess.
After the gooey climax I reached out for the wankrag with my 'cum-claw' trying not to drip any rapidly cooling gloop onto my sheets, but alas It wasn't where i thought it would be ,so I flicked on the bedsight lamp, spotted it and reached out to pick it up.
As I lifted it, underneath was a fuck off enormous wolf spider, my involuntary movement, including an embarrassing girly yelp involved me doing another flick of the wrist! Only this time instead of aiding the emergence of the manpaste it served to flick it in a perfect arch right into my fucking eye!
So theres me stark bolluck naked hopping around my room with a cooling flaccid slimy cock and a burning hot-monacle trying to reduce the amount of stinging and trying to find the fucking massive bastard perv of an arachnid, never did find the hairy cunt, bet he is still laughing about it now!
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 13:51, 10 replies)
HOTDOG - GHOST
Back in 1990, as a fresh faced fifteen year old I made the ultimate sacrifice for my then girlfriend, Gemma. I may just as well have got down on one knee and proposed, it was that fucking serious a commitment.

I agreed to take her to see this new film with Demi Moore and that bloke out of the uber-gay flick, Dirty Dancing, featuring the annoying black woman who was in the Muppets occasionally - I agreed to take Gemma to see Ghost.

Obviously, this was hard for me. Very hard. After half an hour or so of tedious hand holding banality, realizing that Patrick Sway-zeeee had died (horay! - short film), but then, unfortunately returned as a fucking ghost (bit of a Ronseal moment, really), I decided to go and stock up on snacks. Gemma was a great girl, but she was a good girl, no fondling or gropage for me that night - and the only way I was going to get through this utter bullshit was by eating my own bodyweight in processed snacks.

I excused myself, made my way out the dark auditorium, went to the kiosk. Stocked up on grab - big bag of maltesers, check, opal fruits (fuck starburst), check, nachos, check, hotdog, check - no mustard, no onions, just plain in the bun how mother nature meant it, fuck off huge bucket of coke, check.

Weighed down, I go back to see what delightful scatter-brained antics Whoopie-sodding-Goldberg's got lined up for me. I find the correct row, recognise Gemma's distinct high ponytail hairdo, and move along until I'm back safe and secure. I sit and eat. Gemma helps herself to the odd morsel. I start looking round, seeing how many maltesers I can fit in my gob in one go. After a few more minutes I decide to experiment - I removed the hotdog from the bun and use the bread to make an opal fruit sandwich. Hmmmm. Not fucking bad, not fucking bad at all.

After a while Gemma whispers in my ear: "Oooooh, that's soooo naughty! .......... What do you think?"

I whisper back: "It's really good..."

She returns her attention back to the dross onscreen. Then, a few moments later, Gemma says, sounding rather concerned: "Is that good?"

What??? Ermmm.... "Yes, that's excellent," I reply, not really understanding. The intense goo factor of the film must've warped her brain or something.

Then, a few seconds later, looking straight ahead, Gemma goes: "Am I doing it right?"

?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????

"Errr, yes.... it's... ermmm.... lovely," I whisper back.

Silence, for a while. Then suddenly: "OH, MY GOD!!!" Gemma nearly jumps out of her seat, she screams, then develops the outburst further with: "I'VE BROKEN IT!!! GOD, I'VE BROKEN IT!!! SOMEBODY CALL AN AMBULANCE!!! OH, GOD!!!" And then she started crying.

Caused quite a commotion, I can tell you. Lots of angry shhhhhshhhhhhes, which is tantamount to receiving a series of repeated punches in the face in your average English cinema. Even had the dreaded torch flashed in our direction by one of the ushers, who gave us a look that said: 'Shut the fuck up, cuntbags.' I apologised for my girlfriend's weird outburst, wondering if she'd just developed tourettes or suddenly come on the blob (hey, I was fifteen). Then I realised something incredible. Something amazing. Something incredibly exciting.

Gemma was staring at my cock.

Well, not at my cock, but in that general area. I looked down at my crotch and I saw -

my poor hotdog sausage, broken and battered, mashed to a pulp.

I was a bit slow back then. I didn't twig until I returned home later... Then I repeatedly banged my head against the wall for being such a fucking retarded prick. Well and truly missed my chance, there. Well and fucking truly.

Turns out Gemma had been quietly watching Ghost, getting all sentimental and teary-eyed, sitting in the cinema with her first proper boyfriend, feeling strange feelings rage through her adolecent body for the first time must've made her feel, well, for want of a better word, horny, or to expand on that, horny as a horny fucking toad watching Swedish porn, drinking Spanish fly while sitting on a tumbledrier on super spin cycle, horny.

