I once saw
a woman having a piss outside of an old woolworths

wasn't a pretty sight...
(this_is_an_outrage saboo! you slag!, Fri 29 May 2009, 18:49, Reply)

Jean
Was a 65 year old woman I met while on holiday in Malaga, Spain.

Her raspy laugh and smokers cough could be heard for miles around, rarely seen without a large vodka in one hand she spent all day, every day in the sun. I'm certain she'd actually spent all day every day in the sun for the last 20 years.

Her skin was wrinkled and sagging off her bones like tanned, beaten leather.

Hungover and sitting by the pool one afternoon I just wanted to read my book and die quietly.
"Oi girls." She yelled as she shuffled over, her drooping thighs flapping in an almost hypnotic way. "Take a look at how brown my tits are getting!"
And with that, she pulled down her bikini top to expose her limp, swarthy breasts.

I sicked in my mouth a little bit :(
( wanderlust, Fri 29 May 2009, 18:23, Reply)

My sister and I once bought rather fetching, expensive yellow swimsuits
and went swimming in them, thinking we were the bees' knees.

Unfortunately, our new cossies turned transparent at the slightest splash of water, advertising our non-natural blonde status to the world. We were like the girl in the itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini - y'know, afraid to come out of the water!

This easily trumped our previous week's humiliation, when we'd gracefully dived into a pool together, dislodging our bikini tops and floundered around, pretending not to notice the lifeguards pointing and laughing at us.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 29 May 2009, 17:17, 2 replies)

It’ll put you off your dinner, I tell you.
Not too far North of Portland, Oregon, there is a nudist beach. My then girlfriend and I decided, purely for a laugh (ahem) that we should head off there.

Now, you may be thinking 'hang on', you actively chose to go to a nudist beach, how can this possibly involve unexpected nudity, and I would have to concede there would be some logic to that thought, but bear with me.

To get to the beach, you have to wander through some pretty extensive sand dunes, head height pampus grass and rushes either side of you with what amounts to a man made maze through the middle of them created by people finding their own way through.

After about 15 minutes of confused wandering we turned a corner and...well...let me tell you this...

Once you have seen a skinny Latino man taking one up the arse from a hairy backed apeman with a beard while a fat guy in shoes, socks and a hat but nothing else* sits in a striped deckchair happily fwapping like a deranged chimpanzee...you won't ever forget it.

We never did find the beach, and I still think that's probably for the best.




*Really, at what point do you imagine he thought ‘hmm…better put my shoes and socks back on before I start masturbating’?
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 29 May 2009, 17:02, 1 reply)

Hospital Nudity
A friend of mine works at the local hospital. He doesn't get surprised any more when seeing naked old people in the geriatric wards wandering about as if nothing is wrong. He did get a big shock though when he heard screaming and turned to see an old bloke running naked out of the hospital with and IV drip still attached being chased by security. I just wish he hadn't told me. I now struggle to sleep.
(monkj, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:51, Reply)

Caught with my pants down
I have no problem with nudity in general. I find showering naked after swimming to be quite a normal thing. I wander round the house naked on occasion, when it's warm enough. But as a rule, I don't expose myself in public, or in inappropriate situations. Rules are made to be broken though.

I have good friends in midwest USA whom I visit at least once a year. Last year, we all went out to an Italian restaurant for an evening. The meal was excellent, but halfway through my sweet course, I felt a disturbance in my alimentary canal which conveyed to me a certain urgency.

I had a sudden and very painful stomach cramp. Not a 'wait until I'm home and then have a relaxing read of the paper while allowing peristalsis to occur' kind of feeling, more the 'run to the bog right now and allow explosive decompression to occur or else I'll die in thirty seconds' type.

So I quickly excused myself, asked a passing waiter to direct me to the men's room, and entered the sanctuary.

Only to find myself in a bizarrely over-furnished room, with comfy chairs, fake potplants, bric a brac ornaments strewn everywhere and no obvious place to safely release the gargantuan pressure in my innards. I could see a very ornate, floor-standing porcelain urinal but no toilet. Then my eyes locked onto a wall at the end of the room.

A wall which extended part way over the width of the 1936 Ideal Homes exhibition which I appeared to have landed in. Behind it - aha, I saw my porcelain saviour.

So I pulled down my kecks, and I swear my arse hadn't hit the seat before the main feature was all over. I sat for a minute to recover, then stood up to wipe the virtually liquid residue from my quivering towel holder.

Just at that moment, a boy of about 10 came in to the room, and proceeded rather quickly towards me, despite my throat-clearing attempts to let him know I was there. Remember that wall which extended part way over the room? It extended just far enough to hide me. Until of course the lad appeared round the end of it, to be confronted by me, trousers around ankles, slightly bent over with toilet paper in hand, and cock and balls hanging unfettered.

