» I'm your biggest Fan

It began in 1965
It was a balmy autumn I first caught a glimpse of the woman who would take my heart. There she was on the front page of the newspaper, her beautiful blond hair framing her delicate yet alluring face. She was quite the nations obsession, yet I felt a real connection with her. In fact I became infatuated, and set about devoting the next 37 years of my life towards meeting her when she would fall in love with me and we could finally be together.

Her hair reminded me of all the big American singers of the time, her dark come to bed eyes looked into my soul from every picture I could get my hands on. I soon built up quite a collection of pictures and articles which I would pore through to learn as much as I could about the blond bombshell. I would lock myself in my room when mother and father were listening to the Archers and neatly arrange the images in a semicircle on the floor. I would then get naked and kneel in the centre before slowly manipulating my member betwixt my thumb and forefinger into a state of arousal, engorged with my ruby red blood, the veins popping out at the side as the cock ring worked its magic and made my mushroom head strain at the skin in whence it was contained, with my ample foreskin slid back over and hugging the rigid shaft of my love truncheon. I would spend every evening in this state reading and learning every little thing I could about my heroine before plunging myself down upon my hand crafted anal invader and fwapping my cum cannon until i would shoot my load over her face. Being in the mid 60’s I didn’t have access to a laminator, but I can vouch that carefully spread layers of man milk dried at room temperature will create a varnish like protective layer on magazine and newspaper clippings.

After her initial thrust into the limelight she disappeared for a few years. In 1972 a relationship with her then boyfriend nearly turned into a marriage but thankfully that didn’t happen, I could still become her first and only husband. After coming that close to losing her to another man I started writing her letters. In these letters I would detail explicitly how she made me feel, how it came about that I could not get erect without having a picture of her in front of me and how I could not ejaculate unless her baby blue eyes and face where on the floor awaiting the eruption from my pump action shotgun. I would outline my wildest fantasies to her, how i wanted her to tie me up and have her wicked way with me, teasing me before impaling herself on my luncheon truncheon. She never replied to my letters, sometimes I even suspected that she didn’t read them or even get them, but I kept sending them, deep down knowing that she savoured every word of my prose and confident that she would lie in her bed at night with 4 fingers inside herself. I used to wait outside of where she lived but she never seemed to come or go from her house. Still I hadn’t met her.

Almost 20 years later, in 1986 she make a huge comeback, and the British public once more took her to their hearts, she was more mature now, and a haunting look in her eyes once again beckoned me to restart my ritualistic bouts of self love. I tried to get to meet her on several occasions, but could never get close, the press were always hounding her – it was like a witch hunt, I for one don’t know how she could deal with being in the public eye so much, I think it might have sent me a little crazy, but not her. After her initial resurgence she floated in and out of the public eye over the next few years. During this period I started suffering from erectile dysfunction and my daily seed spillage ceased. Slowly my infatuation waned and the regularity of my letters was interrupted, a weekly offering turned into a monthly note.

In November 2002 I wrote my last letter to her, 30 years I had written to her and not so much as a reply, she must never have loved me or she wouldn’t keep me waiting all this time.
Then.
The.
World.
Stopped.
I first saw the news when I was in Hull on an excursion with my Mother. A Heart Attack. Overnight. Nothing they could do. She was DEAD!

My world collapsed in on me, even though I had convinced myself she didn’t matter I now knew deep down my love for her was the strongest it had ever been. The emotional connection I had with her had transcended all manifestations of physical love, yet now we could never be together, I would never be able to hold her in my arms, never be able to withdraw my member from her anal cavities before plunging it down her throat in an attempt to make her gag on her own faecal matter.

I spent the next 4 years in mourning, coming to terms with her death and her absence from my life. In August 2006 I wrote her one last letter, in it I poured my heart, every inch of my soul before also emptying my seed from my now working again phallus into the envelope and sealing it. I posted the envelope with no name on it. Dropping the envelope into that postbox I came a little in my pants. A little part of me died that day, but the healing process sending that letter triggered has allowed me to move forwards, and slowly day by day I have rebuilt my life. My mother died in October last year, and I am now alone in this world, but it gives me strength to think that some day, when my time comes that She will be waiting for me and we will meet at last and spend the rest of eternity together. I only hope, that somehow she will know, that when we meet I will not have to utter the words, ‘Myra Hindley, I love you more now than I ever have, let me fuck you pink.’
 