Gemma had been systematically wanking off the long, hot, meaty object I had nestled in my lap.

My fucking hotdog sausage.

I was absolutely gutted. I felt like killing myself on the spot. It was the closest I ever got to anything approaching sex with Gemma, put her off any form of cock-Olympics with me bigtime, that incident did. She now works at Barclaycard in Northampton; she's got about seven kids, well, I'm pleased that episode didn't put her off the cock for life, I suppose.

... bugger ...
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 0:57, 7 replies)
Being a dad of 3 I am used to stumbling around in the dark with night time trips for a baby bottle, nappies etc etc.
During one night time feed when the youngest was teething I was up almost every night that became so frequent I hardly used the lights at all (Both in the house and also mentally). On the night in question I did my usual motion of calming the kiddie down and then went downstairs to the kitchen and made up a bottle for him to drink.

I popped back upstairs and saw something come out of my son’s bedroom. It was bigger than my kid, about my size nearly and like the true big hard Yorkshire bloke that I am I let out a scream, waking up most of the household.

The figure (which turned out to be my wife) switched the light on and then proceeded to bullock me for making the noise. It turned out that while I was downstairs she had woken up and gone to check up on the baby, which was a surprise in itself as my wife has the same response as most long term coma patients after falling asleep.

“What the hell was that for Mon? Why were you screaming?” she asked me

“Sorry” came my semi asleep reply “I thought you were a monster”

I was in the doghouse for a while after that comment.
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 16:13, 4 replies)
Ooh, me! Me! Me!
Night is great for sleeping, with the smothering darkness cradling my admittedly generally strange dreams, though on the whole I enjoy them.

I was dreaming of something strange - I had my long hair back and it kept falling in my mouth, not disappearing like it normally would do or staying in one place so I could pick the stray end out, but almost tickling; every time I stopped it it would start again in another spot like an irritating itch.

Despite my attempts to stop this happening, it persisted until the point I started to drowsily awake to the growing realisation that this sensation was not only very annoying, but very probably real - holy shit - Real(?), no.....yes....no....yes. YES.

There is something in the real world that is IN MY MOUTH.

I'm in the generally accepted safest place in the world (in bed, under the covers, you know I'm right) I'm sleepily confused, can't see a thing, and there is definitely MOTHERFUCKING SOMETHING IN MY MOUTH! I can't spit it out, as I've tried that, I think, in my sleep(?), so I need the light on which is not that close and I do not know what is in my mouth, my room, or right now -my reality!

So I freak out. Spitting, spluttering, and scrambling for the lamp switch as I fall out of bed all the while bracing for the pain from a blow or the touch from something of which I am not sure. I find the switch and flick it -the light instantly blinds me but I am not yet in pain and I think the feeling has stopped but I'm not taking any chances. I roll off the floor and back into bed, sitting with my back to the wall trying to calm down while I work out what the hell is going on.

I have the hair on my fingertip where I plucked it out, but as my eyes begin to adjust I can make out a shape spasming lying next to me that doesn't make things better - what the hell is th... oh no, please no!

Lying next to me in bed is the partially dismembered (presumed eaten) body of a fucking daddy-long-legs spider, trying to crawl off down the side of the bed which, given that it only has three legs left it is doing rather unsuccessfully. Now I don't particularly like spiders at the best of times, so it's pretty obvious that fucker's dead. The 'hair' on my finger is a leg, I can find no more, though they aren't the biggest things in the world I'm pretty sure their absence means I've lived up to the rumour and been abruptly woken by trying to eat a spider too big to eat, in my sleep. Fuck.

Needless to say it took me a while to get back to sleep that night. :)

Edit: Thanks for the comments guys, looks like you all are feeling like I did -horrible isn't it?!
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 21:19, 20 replies)
Heterosexual Manoeuvres in the Dark
I was in the Air Cadets. Because we were so hard and straight and cool, we would go on weekend exercises which essentially involved running about in the dark shouting "Na na na na nana!" like Private Pike with a Tommy Gun.

Our Commanding Officer was also hard and straight and cool, and would often lead the charge, chucking thunderflashes around in a way that made a complete mockery of the firework code.

That was, alas, until he fell deeply in love.

All of a sudden, he was no longer leading from the front because he'd brought his bird with him, and they were canoodling somewhere in the car park.