He left quickly with a look of shock on his face*. I really hope I've not scarred him for life. But if I ever hear of a schoolboy going apeshit with a gun in a public toilet in Indiana, I'll have my suspicions as to who it might be.

*Of course, this may have been the result of the stink I'd created rather than the sight of my cock.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:44, Reply)

Girl in cubical
At university waiting in the department to go on a field trip, I decided to go to the loo before we left. Now as with all public toilets the cubicals never have working locks, but the average person puts their hand or foot against the door. I gave the door a gentle push to see if it was occupied, and it swung open to reveal one of my cohort having a tinkle. This isn't so amazing, but what was really weird is that she had her top off and appeared to be fondling her breasts.

Weird, why do that there? In a dingy loo with a broken lock?
(MsZuzu, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:36, 2 replies)

Unfortunate Expected Nudity
There are certain days and places in San Francisco where you can run around naked in public and get away with it:

Bay to Breakers run (May)
Gay Pride Day (last Sunday in June)
Love Parade (summer)
Folsom Street Fair (leather fest in September)
Halloween
Baker Beach (year-round)

The naked folks are ALWAYS the people you least want to see sans clothing. Eeeewwww.
( cynfulcynner ...another American nutter, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:31, Reply)

Just because it's annoying me
Do remember that when you see a surprise todger, what's important is how big it is hard. No one should care how big it is soft. (Yes, yes, what's *really* important is what you do with it, but let's not get picky). The only advantage gained by being a 'shower' rather than a 'grower' is that you need more supportive pants..

Of course, if you do find some perv wanking away in a public place, the correct phrase to use - even if they have a huge cock - is 'that's almost like a cock, only much smaller'.

Anyway, a story. I was out mountain biking, when I noticed a guy on a bridge near some ancient lead mines. He was dressed in some sort of tracksters/wetsuit with his cock out and a camera taking him as he pissed on the ground. The smell of piss filled the air.

I presume it was some form of golden showers porn he was trying to film, but seeing as a) that's not my thing and b) he was pretty gross, I just rode on. ewww.
(syllopsium, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:28, Reply)

Bad Doog's story
reminds me of one - I was living in a flat share, opposite another block of flats. The woman opposite used to get changed all the time with the curtains open, but my flatmate Josh always missed it.

The one time he was in and she was there I shouted "Josh! Quick! She's changing now!"

I heard this pattering of feet and "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH" as Josh came sprinting round the corner, and he knocked himself out cold on an open kitchen cupboard door.

The woman moved out a couple of days later.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:22, Reply)

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly
- The Good -
Cast your mind back to 1993, Radiohead were a "Creep" and Ace of Base saw "The Sign". I was in my early teens and my neighbour was a 17 year old goddess. She had the figure make any red blooded males trousers that bit tighter, slim waist with a great rack above and a peachy arse below.
Me and a mate were binking round the block a bit when I noticed someone was in the neighbours upstairs bathroom. I joked to my mate that it was her in the shower, so out of that desperation that being a teenager brought we stayed close to the house. The bathroom light goes off and moments later she appears in her bedroom window to brush her hair... topless!!! A truely incredible sight, to relate it someone current, her rack was like a slightly smaller version of Ewa Sonnets. Within a couple of seconds she realised she'd been spotted and retreated.

- The Bad -
On a stag do a couple of years ago, one member of our group had a really rather fit Lithuanian girlfriend.
So on the second day when he was in the shower a few of the lads decided to see if he had any photos of her on his phone, fingers were crossed for some nudity - Bluetooth was at the ready.

They found some nudity alright except it was a video he'd filmed of himself jacking off!
Eventually we asked him about it and he said he'd filmed it for her.

- The Ugly -
I swim regularly in the mornings and an unfortunate downside to that is seeing naked old men in the showers. This is not a surprise though. However, swimming in the pool and seeing a mans nutsack hanging out the side of his Speedos is!
(Bad_Dogg, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:16, 2 replies)

