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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.

One time
there was this guy and he was all "ooh you can't fuck my gran" and so i fucked his gran and he was all "ooh you can't fuck my grandad" so i fucked his grandad only we were on mars and i am actually a superhero and also i am a cripple so you can't be horrid to me and then i made a smell that was so good it made people smell in colour and so this guy said to me "where is the post office" so i fucked his mother only i have no cock.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 12:46, 3 replies)
Only slightly relevant
But I am slightly disturbed by the amount of girls here who were 'well up for it' at 14 or 15.

By definition by 17 year old loss of viriginity makes me frigid, sorry boys :p

When I was 14/15 I was more into kicking the shit out of boys not sexing them up rampantly.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 12:14, Reply)
The landlady's tale
I REALLY, REALLY, shouldn't tell this.
But I will.

Before I retired I use to run a quaint little pub in the south of England.
It was a true "locals" pub and I would frequently allow a selected few of my favourites to stay behind for a late night after hours drink.

One such evening myself and maybe half a dozen drunken young friends where enjoying the odd fine wine and each others company.

Around six in the morning I suddenly felt very tired and told all the young lads that they should finish thier drinks and to be careful on their way home.

I give them all a peck on the cheek and locked the door after them. I was too tired to cash up the till and went upstairs to bed not bothering even to turn off lights or clear tables.

I sat down so I could slip out of my stilletoes but the sofa was just too comfy and I must have nodded off.

I could have only been asleep for a few minutes when the next thing I hear is a young man's voice calling out my name in a very soft (and sweet) voice.

There was a gentle 'tap tap' on the door to my private flat and then i heard his footfalls pad across the carpet. He sat beside me, seductively brushing against my legs and began to gently caress my shoulders "Sarah, sarah," he begged "You need to let me fuck you"

I opened my eyes and sat up. It was Sandy, one of my locals, although he was only in his 20's he never had much luck with women because he was a bit thick, ugly, and incredibly shy. I had sometimes noticed him staring at me from in front of the bar. To be honest, I felt a bit sorry for him.

I reached out to take his hand. But before I knew it, he had guided my hand to his crotch and massaged it against his pathetically small cock.

I opened my mouth to speak, "How did you find your way here?" I asked, he didn't reply, he simply pounced on me and rammed his squirming tongue down my throat. It was childhood kiss - no technique, and lots of spit.

To cut a long story short, I was very drunk, he obviously fancied me for ages, so I lowered my high standards and we went at it like gerbils on acid for most of the night.
But Sandy was always a true gentleman and kept my little mistake to himself, I heard days later that he told his freinds he "accidentally" got locked in the gents all night and just gave me a gentle kiss on the lips.

Poor child.
I often wonder whats he up to these days?

(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 12:09, 4 replies)
She chased me
Well I was going through a bit of a crisis of confidence with regards to the female of the species, due in part to having a napper like a butchers chopping block (TM Bear) and spending most of my free time in my local getting leathered. Nowt wrong with my local although attractive, unattatched ladies were something of a rarity. I was friendly with the girls who did go in as I knew their parents and they must have felt safe chatting to me (or thought I was gay). Cut a long story short I started seeing someone who was 19 when I was 34. It went on for a while until I started getting too involved and seeing as she was living with someone it was well moody and I felt a bit of a c***. It ended amicably and turned out to be the catalyst for me becoming a bit of a tramp but has ultimately ended up with me being in love with the most beautiful woman I could have imagined (if slightly barking mad) and she is my age. The point is that without that boost of confidence from being with someone much much younger I dread to think of where I would be now.

Sorry for the lack of biting wit but I have been lurking for 2 years now and although intimidated by most of the quality writing on here, felt it was about time I made a contribution.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 11:40, Reply)
Blatant Honesty
In my times of singleness I've been happy to go with someone considerably younger or older than myself. One such person was M. She was 19 when I met her, and I was 28.

