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This is a question Cougars and Sugar Daddies

Tell us your stories of age gap shags. No paedo gags please.

Inspired by The Resident Loon

(, Thu 4 Dec 2008, 13:55)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Quick and dirty....
Main drinking partners: 30-33 years old
Me: 20 years old

And I can never work out why I have a sore arse the day after.....cheers Spike!
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 17:13, 1 reply)
I remember watching
A jeremy Kyle show (yes Im sad), where there was a 16/17 year old girl and her mum who must've been in her mid forties, with a partner who was only 19...
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 17:09, 3 replies)
I had occasion to hide her in the wardrobe
until my housemate went away. "I can't believe you did that to her on the dance floor...is she here?"

Say's it all really, except she came out (of the wardrobe) and allowed me to munch on her grey pubes and.....etc..

Then she allowed me to fuck her every which way, everywhere possible every night for a month. Then she pissed off to the USA with a French Lesbian.

At least I was mature enough (23) to say "I just want to fuck and nothing else, as I have a girlfriend (who gets half price on buses)". God only noes what age she was but we had a bloody good time and (according to facebook) my ex still looks like a ten year old even after having two kids.

So I've had the full spectrum. But now as I'm on prozac I can't give a fuck (literally). And it's great - just like being a girl.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 16:47, 1 reply)
I have 4 wives
I know its a little off topic, but here's a video of me being interviewed on the telly with two of my wives.


One of them is younger than me, or something.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 16:37, 5 replies)
Why can't some of the women who've posted/read about on here live anywhere near me?

It's a bloody conspiracy.

I is sad.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 16:29, 1 reply)
Though I have my own personal experience with someone significantly older than I was, there's not much of a story to tell.* However, I met, though a friend, a guy who can best be described as a gerantophile.

He loved nothing more than spending special time with men 70+. It was quite touching hearing how some had thought they would have no further sexual experiances and those who had lived the majority of their life with a secret desire unacted upon, tears of joy meandering down their wrinkled faces. In hindsight I should have asked whether he was trained in the art of resuscitation in case the moment was too much for them.

* I do wonder if she doubted my (genuine) claim to being 28 when she turned up to my very untidy bedroom and a Twister bedspread.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 15:20, Reply)
‘The ‘Autumn’ years’…or ‘The Winter of his discontent’…or ‘No Spring Chicken’…or ‘Summer the names have to be changed’…

DISCLAIMER: Firstly, brace yourself – this is going to be a long one even for a Pooflake effort.

I was reminded of the tale by a post on last week’s QotW, but it definitely applies here and it’s also probably going to be the only one I’ll spaff out this week.

So gentle reader...snuggle down, and I’ll begin…

Now, (as you gorgeous people are well aware) I normally couldn’t give an airborne fuck about naming and shaming those involved in my posts. But I just can’t do it this time. I must change the names. I have my reasons…and they’re fucking good reasons…so…sorry ‘bout that.

And no…before you ask, the main character in this tale is most definitely NOT me.


Picture the scene…Autumn 2007. The deciduous leaves tumbling from the withered branches before cascading onto the ripe, hardened ground. Colours entwining everywhere to create an exquisite carpet of golden and bronze…a delight to dreamily kick your way through when strolling through the park of an early evening…as the light of a burning crimson sunset scatters itself through the bare and spindly trees…

I imagine.

I wouldn’t really know, because I was otherwise engaged. The band I was in at the time were way too busy in full, utterly shitfaced flow – with regular gigs every week, money pouring in, and everyone seemingly comfortable with the putrid wank we were dishing out and passing off as entertainment.

Accompanying us on our calamitous crimes to music decency endeavour to bring great tunes to the masses, was:

Hmmm…well let’s call him…’Clive’

Clive was in his early thirties, and trundled along to almost all of our gigs. A staunch and resolute supporter of our general shite-‘n’-laziness, he would help himself to any free beer on offer, occasionally help out with a (mimed) guest spot on guitar, and pretend to be our ‘manager’ so he could use the band as an icebreaker in his blatant attempts at pulling mingers slappers ‘good-time’ girls at every venue.

