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This is a question Caught!

MJPerry asks: Masturbating, stealing, making the cat dance... when did someone catch you doing something you wanted to remain secret?

(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 14:01)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Just remembered one...
Technology class, when I was 16. My teacher, Mr. Grabowski, caught me pretending to put my scrotum in a vice.

"Are you putting your genitals in that vice?"

"Yes, Sir"

"Are you stupid"

"I suppose so"

"Well that's one of the most stupid things I've ever seen. Putting your own genitals in a vice"

And with that, he just wandered off. He didn't like me much anyway. His full name was Bernard Grabowski, so I used to sing (to the tune of Disco Inferno), 'Bern, Baby Bern, Bernard Grabowski.
(, Thu 10 Jun 2010, 10:38, Reply)
Bit late, but I've just remembered another one...
Dave the Hat caught me & Jessie trying to make a video of his cat giving a Nazi salute once. We'd been playing with her with some string and it was caught on her claw... so puppeteering Nazi salutes were the obvious next step :)
(, Thu 10 Jun 2010, 9:56, 3 replies)
Once I built a little fort out of crisp boxes in the warehouse (I had my reasons). It had crenellations and suchlike. A colleague caught me, so did the decent thing and sieged the castle.

edit: And by sieged, I mean charging through the wall going "Raah!".
(, Thu 10 Jun 2010, 6:35, 2 replies)
Not caught, exactly...
Well, I s'pose I'd better get a fucking move on and answer this bastard question before it closes. (Thankfully, I haven't got Tourette's; I'm just unable to sleep at the moment, so apologies for the foul language bound to follow.)

When I was fifteen, I was friends with a charming young lady who I nicknamed The Iron Dyke. (I should explain at this point that this was, believe it or not, a term of endearment - she was very much into other ladies, and used to love being called a dyke. Seriously, I'm not fucking joking about this. She was actually very feminine in everything except her dress-sense and her lust for violence - she once kicked me in the face as a joke...and, I promise, it was nothing to do with me calling her The Iron Dyke. In fact, the name came from the kick, not the other way round.)

Anyway, the main story is actually very non-eventful, but I need to put this into some context, otherwise the story will seem to contradict what I've just said. Although she considered herself 100% lesbian, she did sleep with men, but only to use them. Fair enough, though, as the men she slept with always knew the score - she never lied to or cheated on anybody. I admired her for her honesty, if nothing else. That's probably the biggest single thing we had in common, as well as our lust for the ladies.

I was, and I imagine still remain, the only man to have ever turned her down for some jiggy time. The main reason was that she was fifteen, too - she was a fair few months younger than I was, but the point was we were both underage. The other reason was that I just couldn't get enough of having her beg me for sex (which would fucking surprise you, to say the least, if you knew what I actually looked like - even then). She said herself that she'd never begged anyone else for sex before.

Which brings me to the incident in question. Her family home was a very nice large house, with 3 stories. I was with her in her bedroom on the second floor, and the conversation quickly turned to us having sexytime (her whole family were downstairs, but this didn't bother her in the slightest - never did). She was telling me about a proper Indiana Jones-style whip she had under her bed, and I ended up cracking it very loudly (the whip, that is). Completely out of character, she panicked that her family would have heard it, but we were left to continue talking for absolutely ages.

We were sitting on the floor near her bedroom door (I think she'd wanted to show me something or other as a ruse to get me nearer to her bed), and she got round to begging me for sex (again, I'm still in stunned disbelief about this even to this day), and she was saying how easy it would be, just for her to unzip me, pull me out, put a Priority (my then-nickname for johnnies) on, and just sit on my cock. I'm not going to lie to you and say I wasn't tempted, but there was absolutely NO WAY I'd ever sleep with an underage girl - even if I was the same age!

I was about to tell her this for the umpteenth time, when I looked down and noticed that she had, very skilfully, managed to undo my zip, my belt, and the top button on my jeans - all without me noticing. (And believe me, I'm the sort of guy to notice when that sort of stuff happens.) I mean, this bitch was *good*.

