Once, a great many years ago,
I found myself wandering the city streets wearing nothing but my underwear and a garish pair of boots.

Long story short, I kicked over some buildings.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 9:15, 2 replies)

One long day I was in my shorts
Story is: I pissed in my bath.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 8:46, Reply)

Davvy G And The Chemical Toilet Of DOOM!
Three years ago, the local rugby club decided to put on a three day music festival. £20 for the weekend, loads of local (and not so local) bands, and best of all, the rugby club is but a five minute walk from our house so no tedious pissing about with camping or transport. Sweet.

Having caught a couple of acts on the Friday, I decided to make a day of it on the Saturday. After toddling up to the local boozer to watch Newcastle beat Sunderland in a lunchtime kick off, I decided to wander down to the rugby club and savour the day's delights. Meeting up with the missus and some mates, I grabbed a beer from the beer tent, and stood in the marquee watching band after band do their thing, and generally having a good time.

At a break between sets, and as it was a particularly warm day, our group decamped outside to sit in the grass, have a smoke and another pint, and generally enjoy ourselves. Then came the call of nature...

Trotting across to the portaloos that were located to the edge of the site, I waited my turn in the queue, and, as one became vacant, headed into the blue, odorous cubicle to have a slash. Half way through the act, I heard loud voices and then, without warning, my piss TARDIS began to shake violently. Fuck.

"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON?" I yelled, fully aware of just what was going on but feebly hoping that my aggressors would suddenly realise they were being a bunch of knobbers and stop. They didn't. "FUCKING STOP, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Too late. They were in the throws of Jackass ecstasy, and I was becoming more shaken than an epileptic Parkinson's victim. After a few short, but brutal seconds in which my whole body was bounced off every wall of the cubicle (not to mention the flush-stick), the whole thing crashed to the ground and showered me with piss, shit and blue chemical. There was no way out; the thing had crashed door-down.

A few seconds later, I felt the whole structure being heaved upright again; unfortunately the mix of piss, shit and chemicals that had pooled in the bottom of the portaloo had no other option but to sluice themselves back over me again during the process. However, I could at least get myself out of my effluence jailhouse, and burst the door open to emerge, a feeling of relief and rage washing over me to replace the godawful mixture that had only second before bathed me with it's warm, blue glow.

Shaking with fury, and seeing a small group of very obviously concerned festival goers in front of me, I could only really articulate a few words, which were along the lines of "WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?", spreading my arms wide with indignation. "WHO THE FUCK ACTUALLY DOES THIS SORT OF THING? LOOK AT ME FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! I'M UTTERLY SOAKED" At this point I noticed that my skin had taken on a slightly blue tinge. Great. I look like an angry Smurf. Excellent, fantastic. So I decided to articulate my disgust by flamboyantly taking my outspread arms and drawing them in and down my whole body so as to emphasise my plight. For added effect, I angled my head downwards at the same as if to encourage my small audience to fully take in just how wet, blue and covered in shitty toilet roll I actually was.

It's very difficult to maintain any sort of credible sense of anger, venom and rage when you look down and suddenly realise that your cock is still hanging out...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 9 Aug 2013, 1:40, 8 replies)

Both!
As a sex pest and as a strange kind of drunken misadventure. Only one of these will I discuss here.

Leaving the pub with my friends one evening back....ooh ten years ago, we decided to streak back to his house (about 500 yards away). Just outside the pub we start to derobe leaving the then girlfriends with our clobber, I start to make a run for it, only to look over my shoulder and realise that my friends had stitches me right up and ran back inside the pub with my clothes.

We knew the landlord to this pub and it was very late anyway, they proceeded to lock the door, I may have been 500 yards from my friends house but I was a good 5/6 minute taxi ride from mine.

Needless to say the police arrived shortly after, I can only assume someone from the housing estate nearby had called (couldn't have been my so called mates could it).

The police, surprisingly, were rather nice people and after my friends explained the practical joke I was given a stern warning and allowed to put my clothes back on, the reason the police were nice people, they were two female PCs, one really rather attractive. I was a 23 year old pissed male naked in the street, I thought I had pulled.
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 23:56, Reply)

One day I was in my mouth.
Long story short, I bathed my piss.
(McChinaman banned, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 21:48, 1 reply)

once, many years ago
I was in the bath, with an erection, busting for a piss.
long story short, I accidentally pissed into my own mouth
( mictoboy shitting in your cunt since, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 20:47, 17 replies)

I have a recurring dream
where I'm out walking the dog while I'm wearing nothing but a t-shirt. I meet up with some neighbours and because this a solidly middle class neighbourhood, they pretend not notice anything unusual. Throughout the conversation I am trying to inconspicuously pull my shirt end down to cover my naughty bits.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 20:37, 2 replies)

Exposed A High School Bully For The Coward He Is!
As some of you may know I work in a store and for all it's worth, it's worth it.