One of our regular gigs was a shiteheap pub in a little village nearby. A great thing about the place was that Hootie, (our guitarist)’s folks lived about 5 minutes walk away, so we could play the gig, crash at his folks’ house, then collect the gear the next morning and continue with the heavy drinking. Sweeeet.

The landlady of the pub was…’Nicki’, a kindly old soul…with a gargantuan emphasis on the word OLD. She was in her late 60’s I’d guess, but looked even older. White haired, heavily made up, lardy, wrinkly and paunchy, she did have a glint in her good eye; and would constantly look us all up and down like the tender pieces of man-meat that we all were. She often mentioned her 'international football star nephew'*, and flirted terribly, but it was mostly harmless stuff.

So this particular evening we were playing the gig and the place was full of Nicki’s friends…with leathery faces aplenty, and bingo-wings flapping in the breeze like vein-riddled sails on a vast, fleshy dinghy.

As we played, the coven of lecherous old bags were attempting to ‘dirty dance’ – and I could almost hear their hip joints cracking as they feverishly thrusted their cobweb-strewn groins in our general direction...each thrust was making me want to gouge my own eyes out with a blunt plectrum before securing them in my armpits.

What made matters worse was that we weren’t even on an actual stage…just a section of the room that had been allocated for the band. So there was nothing stopping the crusty old banshees from clamouring up to the band, sticking their wrinkly hands down my grundies and poking their lavender scented, bone-dry tongues into my ear.

But there was one in particular…the very worst one…who was Nicki’s ‘best’ friend.

“EEEeeehhhhh you’re lovely” she would crow at me, with her hands behind her head, her knees bent, and her gammon goalposts pumping at me like a gratuitously decrepit rendition of the ‘hokey-cokey’.

My grimace was firmly fixed in place; only due to the fact that she was continually buying us all drinks…of which Clive was of course taking full advantage. As the band were tied to our microphone stands (not literally), Clive flitted in and out of the codger’s short sighted view, parading himself like a trophy that they could look at, but not touch.

The whole area honked of cheap wine, Yardley perfume…and the obligatory Werthers Originals.

The night ended on a tired, forced note, (after something like the 12th encore) at about 4am… with the shrivelled, clapped out old cacklers still clawing at us…and insisting that we carry on.

We politely refused, and did some light packing up, before collecting our money and preparing to leg it the fuck out of there.

So I could shower. And shower again.

Unfortunately, Hootie’s folks had a ‘rule’ that only the 3 members of the band were allowed to crash round their house (in an effort to prevent ‘aftershow parties’ or anything like that – rock ‘n’ roll!)

But that pretty much left Clive in the shit. Still, he was pissed up and happy, and he instructed us to leave him there, and assured us that he would ‘sort something out’.

Foolishly, I assumed that he would get a taxi.

Cut to opening time the next day, and we drag our tired and bleary-eyed bodies back into the already full-again-with-regulars pub to finish packing and to discuss the previous night’s debacle over lashings of lovely booze.

Suddenly, Clive swaggered into the bar like a wizened lothario, shooting his finger pistols and smirking at everybody.

When questioned as to a) why he was so cheerful, and b) what the fuck was he still doing there, he confidently proclaimed:

“I shagged Nicki Last Night…Woo!”

He must have surmised that the ‘any hole’s a goal’ rule applies absolutely...and his laddish instincts told him to actually boast about his prune-like conquest; imagining that he would be cheered, congratulated, and maybe even hailed a hero.

Wrong, wrong…oh so very wrong…

All sound was suddenly sucked out of the busy room as if some megsonic vacuum had been cranked up to ‘Biblical’ level.

Eyes widended, then after a brief pause which included some quiet gasps of astonishment, and the faint thud of agape jaws hitting the floor, the pub population suddenly erupted en masse in an almost pantomime-esque chorus of:

“UUUUURRRGGHHHH! – you filthy fucker!”