Just as I stood up and started doing myself up, her dad did that thing that all annoying parents do - you know, when they knock on your door but come in precisely a nanosecond after said knock, rendering the knock they've just made absolutely useless. I managed to finish my belt before he could put his head round the door, doing so while turning my back, and he saw enough to be able to tell that I was doing my fly up with my back to him. Bless him, though - he didn't say a single, solitary word about it. He was probably used to it; in fact, that's probably why he left it so long before coming up to her room - every other man she knew would have fucked her and fucked off by then. He probably thought she'd done a black widow and eaten me! Hence the loud snap he'd heard.

I know this may sound like incredibly bad parenting on his and his wife's part, but this young woman was a rebel in the extreme to say the least, and I think they thought that if she was shagging someone that she knew, and that they knew, and it was under their roof, then at least she wasn't in danger by being out of their sight, where absolutely anything could happen to her. There really was no controlling this woman, and I doubt very much she's calmed down since. The poor bitch; I was the nearest thing she ever had to a boyfriend, I'm absolutely sure of it.

I really miss being friends with her, as we just clicked. We got each other. But not having me - and I'm not exactly Brad Pitt, so it's not like I was inundated with offers at the time - drove her to distraction, and in the end it got in the way of our friendship. That and other things.

If you're reading this, Iron Dyke, I miss you. More than you'll ever know. But we both know we're better off not being friends any more.

Especially if your dad was to find us fucking each other.
(, Thu 10 Jun 2010, 5:51, 4 replies)
My Dad ...
has just been deported from Thailand after his Thai slapper girlfriend bled him dry and kicked him out.

Here is what I have just written in his Father's Day card.

wavy lines

“Oh! You Bwitish! Me love you long time.” Well you didn’t think she was after your body, did you?

Never mind Dad. I’m sure you are in excellent company.

The “I’ve been bled dry and dumped by a Thai slapper” club is so large that its membership that would make any store loyalty scheme envious. There’s probably even a support club.

Dad, you never cease to embarrass me. Well, at least you didn’t go postal in Cumbria. His Thai bird was called Hong too.

So Happy Father’s Day and Welcome home you old thoroughly incorrigible old rogue.

Oh and Dad, if you get a nasty rash, don’t just leave it. See a doctor.

Love from your long suffering daughter,


Yes really.
(, Thu 10 Jun 2010, 4:42, 4 replies)
Skipping english
Back in college my english teacher made me stay behind while she bollocked me for leaving
before her Thursday afternoon lesson. Apparently I had a nerve walking right past her on my way out
and ignoring her shouting my name.

I did skip english that day.
I was on the other side of the country and had been there all week.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 23:21, 1 reply)
Tonight I got caught leaving work 25 minutes early. The boss gave me a rollicking about it... and then started complaining about my performance for the last few months (he was on a roll).

So I checked my production stats, and I've covered the same ground this year as I had at the same point last year. Almost to the dot. Neither has the quality of my work diminished.

Can't bring myself to tell the cunt it's as good as it's ever going to get.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 22:49, Reply)
A Tale of Unrequited Love, Nocturnal Mothers and Dry-Humping
I was hopelessly in love with a girl at my secondary school. I was best friends with her for years and fancied the pants off her and, looking back now, I think she felt the same way towards me but I was too bloody stupid to notice it at the time.

I used to stay over her house a lot, me and her sleeping in her lounge while her mother was upstairs. Now, me and said girl-of-my-dreams had played around a bit here and there - nothing serious, just cuddling up together in our sleeping bags, falling asleep leaning on each other, and, joy of joys, a bit of frottaging here and there. It never went any further than this; we never even kissed. But oh, how I did enjoy the chance to rub against her through several layers of insulated material, savouring the slightest feel of teenage flesh though my thick Coleman... Think of it as some kind of 'Princess and the Pea', only with Gore-tex...

...until the one time I stayed over at her house and foolishly ignored the creak of the stairs as her mother went for a midnight forage in the kitchen. Caught mid-thrust, I managed to utter Chandler's line from 'Friends' - "We're rehearsing a Greek play!" - before turning the colour of a sunburned tomato and diving under my sleeping bag in shame.

