b3ta.com qotw
You are not logged in. Login or Signup
Home » Question of the Week » Caught! » Page 3 | Search
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.

Dave... how long have you had three hands?
I once caught two people shagging at a house party. Not very unusual, except that they were doing it on an old pile of rugs. Which I had, up until they began, been sleeping under. As for the title, well it's what I would have done had I been more awake.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 11:09, Reply)
School swimming pool
At our school, we were lucky enough to have our own swimming pool - the school is no longer there sadly, and is now a small housing estate.
The swimming lessons were fine, but what really made our day was the layout of the changing rooms:

|    | |
| | |
| |------| |
| | * |
| girls  |      boys |
|  | |
-- -------------- -----

...as you can see, the girls had more room than the boys - we did not have a problem with this, as the point * was an old wooden, slatted gate, complete with slats. You could see straight into the girls changing rooms, and of course, we all did just that.

As the term went on, we got braver and braver, posting a lookout for the teacher etc...

Then, it got to the point where one geeky kid, decided to shove his cock through one of the slats, in a 'porkiesque' type move.

Sure enough, the little scrote who was designated lookout, saw the teacher coming, and said.....nothing!

He was dragged off by his ear screaming something about 'not being fair' and then was suspended for a week!

Still, the view was probably worth it when aged 15.

EDIT: Bugger the diagram, the formatting is all up the pictures. You get the idea.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 10:42, 1 reply)
If you strike me down I will become more powerful than ever
As all men with a certain streak of immaturity know, an empty cardboard six-pack holder makes an awesome looking masky helmet thing. Thus recently I found myself in the utility room with my headgear on, wielding an imaginary lightsabre against foes unknown. Maybe not such a good idea when you're 42 and your wife is watching from outside with a half-disbelieving, half-resigned look on her face.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 10:38, 4 replies)
Musical cocks
I'm not quite sure how, but somehow in my last year of primary school I and my mates ended up standing in a secluded corner of the playground playing musical cocks. We sang Happy Birthday loudly, and used our arms to imitate enormous whangers bouncing up and down in time with the music. We thought it was hilarious. Until we noticed sweet little Miss Pitchford, the music teacher, looking at us through the windows of a nearby classroom, and trying to suppress her giggles.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 10:35, Reply)
"Might solve a mystery...
...or re-write history, Duck Tales, Wooo-oooh"

As a ten year old boy who liked the Pet Shop Boys a little too much, there was something about certain cartoon theme tunes that used to get me a bit...over-excited.

Jamie and the Magic Torch had an amazing rock soundtrack that was great to sing along to, but it was Duck Tales that really got me whipped up into a frenzy.

And so, alone in the living room at about 4pm one afternoon, the show started and I have no idea how this happened, but I jumped up onto the sofa, took a huge leap through the air and started doing an absolutely crazy dance, stepping my arms and legs diagonally in and out, and clapping to the rhythm in perfect, if camp, timing.

I was having the time of my life until suddenly the phone rang in the dining room and my mum answered it almost immediately.

Trying to dance and listen at the same time, I then heard my mum say -

"He's fine, just dancing round the living room to Duck Tales"

There followed me shouting "No I'm Not!" and a shame that still burns to this very day.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 10:27, 7 replies)
Blinded by the light...
I’m fairly sure I’ve told this before, but in these cash strapped times, a pea roast will have to do.

As many of you know, I’m one of them scientist people. Up until recently, I had to do my own labwork and everything – I now have a PhD student to do all that for me, god help him. For a period of time, I was working as a researcher in the medical school of a large University in the South West of England. I spent a good part of my average day in a windowless room running very boring kinetic experiments using a big shiny fluorimeter. The windowless room had all manner of waterbaths and fans running, thus making it a fairly noisy place to work. It also had crap radio reception – pretty much all you could rely on was Radio 2.

And it was due to this confluence of circumstance, shored up by my own mindless stupidity that led to me being caught by my boss, sat at the fluorimeter, with my back to the door, playing said fluorimeter as if it were a piano, singing along to “I just called to say I love you...” at not inconsiderable volume, accompanied by the trademark Stevie Wonder side-to-side head sway.