Because there was no escaping the fact that this wasn’t so much a case of ‘From May to December’, than a case of ‘From World War I to the Falklands’

Realising that his actions were suddenly not being universally approved of, Clive tried to change his tune a bit…”Well”, he snorted, “I did it for you…see?” Whilst desperately clawing at some sort of escape excuse he continued: “I sacrificed myself so you guys could get regular gigs here…But it worked!" He cooed, semi-triumphantly: "She promised me that you could play here as long as she was running the place”

At this point I could hardly contain myself as the truly wonderful duty fell upon me to inform him of how he had been taken for a ride in more ways than one…

“Yesterday was her last day” I told him, my face straining to hold back my almost complete joy at witnessing this supremely embarrassing event, and the prospect of the entire life’s worth of piss-taking that he had now signed up to receive.

I chortled: “She’s sold the pub, you dopey twat! It was her leaving do that we were playing! – didn’t you realise from all the banners up on the wall?”

Clive: *looks around* “Oh fuck…fucking hell…NOOOooooooooooo

His face sagged despondently. The laughing continued to resonate around the pub as it slowly sank in to him what had happened.

But just when we thought it couldn’t get any better (or worse, depending on which way you look at it)…he must have decided that he hadn’t yet humiliated himself enough, and so proceeded to drop the ultimate bombshell…

Choking his bile back, he whimpered: “It wasn’t just Nicki…

…it was a threesome with her best mate too!”

At this point some people had to get up and leave. Grown men had tears streaming down their faces. Drinks were spat far and wide across the tables. People were losing control of their bodily functions due to a total mirth-induced internal collapse.

Clive sat there with his head in his hands, and we sensitively continued to rip the living piss out of him until he could stand no more. He would only occasionally look up to whimper: “but I did it for the band!

My opinion on old folk changed that day. With age comes experience, I realise that now…and I only hope that when I’m that old, I’ll be able to find a girl just as gullible as Clive was that day, so I can take full advantage.

And bring a friend along.

*Oh yes, you WILL have heard of him
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 15:18, 35 replies)
How's this for creepiness potential?
Consider: Pamela Anderson is now 39. She has had at least one kid.

We've all seen her pics and seen her on "Baywatch".

Imagine being her kid- or worse, her grandkid- knowing that your friends have probably had a wank to her pictures. Worse still- they'll probably have seen the video footage of her doing the deed.

"Dude- your grandma used to be HOT..."

The therapy sessions for her descendants will be enough to save the national economy of a small country.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 15:10, 2 replies)
Age gap wank...
I once had a wank to this picture sleeve of Jane Birkin.


I was about 12 and Ms Birkin would have been about 27.

Happy days...
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 14:57, 15 replies)
Sugar Daddies?
If my father was made entirely of sugar, I'd expect to hear a tale where bees, wasps, or ants were involved.

Not fucking great cats.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 14:28, Reply)
My mistake was
going for a sugar Daddy who was more poor than me!

These days I am getting sick of this poverty trap, where are all of the rich, good looking, drug free older women? Nowhere fucking well near me!

Sighs and thinks about the original Morticia Adams...
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 14:23, Reply)
My Grandad...
... apart from I call him Grandpa as he's extremely posh, and I suppose I am a bit, to a point, but that's getting off the point before even getting started...

He came out with this equation that the age of the woman you should be going for should be half your age plus seven. OK, so now you're thinking about this... and it does work remarkably well. I was twelve at the time, so fairly impressed that Gramps (again, I would never actually call him that) was pushing to get with girls in the year above. He quickly corrected this though and said I shouldn't be after girls yet (fucker) - he didn't mention the fact that you'd be up on statutory rape charges if you were 16... but let's not go down that route.

So why was my Grandpa bothered about coming up with a yard stick for which men should be aiming at their next squeeze? Because having lost his wife, my wonderful Grandma to cancer four years before, he'd just introduced me to his new girlfriend, a slightly odd forty four year old Norwegian woman... Still not bad for a 74 year old!

He's going to be Ninety Three in February and though he's pretty much housebound these days, I wouldn't put it past him to still charm any of the female home help.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 14:07, 2 replies)
In a night club far, far away
I was dancing in a nightclub one weekend when I made eye contact with a strikingly good looking woman about the same age as me (40 odd). Black dress - split from cleavage to navel at the front, and from hip to ankle at the back. She was gorgeous and would be best be described as a "vamp"
We did the usual rituals of smiling / flirting / kinda-not kinda dancing together for about 10 minutes before I plucked up the courage to offer her a drink at the bar.