Night would fall, and instead of bivvying with the rest of us, he set up a disgustingly luxurious tent a discrete distance away from the main camp.

It's amazing how well you can sleep under an old parachute, in a field in the middle of nowhere, shrouded in the dark of a clouded, moonless night.

It's also amazing how well sound travels. Particularly when it is the sound of our CO and his lady friend going at it, doggy-style in their tent, not fifty yards away.

We knew this because they had a torch in their palace of luxury, and they were lit up like a Chinese shadow theatre, the only thing visible for miles around as he plunged his beef bayonet home into her willing ...er... yes.

Being a charitable sort of chap, I roused my comrades from their slumber and watched – as rapt as teenagers could be – the act of two consenting adults doing the actual sex with each other.

They finished.

We cheered.

We got called a "shower of bastards" and the light went out, plunging the entire campsite into darkness.

Across the field came the words "Where's the fucking tissues?" before silence once again ruled.

It was sausages for breakfast.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 11:33, 4 replies)
My Hallowe'en costume:


Black robe, red LEDs on my glasses and home-made stilts to take me up to 7'8".



I actually made a kid piss himself two years ago.


Edit: I also use this costume when trying to raise money on comic relief. You'd be amazed how fast people pay up.
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 18:48, 7 replies)
SCUMBAG
Moments after shooting my load.

I slid out of bed and did a sexy little dance in the dark in front of my girlfriend, Liz, culminating in me pulling the used spunksack off my sticky middle wicket with a gooey plop and spinning it in the air for a bit like a horny cheerleader twirling a rancid, salty, cum-splattered floppy baton. Liz told me to stop pissing about and get back in bed, so I chucked the scumbag over my shoulder and dived back between the sheets, safely nuzzled between her small but perfectly formed chesticles.

The next morning we had breakfast, showered and left heading back down to London – we were staying at my parents house for a long weekend and they drove us down to the train station. We said our goodbyes and boarded the train. Moments after the train had chugged out of Chesterfield, Liz asks: “Did you tidy up before we left?” She was terrified of leaving behind any suggestion that she was getting a good hard knobbing every night in my parents spare bedroom. I nodded: “’Course I did,” I lied. We had an early morning train to catch and the post cotial CSI-style cleanup had completely slipped my mind. I assumed she’d got rid of the evidence we were violating holy Catholic law, as the used nodder was nowhere to be seen.

Oh well, I thought, sometimes they just seem to disappear into thin air.

About an hour into the journey south I heard Bomb Track by Rage Against the Machine go off in my pocket, much to the annoyance of the floppy-haired indie cunt sat opposite. I’d received a text message. I pulled my phone out, it was from my mum. It read:

Spanky, the next time you visit can you please not deposit anything nasty on the ceiling? I’ve had your father attacking it with a broom for the last half hour with no joy – he’s too short. We’re going to have to borrow a step ladder from next door. Love to you and Liz, Mum x

“Anything important?” Liz enquired.

“Just mum and dad wishing us a safe journey...”
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 15:24, 7 replies)
In my sleep...
I apparently often talk, move, shout...

My ex waited 6 weeks before telling me that the random scratches appearing on his face during the night were (mainly) caused by me.

Yesterday my (current) boyfriend informed me that the night before, I'd woken him up, writhing around and kicking the covers. He'd asked me if I was ok and what was going on, to which I replied:
"We're having a fight! And I'm winning!" before smacking him in the face.
(, Sun 26 Jul 2009, 16:39, 8 replies)
Its not funny but it is.
During the 80's our family used to live in london, and one evening during a storm we were hit by a blackout. My father had just transferred to "The department of energy" so knew exactly what to do, instructing us kids to feel our way round the house, switcching off lights and appliances so "When the power came back on, it wouldn't blow the fuse."

The hours passed until it was impossible to see what time it was from the clock on the wall, my sister was in hysterics being afraid of the dark so no one was going to sleep either.

So, tired, bored and with a headache froma screaming sister I decided to amuse myself. I got my colouring book and pens and went to the only light source i could think of I hadn't checked. Opening the fridge door I was amazed by how bright that little bulb could be. settling down on the floor and colouring in my book until my father came in to find me. He didn't even get a whole word out of his mouth before the swearing started and he didn't even pause for breath for about 5 minutes.
Turns out the blackout only lasted a few minutes, but with nothing switched on we couldn't tell.