I have been trying to think of a story when I remembered this, it all happened a long time ago.
I was with a large group mixed of n’er do wells and militants a right mixed bunch, I even think one was even royalty in some place that didn’t even exist anymore, thing was we had a job to decommission some generator. Now this generator for some reason was in the back end of beyond in this huge forest. I can’t quite remember the details but me and my mate had somehow become separated from the rest of the group.
I wasn’t too bothered as my mate was a technological and computer genius and could no doubt do the job alone, despite the fact he had been shot in the head a few months back. This did make him somewhat rude and we did have a kind of love/hate relationship, but somehow we just always ended up together.
Anyways there we were lost in this forest when we stumbled upon some of the natives who lived in these parts, they took pity on us and took us back to their village. They seemed to be in somewhat awe of my modern look and we hung around for a bit to see if they could help us find the rest of our group.
By some coincidence it appears that the rest of the group had got captured by our native friends and had been brought back to the village. It was around this stage I found out that, with my cunning linguistic talents, I could do some rudimentary communication with our little native pals and I discovered they thought it would be a good idea to cook up the rest of the group for a feast in our honour.
Not really knowing what to do in these circumstances one of my mates told me to tell them to tell them I was divine. His other mate thought this would be a good idea and was anxious to see what would happen.

So really you could say...

Han expected a new diety

Luca luca luca yub yub!

Very very sorry, but come on Star Wars and a pun, do I win a prize?
(TheEarl used his power to freeze time at, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:14, 4 replies)

She was not amused
It had been a cold and wet evening. Undeterred by the elements we had made our way to a nearby park and huddled under the brightly coloured hut from which a garish slide protruded.

Bottles of budget vodka and cans of cheap pissy beer were brought forth and quaffed. Banter was brought into play and eloquent repartee sizzled through the dour evening air. At some point an individual's sexual preference may have been questioned, and assertations of masculinity and boob touching exploits may have been fired back by the accused.

All in all everyone had a great time and as the last of the booze ran out we stumbled off to our respective abodes. I was, to put it bluntly, completely wankered. Seen from above I'd imagine my perambulations would bear more resemblance to a sinusoidal waveform than a line. However, with the words of Tony Wright echoing in my inebriated skull, I persevered and made it back to my parent's home.

Handily my father was at work and my mother was already abed so I didn't have any explaining to do about my obvious state of intoxication. Not that they minded me getting drunk but I was DRUNK. Sniggering away to myself over inane thoughts I smoked a spliff in the kitchen, burned some toast to cover the smell and made my way to bed. A perfect night. And sleep...

...and wake to shouts of fury and disgust. "What's happening?" thinks I, "Why is my mother in my room shouting at me?" "Hang on this isn't my room" "Wait a minute I'm standing in my mother's room" "Holy shitting Christ I'm pissing all over my mother"

That's right. I'd had a moment of drunken somnambulation and, in my search for a toilet, wandered into my mother's boudoir and unloaded my booze distended bladder across her slumbering form.

I'd imagine my mother considered this a SURPRISE TODGER moment.

Once the realisation of what I was doing and the content of my mother's words filtered into my consciousness, my proud stream of urine cut off instantly. I turned, I ran, I dived back into bed with my face contorting into a gestalt expression of abject terror and uncontrollable mirth.

I hid under the covers like a brave responsible man while my mother barged in and shouted obscenities at me before leaving to deal with her piss soaked bed clothes. I managed to control my horror and hilarity and get myself back to sleep. In the morning my father could barely contain his grin as he gave me a half hearted scolding and told me I'd have to pay for a new duvet and bed sheets.

Luckily over the years my mother has come to view this as funny rather than rage inducing, which is handy as it gets brought up at nearly every family gathering.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:11, 4 replies)

Naked happy families
One evening, on some Greek Island with my family in my mid teens, I'm sitting on the balcony, waiting for my mum to get ready to go out when I notice the car parked near the appartment building has its inside lights on. The place we were staying was far away from anywhere else apart from th ebeach and the odd cafe.

The light caught my eye so I look down and there I see what I believe to be a butt-naked couple kissing passionatly in the front! I didn't stay to look as
A) we were heading out and my mum was calling me
B) I didn't want to see and
C) There was a little bout about 9 in nothing but some swimming trunked looking pissed off!
( Blobcat Less Jaffacakes this year, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:06, 3 replies)

Gallows humour
My 80 y.o. m.i.l. was in hospital, having being diagnosed with cancer - they'd just operated (large intestine) and removed a tumour, she was on post op morphine.

Rather bewildered as a consequence, she offered to show us her scar, forgetting that she was a) shaved b)commando.

"Ooh, that's a nasty gash!" I said, sympathetically.
(Countryslicker, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:03, 3 replies)

Tits and Teabags
This is a tale of my own un-erotic nudity.

Having just touched down at Caister Soul Weekender, my very shy and deeply respectful to women friend (now housemate) and I settled down for a bit of a smoke and a bit of a drink. Exit housemate for a pee in the loo of our delightfully white trash static caravan. On exiting the bathroom his belt loop caught on a rogue lip of metal, he managed to simultaneously bend the frame from around the sink and wedgie himself. After I had finished laughing at him we decided to fix the frame with a makeshift hammer i.e, one of my shoes. Job's a good'un....Or so I thought.


