My mate Aaron
... has a series of bizarre fetishes. One of which is gagging, possibly because he has a self-confessed chode and can't make a girl gag himself.

The one time vomiting was introduced into sex, however... it did not go well.

Aaron, it is important to note, is a lovely man. He's big and cuddly and despite looking like a nutter with two half-sleeve tattoos and a goatee beard, he's really funny and... he's like a big lovable dog, really.

Anyway, Aaron gets a rare chance at the beginning of this past summer - a chance to get laid. An ex-girlfriend phones him and says she's just broken up with her boyfriend, would he come up and visit her in Birmingham? Of course he would!

So, he drives all the way up to Brum from London, and winds up in her front room with her hot flatmate also. Result.

Aaron is not a big drinker. He drinks, sure, but it goes to his head very quickly. He used to say he was allergic to alcohol; we used to believe him. That's how bad he is.

So, he decides a bit of Dutch courage won't hurt and polishes off a few beers before they head out to the first club. It all goes well, she's WELL up for it and he's having a great time. They decide to move to a different club...

Walking there, Aaron feels an all-too-familiar sensation. He needs to vom. Shit. He makes his excuses, ducks down an alley and sprays puke through his hand. A little bit goes on the girl's shoe.

Blown it.

Actually, no... he washes his arm in some nearby loos, takes off his pukey shirt and it's all good. Next club, she's STILL up for it. He can't believe his luck - he's managed to puke on her and he'll still get laid. He is, however, sensible enough to drink water for the rest of the night.

Flash forward - Aaron and the girl in question are lying in bed in a state of undress, chatting drunken shit. Aaron sips his water and wonders when the sex can start. Then, an all-too-familiar sensation.

Shit. Aaron claims a need to go to the toilet, bursts out of the room and begins to spew barely after he shuts her bedroom door. All down the stairs. He runs, barefoot, through his own vomit before arriving in the toilet and voiding the rest of his stomach's contents. Retrieving a shirt from his bag, he cleans up as best he can, turns the lights off and goes back to bed.

What she doesn't know can;t hurt her, and the chatting shit commences once more. Then, all-too-familiar feeling BLEUGH.

He pukes, just a little, on his hand. Wiping it on her bed, he makes his excuses again, again puking just as he leaves the room. All down the stairs, which he has just cleaned. He sprints through his own puke again, and another wave of bile is ejected as he enters the kitchen. All over the toaster, in the sink, up the walls... everywhere.

To his credit, I would have just gotten in the car and left at this point. He gets out the pukey shirt, cleans up again and goes back upstairs.

I wish I could tell you he then fucked her, but he simply said he couldn't sleep without the TV on and went downstairs to kip on the sofa.

Length? Shorter than it is wide.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Thu 22 Oct 2009, 15:12, Reply)