Her mother was, to her credit, remarkably calm about the whole thing and took her daughter upstairs 'for a chat'. Yeah, we're not friends any more. :(
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 19:40, Reply)
Caught out by a mouthy hyperactive midget.
About 2 years ago there was a small kid who was a known handful; he was known in his primary school to suffer from ADHD. This little ticking timebomb of a nipper (age approximately 8 years old at the time) was walking past some shops near his house on a nice Saturday morning, minding his own business when he happens to notice two rather largely built fellows sitting in a car which was parked outside the shop. Neither of them were moving, just staring at a house across the road.

Hyper-midget is obviously wondering what they were doing, so the least he could do was to leg it over to the car and start hammering on their window.

Apparently it went like this;

GUY 2 - "Piss off, go away."
HYPER - "What you doin? What's going on?"
GUY 1 - "Go away mate, please."
HYPER - "Why?"
GUY 2 - "Because."
Guy 1 - "Because we're fucking police officers kid, fuck off before we nick you."

Awkward pause. Apparently Hyper took a step back, smug as fuck......then suddenly starts screaming "POLICE, POLICE, THEY'RE HERE, THEY ARE HIDING HERE, POLICE!!!" while running around the car and pointing at them. The two cops were completely dumbstruck as this ferret is bouncing around the car screaming and pointing, while the house across the road suddenly has twitchy curtains and nervous people flushing drugs away like fuck.

The coppers finally hop out of the car and chase this kid straight back into his house, then further into his own living room and played holy fuck to his parents about how he just jeopardised a £30k sting operation which they had been building up for the last months. Oh dear :p
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 18:26, 6 replies)
A man named 'Dog'...
I am a coffee roaster, and sometimes this means roasting into the night (yes yes, fnar fnar) when not many other people are around. This also meant that the green loaders where I worked at the time stayed late too in case sackfuls of coffee had to be loaded, as it was a pretty large place roasting tonnes of coffee every week.

Being Dog, who had a reputation for licking womens' faces as a pulling technique, and being left in an office with internet access and no one else, it was not surprising that he used it to look at porn as well as hitting on many MSN friends and god-only-knows what else. What was a little more surprising, was the fact that he used to print copies of the pictures he looked at for himself on the main office printer; except for the night in question when try as he might they just would not print out.

Now not being the most computer literate and coupled with the fact that as a new build manufacturing plant we still had some glitches here and there he gave up after a hundred or so tries assuming that something was broken or possibly blocked. I know it was a hundred or so, because that apparently was how many hardcore pictures printed out in the morning when the company secretary reloaded the printer and wandered off only to come back to. I know it was Dog as being an American company everything was monitored and traced, right back to the office where he was...where he tried to blame everyone else but failed by quite a long way.

I never got to see the pictures, but I assume if a Dutch person calls it hardcore then it pretty much will be hardcore, it was most definitely not safe for work.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 18:13, Reply)
Once, when I was about six...
My dad was walking past my room after I had gone to bed and wondered why I was in fits of uproarious laughter.

"What's so funny?" says he.

"I just did a massive fart" says I.

It really was dead funny too.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 17:15, 4 replies)
Caught in the possesion of gay porn
We once set-up a member of staff in an ol' computer store where I used to work once.

A delivery driver turned up and had just come from a pub further up the road; a pub which had new owners and a rather new homo-theme. The driver had just delivered a pallet full of gay porno magazines to the place and still had a load strewn about the back of his van. For a laugh he brought in a few while offering the store manager a few for free.

After the initial childish laughs etc we decided to torture one of the lackies who was currently on lunch somewhere outside the building. Just off the shop floor behind the counter there is a corridor which led to the back stockrooms of the store. In that corridor, right by the shop-floor door there were a few lockers introduced for staff to keep bags etc in while we worked. Cue us breaking into the target's locker and planting a fair few books of the "Brown Occult" in there, to the point where we had to slam the locker shut to stop them falling out.