"Not seen you here before" says I . (God! I am SOOOOooooo crap at chatting up women).
"No" she replies "I only come out once in a blue moon to keep my daughter company" and with this she nods to a teenage come twenty something girl still swinging her hips on the dance floor.
"She's not very confident by herself, so I come out for a bit of moral support" she confides.

"okay dokey" thinks I. The young girl is way out of my league, and the mum probably wouldn't fancy getting "involved" if she is on chaperone duty, so I am politely chatty but not pushy and we continue to dance and drink together for the rest of the evening.

Just before we get thrown out of the club, the young girl comes up to me and says "Errm.! Mum want's to know if you fancy a mother-daughter threesome?"

Did I hear that right?

I look across the room to the mum, who now is a bit drunk, and is using the universal international sign launguage for a blowjob. YEP! I heard right. So much for the shy daughter.

I was quite frankly shocked. I was also quite drunk. I said "Yes please."

We left the club.

The three of us walked, in absolute silence for about 2 blocks and up a fire escape into a very posh looking modern flat. I was thinking this has got to be a wind-up and trying not to think about the possibility of waking up without my kidneys.

I make myself comfortable on the chaise-longe (the flat was THAT posh) whilst mum mixes some drinks.

I still hadn't spoken a word since I left the club. I finally find my voice and asked the mother, "Do you do this mother-daughter thing often?"

"Oh yes, quite often, whenever y'know, 'the mood' takes me." says mum.

Just then the daughter comes back into the room wearing a very modest nightdress. "right mum, I'm off to bed. I'll wake grandma up and you three can get on with your fun".

I took a sip from my glass.

Mother-daughter threesome. .......... "I'll wake grandma"......... I was bounding down the fire escape before my glass had hit the floor.

None of the above may be true, in fact I can't remember if I've read the story on a B3ta question or some other site so I apologise if I am plagiarising (thought it was funny tho').

EDIT. if I have nicked someone's story - message me and I'll remove it. I am over 40 and therefore have crap memory and suffer from dementia)
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 14:03, 8 replies)
Only 9 years, but with a difference...
I was working in Nottingham at the time and having a pretty good time - work hard-ish, play hard, that kind of thing.

Those of you who are familiar with Nottingham will know that there seem to be a lot of people living there, augmented by the very large student population, who like to have a good time and so it can be a very lively place to go out. Yes, the main drag(s) on a Fri. & Sat. night can only be described in one word - vivisection - but venture just a little off the beaten track and there's much fun to be had.

And it was in one such back-street club where the fun began. I was standing at the edge of the dance floor pint in hand while my mates had wandered off somewhere. A guy caught my eye and approached me.

"Hey pal - will you do us a favour?"

Moi: ???

"Look, I'm out with my bird, but her little sister's down to visit for the weekened and she's come along - will you just chat to her for a bit and keep her company? I'll get you a pint in..."

He turned and gestured at the little sister, who obviously wasn't privy to the rather selfish machinations that were occurring. Seeing me talking to her sister's BF she came over, assuming that I must be one of the guy's acquaintances.

So we started chatting and she turned out to be pretty, a little bit shy and quite charmingly naive. Turns out she was n-n-n-nineteen, while at he time I must have been 28-29. I dunno how I glossed over this or if I even bothered, 'cos I must have been quite refreshed to even go along with such a scheme.

Anyway, we got on like a house on fire except nobody was running around screaming with their hair on fire and at kicking out time, I ended up in a cab with the guy who's name I never even knew and the two sisters, back to his flat.

Chez mystery man (MM), music was played, drinks were served and drunken conversation attempted. Eventually MM indicated he was ready for bed via the time honoured method of theatrical arm-stretching and yawning and soon I was alone with little sister.

We cuddled up on the couch and a certain amount of fooling around occurred, which was nice. It got all a bit heated, she declared that she "liked me but didn't want full sex".

This may have been a misleading statement, or she may have changed her mind, as about five minutes later she was on MM's living room rug, naked and in the "I'm expecting company position" (elbows and knees). Also, she was curious regarding whether I had any condoms at all...

I did not, and neither did I want to complete the deed as for some reason it would have felt very wrong, like robbing a blind man. We both reached some kind of conclusion and fell asleep on cushions from the lounge suite.