I am living proof that qualifications are absolutely no indication of intelligence whatsoever. I’m thinking of having my name changed by deed poll to Dr Fuckwit.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 10:19, 4 replies)
Did you know…
That some printers on a badly set up network will randomly spit out the last things you printed, sometimes to a completely different printer?

Well neither did I until about 10 years ago when I stayed late after work to print off some CVs and covering letters for job applications and was presented the next morning with a fist full of evidence by my pissed-off bitch of a manager.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 10:02, Reply)
routine arrest
At the age of about fifteen, I first started going out of an evening. That is to say, I didn't spent my Friday and Saturday nights in with my parents watching films anymore and then going upstairs to masturbate myself into oblivion. I started to go out with mates and hang around places like the Aldi car park, an old ornamental fountain in the town centre and the aqueduct round the back of the leisure centre. A few of my mates were the "artistic" type, insofar as they would get older kids to buy them spraypaint cans from Wikinsons and then stir up some shit by vandalising the fuck out of any wall or surface available.

Me, being the nervous type, didn't spraypaint much. I would only do it if I was certain no-one was around and had at least two mates on watch for me. Sometimes we'd go out late at night at about 1am to desecrate things like church halls and the like.

When we ran out of spraypaint, we'd turn to permanent markers to daub any obscene shit on the fountain where we lazily sat for hours. Foolish and young as we were, we'd write our names and the music we liked and all that stuff all over the place. This soon backfired on us.

A few weeks later, I walked home from school to find my mother standing angrily in the hallway.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"Where do you think I've been?" I asked, still clad in school uniform, "Africa or something?"

"Don't be clever with me, the police have been here, you've got to go to the station and get arrested tonight for vandalism."

Bollocks. My heart sank so far that I'm sure it fell out my arse and went to cower in the garden. My father came home, hurled his briefcase across the room and proceeded to give me the biggest bollocking of my life. When he'd calmed down, he accompanied me to the station to get formally arrested.

In the Sergeant's office, I was told to stand behind a white line and answer some questions. Nothing heavy at the moment, just name, age, address. Since the name of the street where I lived is a bit of a tricky name to spell, I leaned over the line and put my elbows on the Sergeant's desk.

"DON'T LEAN ON THAT!" shouted the witness officer, which I acknowledged by standing bolt upright behind the line. "It's just that.." the officer said, now in a cool smooth tone ".... people with hepatitis have leaned on that."

I was escorted to the interview room, with my father as I was under the legal age to be interviewed alone. My father, his attitude turned now from furious parent to concerned protector, was told to shut up in the interview, something he had terrible trouble with. The interview consisted mainly of the police trying to get me to grass on my friends, and to confirm exactly which graffiti I'd produced. One of my works of art was written in permanent marker over a victorian landmark (I am not proud of this) which read "Wash This Off Pig Fuckers". It was worth it though, just to hear this policeman read it out loud for the benefit of the interview tape. Oh, I almost forgot, the charges againsyt me (a fifteen year old boy, remember) were officially "Vandalism, Criminal Damage, and Conspiracy (because there were more than four of us)." It was part of a huge clean-up act the Police were doing around our area called "Operation Instanbul", which made it sound cool and as though drugs were involved somehow.

The interview concluded with the officer getting me to ensure him I wouldn't be vandalising anymore, and that I was going to go to university and settle down with my girlfriend and be a good citizen. I was released on bail and on my return to the police station I was released on the condition that I cleaned up some of the bigger, more offensive graffiti on road signs and pub walls. I didn't, but I never vandalised again, unless you count having a piss off a pier and smashing a toilet.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 9:55, 4 replies)
Cheers Rolf
I consider myself to be a fairly rational person. Still, I look back on some of the shit I did when I was a child and think, what in the name of holy fuck were you doing?

Hence I have to question my young brain's motivation when my incredibly calm and deadpan stepdad ascended the stairs to find me jumping up and down infront of my bedroom mirror like a spastic on an imaginary trampoline screaming 'Tie me kangaroo down, mate! Tie me kangaroo down!'.