So we wait. He eventually trundles in wearing some headphones and walks up to his locker to put his headphones away. At this time we send the manager to walk past him, who has got a voice with a very loud volume deficit. Cue the victim opening his locker, then getting bombarded with a load of unexpected gay porn mags falling on top of him just as the manager walks passed, who shouts out loud so every customer can hear "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS, EWWWWW, GAY PORN, YOU FILTHY BASTARD, OW EWWWW!!!!".

There were families in the store, staring in shock at him. He went to complain, then his voice fell into a quiet whimper, then he sulked off into the back of the storeroom while muttering "You guys..."

Caught red-handed, the perv.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 16:53, Reply)
Caught a colleague
having a fly one off the wrist.

We were staying in a hotel in Tallaght, and because we were skint, sharing a room.

The room was first floor, but looked out onto an atrium of sorts, with an approximation of a floor-level balcony - if that makes any sense - which you could access from another door round the corner (turns out it was part of a smokers area).

Anyway, I tell my colleague I'm going down to the van to get some things, and head out, leaving him sitting in the chair by the window having a fag and a cuppa.

"I know, I'll nip round the side door, climb over the railing then bang on the window and scare him shitless" I think. Call me immature, but to me this is the height of humour.

I climb over the railing, stealthy as you like - odd, he's not there and funny why's he put that tissue on the bed and where's he gone and OFC THERE HE IS

I then have to climb backwards over the railing without making a sound while my colleague positions himself over the corner of the bed, leaning on it with one hand and wanking like an inmate with the other into the tissue.

do not want
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 16:29, 6 replies)
I write steamy romance on the side of my regular job. Recently my publisher asked me to try erotica, as it's selling quite well these days (although I think sexy words will never not sell well, tbh). After a few false starts I got writing properly, and then really started to enjoy it.

That particular week, it was dead at work. Dead - the phone didn't even ring. We hardly got any post. My colleague and I resorted to rearranging the items in the stock room for something to do.

So, I decided to crack on with my erotic story. After an hour or so of typing, my boss rang and asked me to give her a copy of some report I'd written 2 weeks ago.

Guess what I gave her by accident.

Luckily, she saw the funny side.

She didn't give it back though....
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 16:24, 6 replies)
Thinking on my feet
When I was a boy of around 11 I discovered my penis. No longer was it humble "Mr. Pee Pee," used only for writing things in the snow or scaring girls, it was now my most favourite toy. I tweaked it, tugged it, rubbed it and stroked it at any opportunity, craving that special, warm feeling. Decades later I haven't stopped.

One evening I was enjoying my own company in the bath, playing with my inflatable soap boat and generally mucking about, all the while keeping one ear open for the telltale sound of the theme from The Bill that meant my family was downstairs and busy. There was no lock on the door due to my mum's fear of fire, and her utter lack of respect for personal boundaries meant there wasn't much privacy either. A half hour diversion (cheers, Tosh Lines) was the best chance I had. Once I was safe, I began to play properly.

A few minutes later I was fwapping furiously away, churning up the water like an angry great white wrestling a family of hyperactive seals, and I reached the point of no return. This time, though, it did something I'd not seen before. Out the end shot a thin, shreddy stream of mucilage, like a tiny elephant with a bad cold sneezing. Oh fuck! Have I broken it? No, just calm down, it's must be that 'spunk' the older boys talk about. It was sticking to me. Urgh! I had to get it off! More importantly, I had to hide my crime. With a frankly pretty arousing mixture of feelings: sexual gratification, disgust, fear and fascination, I rushed to sort myself out. I lay back and let the water drain while I tried to clean myself up without getting it on the flannel or in my hair.

The water had gone while I was still wiping the last of it off my red-raw, quivering knoblet. I was squatting over the plughole, prodding and peering intently at my kiddie's portion of meat and two veg when I heard the door open behind me. In walked my mum.

"Hello... Oh! What are you up to?"

I leaped to my feet, for some utterly inexplicable reason, and went bright red. Luckily where my body failed me my tongue took over. Years of training in giving off the cuff homework avoidance excuses kicked in, and with verbal reflexes like a sitcom smart-arse I gave her an entirely ficticious excuse before I'd even thought about it.

