Profile for herefromthere:
I have been reading b3ta for a couple of years now, but had to sign up to post about the Cougars and Sugar Daddies QOTW, as my chap is old enough to be my dad (just).
Bit about my life then.
I'm 23 years old, still living with my parents for the cheapness and wonderful benefits of seemingly endless supplies of food and clean under-keks.
I take office jobs on temp basis and then sod off to foreign climes as often as is possible, the colder and harder to spell the better.
My technological ineptitude is something to be reckoned with, so though I admire greatly all the wonderfull stuff that appears on b3ta. It is, however, unlikely that I will ever contribute more than a few stories. Then I can go back to lurking. Perhaps my compulsive lying will re-emerge and I will post lots and lots of answers to QOTW and such, who can tell?
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 15 years, 4 months and 17 days
- has posted 1 messages on the main board
- has posted 1 messages on the talk board
- has posted 1 messages on the links board
- has posted 8 stories and 19 replies on question of the week
- They liked 14 pictures, 2 links, 1 talk posts, and 12 qotw answers.
- Ignore this user
- Add this user as a friend
- send me a message
I have been reading b3ta for a couple of years now, but had to sign up to post about the Cougars and Sugar Daddies QOTW, as my chap is old enough to be my dad (just).
Bit about my life then.
I'm 23 years old, still living with my parents for the cheapness and wonderful benefits of seemingly endless supplies of food and clean under-keks.
I take office jobs on temp basis and then sod off to foreign climes as often as is possible, the colder and harder to spell the better.
My technological ineptitude is something to be reckoned with, so though I admire greatly all the wonderfull stuff that appears on b3ta. It is, however, unlikely that I will ever contribute more than a few stories. Then I can go back to lurking. Perhaps my compulsive lying will re-emerge and I will post lots and lots of answers to QOTW and such, who can tell?
Recent front page messages:
none
Best answers to questions:
» Cougars and Sugar Daddies
My Older Man
I am 23, he is 40 in February, only just old enough to be my dad. (Not that anyone would have gone near him when he was sixteen, so he says, and my dad is 71, so there is a similar age gap between my parents.) He is concerned sometimes that we look like an odd couple, but I am rather proud of him. He has very beautiful eyes, a great figure and I love his smile lines.
We met at work in an unpleasant call centre and have been friends for two years. We have confided in eachother through difficult times, and gone out drinking in better times. When times are uncertain we do both. :) So we have been together since April now and never have I felt so good.
My parents disapprove and his parents disapprove. I think my mother is keen to warn me about the mistakes she made, to avoid me repeating them. I don't worry on that account. Fortunately our friends have been supportive and encouraging and we are very happy together.
I have been out with some men who are closer to my own age and found them to be lacking in decent stories to tell. My lover and I can rattle on about absolutely nothing and still end up on the floor laughing. He introduced me to b3ta, and I drag him out dancing whenever I can.
If all that isn't enough, I have never enjoyed sharing my bed with anyone as I do now, with my wonderful old git of a man.
Apologies for length, I am quite well aware that a tale too long can be a pain in the unmentionables.
***my first ever post, please be gentle***
(Wed 10th Dec 2008, 13:52, More)
My Older Man
I am 23, he is 40 in February, only just old enough to be my dad. (Not that anyone would have gone near him when he was sixteen, so he says, and my dad is 71, so there is a similar age gap between my parents.) He is concerned sometimes that we look like an odd couple, but I am rather proud of him. He has very beautiful eyes, a great figure and I love his smile lines.
We met at work in an unpleasant call centre and have been friends for two years. We have confided in eachother through difficult times, and gone out drinking in better times. When times are uncertain we do both. :) So we have been together since April now and never have I felt so good.
My parents disapprove and his parents disapprove. I think my mother is keen to warn me about the mistakes she made, to avoid me repeating them. I don't worry on that account. Fortunately our friends have been supportive and encouraging and we are very happy together.
I have been out with some men who are closer to my own age and found them to be lacking in decent stories to tell. My lover and I can rattle on about absolutely nothing and still end up on the floor laughing. He introduced me to b3ta, and I drag him out dancing whenever I can.
If all that isn't enough, I have never enjoyed sharing my bed with anyone as I do now, with my wonderful old git of a man.
Apologies for length, I am quite well aware that a tale too long can be a pain in the unmentionables.
***my first ever post, please be gentle***
(Wed 10th Dec 2008, 13:52, More)
» Siblings
two generations of sibling misunderstandings
My mum hit her brother over the head with a brown paper bag full of tiles during a heated debate, and split his head open. She didn't know they were tiles.
He got her back later that year when she sat on an ant-hill and was covered in the irritating little bastards. Then her little brother ran to the rescue, hitting her with sticks to remove the ants, as she ran screaming all the way home.
Together the two of them pulled the feathers off the bottom of my grandmother's ballroom dancing frock. Once they drank a bottle of advocat that was in the bottom of the same wardrobe as the dress. My mum opened the bottle, my uncle finished it off and left it empty on its side. When it was discovered they both blamed eachother, my grandmother to this day does not know who drank it, despite the fact that my uncle bought her a bottle of advocat for Christmas. The theft took place about forty years ago now, and my old, blind grandmother asked me if I had had the drink last year, believing me to be my mother.