Anyway, about 4pm we were, well, toasted and so as not to bring a premature end to the evenings festivities I decied to take a nice sobering shower. As the bedroom was literally a step away from the bathroon I decided to forgo donning my dressing gown and nip across the 'hall' in my towel. So I carefully wraped the towel around me, opened the door and stepped out shouting "It's all yours!". As I did this my towel became hooked on the same lip of metal and as I stepped into the hall/kitchen my housemate was faced with a very naked me. He was making me a cuppa as a surprise. I think I had the monopoly on surprise. For a split second we made eye contact then he went puce and covered his eyes with the teabags he was fishing out of the cups.

I started laughing uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of it all and out of the corner of my eye I saw, through the kitchen window a man, naked apart from a cowboy hat and a rather large...grin dancing around just as I clocked him he clocked me which set me off laughing even more. Housemate uttered the immortal line "For goodnessake go and put some bloody clothes on!".

I was quite upset that he found seeing me naked quite so traumatising! I'm not that bloody bad! HUMPH.
(GirlOfTheWorld, Fri 29 May 2009, 15:21, 2 replies)

Cuba Libre...
Strolling through the sun-kissed streets of Old Havana, one of my group stops and excitedly pulls his camera from his pocket. I was a few paces up the street before I noticed and turned to see him doing battle with the lens cap, as a childlike joy spread across his face.

I traced the line of vision from the camera's eye to its subject and witnessed a shock of wild, untameable hair reminiscent of Sideshow Bob of Simpsons fame. A suitably Caribbean looking, sun-drenched body provided the shoulders to support this mop like Barnet, and a tatty pair of bright orange shorts reluctantly, but sufficiently denied gravity enough to maintain a degree of dignity for this stumbling, bin searching drunk.

Curious as to why this particular Cuban excited my friend so, I retraced my last few steps and sidled up to the budding David Bailey. Before I'd even uttered a semblance of sound I was hushed and an outstretched finger directed my attention back toward the object of his camera's desire.

And it all became soberingly clear, for there, staring back at me were the most unexpected and unpleasant looking sun-dried breasts I've ever seen in my life. Each miniature mound of wrinkled flesh was punctuated by tiny, deep brown, pointy raisins, circled by oven baked cornflakes that looked ready to peel off. Breasts rarely fail to provide at least a mild trouser tingle, but these were like a powerful dose of visual bromide that rendered me softer than Santa's sack for the follow few days.
( Moey, Fri 29 May 2009, 15:14, Reply)

3-pack of tales from band camp...
Several times during my formative teenage years, I attended band camp. Well, I say band camp. I used to attend a music school in my local area, a couple of evenings a week. We were quite good, and in the summer we used to go on tour somewhere hot.

These tours were the highlight of my (barren) social calendar, a week of music making, drinking and frolicking in the sun. Bliss. There were also several incidents of accidental nudity.

Scene the first. We have just arrived on tour. All is woo and excitement. We are just unpacking in the room, and I am in the bathroom, showering off the 28-hour coach ride it has taken us to get there. I am just finishing off my toiletary excursion with the mother of all pisses (still naked, but politely into the loo). And of course, the door opens. Not to reveal my laughing room-mates, but a very nice young lady, also from the music tour (an oboist, indeed), who has come to our room to 'see how they compare'. Well, unless your bathroom comes replete with a slightly damp, tubby naked man, they aren't too similar.

Credit to this nice young lady, she did try and make up for barging in on me by risking the wrath of the trades descriptions people, and trying to spread the rumour that I was possessed of a particularly oversized weapon, in order to attract me some lady loving. Unsuccessful.

Scene the second, and the nudity situation is reversed. This may have even been the same music school tour. I am in the sea, waist-deep, gently ogling the young ladies. I am not wearing my glasses, so my ogling is rather limited, and not very successful. Until, a nice young lady (different to the nice young lady in act 1, a flute player) decides to swim up for a chat. We are talking away about nothing in particular, when I decide to steal a glance at her chest. One of her delightful ladynipples has escaped from it's bikini-cladding.

Instantly, several thoughts run through my head.
1, This is brilliant, wow, but what if she notices? She's definitely going to put it away, and I am going to be in trouble.
2, I am glad the cool of the water is doing well to hide my shame, but it's not going to be good enough forever.
3, Should I tell her? I should probably tell her. She's going to be angry if she finds out what's happening.