(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 9:40, Reply)
caught red-arsed
When I was sixteen, and first discovering the sweet, sweet delights of finally having sex, I would get my girlfriend around to my house at any opportunity to rut her brains out (Which wasn't too much of a task, dedicated Fiendish Followers may remember tales of this harridan from here - b3ta.com/questions/nemesis/post713195).

I was very happy at that time, and so were my parents. Presumably because I'd spend my early teens listening to Iggy Pop and David Bowie and discovering how to "fag-it-up" by wearing eyeliner and nail polish and all that, and my they were glad I was actually going out with a girl instead of being a creepy gay loner.

Anyway, one night I invited my girlfriend over, mumbled hellos to the parents and went upstairs to screw like only teenagers can. My father was due to go out that night and my mother, being the more tolerant parent, would be spending the evening watching It's A Wonderful Life or something equally as mothery, probably ignorant of our animal noises being made upstairs.

Come about 10pm, and on the fourth or fifth romp of the evening (memories...), I heard the front door go and my dad enter the house. I heard a bit of happy drunken mumbling in the hallway, and thinking he'd go into the living room and pass out, I carried on with my dutiful ploughing. But instead, I heard him coming up the stairs. Assuming he was a bit worse for wear and wanted to go to bed straightaway, I didn't stop my penetration session.

"Yoo-hoo!" he called up the stairs, "I've brought you both a takeaway!"

"...Great, thanks." I called back. "Leave it outside, I'll get it in a bit."

"It's from that new Chinese place!" he continued.

"Yeah fine, just leave it there, I'll get it in a second. Don't come in."

"I've already eaten my chop suey and it was great, you'll enjoy this!"

"Great. Don't come i-"

But before I could finish, he had swung open the door to this sight which must still be burned into his memory. His only son, balls-deep in his girlfriend, staring back at him with the eyes you normally see on a puppy that's just shat everywhere. An arse he had changed the nappy on numerous times was now glinting in the light from the streetlamp outside, slowly grinding to a halt before his very eyes. My girlfriend's fat, saggy tits, dribbling down her sides, now motionless.

"Oh." he said, and slowly closed the door.

Thinking it inappropriate to continue, I sadly wilted out of my girlfriend. We laid in my bed, sort of half worried and half amused by the situation. My father has obviously thought I was bringing my girlfriend round so we could listen to music and maybe kiss each other on the lips once (with no tongues), and certainly not because I wanted to put my willy in her fanny. As we nervously chuckled, I heard a booming voice from below stairs.


Hurriedly getting dressed, I sheepishly walked downstairs to find my father in a state of sheer fury. He was actually turning purple.

"Um, alright?" I said.

"For FUCKS SAKE boy, what do you think this is, a HOTEL?!"

Confused by the idea that he might have been thinking that I thought hotels were used purely for teenage sex, I went upstairs to get my girlfriend and we walked out. I walked her to her bus stop, and then made the long journey back home. On the way, I passed my grandparent's house, and obviously having heard about the commotion, my grandfather called me in.

"Now listen boy," he said, "sex is a wonderful thing. You know that now. I'm in my sixties, and I've had sex yesterday, I'll have it today, and I'll have it tomorrow. Now your father is upset but I've spoken to him and if you go over and talk to him, everything will be alright."

Everything did turn out to be alright, as my dad apologised to me the morning after by buying me a PlayStation 2.

Fucking result! A shag and GTA III all in the space of 48 hours.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 9:31, 4 replies)
I answered the door....
need I say more?
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 9:17, 4 replies)
Long story...bear with it. She did last night...
Fuck me sideways, sometimes I never make my life easy. The fairly epic story starts Wednesday a few years back.

The day had been sweet: met my friend, lets call her E after her final exam, went to lunch, had some drinks, an afternoon of pretty great sex and onto the pub. Now an important note her is that 7.30pm next morning I was catching a flight to Mexico from Heathrow. I was currently in Oxford...it's ok, don't drink too much and catch the first train there: simple.