"Just checking for lumps, mum. The school nurse gave us an assembly about it this morning."
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 15:48, 4 replies)
Trying to be quiet when drunk never works.
Please picture the scene.. A young (read cocky) skintagain has spent an evening drinking with his new "posh" work colleagues in town. This is his first job out of university and he's feeling particularly smug as he's managed to convince one of his female colleagues to come back for some horizontal jiggery-pockery. The only problem is that he is still living with his mum, its 3am and he realises hes doesn't have his house keys.

Not a problem, mum always leaves the back door unlocked in the summer. Whilst the young maiden stood/swayed in the cool summer breeze, our hero clambers manfully onto the side gate. Thoughts of the disgusting acts he planned on later swimming around in his head. He brashly turns to wink as his lady friend, before diving feet first from the top of the gate......

.... straight into an open wheeley bin.

The bin promptly fell onto its side, with the open end against the wall. Our hero has now totally lost his compusure and is shouting muffled profanities at Bexley Council Waste Refuse Department. Hearing the commotion, a neighbour opens his window just at the moment to see a suited, drunk tourrettes sufferer clambering out, only to discover the back door was sodding locked.

In the end our hero consigned himself to ringing the doorbell and introducing his "friend" from work to his mother, whilst removing potato-peelings from his suit.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 14:42, 8 replies)
My name is Madeleine McCann, I'm being held at 48rifdgjkfdhfdhk/a/'
It's ok. I caught her!
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 14:00, 22 replies)
Ventrillo. . .
First post, be gentle!

I am, for my sins, a gamer. I am also in my late teens.

One afternoon, late last summer, my boyfriend and I were doing our usual thing on World of Warcraft, no-life healing a raid. Amongst the usual spam of "OMG U N00B" over ventrillo, we were all told to take a 10 minute break.

Two half naked lovers, glistening in the early evening heat, look into each others eyes, and the inevitable happens. Yes! That's right, loud, rauchy, passionate sex on the sofa.

The heat was rising, the moans were getting louder, the passion building, then at the point of no return a little voice pipes up nervously from the computer, "Do you think they are done?".

Yes, we'd forgotten to turn ventrillo off.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 13:54, 47 replies)
Chocoholic Fiend
About 11 or 12 years ago, I was a young Ghost, and a bit of a chocoholic fiend, often chowing down on as much chocolate as possible, to my parents horror and my glee. I was also one of those insufferably thin kids who never got fat, despite many pies and choccy bars being shoved in my gob at an almost continual rate.

So it was one Easter that for some reason, my parents decided to get the entire family (6 of us kids, ranging in ages from 7 to mid twenties, and the two parents) a load of chocolate eggs. We had these divided up among us, so we ended up with something like three eggs each. Christ only knows what prompted this display of generosity, considering we normally got an egg each and we had to buy it ourselves, so this was unheard of. Alas, due to my own stupidity, this was the only display of generosity around Easter since the following events.

We all started off with an egg each, and then everyone bar me decided to save their eggs for later. I ate my three eggs, two of them in secret in my room, away from everyone else, and in a case of cunning bastardry that wouldn't be matched until I went to the local comprehensive (or high school, for the Merkins) a year or so later, but that's another story entirely, I managed to steal my younger brothers eggs when he hid them away in his room. Granted, he hid everything in the same spot, assuming that I didn't know about it, and as he was only 7, it was fairly obvious (under his bed, under a coat, if anyone cares).

I ate the two remaining eggs, and then put the packaging back together to make it look like it was untouched, or at least, tried to do it as best I could. I fucked off outside to play a game of football with my brothers, one of the few family things we all do together, before returning inside a few hours later. I then helped myself to my next eldest brothers chocolate eggs, and repeated the trick of putting the packaging back together again. Yes, I was a little shit, but I didn't care as long as I got the chocolate.

By now I'd eaten about seven easter eggs, as well as playing a game of football, and was starting to feel the effects of too much chocolate. So I toddled off to play a bit of Final Fantasy 7 and have a general rest and a sit-down and to recover. Alas, it was not to be. Having been sat down for about ten minutes, my parents announced that we were going to McDonalds for dinner. I left Final Fantasy 7 on, as it was in the middle of a cutscene and couldn't save it, and waddled down the stairs to go out to the car, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. A faint sheen of sweat covered my entire face, my mum later remarked, and I looked remarkably like a priest in a playground. I bundled myself into my parents car, along with my younger brother, whilst all my elder siblings bundled into the other car, and we set off, convoy-style.