Unfortunately, not managing to pay enough attention to voice number 3, I missed the window of information, and ended up continuing the conversation for several more minutes. My reverie was only broken when somebody else swam up, and informed the nice young lady of her nipply predicament. Understandably, our conversation (for the rest of the tour, and pretty much ever since) was very much over.

Scene the third. The last day of any music school tour was, generally, a day of rest before getting on the coaches to return. One tradition, however, was to hold a miss-world contest. Each contestant would be allowed a day before to beg, steal or borrow the clothing, and an hour beforehand with a 'dresser' to do hair and makeup, before a full-on beauty pageant. The only twist was that it was only open to blokes to enter, and the main rule was that you were not allowed to wear any clothing that had been designed to be worn by a bloke.

This alcohol fueled affair was pretty tasteless at the best of times, but the year I was a participant was spectacular on many levels. I may add a picture in the replies, which will give you some idea of the horror, but the display of inexpertly-shaven man-flesh is one my mind has never let me recall fully, for which I can be very thankful. One particular moment, however, does remain with me. The basic issue with lady costumery on a gentleman is that a lady-gusset is nowhere near as accommodating as a man-gusset. Thus the space available for wedding vegetables is ever-so-slightly compromised and uncomfortable.

Now, combine this discomfort with a hot day, a large quantity of alcohol, and a distinct lack of inhibition, and the scene culminates with me looking over to see one of my fellow participants (not in the photograph, as he managed to pass out very shortly after) adjusting himself by use of the ever-popular 'hook-your-thumbs-in-the-sides-and-pull-the-crotch-out" in the manner of a music-hall star adjusting his braces. He was much comfier, but none of our eyes were.

Lovely.

Length? A variety, but none as impressive as we would have liked...
(Serotonicity was a naughty boy on..., Fri 29 May 2009, 15:12, 6 replies)

my cleaner experienced this
When I was at uni, the cleaners tended to knock, unlock and open your door at the same time.

I was wandering about my room bollock naked, when I heard the cleaner knocking on the doors heading towards mine. Bugger, I thought, so I jumped towards my door to hold it shut as she tried to get in. Unfortunately, it was at that moment she knocked on my door and came in. Thus she was confronted with me jumping towards her in my birthday suit. She screamed and ran out.

I didn't see her for the rest of the term.
(thrain, Fri 29 May 2009, 15:05, 5 replies)

I've been the purveyor of surprise nudity...
... although in my defense I was just as surprised to discover that I was naked.

It's a lovely Saturday morning and I've woken up with the pleasant ever-so-slightly hungover sensation only blemished by the accompanying extremely dry mouth due to the visitation of the red wine badgers in the night. I decide that the best course of action is to get up and go and get a drink, so that is exactly what I do. Straight out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen.

Now, at this point I should stress that I sleep in my underwear unless there are extenuating circumstances; I just feel much more comfortable with my underwear holding everything in place. There were no such circumstances that night, I'd gone to bed alone (AUDIENCE: awwwww).

So out of bed, down the steep set of stairs from my room in the converted loft and down the main stairs in to the kitchen. As I descended the stairs though my brain started to receive and process strange information. "Things are not as expected" the impulses said. "You should investigate what is occurring that is outside the norm." Somewhat perturbed by this, I conclude that the best course of action is to continue to the kitchen and make myself a refreshing glass of squash, and use my newly hydrated state to think further about what could be wrong.

I was literally confronted by what was wrong as I looked down towards the cupboard containing the squash only to see my pump action yogurt cannon in full on morning horn mode pointing towards the bottles of Robinson's like some sort of meat-based divination rod.

My first thought was quite literally "where are my pants?!"

After processing the situation further my brain switches to thinking "oh cock, I am stranded downstairs naked & hard, and I have visitors in the house this weekend" (hence the red wine). I decided to carry on with Operation: Squash, and took the moment to compose myself. "It's fine, it's 8am on a Saturday morning and everyone is still asleep, just go back up to bed and no-one will know". Great idea.

Except that my hungover staggering down two flights of stairs had roused my (straight, male) housemate who managed to time his exit from his bedroom at just the right moment to see me at the top of the stairs supporting myself on the bannister with one hand, holding a pint of apple and blackcurrant in the other but still managing to point at him.

His response: a look as though to say "I don't want you to explain this; just fix it" and the despairing comment "oh for fuck sake Joe put some clothes on!".

I mumbled an apology and carried on going back upstairs, but as slowly as I could to avoid any meatspin style effects.
(Joey[kins], Fri 29 May 2009, 15:00, 1 reply)

I always expect nudity...
...however I'm frequently disappointed.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Fri 29 May 2009, 14:54, Reply)

Can't help you with the un-erotic ones, So here's one from the other side.
Cast your minds back to the glorious heyday* of the Thatcher years, 1983, and a certain young Duke whose only real idea of what girls looked like came from the underwear sections of various catalogues.