(Wed 22nd Apr 2009, 17:10, More)

» Bullies

bully her?
i fucked her sideways, your mum, bullied the fuck out of her before giving her the length.
The FBI is what she wanted and the FBI is what she recieved.

the Fauntleroy Beef Injection.

and i tell you what,
she loved every last one of those 3 inches, the dirty cock hungry whore that she is, your mum.

and yeah, i bullied her into anal as well, she said no she didnt want it up her shit chute, but she ended up loving it, the dirty bitch.

your mum that is
(Fri 15th May 2009, 22:43, More)

» Shit Stories: Part Number Two

play 1 - scene 3
piktur the seen, it is a luvly warm summer eevning and the burds are singing in the sky.
the hero of this storey walks in, richhard says, 'does i not need more than men need?, am i not hooman? if i gets cutt do i not bleed like meer mortalz?
then the sexy bow off this storey takes her dress off. 'let me poop in yer hare richhard, pleese i am beggin yoo!'
'no' sayz richhard. ' i will poop on your boobeez' everyone knows how the hero of this storee likes pooping on peeple.
richhard unrobes hisself and curlz a richhard the thurd out on her boobeez and then beginz to lik it of. 'mmm' sayz richhard, i luv the faecal depozitz on your boobeez.'
(Thu 3rd Apr 2008, 14:48, More)

» Workplace Boredom

I used to work in a Sandwitch Shop
This sandwitch shop was famed for the size and flavore of the sandwitches, big fuck aff doorstep sandwitches. I woodnt however have recommended the coleslaw to anyone i was fond of, On an everage day it wold contain the semen or saliva of at least 3 members of staff, on a slow run for the coleslaw where the same batch would last 3 days the sperm content must have been higher than the budget mayonnaise content contained within.
how funny to think of everyone eating nob cheese in their sandwiches, didnt need to add too much salt on those ones! hee hee hee. one time i went to the toilet for a messy guinness shit and didnt even wash my hands afterwards, was a proper wiper too, you know the one where no matter how many times you wipe there are still skids left, rubbing so hard that your fingers end up breaking through the toylet paper and caressing your choclate starfish, makes me laugh when i made sandwiches with my own faecal matter stuck behind my fingernails. when we were bored and had to go out back to use the toaster i would cough onto the sandwich before and after toasting it
(Sun 11th Jan 2009, 0:12, More)

» Have you ever seen a dead body?

It was the first time and the last time
I haven't seen a dead body but your mothers may as well have been dead, she lay there lifeless as I pounded my meat into her, didn't even make a noise, her glassy eyes staring at the ceiling, maybe it was the rohypnol, maybe it was the smack, all I know is that she was begging for it, the dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty dirty bitch.

.....the haziness of that evening is now coming back to me, your mother may well have been dead as i pounded my meat truncheon into her time and again, my large heavy gonads thwapping against her undercarriage.......

....she had approached me in a bar earlier that evening, 'Do I know you' she said, 'Not as well as you will know me later on' I replied with a nonchalant smile and flick of my hair. Her perfume was intoxicating, and her ruby red lips glistened under the spotlights shining on the bar. I offered to get her a drink, which she readily accepted. We chatted about many things, it turned out we were from the same town and had been to the same school, all-be-it I had been a few years her junior. We also skirted around the topic of under performing schools and Maslow's hierarchy of needs. I told her how i once had shat myself after straining so hard to do a fart that my cheeks went beetroot red.
We continued on and had many more drinks and were eventually asked to leave by the bar staff after they closed up. We stumbled outside, and upon hitting the fresh air I hailed her a taxi and sent her on her way home, sometimes i still remember that night with fond memories, the carousel, the big wheel, candy floss by the bonfire, with the guy alight atop. the sweet smell of chestnuts roasting and the laughter of children as they danced and skipped around the motionless crowd, watching the fireworks as they made the most beautiful colours and displays in the night sky. The food was particularly good as well, pumpkins and furry eggs washed down with a sweet golden warm glass full of urine.....

......I waited for her on the subway but she did not come, I waited for her at the station, and still she did not appear. Then suddenly, every little piece of my heart tied up in knots and I was in heaven. The message that was transpiring through the precipitation was more and more lucid as the haziness lifted and the sunshine spilt over the edge and illuminated the bonjela tube balanced precariously.....

.....her body was cold by the time I finished pounding and emptied my seed into her, I withdrew and told her I loved her. She didnt reply, I thought she would prefer it if I left. I stroked her hair, which fell off her head in large clumps such was the ferocity of my lovemaking and kissed her cheek bidding her farewell. I knew this would be the last time we would see each other, yet she hid her emotion well, like a corpse hiding any signs of life. I walked to the door, turned round and shouted over at her 'Jusqu'à ce que nous rencontrons encore, mon bien-aimé chéri, pouvoir notre amour notre toujours bond sur les océans et est tombé des arbres. '

The End
(Thu 28th Feb 2008, 12:18, More)