Morning has broken. Sunlight streaming in. Hangover properly raging. I'm late for work. MM comes in gingerly, possibly in the expectation of unconscious nudity or worse - fortunately, we'd wisely re-robed during the wee small hours. He's bearing coffee, which I gratefull gulp down. I pecked little sister on the cheek, said my goodbyes and headed off into the morning...

The difference? The little sister wasn't so little: She was 6' 4". It's a whole new world tangling with someone when you're completely accustomed to being physically bigger than your partners...

[Before anybody chips in, small hands, no visible adam's apple, complete lack of stubble - anywhere!]
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 13:58, 12 replies)
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 10 Dec 2008, 13:52, 12 replies)
I sort of feel duty bound
to answer this QOTW... I have relevent stories :(

I lost my virginity at 14 to a 16 year old Australian surfer dude. It seemed like a vast age gap at the time...

At 16 I had a three month relationship with a 20 year old. I'm not sure which of us was more immature.

Then a few "encounters" (but not sex, I was frigid) with men ranging from 18 to 31. I probably confused the 31 year old as I abandoned him in a field, accidentally stole his motorbike helmet and hid from him in a landrover all night.

Another three month relationship with a 24 year old when I was still 16 (the drummer from the Moonflowers, if anyone cares).

Then when I was 17 I embarked on a relationship with a man of 37, three months older than my mum. She wasn't best pleased.
I was bloody minded about it.
She said if we were still together in five years she'd give us her blessing.

We lasted 13 years.

But it was not good and it did not end well.

Mums do know best.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 13:29, 3 replies)
My old mate Baz had a bit of a problem with quality control. While I was picky about the young ladies (and rarely got a date as a result), Baz was only interested in dipping his wick, and would shag a barbershop floor given half the chance.

So, it was hardly a suprise that he turned up at a party with an older woman on his arm. Older? He was 19. She was 48, which - coincidentally - was also her bust size.

"Good grief, Baz," I remonstrated, cornering him in the kitchen later that evening, "Where did you get her?"

"Grab-a-granny night", he replied, with the telling rejoinder: "Gives me something to practice on."

And practice on her he did, for they became the annoying-couple-at-the-party-having-sex-in-the-bedroom-on-top-of-the-pile-of-coats-while-you're-not-getting-any.

It was a couple of years before I ran into Baz again, this time at a wild student party in which ale and vomit flowed freely.

"Hey Baz!" I slurred, "Wha'happened to that fat old moose you were boffin' a couple o' years ago?"

"We're married."


As far as I know, they still are. Bless.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 12:50, 1 reply)
Not me...
But a close friend of mine, Graham, who's 18.

After his parents divorced, his Dad, aged 48 acquired a new, young, thing of 27 years old and proceeded to take her down the aisle.

Lisa, Graham's new step-mum wanted him to attend the wedding, and he was made joint best man with his brother.

At the wedding reception, Graham got chatting to the maid-of-honour, another 27 year old named Michelle who turned out to be an amateur glamour model with her own website (which Graham duly showed me!)

Anyway they got together, and after a while it turned out she was completely nuts so he broke up with her. He did say it was weird going for double dates with his dad and step mum though.

Sorry, rubbish answer. I've typed it now though so tough.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 12:40, 14 replies)
I'm a bit of a character
and quite experienced with women.

Well...my character's a woman and she has a lot of Experience Points anyway.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 12:34, 5 replies)
An appeal
Seeing as an awful lot of people seem to have missed the point of this QotW (and several others).

Sorry to be a killjoy, but the remit of QotW is "to generate material that's...interesting to read, i.e. we won't get bored of reading the answers after about 10 of them."

Now, I'm sorry to break this to some of you, but we're not actually interested in your long lists of how many women* you've trophy-shagged/cheated on/sodomised. We want to be entertained - we want funny stories to lift us out of the drudgery of our everyday existence, or occasionally one of those frank but heart-rending posts that brings a tear to the eye and makes us feel human again.

If you've got an entertaining story, we'd love to hear it. If you're just trying to display your sexual prowess then please put it away and/or take it somewhere else.