Focus specifically on the summer, when a logistical error on the part of the local guide troupe saw the family playing host to a scandinavian exchange student for a week. A slender, blonde, 17 year old goddess with a shy smile and downcast eyes. Worse, a goddess who was always kept busy doing guide troupe things and steered very firmly away from even speaking to the young Duke.

All of which preamble leads up to a particular friday morning.
Breakfast cleared away, school bag needs "games" kit packed in for the usual friday afternoon running about.
So our hero trudges wearily upstairs to his room to fetch a pair of plimsoles. Barely registering the sound of the newly installed shower, until he reaches the top of the stairs and glances briefly to his left. To see the bathroom door wide open...

Pin sharp in my memory she stands under the falling water, sun streaming through the window behind her. Arms raised to rinse the last of the soap out of her hair displaying her firm pert breasts in glorious silouette.
Every droplet sparkling on her lightly tanned skin, every line of that lithe body etched itself into my mind as I stood watching her, brain racing, body frozen and entirely unable to move.
It could only have been a few seconds before she noticed me standing there. No way to disguise the fact I'd seen her, no way to hide my blushes. She however blushed not one bit, just smiled that sweet shy smile, waved a hand as though to say "hi, how're you doing..?" and went back to washing her hair, warm water running over her naked form in exactly the way my fingertips ached to follow.



Talk amongst yourselves for a while, I need a cup of tea and a lie down...

*May contain traces of sarcasm.
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Fri 29 May 2009, 14:33, 6 replies)

The wittiest response
Unlike my previous post, I think this one is on-topic due to presence of unexpected todger.

There are times when one comes away from an awkward situation or an altercation and thinks, half an hour after the event, "Damn, I should have said that," where "that" is the supremely witty retort that would stop the other person in their tracks and allow you to turn coolly on your heel and walk away with all the dignity. (In my case, "that" usually amounts to "you...horse's arse!")

Years ago, I was told this story by a teacher who thought that, in this situation, he had managed to say "that" and walk off with his dignity intact.

He was in Germany, and in some place - a bar, I presume - using the toilets. It was one of those long trough urinals, where everyone pisses into the same pot, eyes focussed with a death grip on the wall in front, lest anyone else's manhandle should stray into one's peripheral vision.

He had the trough to himself, until this large German chap came in, stood quite close to him, and took a whizz. This German then cupped his knobbly nunchuk and dangly meat-beads and turned to face said teacher.

Confused - briefly stumped - said teacher looked down at the surprise package pointing at him. He put his own away, and in the calmest possible manner, said,

"Yes, and...?"

Then walked away, leaving the German with nothing but his crankshaft in his hands, and eternally grateful that the German hadn't immediately replied with, "Vell, look vat is in mine hands."
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 29 May 2009, 14:17, Reply)

In 2001
I worked in a hotel abroad. The place was small (eight rooms), beautifully situated, under-staffed, and run by a pair of cokeheads.

Most of the time the guests were fairly normal - the American lesbian couple who got so bored with the incessant rain during their stay that they bought weed off the cook and spent most of their stay monged out in their room, the Norwegians who enthusiastically swum in the lake every morning, even the new age guru from London who insisted that our chi (or whatever) was all out of line and that we needed to feng shui our heads to realign our ley lines and get our karmic balance back in sync. That we were permanently pissed or high, as well as exhausted from 16-18 hour days, wasn't a factor apparently.

Anyway, nudity. As I said the owners were drugged up to the eyeballs, frequently taking all the petty cash so they could go buy ecstasy pipes to get smashed out of their trees. Every night they would hold court at the dinner table, regaling the guests with tales of god knows what as we prepared and brought out food.

One night dinner wound up later than expected. It was 10pm and pitch black outside, I was the last one up, mopping up the kitchen before heading back to my tent. I noticed that the lights in the dining room / bar were still on so I went in to turn them off.

The owner was almost at the vinegar strokes. His pasty white belly and chest were heaving as he pounded away at his wife's spongy backside, small dew drops of sweat hanging on to the sparse greying ginger chest hair, the roll of fat around her middle wobbling like the proverbial jelly on the plate. Her face was pressed hard down against the tiled floor by one of his scrawny hands, the other was desperately clawing around underneath her, like a blind man trying to find a plum in a barrel of pork fat. I stood there, mop in hand, for a few seconds... long enough to register the blood seeping from her nose as she requested that he 'do me harder'. I ran away, bile churning in my stomach, ran all the way to my tent where I hid until the next morning.