I blew out the candle on my brother's first birthday cake. He still doesn't believe that I was trying to help. I was two.
I told John (kid brother) there was no such thing as Santa when he was three and a half. I was a rather matter-of-fact five-year-old and didn't think he should be lied to on such an important matter.
He still tells people I am a horrible person. I was really trying to help :(
When he was four John suffered injury at the hands of our friend, the girl next door. She was about eight at the time. We had been playing and Rachael had picked my brother up by the ankles and spun him around, before falling over and smacking him face-first into a wall.
I was very small for my age (I had been very ill, but recovered after three years of not being able to process food - won't go into detail unless a QOTW about poo comes up.) When Mum took the wee fella to the A&E we were nearly taken into care. The doctors and nurses and social workers asked us questions about our daddy and our mummy and if they ever got cross, and what we had had for dinner that day, completely ignoring our horrified mother.
She explained that we had been playing with the little girl next door, but they didn't believe her.
Until John interjected with some feeling,
"She (TGND) is not a little girl, she is a big, clumsy, silly girl and she smells! My face hurts, can I have an ice lolly now please?"
I won't forget his little face, surrounded by slightly muddy blond bowl-cut hair, covered in grass stains and heavilly bruised, frowning because they hadn't given him the ice lolly they had promised to ease the swelling. He had no idea.
(Sat 27th Dec 2008, 4:47, More)
two generations of sibling misunderstandings
My mum hit her brother over the head with a brown paper bag full of tiles during a heated debate, and split his head open. She didn't know they were tiles.
He got her back later that year when she sat on an ant-hill and was covered in the irritating little bastards. Then her little brother ran to the rescue, hitting her with sticks to remove the ants, as she ran screaming all the way home.
Together the two of them pulled the feathers off the bottom of my grandmother's ballroom dancing frock. Once they drank a bottle of advocat that was in the bottom of the same wardrobe as the dress. My mum opened the bottle, my uncle finished it off and left it empty on its side. When it was discovered they both blamed eachother, my grandmother to this day does not know who drank it, despite the fact that my uncle bought her a bottle of advocat for Christmas. The theft took place about forty years ago now, and my old, blind grandmother asked me if I had had the drink last year, believing me to be my mother.
I blew out the candle on my brother's first birthday cake. He still doesn't believe that I was trying to help. I was two.
I told John (kid brother) there was no such thing as Santa when he was three and a half. I was a rather matter-of-fact five-year-old and didn't think he should be lied to on such an important matter.
He still tells people I am a horrible person. I was really trying to help :(
When he was four John suffered injury at the hands of our friend, the girl next door. She was about eight at the time. We had been playing and Rachael had picked my brother up by the ankles and spun him around, before falling over and smacking him face-first into a wall.
I was very small for my age (I had been very ill, but recovered after three years of not being able to process food - won't go into detail unless a QOTW about poo comes up.) When Mum took the wee fella to the A&E we were nearly taken into care. The doctors and nurses and social workers asked us questions about our daddy and our mummy and if they ever got cross, and what we had had for dinner that day, completely ignoring our horrified mother.
She explained that we had been playing with the little girl next door, but they didn't believe her.
Until John interjected with some feeling,
"She (TGND) is not a little girl, she is a big, clumsy, silly girl and she smells! My face hurts, can I have an ice lolly now please?"
I won't forget his little face, surrounded by slightly muddy blond bowl-cut hair, covered in grass stains and heavilly bruised, frowning because they hadn't given him the ice lolly they had promised to ease the swelling. He had no idea.
(Sat 27th Dec 2008, 4:47, More)
» Workplace Boredom
I always wanted a toy farm set
I used to work for an environmental management company. Their main business was to make land usable again after such things as aeroplane crashes and open-cast mining. So, lots and lots of soil samples and photos of fields passed through our offices, some of the samples on the stinky side, others just common or garden variety dirt.
In more creative moments I made mini farm animals from every day office things. I took delight in making blutac sheep with paper clip skeletons. I would paint them white with correction fluid and draw little smiley faces on them. I even had some on giant photos of fields. I knew it had gone too far when I put tiny samples of real sheep poo around their sheepy bum holes (not that the models were that realistic or detailed you understand, just where they would be if they did have an anus) and on the shiny surface of the grass photograph.
(Mon 12th Jan 2009, 16:49, More)
I always wanted a toy farm set
I used to work for an environmental management company. Their main business was to make land usable again after such things as aeroplane crashes and open-cast mining. So, lots and lots of soil samples and photos of fields passed through our offices, some of the samples on the stinky side, others just common or garden variety dirt.
In more creative moments I made mini farm animals from every day office things. I took delight in making blutac sheep with paper clip skeletons. I would paint them white with correction fluid and draw little smiley faces on them. I even had some on giant photos of fields. I knew it had gone too far when I put tiny samples of real sheep poo around their sheepy bum holes (not that the models were that realistic or detailed you understand, just where they would be if they did have an anus) and on the shiny surface of the grass photograph.