Things are never straightforward. To cut a long story slightly shorter, went out for a fag, came back in and caught E trying to eat the face off my mate. Not so fun, as far as I was concerned we kinda had a thing. Took the mature response and got absolutely shitfaced.

Fate threw me another curve ball as all my stuff was back at E's college room. Joy. So, hammered and pissed off, I half walked, half carried E back to hers to grab my stuff. Thing about Oxford colleges is that a lot of them have scan card security. This was no exception and I couldn't get out as E had hers with her. Ended up having to throw my bags over a wall, climb a tree and coordinate getting over the wall reasonably successfully, whilst not being caught by security. Finally got to the station, train to heathrow. Have you any idea what it is like to vomit in a Firt Great Western toilet at 4 in the morning? I personally feel that it is a rich, cultural experience that not enough people partake in.

Check in at the airport still drunk. Flight to Madrid was fine I guess, except for the spewing. I tell you what though, when you are calling God on the great steel telephone at 35,000 ft, you certainly get the impression you are a lot closer to him answering. Flight to Miami was delayed, and since American airports don't count as international territory, had to Immigrate to transfer. Missed my flight. Queued for another ticket, and was issued one with 20 mins to get across the airport and through all the security checks.

Shit. Was running round and to this day still unsure how this happened. Next thing I heard was a yelled shout, and I thought, hey, at least if I miss my flight I can see someone being arrested. And yup, you've guessed it: it was me. There were several large men with guns trained on me: apparently an exhausted, sweaty, dirty British national running for a flight is some fucking goddam threat to their precious ideals of national security. So i was arrested by the land of the free and the brave. Bag gone, marched to a side room where i was questioned by 2 very nice officials as to why I felt there was a hurry. When a quiet explaination of my situation prompted a search, I got a little pissed off. This only lead to more questions of whether I was on drugs and should I be?

Hey its fine - I never wanted a holiday.

Homeland security have no sense of humour. Oh and never ask for an apology: It doesn't go down well.

No apologies for length. Not big enough to have to apologies...
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 9:13, 2 replies)
Here's "caught" in another sense, because I'm feeling pissed off and rant-y
Caught? I've been caught existing by someone I'd prefer didn't know about me, and there's no escape. Unsavory types are rather fond of me... homeless people, crazy people, drug addicts, and men older than my father. Every so often I get stuck on the bus with one of these persistent characters, or he tries to follow me home, or he figures out where I live, or I'm not willing to give up my best hobby just to avoid him. It's not that I have high standards, these are just men with massive flaws. It truly sucks old lady tits to be a captive audience when one of these fellows decides I'm beautiful/charming/stylish/his future bride.

Now, this isn't me bragging about how men can't control themselves around me because I'm just that awesome. This happens to even the ugliest hunk of meat with ovaries. (Really though, ladies, am I right or am I just a massive creep magnet?)

Every time I realize it's happening, I get a feeling of dread that's about the opposite of striking the mother lode. Has a salesperson ever trapped you for a long period of time, such that you felt taken advantage of and unclean when you finally escaped their grip? It's like that, except you're also afraid he might try to rape and/or murder you. It's like they know when I'm powerless to escape, and they use the opportunity to try to get me to date or marry them.

I'll just be minding my own business walking along, and next thing I know some homeless guy is telling me that of we moved to Alabama, I'd only have to be thirteen to marry him. he followed me for a mile (while I pretended he didn't exist) before he finally got distracted by a flower.

I'll buy some food and when the sleazy older man gives me my change, he uses it as an excuse to fondle my hand.

So then I'm on the bus one day and I get trapped next to an obese man reeking of salt & vinegar chips. Side note: this experience is a mind-rape in itself. It smells like a good food, so your mouth starts watering, but then you're sickened by the fact that you're smelling a PERSON. Continuing. The fragrant obese man asks an innocuous-seeming question about the time and tells me I remind him of his sister, or whatever inappropriate relative it is this time. Five minutes later he's trying to convince me to give him my phone number while I'm debating whether I want to walk the rest of the way home on a sprained ankle.