One thing I forgot to mention is that I get easily car-sick. It usually starts in five minutes, and lasts for hours after I get out of the car, so I hate traveling by car. Half an hour later, we reach McDonalds, me looking like death warmed up, and I scramble out of the car, and stand for all of two seconds in the car park before lavishly throwing up all over the carpark.

I'm pretty sure my parents instantly twigged what I'd done, or at least, knew roughly what I'd done, when pure chocolate just spewed out of my mouth, in some kind of crazy human chocolate fondue fountain recreation. After throwing up heroic quantities of chocolate, my parents decided I'd recovered enough and collared me, where I quickly 'fessed up, and as a result, got no dinner and was later set upon by my siblings for stealing their chocolate eggs.

Totally worth it though.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 13:18, 11 replies)
PC plods
Shockingly inebriated one evening I decided to jog the 2 miles home from town, the theme music from Rocky on my walkman further convincing me that I was some kind of kebab and lager powered superhero.

Half way home I panicked nay almost shit-myself as I realised I was being followed at a few metres distance by a car, the occupants of which seemed to me through my alcohol and weed glaze to be very bad men indeed. I upped the pace and cut through a park, whereupon the car screeched at excessive speed round the other side of the park to cut me off. I practically shit myself but managed to make it out the park, almost being mown down in the process, and managed to dodge down a side alley.

I snuck down the back roads for a while, panting and wheezing, just managing to get to the driveway of my house before I saw them again bombing round the corner towards me. I legged it round the back of the house, frantically found my keys and let myself in.

When I took off my headphones I heard sirens. And when I looked out the window I realised it was coming from the Police car that had chased me home.

Ah. It took a few minutes for this to make any sense at all in my drink addled fuzz.

After spending 20 minutes or so in and around my garden with flashlights looking in the bushes, in the garage, under the hedges they eventually knocked on my door.

"No officer I haven't seen anything suspicious" was the most I remember from the conversation before they gave me a caution.

So, caught - for well, I don't know what, youthful enthusiasm?
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 12:21, 6 replies)
I was caught
Watching and Enjoying Sylvester McCoy era Doctor Who.

And I don't care.

(It wasn't season 24 though. Obviously. I have some standards)
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 12:10, 2 replies)
Massive Cock-up
We have friends who had helped us extensively while we were downsizing from a 5-bed house full of "collectables" to a 2-bed apartment - taking stuff to auctions, helping with garage sales - they were great.

So after the move we invited them round for dinner to thank them.

All was going well during dinner and we told them of our renovation plans when the wife dissapears to the bathroom for a natural break and let out a blood-curdling scream.

We forgot we'd christened the new bedroom that afternoon and had washed up afterwards - leaving the a tastefull array of increasingly massive dildoes in the bathroom to dry.


Length? - from 6 to 15 inches
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 11:05, 2 replies)
Does anyone else
hate being caught in the act of remembering that you've forgotten to do something? (if that makes sense!)

Say you're walking somewhere, and you suddenly remember you haven't locked the front door. You have to do that sort of slow spin on your feet and head back in the opposite direction, and everyone who sees this just knows you've forgotten something, and it makes you feel like even more of a wanker.
I try and make it discreet as possible, but everyone knows what i'm doing, but no-one ever says anything. It's like an unwritten rule. I've seen people do it, and I think 'haha, what a mug'.

I don't know why it's a big deal, but it does embarass me for some reason. I hate getting caught doing it.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 11:03, 11 replies)
When I was 9 or 10
I was happily asleep in bed dreaming of He-Man and Skeletor and whatnot. When all of a sudden, Skeletor started making weird loud moaning noises.

Unfortunately, this wasn't part of the dream.

When I awoke, the noise continued. And it was coming from my Mum's bedroom. It was terribly loud and I was terribly tired.