Today I was working the tills when suddenly a silhouetted figure approached the door, and as much as I squinted, I couldn't quite make out who the man of mystery was. It was like a scene from a western as the elusive figure tipped his baseball cap forward and tucked his thumbs in his belt as he approached the till.

"Well I'll be." I thought to myself. I looked him up and down and realised it was none other than notorious high school bully, Big Bad Bertie "The Bloke" Bensinger IV. He had given me absolute HELL through my high school years, partaking in such acts as calling my mum a 'strawberry milkshake', hanging kitchen utensils off my nose and tying my shoelaces together when they were out of my peripheral vision so when I began to walk, I'd make a muddle of it and trip over myself.

I decided to keep my cool, and as he told me what he wanted I quickly fetched it for him and gave him the price. "That's 57p, please." I said, with a cold, collected stare plastered across my face. He smirked as he handed over £1. I could tell what the barstool was thinking. He thinks he's got me again. Well not this time. This time, things were gonna be different.

As I rang in his transaction, I went to get his change, and he watched my fingers closely as they slowly skimmed past the 20ps, glided over the 10ps and zoomed past the 5ps. The look on his face turned into one of absolute horror as my fingers gently slipped past the 2ps. The revenge train had reached its last stop. The 1 pennies.

He looked awkward and fidgety as I scooped up his change entirely in 1ps and handed it to him. "There you go sir. Have a nice day." I said, winking. He knew it was over. He may have won the battle, but 5 years later I had won the war. He scurried out the store, zipping up his dodgy tracksuit as much as possible and hanging his cap over his face to hide his shame, and as he did the rest of the customers turned to him, raised their fists in the air and started chanting "YOU GOT SERVED! YOU GOT SERVED!"

Another moment of victory for The Sternemeister. I flexed my muscle to the rest of the customers before carrying on with my job. I sure showed him, I did!
(SirStromming, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 18:13, 16 replies)

Not yet, but....
...I'll be doing this next week - can't wait! It's a streak around London Zoo to raise funds for Sumatran tigers (there's only 300 left in the wild). If any generous B3tan's fancy sponsoring me, that would be great (HINT HINT) www.justgiving.com/keeferreefer
(rampants, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 17:56, 10 replies)

alright, ladies
MOD edit: no full frontal nudity thankyou
(alright alright, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 16:55, 9 replies)

In the early 2000s I went on a naked protest outside Scotland Yard
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Freedom_to_be_Yourself

It was great fun, I got to meet some interesting people and look at their genitals and unlike my housemate, I didn't get myself arrested.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 16:36, 9 replies)

New Year 1996
A flatmate has got some lovely new sneakers for Christmas. I'm going to try these out, he says, and disappears from the communal kitchen. A few minutes later there's a glimpse of pasty pink and the sound of a slamming door.
We peep out of window to see a pair of fluorescent Nike soles and an otherwise completely naked flatmate disappearing down the street. Five minutes later a beaming flatmate and two police officers appear at the door.
Is this yours? They ask.
Yes.
Ominous pause.
Has he not got any other Christmas presents he could wear?
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 16:04, 25 replies)

Like I'd tell you, fuck off plod.

( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 15:44, 7 replies)

Will I get naughty stepped again for more naked Cheggers?

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 15:17, 38 replies)

I'm pictured naked in the August 1995 issue of Mountain Bike Rider.
drunk after competing in the Nationals at Malvern Hills that year.

I realise this lacks any serious comedy, Accord or supermodel girlfriend status but it does pretty much neatly cover the subject.
( the mighty badger Aphrodite, on a bar stool, by your side, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 15:14, 15 replies)

Not me but my Best Man, Ginge about 10 years ago.
Daring eachother to go to the highest point on the death slide at Wet'n'Wild in Orlando, Florida we finally made it up the spiral staircase to 'Der Stuka' the 250ft drop waterslide. After a little cajoling I got into position and gently tipped myself over the edge to plummet down the watery chute. When I was safely at the bottom and having successfully plucked my shorts out of my arse crack the attendant signalled Ginge that it was his turn.

Now Ginge, by his and his wifes admission, has uncommonly large testicles that are best not witnessed by most men. Unfortunately I was one of the few male witnesses to such a spectacle as I heard a piercing wail as he careered down the slide with his baggy swim shorts jammed firmly up his arse. He had what appeared to be a set of maraccas hanging out of his shorts that were bouncing around like 2 large ballbearings in a pink wrinkled sock.