Druggies and alcoholics are also absolutely enchanted with me. Currently an older gentleman with questionable hygiene that lives nearby has figured out that I exist, and he has been showing up at my door intoxicated far more often than I am comfortable with (if you never hear from me again, I was probably raped in some obscene manner, hacked up, and dumped in the river).

Anyway, you get the point. It's "caught" at its worst, and there's no escape. My current suitor is testing my patience to no end lately, I'm currently waiting to see if my deterrent worked last week when I had a giant gnarly man on door-opening duty for me. I swear to god, if the bastard comes back I will kick him in the balls. I will kick him in the balls, and then I'll laugh. LAUGH.

Rant complete.

I feel better now, thanks.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 8:12, 11 replies)
This can not be true.
First off, I'd like to make it clear that I have no memory at all about this so called event, and I'm 99% sure it never actually happened.

Right...here goes.

Some years ago I was spending a night in with a female housemate. A drink a bit of a smoke and TV.

Dirty Dancing came on. Obliviously I wanted to watch football, violent films, for something with tits but to keep my housemate happy we watched it.

About half way through she nipped out to the local shops, returning just as the film was reaching it's finale. She was surprised to see me still watching it. She was very surprised to see I was also crying like a baby and wittering on about how beautiful it was.

She still maintains this happened, while I don't believe it for a second. But this was during my fuzzy blurry years so who knows?
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 8:06, Reply)
Look at me now, here I go again!
Well, it's no secret that I fucking love ABBA. Lots. Seen the Mamma Mia stage show 7 times, and even been to an after show cast party when the show was in town. "Slipping through my fingers" makes me cry to this day.

When I moved into where I now live, it was a hot summer day. I was in a house cleaning frenzy, and as is the norm I had music on. It was ABBA's greatest hits.

Mamma Mia came on, so I grabbed the cat and danced with him around the apartment singing heartily to him.....when the song ended, I got a round of applause from the students across the way. I'd left my windows open and they'd heard every wail.

To this day, they still yell across the stream "Hey, dancing queen" when they want me over for a beer.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 5:38, Reply)
Fixing a PC for a gay friend.
I had my daughter with me (then 9 years old) and switched on my mates PC to be confronted with the inevitable gay porn wallpaper. As my red faced friend quickly switched off the monitor, I noticed the confused look on my daughters' face.

On the way home she asked me "What was that picture on Uncle Ians' computer?"
I replied "Umm, it was American wrestlers I think".
She thought about this for a moment and then whispered "I thought it was two gay men doing rude things".
"Nah love, I don't think so" I replied.

She later asked my wife to break it to me gently that Uncle Ian was gay...
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 5:21, 3 replies)
I caught my brother masturbating.
I wouldn't have minded, except he was masturbating me.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 5:02, Reply)
Sex and the City
Ever been idly sat on the couch, channel surfing your life away, when one of your flatmates enters the room when you accidentally happen upon Sex and the City? Probably no big deal for most women and gay men, but as a heterosexual male it was extremely frustrating.

"HAHA Grant's watching Sex and the City! That means he has a 'gina!"
"No, fuck off, I was just channel-surfing!"
"HAHAHA Whatever it's your favourite!"
"No, seriously, I was just channel-surfing. I hate that shitty show!"
"Awwwww...why are you getting so defensive?"

There's no winning that game.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 3:48, 5 replies)
While I think of it though...
I walked in on my old housemates shagging so many times I have lost count.
- They love the porn and don't have a TV in their room.
- I love the drink and often stay out late.
- The TV is in the loungeroom I have to walk through to get to my bed.
It became so commonplace the last few times they didn't even bother stopping, just asked a casual "Have a good night then, did you?" while some pointy eared porn actor shot green goo all over a woman on the screen*
I learned to navigate the whole house with my eyes closed.