(Mon 12th Jan 2009, 16:49, More)
» School Days
the only time anyone ever asked me out at school
When I was in high school I was a complete outsider. Couldn't tell you why, just was.
Anyway, the only lad who asked me out the whole time I was in school was a bit rough. Nice looking, in my year, tall, dark and good looking. Call him Mark, (for the usual reasons) Complete scally, boasted about whatever he had twokked and constantly made suggestions to me during art classes as to what he would like to do to me if he could get me bent over a stool.
I was an innocent little girlie and though this would usually frighten me off, that didn't bother me at all, he was quite friendly and flirty with it rather than intimidating (Some of the other lads used to whisper that they would rape me if they got the chance, and go into detail but that is another story).
No, what bothered me about this lad was his friends, they were awful and they frightened me something terrible. They hung around in big gangs and used to grope at me in crowded corridors, I got quite violent and kicky. No shins were safe near me.
Mark held me back after class one day and asked me out. I turned him down partly out of fear of his friends and partly because I wouldn't have known what to do with a boyfriend if I had one, but I made up an excuse about barely being allowed out of the house. True enough, but that was only because I didn't have any friends and there wasn't much point in going anywhere.
A few days later one rainy, muddy lunchtime, I was making the usual solitary rounds of the school grounds when he caught my attention,
"Herefromthere! Will you go out with Andy?!"
*raised eyebrow, paused, looked*
"No, Thank you!"
*contined walking around the corner of the building*
I could hear quite clearly the pointing and laughing going on behind me
"'Ere Andy, you got turned down by a geek!"
That was too much for me
I walked backwards until I could see them both and said quite quietly, "So did you."
I have never seen anyone's face fall quite like it and what happened next all seemed to be in slow motion.
Mark went very pale, I continued walking. After perhaps about ten seconds he appeared on the path behind me, looking crestfallen, holding a can of lilt, which he threw in my direction. He missed. I couldn't tell you if it was deliberate or not, that he missed, but I was quite touched. Either he was affected enough to miss accidentally or he didn't want to hit me. Never saw him miss like that before or since. And the Lilt bounced like you wouldn't believe, six feet in the air, a whole can near enough, giving a nice fine coating of fizzy pop to some eleven-year-olds who were pointing and laughing at the scene, having heard everything. I believe the nearest of them got sent home because it looked like he had wet himself and they couldn't dry the lilt without it looking even worse.
Apologies for length and lack of funny. Strange the things that stick in the mind.
(Fri 30th Jan 2009, 19:10, More)
the only time anyone ever asked me out at school
When I was in high school I was a complete outsider. Couldn't tell you why, just was.
Anyway, the only lad who asked me out the whole time I was in school was a bit rough. Nice looking, in my year, tall, dark and good looking. Call him Mark, (for the usual reasons) Complete scally, boasted about whatever he had twokked and constantly made suggestions to me during art classes as to what he would like to do to me if he could get me bent over a stool.
I was an innocent little girlie and though this would usually frighten me off, that didn't bother me at all, he was quite friendly and flirty with it rather than intimidating (Some of the other lads used to whisper that they would rape me if they got the chance, and go into detail but that is another story).
No, what bothered me about this lad was his friends, they were awful and they frightened me something terrible. They hung around in big gangs and used to grope at me in crowded corridors, I got quite violent and kicky. No shins were safe near me.
Mark held me back after class one day and asked me out. I turned him down partly out of fear of his friends and partly because I wouldn't have known what to do with a boyfriend if I had one, but I made up an excuse about barely being allowed out of the house. True enough, but that was only because I didn't have any friends and there wasn't much point in going anywhere.
A few days later one rainy, muddy lunchtime, I was making the usual solitary rounds of the school grounds when he caught my attention,
"Herefromthere! Will you go out with Andy?!"
*raised eyebrow, paused, looked*
"No, Thank you!"
*contined walking around the corner of the building*
I could hear quite clearly the pointing and laughing going on behind me
"'Ere Andy, you got turned down by a geek!"
That was too much for me
I walked backwards until I could see them both and said quite quietly, "So did you."
I have never seen anyone's face fall quite like it and what happened next all seemed to be in slow motion.
Mark went very pale, I continued walking. After perhaps about ten seconds he appeared on the path behind me, looking crestfallen, holding a can of lilt, which he threw in my direction. He missed. I couldn't tell you if it was deliberate or not, that he missed, but I was quite touched. Either he was affected enough to miss accidentally or he didn't want to hit me. Never saw him miss like that before or since. And the Lilt bounced like you wouldn't believe, six feet in the air, a whole can near enough, giving a nice fine coating of fizzy pop to some eleven-year-olds who were pointing and laughing at the scene, having heard everything. I believe the nearest of them got sent home because it looked like he had wet himself and they couldn't dry the lilt without it looking even worse.
Apologies for length and lack of funny. Strange the things that stick in the mind.
(Fri 30th Jan 2009, 19:10, More)