My dad moved jobs shortly after and went to the department of transport where he signed the form to allow the application of the newbury bypass.
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 10:53, 2 replies)
In a dark, dark house in a dark, dark wood...
But seriously, after reading QOTW for ages I think it's about time that I shared a true story with you about some very serious events which occurred in my younger years.

So, on to the story proper: I was abducted when I was 4 years old and kept in small dark room. (Seriously, this is not a Mad Cann joke).

When I was 4 my mum had met a new man (Tom) and after 18 months of a long distance relationship we had all (me Mum, me brother and me) upped sticks and relocated to an idyllic little town close to Newton Abbot in Cornwall. Things were great! Having moved from Blackburn up north, the change of scenery and warm weather were a god send: You could play out until really late because it didn’t get dark for ages, you could play out in your shorts and T-shirt from dawn until dusk without getting cold, the sea was nearby, playing fields and countryside were abundant. Because it was a small community in which everyone knew everyone else, all was nice, peaceful, normal and safe. Life was good for our little crew for a change and even at 4 years old I could tell that Mum was happier than she had been for a long time.

Anywho, while playing in the local vicinity me and my brother made friends with all the other kids in the area including the brother and sister team of Tom, aged 7 and little Susie aged 3 or 4yrs. These were nice kids and we enjoyed hanging out and doing the things that kids growing up in the countryside will do. We would sometimes go to their house and watch videos or play with their legos or in the paddling pool they had out back of the house. They would come to our house and sometimes my mum would make us toys from cleverly folded and cut newspapers.

Tom and Susie’s dad was a little man. One of those little men that can’t control his temper very well and is apt to over react at quite the smallest thing. Generally, he was noticeably tense and often displayed outward signs of a nervous internal battle of some kind or stress perhaps (he was a bit loco, really).

Tom and Susie’s mum was a trophy wife with enormous breasts, revealing clothes and hideous breath. The sort of woman who you could imagine being beaten by her husband for some percieved misdemeanor, but who would then side with her husband and turn on the police or any other good samaritan who might have come to her aid.

One day, Tom and Susie had been out with their parents to a car boot sale and returned in the afternoon with a particularly poor selection of second hand toys. I don’t remember what Tom received but Susie had one of those push-me-pull-you-ride-along-trolley affairs with wooden bricks with letters and numbers painted on them. By this time me and my brother were well in to Thundercats and pirates so weren’t really interested in their new toys and so brother disappears to play down the street with someone other kids and leaves me with . The next bit is a bit of a blur but after a while Toms dad is screaming bloody murder because something has happened to Susies new toy - Its broken.

It must be about 7 or 8pm now (this was years ago before the days of blatant scare mongering in the media so it was not unusual for us to be playing out this late especially in summer) and my brother comes to look for me because it’s time for tea. He can’t find me, I’m not with Tom and Susie (who have been ordered to bed for being naughty, I’m not over at James’ house and I’m not down the road with Simon and Martin.

That’s because I’m in a dark cupboard under the basement stairs deep below the house where Tom and Susie live.

In his infinite wisdom and total ineptitude my friend’s Father had coerced me in to the house and then begun screaming at his kids because of the damage to their brand new toys. I was only little and screaming adults really shit me up when I was a little boy so I stayed schtum. I remained quiet as he sent the little ones off to bed with no dinner and and asked me if I was scared of the dark... I wasn’t but I couldn’t answer anyway because I was too scared of this screaming madman. He grabbed me roughly by the neck and dragged me down stairs “where I could sit and think about owning up to this heinous crime” before my mum got here (I didn’t do it by the way, it was probably already broken).

So in to this cupboard I go to await my parents to come and pick me up and give me a good hiding (for fuckskates, I was even more scared of my mum than this look so I just sat there in the dark and waited for my mum to come round and kick my arse all the way home. And I waited. And waited. . .

Meanwhile back at the ranch, our tea is going cold and my mum us having a bit of a freak out over the disappearance of one of her offspring.

After a bit of calming down, Mum and Tom (step dad) are canvassing the neighbourhood looking for me because “he can’t have gone far...” (They didn’t call the police at this stage as in those days parents took responsibility for their children and usually looked in the usual hangouts and phoned friends etc before calling the fuzz and dumping responsibility on them filing a missing persons report). Brother Shaun is waiting at home in case I return of my own accord.

My stepdad checks at Tom and Susie’s first (last place I was seen) and “No Mr. M0rre, he hasn’t been here for more than an hour and a bit” says my kidnapper. (I actually hear this exchange but am too scared to call out fearing more trouble when I am finally caught).