*"Sex Trek, Where No Man Has Cum Before" was a favourite.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 2:47, 2 replies)
One time I was
Caught in a landslide...no escape from reality.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 2:47, Reply)
Staring at a colleagues boobs
It happened about five minutes from now. A mate just emailed me to say X was wearing a low cut top, I have a meeting with her in five and I know I won't be able to stop myself.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 2:40, Reply)
Caught by the fuzz
And there I was in the back of the van buzzing my tits off, head in my hands thinking 'shit, this is a bad dream!'
I was only 15 and thought I was the man, to be honest with dad not around I still childishly thought my big brother would magically appear and be able to sort it out but this was looking a bit serious tbh and even in the state I was in I was hoping I'd keep this one to myself anyway.

Next thing I know I was locked up in the cells for a bit (feeling pretty sick now) before an interview with a schizophrenic copper (good cop/bad cop rolled into one). He said it would be sorted if I told them who supplied the blow, I knew enough not to fall for that. so they rolled in the big guns...

Here comes my mum, well she knows what I´ve done
'Just tell them the truth, you know where it´s from!'
'You´ve blackended our name! Well you should be ashamed!'
'If only your father could be here now, he´d break down and he´d throw you out for sure'
'I never should have let you out tonight'
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 1:50, 1 reply)
PC World technical bay
Working as a tech monkey for PC World at the time, I was approached by a lady and her teenage son, who was clutching a fairly battered looking mini tower under his arm who they said was having some trouble with an error message (it was around the time of the Sasser worm so my immediate suspicion was that). We were fairly quiet at the time so I decided to take a look at the machine immediately and so I set the machine up on the bench facing the customer service desk behind the clear perspex partition.

Once I booted into Windows I was presented by the "logon to" screen where the various family members had their own profile. All of them were password protected except for the son's, so rather than go and ask for the password I logged in as him. A small queue had built up by then. So I logged into the machine under the son's account and turned to assist the customer next in the queue while their PC was booting up.

Suddenly there was a shocked gasp, followed by the woman dragging the son away, sans PC. I turned around to find that the lad had set his wallpaper as "two women engaged in the act of fellatio", and all the customers copped an eyeful.
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 1:15, 4 replies)
Bucket bongs
So there I was, getting dropped off at my first flat by my mum after having dinner at her place. As I'd only just moved in, she hadn't really had a chance to see the place, she asked to come on and inspect my new digs. It was all fine until we got to the kitchen. I saw the telltale smoke wafting out from under the door, but knew I could do nothing to prevent the inevitable. Sure enough, Mum swung open the kitchen door on my mate Ben (he's in England now, tell him I say hi if you see him) as he was about to take a bucket bong*. And what did my mum say when she saw him sitting there, lid in one hand, bottle in the other and a frozen look of terror on his face?

"Don't worry love, nothing I haven't seen before!"

OK, so it wasn't me, but an embarassing moment for Ben nonetheless.

*http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bucket_bong if you're not a filthy stoner like me
(, Fri 4 Jun 2010, 0:19, Reply)
I was caught by the cops doing MASSIVE DRUGS.
That bitch of a supermodel girlfriend left me, and trashed my Honda Accord into the bargain.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 23:51, 2 replies)
Bible bashers
My folks live in the middle of nowhere surrounded by fields and greenery. Very pleasant and all that. Any way, few years back they went on holiday for a couple of weeks, leaving me to house sit.

What was one of the first things I did? Have an afternoon kip outside in my hammock stark bollock naked. Yeah kind of cliched, but hey, something everyone ought to do. Woke up and wandered down towards the house, only to find a couple of the local village bible bashers out to drop of the village news letter and try to convince me (well my parents) to come to church. Not quite sure who was more surprised, them or me, but I have to say I recovered quite well, took the news letter, thanked them and said church wasn't really my thing but ta all the same. Don't think they came by again...
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 22:42, Reply)
Hands Up!
At the time and recently divorced after 15 faithfull (cough) years, and hanging on to my 30's, it was therefore required to get back out on the scene - according to my mates.

Yep - shake off the Miami Vice rolled up jacket and pull on some jeans with a t shirt. I couldnt believe you could go out missing a pair of polished shoes and a shirt with a collar! Happy days!