(And yes, I'm aware that I could just scroll past such posts. It's the principle, or something like that...)

EDIT: The post which prompted this little rant seems to have just disappeared...oh well, I stand by my earlier point.

*In the interests of equality, the same applies to those who prefer men. Though in practice, heterosexual males seem to be the worst offenders for this sort of post

(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 11:58, 14 replies)
Back in the 70’s I had a chance to sleep with a lass that was a bit younger than me while I was away from home on business.

As I said there was a bit of an age gap, nothing too bad but I turned her down due to three things:

1) I was pretty religious and believed in sex after marriage
2) I had a girlfriend back home waiting for me
3) This lass was a bit of a tart and would strip naked whenever she had a chance

A few days after I turned her down I was kicking myself as if I had done the deed with her, the inbred villages of the town wouldn’t have burnt me alive in a giant wicker statue.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 11:17, 12 replies)
Child bride
My mate,erm, "Dodger", came round to our flat once to introduce us to his new girlfriend. Proudly, he showed her in. My girlfriends and my jaws collectively hit the ground as we saw what was plainly obviously a 12 year old. "Dodge" was 27.

His first words, "no she's 18, I've seen her driving licence, go on show them...". She did as well. She had just turned 18. But we couldnt stop staring, she just looked so young.

My girlfriend went off to make drinks, I stayed in the awkwardness that was the lounge. After a few minutes talking, I noticed the childwoman had migrated to another table, and was busy playing with something, entertaining herself.

My girlfriend returned with a tray, with 3 cups of tea, and a glass of orange squash. She set out the tea, and without missing a beat, went over the to the girl, crouched down and handed her the glass. Without missing a beat she said, "there you go. Would you like some colouring books and crayons?" in her best talking-to-children voice.

I cracked up, couldnt take it. Dodge grabbed the girl and they left. We were pissing ourselves for ages. Then we called the pigs.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 10:26, 47 replies)
I have a friend (genuinely!) who, for the purposes of this tale, we will call Fred, for that is similar to his actual name.

Now, at the time this story takes place Fred was 17 and playing in a rock band. Good times. They were invited over to a small village in rural France to play at the annual village party. Apparently it was the sort of do where everyone in the local vicinity turned up and indulged in much eating, drinking and being merry.

So. The band play and are warmly received. They stay on and enjoy the hospitality of these simple country folk. (They got shit-faced is what I'm trying to say.)

In amongst the drinking the dancing, Fred spots a young girl of, he thought, about his own age, who catches his eye, and they get chatting. Then they get kissing. Then they get . . . well, you know how it goes from here. He takes her back to his tent and they make-a the sweet looove-a.

When he wakes the next day, she is gone. Not unduly concerned about such developments he joins the band as they pack away the gear and get ready to depart the now slumbering village.

As they are packing up Fred makes conversation with the lead singer, er, Dave.

Dave says "You had a good time last night" and feels the force of Fred's best shit-eating grin upon him. "I was chatting to the girl's father when you left", says Dave. "Did you happen to get that girl's age at all?"

Fred answers that he didn't, but assumed she was about the same age as him, 17.

Dave shakes his head, the beginnings of smirk playing at his lips.

"No mate. She's not 17", says Dave. "She's 12".

I was not there to witness it for myself, but I'm told that Fred's face went the very colour that Procol Harum are fond of singing about.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 10:23, 3 replies)
paedo dj
I used to dj at a bar every Saturday. One evening a very pretty asian girl decided she wanted some fun, so after getting spazzed on neat vodka and finishing my set I took her down an alleyway.

we had a fumble, and my gentleman was kissed. We went to to the bus stop to go to her house and have an adult cuddle.

conversation wasn't exactly stimulating, but 5 minutes before the bus arrived she piped up 'it's my birthday next week!' 'that's nice' I replied 'how old will you be?'

'15' she replied. I was 27...

I screamed and ran home.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 9:44, Reply)
School Gates
I went out with a mates cousin. She was 19 and I was 16 and in the old 5th form at school.

Not my first, as I lost that the year earlier, but going out with a 19 year old blonde (pretty fit) wjen you are still at school was cracking.