They check the rest of our friend’s houses, then the swings, the park, the bottom of the long road where we lived (where we were expressly forbidden from going) and every other conceivable place they can think of. After a searching everywhere, twice, it’s almost time to call the police when one of our neighbours returns in his car and pipes up with:

“I’m sure that I saw Mr. Tom and Susie’s dad talking Aroe inside their house about dinner time, have you checked over there?”

Hmmmm, thinks mum (who is training to be a barrister at the time) and turns to confront my step-father... “I thought you had checked over there already – For fuckskates Tom (Step dad) what are you playing at?”

Tom replies with “I did and they told me.... Wait here”.

Mum: “No, you can get ta fuck – I’m going over there meself...” (Mum still had her strong northern accent then) So Mum trots over to the house in question and hammers on the door... My step dad is following closely behind.

Although I have scant memory of this next bit I have subsequently been filled in from my older brother, my stepdad, family members and my mum (less so my mum as she feels guilty ((she shouldn’t)) and doesn’t like to talk about it).

Mum: “Excuse me Mr. Tom & Susie’s Dad” but our good friend and neighbour has assured us that Aroe did not come home from your garden today but was seen entering your house less than 2 hours ago. With you. For the last time, is Aroe here?”

T&S DAD: “Do you know that I spent £100 today on toys for my kids and SOMEONE has broken them? I’m not made of money you know and I can’t be doing with. . . ).

Mum: “Broken what? What are you talking about? If my son is in your house, you will be in very serious trouble and I will ensure that....

T&S DAD: “Ensure what? Are you threatening me?”

My stepdad: “Mum, go home and wait for me there – I will be back shortly” (he doesn’t call my mum “mum” that would be weird, he calls her by her christian name but anyway, I’m not putting that down in writing here).

By this time I’m tired, hungry and really need a wee. The floor is cold and feels wet and my biggest fear, spiders, could be descending on me from above at any moment! A short time later I hear my name being called from upstairs and hey it’s my step dad Tom shouting out to me....

“Aroe, Aroe! Are you in there?”

I can tell I am not in trouble because if I was it would be mum calling my name and delivering the beats, not Tom.

“TOOOOOOOOOM! I’m down here!”

BANG BANG! “Get out of my AAARGH, FFFucccking let go of my arrrrrrgargle!”

Next thing I know the cupboard is unlocked and there’s Tom turning on the light!

Tom: Hello “Aroe, what are you doing down here, eh?”

Me: “Um, I dunno”

Tom: “You mean that you DON’T know – “dunno” is not a real word. Well never mind that, teas getting cold let’s get you home”.

And that’s it. We walk halfway back to our little house and there’s mum running down the path to greet us.

Mum: “Oh my god you found him!Where have you been?If you ever go anywhere ever again your in serious trouble melado!”

Tom: “I’m just off to have a quick word with Mr. Tom and Susies dad, back in a minute”.

And he was. Tom came back a while later all covered in blood and with a nasty set of bruises on his left hand. Mum put Toms blood stained shirt and jeans in the washing machine on a hot wash with lots of bleach and we sat down to have a nice meal of beef and red peppers with rice (or mash for me and my brother).

The police came around to question Tom about an apparent assault as we were finishing up our tea but they didn’t stay for long. They left after a quick chat with my parents and went over the road to talk to Tom and Susie’s mum about the welfare of her kids.

No one saw the evil man for a few days afterwards, the car didn’t move from the driveway and it looked like he wasn’t going to work anymore. He surfaced a few days later but wouldn’t hang around in the street for long. I remember he had a very lumpy face, was wearing sunglasses even though it was dark out. And his mouth was all funny looking like he was munching on cotton wool.

To my parent’s surprise, I wasn’t affected by the “ordeal” at all until many years later when my brother reminded me about it. I had very little memory of it but got the details from asking around and speaking to stepdad Tom. For a while I was tempted to go back and unleash an epic arse kicking of my own but found out that his wife had left him not long afterwards and he had suffered from alcoholism and depression so it just didn’t seem worth it.

Until we moved away to live in in London, I wasn’t scared of playing out and I still hung around with Tom & Susie whenever I wanted. Their dad never looked at me let alone spoke another word to me again.

Surprisingly I am not and was never afraid of the dark. Spiders still shit me up though.

The End.