At the bottom he extracted himself from the ride with a pained expression that he described as being like anally raped by your own testicles.

Disappointing thing was that his wife had gone down one of the less extreme slides at the same time and her bikini top had pinged off up round her ears. Missed that.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 15:03, 2 replies)

Pea from 2011 or so
Late one July night when I was about 16, I left my mate's house who lived in a small satellite village of Hull and set off on my bike, but rather then go straight home, I took a detour and went down a dark lane and stopped near a gap in a hedge. I wheeled my bike behind the hedge and stripped off. For no reason whatsoever, I wanted to know what it felt like to be naked out of doors. But I wasn't going to join a nudist camp as I didn't want people seeing me naked, so I wanted to do it out of sight of prying eyes.

It's a weird feeling, even relaxing with a light breeze giving my crutch, genitals and buttocks an airing, in the dark with the glowing street-lights of Hull a few miles away.

I strode about a bit enjoying the exhilarating freedom. But then I froze. I heard an engine and saw a couple of headlights up the lane. Fuckity Fuckity fuck!

My clothes were on my bike which was lying on the ground hidden by the hedge. They were a good 20 yards away and I realised that the car would pass by before I could get to the bike, get dressed and pretend I'd stopped for a slash. I ducked down and waiting for the car to pass. It didn't pass. It slowed down and stopped at the other side of the hedge about 5 yards further up from me. With the engine still running, I heard a car door open and someone getting out.

fuckshitfuckshitfuckshitfuckshit!. If they spot me or my bike through the hedge, they're going to investigate. Surely they could hear my heart pounding, to me it sounded like someone trying to break into a kettle-drum with a mallet. I didn't dare move. To make matters worse, long grass was brushing against my buttocks and something was fluttering about near my right ear - a moth of sorts I think. I tried to waft it away but in doing so, I lost balance and tipped backwards. I managed to stop myself by putting my hands behind me. Did he hear me? I kept as still as possible, in a ridiculous crab-like posture, holding my rear up off the long grass for fear of ticks latching on and feeding on my blood. I must've looked like someone doing a performance art show, entitled "sausage on crooked coffee-table in starlight"

I struggled to wring out my brain for any plausible excuse. I had three stories:-

The truth
I was drunk
I was a werewolf who had just changed back to a human again.

Notwithstanding the lack of alcohol on my breath and that there was only at best only a half-moon, the truth, no matter how cripplingly embarrassing, would have to be my excuse.

I heard a zip and a splashing sound. It was a bloke stopping for a piss. He was taking forever. At least three hours. Well it seemed like that, it was more like 20 seconds. Then I heard a female voice.

"Hurry up Steve for fuck's sake. My dad'll kill me if I'm not in for 12"
"I can't piss any faster, christ stop fretting will yer. Anyway my tubes are still full of spunk" he retorted.
She giggled, "I didn't hear you complain at the time."
"I didn't see you offer to suck the remnants out so I could piss faster"
"Fuck off." she suggested.

He finished, zipped up and wandered away. He got back in his car and drove off.
'Thank fuck that they came from that end of the lane' I thought. Had they have been going the other way, the headlights would have more than likely picked out my bike lying on the ground behind the hedge.

As soon as they were gone, I hot-footed it to my bike, got dressed faster than I ever had before and biked home rather swiftly.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 14:56, 2 replies)

Naked skydiving

I have been skydiving in the nude a couple of times and once in mankini. This kind of behaviour is usually reserved for celebrating a milestone, such as someone's 500th jump.

I haven't done this in the UK and I suspect I never will, bearing in mind the fact that it gets colder by about 1.9 degrees for every 1000 feet you ascend.

There are few things funnier than diving out of the door of an aircraft naked apart from parachute, helmet, shoes and flailing around in the sky with a bunch of similarly attired mates.
(anvil, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 14:34, 15 replies)

Bitter victory
My defining moment in my teenage life came on a school sports day when I was fifteen years old, competing in the 1500 metres. It should have been a moment of glory as I crossed the finish line to rapturous applause, led by the headmaster himself. But to this day nobody remembers me crossing the finish line a full lap ahead of my nearest competitor, and nobody talks about how I set a new school record for the event - one which still stands to this day a decade and a half later. Instead, the memory everyone has of this day is of me flopping to the floor, sweating and panting, spreading my legs and exposing my right testicle through the newly formed hole in my shorts. The applause was replaced by a swell of laughter that spread from forms A through K like a tidal wave of shame as I confirmed the idiosyncratic suspicion that I did in fact have ginger pubes.