I just wanted to go back to sleep.

So I kicked open her bedroom door and stormed in. Hands on hips, and announced, in the loudest squeaky voice I could,

"Can a person get a night's sleep around here?"

My shocked mother, who was on top of her boyfriend at the time, practically fell off the bed.

My piece said, I went back to my own bed. The noises ceased. And I continued dreaming of He-Man (though for some reason, he now had weird bouncy boobies).
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 10:47, 3 replies)
Lazy, revolting teenager
that I was, I developed the habit of having a quick one off the wrist, catching the ejaculate in my cupped hand and then smearing it beneath my bed.

Previously I had been disciplined enough to race to the bathroom and wash my shame down the basin but the shock of encountering my brother one night on the landing as I tried to conceal a handful of dripping man-fat had made me understandably leery.

I was a boarder but each holiday I returned home to add to the spermicidal holocaust, its horrors concealed from the world by only a valance. On one occasion I mustered the courage to shoulder the bed aside and take a peak; The red carpet was all but obscured down my 'favoured' side of the bed by a 3ft by 1ft streak of glossy, opaque matter, which sent little puffs of white dust into the air when I gingerly scratched at it.

Naturally I did what any sensible adolescent would do. I vowed never to look again and just kept on adding to my spluff-cake. Back at school, my mother informed me during one of our weekly phone-calls that we were to be moving house. No alarm bells sounded.

I returned to a half-emptied home at the end of term but my room was still fairly unmolested... I'll have to finally tidy up the old jizz-monster, I thought, pushing my bed aside. Suddenly the room span. The whole fucking thing was GONE! OH CHRIST!

Its texture and location could have left no doubt about its provenance, surely. And somebody had spent an entire day scrubbing the carpet free of literally pints of my dried sperm and it could only have been my mother. My MOTHER who I'd never even heard fart and who didn't like Four Weddings because Hugh Grant said 'fuck' too many times at the start.

To this day a tiny part of me hopes that she was so naive she assumed it to be an especially labyrinthine spider's web or perhaps a dollop of ectoplasm left by some ghostly apparition. Could she have thought such things, dear reader - or am I kidding myself?
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 10:44, 5 replies)
In a similar vein as below.
I was on my way upstairs to get a hand towel from the airing cupboard (or linen cupboard if you prefer) which was next to the bathroom. The bathroom door was open and the light was on and I was just about to reach in and turn off the light when I saw my son, who was maybe 11 at the time, in the bath, laid back, eyes shut enjoying his newly discovered game of "up periscope".

We'd had a joiner in the day before who had tightened the joints on our staircase as they used to creak like a bastard on every step but now they were silent, which is why he hadn't heard me coming upstairs.

I nipped back out of the bathroom. I couldn't just shut the bathroom door because he'd know he had been caught which would cause much awkwardness - though why he hadn't bothered shutting the door in the first place was a mystery to me.

I crept back down half a dozen stairs or so, and then made a big deal of climbing them again whilst calling out "Who's left the bathroom light on? It's like Blackpool in here" which is something my mum would say and it just sounded silly coming out of my mouth.

As I said that, there came a frantic splashing from within the bathroom. Either someone had thrown a small angry crocodile into the water with him, or as I suspect, he heard me and leapt from the bath to close the door, which did indeed slam shut as if an 11 year old child had thrown himself at the inside of it.

I never did let on, but Mrs Sandettie thought it was most amusing when I told her especially as I was quite embarrassed at what could have been an awkward moment.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 9:39, 2 replies)
About 1991 or so
I'd been on a day out to Scarborough with a load of mates and I had left my coat in someone's car. I got in quite late, and because my brother was still up, the front door was still unlocked so I just walked in without thinking.

I made some toast, had a cup of tea and went to bed. I had a deadlock on my bedroom door, one of those that opens with one of those generic long star-shaped keys. Bugger, I didn't have my keys. They were still in my coat pocket and consequently, I couldn't get in.

I then remembered that my parents had the same key on their bedside cabinet so I thought I might as well sneak in, grab the key, unlock my door, put the key back and go to bed.