(Please don’t feel sorry for me, I have always been fine with this and came to no harm whatsoever. Writing this has caused a tear or two but only for my dear Mum who I love very much. Over all it’s been very cathartic. Maybe next week I will write a story about losing someone you love in a car crash or something equally maudlin but until then, keep smiling people).

/Length.
/Line breaks
(, Mon 27 Jul 2009, 17:38, 11 replies)
Fraternally Yours.
My brother is a right cunt. So am I and despite the age difference (he’s 7 years older than me) we get on really well. At least we do now. Going back to 1986 though and a six year old Donky is the pain in his brother’s arse. The one who trailed round after him on family holidays, spoiling his chances and generally being an apprentice cunt. This holiday was different.

We had gone to The Lakes for a holiday in a remote cottage attached to a really old farmhouse. There were some woods nearby and a stream that ran into a huge lake where you could swim. It took a whole 20 strokes to cross that lake. No farm kids, no holiday kids and no girls (yay!). Just me and Little John spending halcyon days making dens, lighting fires and roasting dead rabbits we’d found (didn’t eat them though, they smelled funny). The nights were a bit different. Pitch black except for the rare star-filled night. And obviously with not a lot to do the parents went to the local while me and LJ spent our time torturing each other and generally being brothers. One night descended into the usual lights out, get a torch tell ghost stories and he scared the shit out of me. Literally. I had to go poo before I went to bed.

Anyway I was lying in bed with the covers pulled over my head when I heard the door creak open and a scuttling noise as if something was scrabbling it’s way across the floor. The story of the night had been “The Disconnected Hand” where one of the locals had crashed his car and to save his life he’d cut off the hand that he was trapped by – AND IT CAME BACK! I was petrified. Really. Lying there rock like and unable to move, barely breathing in case the horrible revenant heard me (how the fuck could a hand hear? Try telling a six year old). Then I felt it. The hand was on my bed, I could feel the way the fingers were stretching out then curling up as it dragged itself up the bed. I could hear the soft rasping as it made it’s way up the bed. I could hear it breathing (yeah yeah yeah, I was six FFS). It was on my chest and still moving and as it got to my throat I grabbed it and bit as hard as I could. No, I didn’t sever a finger or anything, what I did though was savage the bastard. I ground my sharp little teeth into that hand and worried it like a towny dog on a sheep. The unearthly screams that came out if it were, well, unearthly. That was when I realised maybe it wasn’t a disembodied hand. It took three rolls of sticking plaster and six weeks before the cuts and infections healed properly.

And that, dear readers, is why my brother still insists it’s thanks to me he’s an ambidextrous wanker.

*POP*
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 13:32, 3 replies)
On a visit to London Zoo
I was heading into the Nocturnal House, and had the pleasure of overhearing the discussion between the young boy and his father following behind:

"'ere, Dad, why's it so dark in 'ere?"

Dad considered this difficult question. It certainly was dark in there. But it seemed that Dad was a man who didn't like to admit ignorance, and was certainly not going to admit to not knowing why a Nocturnal House might be dark. Sure enough, after a moment of thought he had the answer.

"It's dark in 'ere" he explained confidently, "because the animals wot live in 'ere ain't got no eyes."

I suppose all of us have a moment, growing up, when we realise that our parents aren't really the perfect godlike creatures we assumed them to be; they can't do everything and don't know everything, and they don't get everything right.

The kid didn't say anything, but as we wandered round the crepuscular enclosures looking at the Bush Babies, Slow Lorises and Possums - all with eyes like dinner plates - I thought that for that kid the first chink in Dad's Armour of Genius just might have opened up.
(, Tue 28 Jul 2009, 17:01, 2 replies)
Historically accurate and linguistically nuanced.
Bonjour!
Je m'appelle Jeanne, mais il y a un few people que m'appellent La Maid of Orléans. (Je pense que cette nom est un peu girly pour mes goûts, mais je ne va pas complain trop much). J'ai un biography très interesting.

Un fois, quand j'etais doing mon own chose, God soi-meme (Oui! C'est vrai! Vous could have knocked me down avec un feather!) m'a dit que il etait mon manifest destiny to lead une armée de resistance contre les rosbifs, qui occupaient la France at le temps. (Queleques gens ont dit que ce n'etait pas God, mais une maigraine ou epilepsy, mais what do they know. Oliver Sacks, je accuse...)