A few outs and im up to my turtle neck in flange.

Bang. Out you go, minus underwear (to add to my trophy cabinet) and the next one in. Terrible time, boys, really - i was knackered!

After a few months, I settle on two of them, but could not decide between them! How to choose? Bum, Breast or BJ?

Well it happends that 'Breast' was out with her girlie friends for dinner, whilst 'Bum' was free. Great! 'Bum' out with my mates, who knew about both, and great fun........ Until, 'Breast' turned up in the same Club with her friends.

Of course at this time 'Breasts' and 'Bum' had never met and thought we were exclusive.

Oopps! Mates gather round and try and hide me whilst i am snogging the face off 'arse' but 'breasts' had spotted me!

All kinds of verbals, which would shock my solicitor, developed, but, even a lying bastard has to sleep, so i took 'bum' home. All very nice, but questions asked, as in "who the fuckkin hell was that and why does she have a problem with me and your tonsils?"
This issue was quickly resolved by chucking my man meat in her gob.

Job done, but i felt awful - too much Malibu!

'Bum' goes home, without knickers of course - and sticks to the cab seat, but thats another story. What i didnt know was that one of my 'mates' had swapped numbers with 'tits' and 'bum', obviously hoping for a fall out and he (wanker) would pick up the loser of this battle.

'Tits' and 'Bum' therefore spoke to each other over the weekend - i imagine they were ticking the boxes and saying how magnificent i was, but no they were planning to fuck me up big time!

They did. The coin came down heads, so im now married to 'tits'. (False which ex hubby paid for)


She still does ,,,,,,
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 22:23, Reply)
Air Guitar
I'm sure all of us at some point or another have been happily flailing away on nothing to Immigrant Song only to turn around and see your bemused significant other in the doorway. Worse than being caught wanking I reckon.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 21:52, 4 replies)
Skinny Dipping
I was young, about 8 years old. My sister and two neighbor girls were in the family pool swimming. I went out and they said, "BrokenCoccyx, look at this!", then proceeded to do backward somersaults in the water, exposing what looked like the place you put your front tire when parking the bike. I don't know why, but I thought, "Great!" and immediately began taking off my trunks and hopped in the pool.

Much swimming was had and absolutely no naughtiness (other than the obvious) and three 11 year old girls and one 8 year old boy started looking for ways to make this foray interesting. We then began various dares: jump off the diving board; flip off the diving board; hold a handstand for 5 seconds, etc. Spiced it up a bit, but then became routine.

Then someone dared me to run and touch the house, which was a good 20-30 feet and through the gate in the fence. I couldn't conceive of how this could go wrong, especially given that we had heard not a peep from the house and the inhabitants thereof.

So off I go, my little non-inert mast leading the way. I remember being so happy, giddy if you will and laughing at the funness of it all when two feet from touching the windows, my dad opens the door and yells "BC, get those shorts on, NOW!!" Aaaaaaaggghhh!!

My sister and friends, being older and wiser, at least had the sense to duck beneath the rim of the pool, which also made me look like some bonehead that larks about doing weird things naked in the pool.

After retrieving my skivvies, I immediately went inside, hopped in my bed and went to sleep (escape mechanism). I refused dinner and at later almost died of embarrassment when my dad mentioned to my mom that "our little streaker" wouldn't come out of bed.
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 21:41, Reply)
Church embarrassment
On the way to see Joseph and the Technicolour Dreamcoat at the theatre with a group of people from my local church, I saw the BNP landrover trundling through the city centre of Liverpool. It was blaring tinny music and covered with dubious slogans and union flags. Just as I chose to merrily wave then give it the sweary hand salute of disrespect is when my friends from the church appeared. Specifically the little girl who I look after, her special needs sister, and their grandmother. Only the grandmother cottoned on to what I was doing, giving me the hairy eyeball and it hasn't been mentioned. But I was definitely caught out. Grandma had an evil eye!
(, Thu 3 Jun 2010, 20:53, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1