A few weeks later a group of German tourists on a marriage guidance week turned up. We had 16 Germans, all of who were experiencing marital difficulties, wandering naked and semi naked throughout the place. One guy of about 60 wandered around in a pair of leopard print speedos, looking to all intents and purposes like and elderly German paedophile.

A few days after they arrive the... arguments... were getting a bit hard to deal with (although to call them arguments is an understatement - we're talking knife throwing, plate smashing, so angry I'm going to kill you rages here). One evening a group of the Germans had dinner on the lower terrace. I'd been down to serve their food, brought them multiple bottles of wine and figured that everything was going well. When the time came to clear away the plates I return to the terrace and am treated to the sight of a tired pair of Germans shagging on the table. Discreetly manoeuvring myself away I found myself confronted with Mr. Leopardskin Speedos, only he was now wearing a purple erection and flip flops, and had been clearly fwaping off to the other couple. Where his wife was I have no idea.

I quit shortly afterwards.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:48, 4 replies)

Center Parcs
I am not sure this completely counts, as there was no accident about it. Although I certainly did not mean to be naked.

Between leaving school and going to university in 1992 I and a few friends went to Center Parcs for a break.

A lovely time was had, drinking more than you should at a family resort and splish splashing around in the water park.

Things were fine, as long as these activities were kept separate, but, boys being boys (or twats being twats in our case) we did not always keep them apart.

Drink and water slides and hyperactive 18 year olds do not a good mix make. We must have been a nightmare for the other people, and I am surprised we did not get kicked out. I do genuinely still feel bad for the people that had to put up with us. I would be livid if the shoe was on the other foot. But, nonetheless, we had what was our idea of fun, racing each other down the rapids, clambering over each other in what, with hindsight, I see as a slightly homoerotic manner, to see who could get to the bottom first.

One pleasantly sunny afternoon, after a mildly liquid lunch, off we went to the pool. The racing quickly started. After a few battles and some light-hearted horseplay (which was in no way gay, no sir, it couldn't possibly have been seen to be gay) I got myself ahead and suddenly felt a hand grab the back of my shorts only to realise far too late that I hadn’t done them up tightly enough. With a panicked twist and a failed grab I turned around to see my best mate laughing gleefully as my shorts disappeared down my calves, past my ankles and off the end of my feet.

And then looked skyward as he threw them over my head and way down the rapids in front of me.

I had no choice but to sit up, cover my rapidly shrivelling manhood with my hands and traverse the rest of the ride red face with my hands clasped firmly beneath my thighs until I reached the pool at the end. To be greeted by the hoots of laughter of my so called friends and the sight of a middle aged woman clutching my swim shorts looking at them with a mix of disgust, fury and confusion.

At which, I summoned all the dignity I could muster, walked up to her and said with excessive politeness ‘Excuse me, I think they may belong to me’, took them back and walked slowly away trying to keep my head held high.



(Although upon writing this, I wish with hindsight I had had the wit to look at them, then hand them back to her and say ‘No, sorry, my mistake, they are the wrong size’. )
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:39, 1 reply)

Another story from the scabby nightclub.
Hello hello.
A long time ago in a nightclub far, far away, I collected glasses to eke out an existance.
One night I was wandering around mopping up spillages with blue roll (it's like giant fuck-off toilet roll. And it's blue) when I heard a yell from a table in the window.
"Oi! Mate! Can my mate have some of that?"
"No worries" I say, reeling some off. "What's he spilt?"
"He ain't spilt nothing, he's havin' a wank, is all."
I look up and sure enough there's a gurning little jock half-sat half-stood, pumping furiously away with his trousers round his ankles, his proud little soldier turning red with stage fright (I assume it was stage fright. It probably wasn't used to all the attention) while several guys and girls cheer him on and film him on their phones. Not only was he in full view of the whole room, he was sat in the center of a floor-to-ceiling window, and it was only about half ten so there were still families wandering about outside.
He left. They all left. Very quickly. Backwards, in his case.
What a wanker.
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:37, Reply)

I've lost count...
...of the number of times I've had some bloke showing off his meatstick to me at the urinal of some gents' convenience or other, and more still checking out my own. Not just in gay clubs and pubs either. But none of those were really unexpected.

Still, not the slightest bit erotic to me. I know that getting it on in the bogs is fairly traditional for gayers but for me, I prefer a venue for cock-fun that doesn't reek of stale piss.

That said, I've been in a couple of clubs where guys have whipped it out on the dance floor - both unexpected and fun to watch in those cases lol. There's a couple more clubs that I daren't go into that are basically darkrooms with a bar where you'll likely see a lot of unfettered* equipment on display, and more than just see if you want to. A mate of mine told me once that there are no doors on the bogs in one of them, and he was disturbed quite a bit by some guy in a leather harness and chaps tugging his tool whilst watching my mate take a dump. Not for me at all, and ditto for 'male only' saunas.