Alors - where was I? Ah, oui. God et les rosbifs. Vite qu'un flash, j'ai raisée un grand armée - mais quelle horreur! - eventuellement j'etais captured. Sacre bleu! Alors - et pour couper un long story court - demain, je vais etre brûlée au stake par les perfidious anglaises, qui pensent que je suis un grande witch.

Bof.

Je vous prie d'agreer l'expression de mes sentiments distinguées
Votre amie,
Jeanne

I apologise for nothing - Enzyme.
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 16:31, 20 replies)
Night Terrors
I get night terrors quite often - a semi-awake state in which I think a person, sometimes a bird, or sometimes creepy crawlies are in my room whilst I'm asleep. The delusion can last about 30 seconds before I realise that they're not real and go back to sleep.
I've had them for a while now and they don't really bother me, but to other people, it can come as a bit of a surprise when I suddenly announce at 2am that there's a snake trying to come through the door etc. Here are a few prime examples:

A few nights ago:
"Well I never. What a stupid bird"
There was no bird. What a stupid me.

To my twin sister in the bunk bed above:
"It's falling in on me! IT'S FALLING IN! I'm holding it up!" said whilst pushing up on the mattress above me
Sister: "The only thing *you're* holding up is my good night's sleep"

After revising too hard for my chemistry A-level:
"Argh! A benzene-derived hydrocarbon! IT'S ON THE CURTAINS!"

To the boy I happened to be sharing a bed with:
*DRAMATIC GASP* *sit bolt upright, stare at boy* *pause* *realise where I am* *go back to sleep*
Fortunately he was asleep too so no harm done.

In hospital, staring intently at my pillow:
"It didn't have a pattern before!"
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 19:11, 10 replies)
Scaring a burglar
This could be the first of a few posts on this subject

I have no problem with the dark.
Well mostly.
I have been scared witless by a couple of films that resulted in my going to bed with the lights on for weeks.
But in spite of being almost blind in one eye, I have rather good night vision and will wander around in the dark without fear and danger of falling over anything.
Having spent many many nights in the wilderness with army types I can safely say the dark holds no fears for me.
Do you ever watch a horror film where the heroine goes wandering of in the dark to investigate a strange noise?
And yell at the TV that no-one would really do that, in reality they would run in the opposite direction
Well I'm afraid I'm guilty of blundering towards the strange sound.
I rented a room in someones house, they were often working away leaving me there alone.
One night I woke to hear noise from downstairs.
I lay there frozen for a while, then survival instinct kicked in.
I was also a weekend viking re-enactor and there was a sword in my room.
I grabbed the sword and slipped downstairs in the dark, feeling my way along the wall.
To end up in the kitchen where I could vaguely see the dark shape of someone crouched behind the clear glass door to the back yard.
Someone who was attempting to pick the lock.
Until they were confronted by a large naked lady holding a sword aloft and yelling banshee style in their face.
I have never seen anyone scream and run away so fast, leaving their tools behind.
The dark dont scare me, but I like to think there was a would be burglar out there who had nightmares for a very long time and didnt try that again.
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 1:59, 3 replies)
Worst put down I've ever had
Waking up next to some random girl after a night of tedious floppy-cock beer sex.

She turns to me, scrutinizes me intently for a minute. All the time she's vigorously and rather worryingly scratching at her vertical beef smile under the duvet as if she's performing some kind of weird fanny exorcism.

And then she says, completely dead-pan: "You looked much better in the dark..."

Well, fuck me...

Thanks for that...
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 16:39, 5 replies)
BAT HERDING
The cloudless night sky, pebble-dashed with a veritable cornucopia of bright twinkling silent stars would take my breath away. It was a truly awsome sight and I’d spend hours sat up on the garden roof of my parents place in Lesina, Southern Italy, every summer simply star gazing, figuring out the constellations, deliberating on my position in the universe and other such weighty issues. OK, occasionally I’d glance over to the house opposite to see if the fit woman who lived there was doing her calisthenics in the buff after her nightime shower, but for the most part my brain was filled with the breathtaking wonder and clarity of the jewelled sky above.

And there was something else to keep me interested, while my parents entertained Mario and Luigi and Mr Rossi downstairs...

The bats.

The house was a street along from the old church tower. At dusk an army of big fuck-off bats, like winged badgers (well, ok, maybe not THAT big), would swoop and arch through the air, catching insects and generally astounding the absolute bollocks out of me. I was and always will be facinated by bats. Bruce Wayne? Fucking pussy! Nothing scary at all about your average Southern European bat. I’d often stand perfectly still, arms outstretched, and feel the little buggers as they hurtled past, displacing the hot Italian air but never actually hitting me. It was pretty damn incredible.