I opened their bedroom door and on the off-chance one of them might be awake, I whispered 'I'm just getting the key to get into my room". However, there in the dark I saw the shape of my mum sliding off the top of my dad with a rather startled "oh christ".

You think it's embarrassing being caught shagging by your parents? It's nothing compared to walking in on your parents at it. I said a rather sheepish "sorry" and shut the door sharpish. I could hear my mum chuntering on whilst I still had the problem of gaining access to my room.

I went downstairs and fetched a posidrive screwdriver and managed to unlock the door. By now I could hear my dad chuckling. I went into my room and could still hear him chuckling. I heard my mum say "it's not funny".
"It is" I heard him say and with that he started chuckling again.

The next day we all acted as if nothing had happened which was just weird, but I didn't stick around long anyway as I had to go get my keys.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 9:18, 4 replies)
Prince Charming
Back in the early 80's, whilst Adam and The Ants were riding high in the charts, I was an impressionable youth.

Anyway, in the accompanying music video for Prince Charming, Mr Ant jumps from a balcony and swings accross a crowded room holding onto a chandelier (very, very impressive).

One summer evening, whilst getting ready for bed, I was Adam Ant.
The bathroom was that crowded room. The bathroom light pull switch was that chandelier. Problem was, despite only being a 'wee-dandy-highwayman' - the structural integrity of our bathroom ceiling wasn't quite up to task and the light fitting yanked down through the now cracked tiles, left dangling by its now exposed wires.


No problem, its summer, no one is gonna be switching the light on until after I've gone to bed and tomorrow is a new day, right?

Wrong - I was yanked from my slumber somewhere around half nine that night and 'I don't know how it got like that, i'm only little...' just didn't cut the mustard.

Every time Adam and the Ant came on VH-fucking-one that was brought up.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 9:11, Reply)
The bar manager used to grow his own
Which was nice. We'd wrap up in the evening, have a cheeky smoke at the bar over a pint, and then I'd head off.

At Christmas one year, he came down with a new bag - typically a plastic coin-bag stuffed to the point of bursting.

He rolled the usual, and then scooshed the bag across at me, saying "Here you go - merry Christmas"

Mate! Cheers, pal! It must have been a good £80 worth.

Well - such a gesture demanded we have another pint and another smoke, and 3am saw me staggering back to my mum's house completely ripped to the tits.

I get to the back door of my house, and I'm trying to get in - I'm pretty adept at this - as fans will remember, my mum's a pretty light sleeper.

The next morning my mum wakes me up.

"Vagabond ... erm ... have you lost something?"

"Eh?" say I, then thinking quickly "No." shit shit shit shit shit shit

"Are you sure?" she asks, "Not a bag or anything?"

Shit shit shit shit shit shit "No ma. Why - what's up?" I enquire, cool as you please.

"Well ... I found this on our back doorstep ... " she says, producing the bag, "I think it might be drugs."

"Jesus, mum! Is that what I think it is?"

She hands me the bag, and I have a sniff "Mum, you know ... I don't want to say how I know this, but I think that's cannabis."

"That's what I thought, too", she says, "I'm going to go and flush it down the toilet. It's the best place for it. I don't think we need to call the police."


I don't know who was playing who, but as an adult I have absolute respect for my mum.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 8:53, 3 replies)
Pea Roast
My preferred method of beating off when younger involved an old T-shirt and a Gallery magazine (the US version of Razzle I believe.) I kept the shirt and mag in a drawer under my bed. Eventually the shirt could stand up by itself so I moved on to the next eldest shirt.

After about 2 years I was out of fresh shirts and room in the wank drawer. The smell was getting out of control too. One day while my parents were out shopping I brought my cum wipes down to the washing machine. Just as I had finished putting the load in my Mom entered the garage. As she did all my laundry she was curious what I was washing. It went something like;

"What are you washing? You have the colors mixed with the whites. Here, let me... What the... It looks like... Have you been beating off in these shirts?"

The red crimson on my face must have spoke a thousand words because she didn't feel the need to communicate with me for a week.

Length was about the same, though it's a bit wider now.
(, Wed 9 Jun 2010, 8:30, 1 reply)

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