Now I'm not sure what colour they were expecting them to be but even to this day if I walk into a pub in my home town and one of the girls from my year happens to be there, even though they're all grown up with a family and a career, they will still fail to resist the temptation to shout out 'Ginger Pubes' across the pub and then break into fits of adolescent laughter.

I leave soon after.
(lickmyscripts, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 14:25, 11 replies)

alright, emvee

(alright alright, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 14:14, 3 replies)

I'm a naturist.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:46, 14 replies)

Going commando in a pair of baggy shorts is so freeing.
But can lead to embarrassment later in the morning when sitting in circle of mainly girls - particularly if the ones facing you are on slightly lower seats.

Particularly if your wife decides to point this out to you.

In public.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:45, 2 replies)

This will end well.

( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:44, 17 replies)

Why is it always disgusting fail-porn on QOTW?

( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:44, Reply)

i once got my nob out in the pub
and dipped it in my mate's pint
( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:41, 3 replies)

Phone flasher! (pea)
Always grin when I recall this one...

Finally was starting my final year at uni and we had a new flat on the ground floor. Our previous flats had always faced the main road or just park/shrubs. SO, returning from having a shower I thought nothing of walking around my room in nothing but my dressing gown which was open down the front.

It wasn't until I neared the window that I realised my "new" room was overlooked by the window next to the payphone...

This being the first week there was a naive first year girl obviously making the "i'm ok" call to her parents and had a shocked look on her face as she stared at my old fella.

I decided to close the curtains and went to tell my flatmates so they could avoid similar misshaps. Turns out my window was the only one in "the line of sight". I was christened "the phone flasher".

Never got a call from said girl either :(
(golddust QOTW now revolves around being a cunt, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:39, Reply)

Don't look now
When living in darkest Africa my mate and I spent the Easter holidays acting as a boat taxi for a large motor yacht that was stranded in the harbour - unfortunately 3 months before the skipper had taken too much Bolivian Dancing Dust and was found face down in his own head ... the authorities had decided there was no foul play but the wheels of justice were grinding slowly as the London based agents didn't have the sense to grease them, and the crew were enjoying the benefits of full pay without clients shitting all over them and didn't have the grease - a nice bunch of twenty going on forty somethings who were very generous with the tips and occasional beers.

After 3 weeks of bumming about in boats in the harbour David and I had hoarded something like KSH300, and with the holidays drawing to a close we decided to blow the lot on a night of beer fuelled fun at the Outrigger, the nearby hotel in the harbour were occasionally British tourists would stay and spend the entire time wondering where the palm fringed beaches and white sands of the brochures were ...

At 7:30 donned in our finest garb David, his mate James and I strolled into the bar and ordered our first round - 15 Tusker Export stubbies. The lovely bar staff were round us like flies on a shit, cracking jokes about how long it would be before the wazungu kijanas would be puking in the flower beds while they picked our pockets and sold our kidneys. The passage of years - there have been 25+ by my reckoning - has dimmed much of the rest of the evening but by 11:30 we were down to the last few bob and had made firm friends with the bar man who was taking the traditional cut of takings and slipping extra drinks on to the tab of the suspicious looking Russians in the corner. The decision to have a Scotch as the night cap was, on reflection, probably not wise. We downed that and leaving a less than generous tip staggered up the beach to the jetty where the dingy was moored. Once we were all in the boat and with the outboard lowered we cast off.

20 minutes later and some miles down tide we finally got the outboard started and puttered over to the boat we were staying on. Once on board and having ransacked the cupboards for booze - nothing as the normal night watchman was well known to be partial to anything over 0%ABV - we decided it was time to go skinny dipping. A few back flips over the stern later - ignoring that East Africa's over polluted harbours are brimming full of sharks looking for something more nutritious than the odd drowned goat - we decided that enough was enough and it was time to go to sleep. Besides the water seemed a bit ticker and more chemically smelling than normal. As it was a nice night and the stars where shining and spinning we slept on deck.

And that is how it came to be 9am when I was rudely woken by the hooter from the Pilot boat as it drew alongside the boat to see why their appeared to be several oil leaks running from the scuppers and 3 young naked black boys dead on the deck. I leapt to my feet only to be sent reeling about as my head exploded with the effects of my first massive hangover and then beer still swilling about my guts decided to reappear.

Fortunately the Pilot on duty knew us - unfortunately he was a family friend.

The last time I saw him when I was in my mid twenties he regaled my wife with the tale of how he woke us up and how he laughed as I proceeded to vomit down my belly and legs while smeared in thick back engine oil ... his thick SA accent did such justice to the final words

"end hiz lettle prick was washed clean and was steeking out like an asparagus spear"
(Biff..., Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:38, 2 replies)