Then one night I hit on an idea. I’d been relegated to the roof garden after an unfortunate incident involving a phallic-shaped condiment bottle and my old Auntie Maria, so I was camped out on the roof while my parents and the extended family did the whole Sopranos thing downstairs. The bats – facinating little furry buggers that they are – were just waking up as the gloom decended on this sleepy little fishing village. And I, in my ultimate nine-year-old wisdom, was going to catch a few of the fuckers and keep them as pets.

I rigged up a series of sheets on the washing line to divert the little fuckers towards me, opened the roof garden door wide, turned off the light and waited, stood perfectly still with another sheet in my hands, resembling a statue of a matador (only wearing a really rather dashing stormtrooper t-shirt, shorts, and my best Primark flip flops). Didn’t take long for a load of bats to fly my way – there were literally thousands of the fuckers in the sky; probably more flying rodents knocking about over Lesina than Nazi bombers over London during the blitz. It was hard to make out – the thing about your average common or garden bat is that they’re black, and the thing about your avearge common or garden night is- you get the idea.

But I could hear them, chirping away, I could sense them. I was BATMAN!!! In the most heroic way possible I legged it forward flapping the sheet, whooping like a twat on acid, while squeezing my eyes tightly shut, running quickly towards the open doorway; essentially bat herding.

It happened in a second. Bugger. Nothing. No bats trapped inside the small shed-like structure built ontop of the roof garden that led down to the rest of the house. Deflated, I dropped the sheet.
Shitty arse wipe...

Then...

“AAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!! FUCKING BATS!!! AAAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH!!! PROTECT YOUR MOTHER!!! OPEN THE FUCKING WINDOWS!!! COVER YOUR FUCKING FACE!!! EEEIIIIIEEEEE!!!”

It was my dad. I had a strange sense, an inkling you could call it, that he was a just a little bit angry... (My dad very rarely swore unless he was a little bit peeved).

I heard a shitload of crashing and banging about, I heard my ancient Auntie wail like a fucking banshee, I heard my sister burst into tears. There was a really fucking loud CRASH as the kitchen table appeard to be knocked over, pots and pans rattling.

“I SAID OPEN THE FUCKING WINDOWS!!!” My dad again. “DON’T LET THEM NEAR YOU!!! YOU MIGHT GET RABIES!!!”

Eventually it went quiet... Then: THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD, THUD!!! My dad storming up the stairs.

He found me sitting innocently on the sun lounger, doing a bit of star gazing. My dad appeared to have scratches over his face: “Keep this fucking door closed!” he said between laboured breaths. He could see the look of guilt and terror on my face. My dad also knew I was a devious little shit, so he went on: “Did this have anything to do with you?”

I thought for a moment, I could still hear wailing and crying seeping up from downstairs, the sounds of a major clean up operation in progress. I said: “No, dad. Absolutely not.”

“You sure - swear on your life?”

“Absolutely."

Happy days - I reckon if I ever tell my dad about my bat herding exploits now, over twenty years later, he'd still belt me. Apparently my Auntie Maria nearly died from the shock of having a toothy flying rodent the size of a large grapefruit mauling at her face.

No sense of adventure, my family...
(, Fri 24 Jul 2009, 11:14, 12 replies)
It's very dark here
Then again, I haven't seen much daylight since coming to Portugal.

Love,
Maddie
(, Thu 23 Jul 2009, 16:07, 3 replies)
when we were at uni
my friend elkie started going out with the mechanic who'd fixed her car. tim was a nice guy, and he was quite obscenely fit, but sadly the village was definitely missing its idiot when he came up to london to see elkie.

so after 3 or 4 dates, tim clearly felt the time was right to make his move. after dinner, he was walking elkie back to our student houseshare. desperately trying not to get packed back in his car off to essex, tim paused at the gate (actually, this being a rancid part of haringey, it was just an empty gatepost, the gate long since having been nicked) and pulled elkie to him for a long, slow kiss. then he ran his hands through her hair, and said, "you look really beautiful in the moonlight."

"oh thanks," said elkie cheerfully.

sensing 'goodnight' was imminent, tim tried again. leaning forwards, he whispered soulfully in her ear:

"but i bet you look soooo much better in the dark..."

oh dear. poor lonely unshagged tim!
(, Sat 25 Jul 2009, 16:56, 3 replies)

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