Most of my spotty mate were trying to pull anyone in their own year, whereas I had this nymph waiting outside the school gates with a fag waiting for me when me and my mate swanned across the playground.

Wonderful stuff for six months whereupon she dumped me and went out with a bloke with a car.

It still gained me much 'experience' points with girls in my year and I worked through the queue until the end of the year.

Cor she could .....
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 9:25, Reply)
In my time
I had a starter marriage with my almost childhood sweetheart who was one year younger than I - she developed into the vilest black hearted screaming harpie in next to no time. After that, I experimented:

- Older woman. Only 5 years difference, but dirty beyond belief. That was an eye opener.

- Much younger woman. I was 24, she was just turned 18. Very good sex, and some great laughs, but there were times when the conversation just wasn't there.

- Much older woman. I was 24, she was in her forties, and married. That was a wild time, but I retreated when she requested I did a wee on her.

- Much younger woman. I was 28, she was 20. She had some issues, we worked though them. She had some new issues, we worked through them. She had some new, new issues. We worked through them. We've been married 14 years - and she's still bloody hard work (but I love her!)
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 9:08, 1 reply)
I was working as a waitress in a cocktail bar...
About 3 years ago I started working as a waitress in a bar in Geneva. We had a few regulars, one of whom I got to know really well. He was a "wealthy businessman", but so down to earth that I didn't believe him at first, I thought he was a jobbing builder!

So during his frequent business trips to Geneva, we started hanging out after my bar shift on quite a regular basis. We were never anything more than friends, he was married and 15 years older than me, so the thought of any hanky panky genuinely never never crossed my mind - we just had a good laugh together.

Unfortuantely, I woke up one morning on the day he was flying back to the UK after one of his business trips and found myself counting the HOURS until he got back. "Oh noes!" thinks I, "I appear to have fallen for a married man 15 years my senior who lives in a different country!". I was very pissed off with myself for being such a wally and began wondering how on earth I was going to start "unfancying" him.

Anyway, the tale moves on, and he returns to Geneva a few days later on a late fight. We arrange to meet in a bar and I clock-watch like a loon, wating for him to arrive. He walks in the bar at about 11.30 and his first words are "I missed you, my little friend!". Hmph, I didn't want to be his "little friend"! After a few drinks in the bar, we headed back to his hotel for a few more drinks, a not unusual occurence, but as we drank more and more, we found ourselves closer and closer together until the inevitable happened and we kissed. We spent the night together, and the rest of his trip together too.

On the morning of his departure, we both woke up with a bad feeling and had "the talk" - I had no desire to be someone's bit on the side, and he was tearing himself apart for cheating on his wife. So with a heavy heart, we agreed it was over.

We continued to see each other on his trips over, but despite the obvious chemistry we both behaved impeccably. Until the day he told me he was planning on buying a house in the mountains outside Geneva, and would I like to come and see it with him?

It was the most beautiful house, with stunning views, in a charming alpine village. I was green with envy! We met up again the next day, when he broke the news:

"I've put an offer in on the house. And I'd like you to move in with me, I'm leaving my wife"

BANG! I wasn't expecting that! After getting over my shock and terror that he'd made such a big decision on such a brief affair, I threw myself into his arms and said "yes yes yes!"

We have been living in our beautiful house in our Alpine village with the stunning views for 3 years now, and I have never been happier. I must be the luckiest person on earth and wake up every morning thanking my lucky stars.

Sorry for length, but isn't it nice to have a happy ending?
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 8:23, 15 replies)
On my mums side: Nana was 18 and grandad was 29 when they married. (and she was 8 months up the duff with my beloved mother, hmmm..) Still going strong in their 60s/70s and after 5 more kiddywinks and enough grandkids you can shake a stick at.

Dads side: Both grandparents 22 (she was only 6 months preggers with uncle) It lasted two years and they dispise each other.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 1:48, Reply)
edit to last post
Am now not dating the 23 yr old, (im 22), so it looks like my close age relationships dont work either lol, im doomed. Ah well im sticking to my sig!
all applicants please contact [email protected]*

*please dont, its fake.
length? not too bad but he certainly wasnt an 'upstanding' member of the community lol
(, Tue 9 Dec 2008, 22:43, 3 replies)

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