*cockrings and other augmentations notwithstanding - some of the stuff these guys attach to thier dicks is frightening even to me.
(thatblokeoverthere not quite as much an arsehole as I thought, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:24, Reply)

Phone suprise
This was 2 years ago and still i'm not allowed to forget it. I had split with my ex and decided to go out and get very very merry. Having such great (hmmm) friends i went out and definately got merry

Unfortunately for me i had my phone and was going thru the pictures when a picture of Pimp down below appeared! for everyone at the table to see...

Fast forward to last week. I bring my new missus to the pub to meet my friends after warning them not to mention the unexpected cock picture (bloody thing is almost legendary). True to their word they never mentioned it.....they got the bloody quizmaster to announce he had found my phone with a picture of my cock on it! I love my friends....

Length?...there were no complaints
(Digital Pimp, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:23, Reply)

Naked ping pong
As I mentioned earlier and my long-suffering other half will attest, drunken nudity is a bit of a theme for me. However this time I was not the only cuplrit.

Picture the scene:

Late September, a huge converted farmhouse in Provence complete with pool, girlfriend's Dad's 60th birthday, accommodation food and drink all paid for - only expense about £30 on flights, the entire extended family present. Fan-fucking-tastic!

Liz has two sisters - one older and married, one younger with long-term boyfriend. I get on well with both partners which does occasionally get us into trouble at family gatherings.

It was near the end of our stay. I'd had an utterly brilliant week of wine, cheese, sun etc and had also been fairly well behaved for most of it. We'd had a few heavy ones so this one fateful night we decided to have a quiet one in and play a bit of Cranium.

Fun was had by all and eventually everyone else had headed off to bed. It was just me and the other two partners M and J. At that point someone suggested we play a proper man's game, so we got out the cards and started on the poker. We also found a litre bottle of Bells to go with it. Problem was none of us really wanted to play for money - that was the moment J suggested something much much worse.

"Tell you what boys, how about a bit of strip poker".

Now we were quite tiddly already by this point so this seemed a great idea. As whisky was consumed and hands were played it wasn't long until I was completely starkers mainly due to me being shit at poker even when sober.

I was a bit annoyed at being the only one reduced to this state. But then I lost the next hand.

I had nothing left to take off. Forfeit!

"Right Milo, you have to run outside and do 2 lengths of the pool and then come back". That was M, the married responsible one.

Now I've done the odd skinny dip in my time so this was nothing major. Did it, came back and then the greatest idea in the history of the world occurred to me.

"You know what, we should all go skinny dipping. It'll be hilarious!". Well we were 3 quarters of the way through the whisky now and with a box of wine on top of that they didn't need asking twice. Pretty soon we were all in the pool laughing like a bunch of drunken twats (funny that).

Then we noticed the table tennis table. "Who's up for a bit of naked ping pong?" Score!

Unfortunately noise does tend to travel a bit out in the Provence countryside at night. Especially if you're pissed off your tits and engaged in sporting activity.



Being told off by my potential future father-in-law for being too noisy, the day after his 60th birthday, at 3 in the morning, in France on a holiday he'd paid for, playing round the table with his son-in-law and other potential SiL, while absolutely stark bollock nekkid, was not the proudest moment of my life.

Regarding the extreme homoerotic elements of the situation nothing really needs to be said.


Still it's very likely that J will be going down the aisle before me so I can't wait for the father of the bride speech.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:04, 1 reply)

Not me, but
a mate was in a band. Not a famous band, just a small-time affair but they did support another band whose members are now 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks' line-up fodder.

Anyway, so whilst on tour, but just being a support act, they used to end up in whatever accommodation they could find. On one occasion, they ended up in a family room of a B&B. A room with a double bed, a single bed and a sofa of sorts.

During a night out on the sauce, they managed to split up and made their own way back to the room and being one of the first back, my mate managed to claim one side of the double bed.

He woke up early next morning, opened his eyes and was greeted by a girl's arse not 18 inches from his face. Not one to miss out on an opportunity, he wet his finger and inserted it into her claypit.

There was a scream. Not from her, she couldn't scream as she had a mouthful of the drummer's cock at the time. He leaped out of bed, opened the curtains to let the light in and stood there in front of the window examining his todger. Luckily, it wasn't a school bus at the bus stop, so it was just a load of commuters whose workday would be ruined by the imagery of a fat hairy naked guy cradling his genitals.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 29 May 2009, 12:40, 1 reply)