» Cringe!

Shock and awe skidmark
I will try to make this quick and painless.

My (then) girlfriend and I were staying at my parent's place, and we had the spare room to ourselves. The bed was only a single, so we spent the night very closely spooned. Although it wasn't yet morning, I slowly woke with the realisation that I had an erection so hard that a cat couldn't scratch it, accompanied by a strong sensation that I had to poo.

My morning glory couldn't help but make its presence felt, and my girlfriend rarely rejected any nocturnal nudging of her nether regions. Before I had a chance to step out to the loo, she pounced on me like Oprah on a baked ham.

After using me as a vaulting box for a while (we were yung 'uns then), I disentangled myself and snuck out to the lav to ease the pressure in my bowel.

On return, in the dim light I could see my girlfriend was trying to examine a darkish patch on the sheets. "Are you OK?" she asked "It looks like you've been bleeding".

I flicked on the bedside lamp. The dark patch on the sheets popped out of the darkness as a long, thick pasty skidmark of poo. Obviously, I had been touching cloth during our gymnastics and made my mark, so to speak.

She said nothing, I said nothing, and we curled up on the smear-free side of the bed.

To make things worse, the next morning my mum dashed in while I was at breakfast and stripped the bedsheets for washing, thwarting well-laid plans to wash them myself. She -must- have found the offending smear - as it would have taken a paint scraper and a stiff elbow to chip the stuff off by then.

To this day the slightest tinge of brown in my underwear brings all of this back and leaves me shuddering with horror.


Long time lurker, first time post, please be gentle.
(Tue 2nd Dec 2008, 18:50, More)

» Vomit Pt2

How I Met Your Mother
Some years back myself and three coworkers found ourselves at a loose end looking for a night's entertainment in Port Moresby, PNG. Then, as now, it was a SPS (South Pacific Shithole) and therefore we had low expectations of a good night out. We struggled with ideas for a good night out gathered in one of our hotel rooms.

I found inspiration via a bottle of duty free Kahlua we were using to make white and black Russians. Not a wise choice in the "drinks before dinner" department, but I digress. I recalled a visit years before to a Japanese teppanyaki restaurant called Daikoku. Notwithstanding the SPS status, it must be said that the seafood in Port Moresby is amazing. The others were convinced, and fuelled by our questionable cocktail choices we taxied off looking forward to some sharp knife and hot grill action.

Steak, fish, prawns, vegetables all fell to the might of our meagre Aussie dollar allowances. We were not disappointed, and the liberal consumption of hot sake helped things along.

I found myself spending a lot of time with one of my coworkers, and things got cosier as we nibbled and pecked at each other and our food. The memory becomes hazy now, and after dinner and a few more drinks at a bar - I know not where - the last thing I recall is being all over each other on the floor of her hotel room. I also recall the other co workers awkwardly stepping over our writhing bodies on the way out of the room.

The next thing I remember is waking up on carpet, face down, clutching a plastic bag in my hand. A dry mouth and a "what the f…?" feeling: we have all been there. The bag in my hand contained a large amount of vomit, obviously from last night's efforts. On closer inspection the bag appeared to be a small bin liner.

I stumbled to the bathroom to get rid of the bag. My toiletry kit was on the bench - so obviously I was back in my room. But the bin liner in my bathroom was intact. Hmmm…

At a muddle-headed meeting with my partner-in-crime later that morning, we figured that I had thrown up in HER bin at some stage (her bin liner was missing), and - ever the gentleman - I took said bag with me back to my room so that she wouldn't have to deal with the mess.

My display of up-chuck chivalry must have impressed her: we are still together 12 years later, happily married, best friends and madly in love.
(Fri 8th Jan 2010, 3:38, More)

» Twat Friends


I knew this bloke years ago and have since lost contact... but he had a reputation for 'burning' his mates and co-workers with social hand grenades. I didn't personally witness this pearler... but it was the stuff of legend.

'Muckhole' was part of a professional group who were fortunate to be on duty at big public social events (airshows, motorsports, sport finals) and as a consequence of their involvement they were invited to VIP marquees and after-event drinks to hobnob with the real celebrities. This was a big perk of their job and much appreciated by all involved. However, one should mind one's Ps and Qs when amongst the big nobs...

At one event (IndyCar on the Gold Coast I believe) they found themselves having a beer with one of the post-Michael Hutchence iterations of the band INXS. The boys were very happy with this situation, and were feeling relaxed and familiar with their new drinking buddies.

Muckhole rose to the occasion, and in between sips rolled a stun grenade into the conversation. "SO, is it true that when Hutchence died he was playing the one-stringed banjo at the time?"

Uncomfortable silence and pariah-status followed.
(Fri 20th Sep 2013, 2:41, More)

» Sexual fetishes

Eastern Europe
No Asians or "doorty oirish goorls" for me. I am geographically somewhere in between...

I seem to have a fetish for Eastern European women. They have a number of features that individually I find attractive, and as a whole I find incredibly erotic.

- Long top lips - yes, an excess of filtrum does it for me. Funnily enough, on men the same feature becomes a subject of caricature.

- Green eyes. 'Nuff said.

- Tall women, as tall or taller than me, with or without shoes. Tall with long, straight hair is even better. Leaves me breathless, speechless and verging on incoherence. I need a notepad and pencil to communicate, and a bib to mop the drool.

- Oh, and those Eastern European/Russian accents. My reaction when hearing those provocatively stressed syllables and rolling 'r's is much like Jamie Lee Curtis' reactions when John Cleese starts spitting out a bit of Russian in "A Fish Called Wanda"... except that I don't look like her and I don't have a thing for John Cleese. Thankfully.

The icing on the cake is a big set of hoop earrings. I know that in the UK these are concomitant with Chav-ettes, but I accept that this particular identifying feature is a localised exception. Again, thankfully.


OK, enough of my 'serious' approach to answering this QOTW. What else floats my boat? I had a girlfriend many years ago who loved pissing on me in the shower, any chance she had. She used to grin from ear to ear when she did it. Twenty-odd years later I still fantasise about it.

Funnily enough, she was tall, had a long top lip, green eyes and loved wearing hoop earrings...
(Fri 23rd Oct 2009, 12:04, More)