I always make sure to point out the obvious: "This won't develop into a relationship" etc. This was fine with her. apparently her mum had grown bored of the immature boys she'd been dating and had told her to "go and find a real man"
*Humpty preens a little... just to make a few people grumble*

We were what's known as KK for some time (Knull-Kompisar) (fuck buddies), during which time I taught her a lot. The most important thing was confidence; a lack of shame.

The first time she was naked with me she was continually trying to hide her body. She'd literally hide under sheets, or cover up with her arms. Someone that young and beautiful shouldn't be scared of showing off the things that their partner obviously desires. It took time, but after a few months she'd strut around the flat naked without a care in the world.

There were no secrets, no lies, just fun and games enjoyed by both. It came out later on that she was a scientologist: and even later than that, that she'd had the confidence to tell them to get fucked and leave.

At this moment in time she's setting out to start up a life without the crackpot cult. She's thanked me and told me that its partly my doing.

Sex is one thing, Teaching people about fun kinks such as anal sex is another, but being able to give someone the gift of confidence is - in my books - absolutely priceless.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 11:15, 12 replies)
Jailbait, Me
There was only a gap of five years between us. But I was...14. Always have been advanced for my age. He was an unemployed 'poet' with a car
(but revoked driving privileges) who fancied himself the tortured artist. Total fucking loser. Classic Cackers. In my defense, he
looked quite like James Dean. And had an enormous penis.

So, with no transport - and my age - clearly we'd be staying in.

Having a romantic dinner was far from the point of this illicit and illegal alliance. (We did have a proper relationship, in a sense,
the term 'love' was bandied about, but time clarifies things, don't it?) This was about exploring that fabulous beast - teenage lust.

Each morning I would set off for school but then pass it by in favor of 'Bob's' house. His mother would greet me with a tight little smile and offer me some breakfast. Trust me, food was the furthest thing from my mind. More'pressing' matters were at hand. I'd just smile dumbly and take a glass of juice or something.

Can't imagine what her thoughts were about this weird girl who appeared at her door each day at 0900 sporting elbow length leather gloves, over-the knee-boots, and purple hair. goth meets Emma Peel was my look at the time. Charming it was, but the local climate was HOT, so my style was entirely unsuitable. But I was, and remain, as countless other can attest,
truly daft.

Anyway, I'd gulp the juice down - actually it DID fortify - and - make my way to the ultimate destination - the lair of 'Bob' Where, in true loser fashion, he would still be asleep. Our ritual was to get into it straightaway. He quite naturally had evil morning breath, but my prize was his raging hard-on. Whatever, have never been too squeamish. Dragon-breath was small pain in exchange for what was to come. And come, and come to think of it, come again. Thankfully, he did keep a pitcher of water to refresh us. He was a lazy bastard. But crafty. And how.

The ritual was for me to climb aboard, because he was sloth on waking. At which point, ahem, my plan was sorted. All systems go! We would spend the day doing the dirty until 'school' was over.

I was, of course, without experience but made up for this with enthusiasm. We would shag the clock around. Think the record was 10 times in one day. *Ah youth when all equipment is in best working order* We spent the hours stifling our screams so as not to startle his mother or awaken his loser brother who worked the night shift at Kmart. (At least HE had employment. But was ugly as sin. So paid him no regard).

After each go, he would inquire if I had 'arrived.' Yes, thank you. Every time. So we
attempted to be discreet. But really, what did his family *think* was going on behind that door?

Anyway. One day we took a breather or he just went to pee. Some such. There I stood, alone in his room, nude, enjoying a Marlboro - we did
take smoke breaks between rutting ourselves silly - when a short, sharp knock at the door ocurred. In my post-coital haze I automatically replied 'Yes'.

The door flew open, putting Bob's mother in full view of bare me, cigarette in hand. (Actually, socks might have been involved.) Her
eyes went wide and and she dropped the basket of
laundry she was holding. All of Bob's whites fell to the floor. (No job and his mother still washing his clothes! Classic.)

We gaped at each other an infinite second. I remember taking a long draw from my smoke, waiting for the bombs to rain down on my head.

'Maybe YOU can put Bobby's things away today', she sharped at me at last. *slam of door*

My face was red, but I just blithely finished my cigarete and got back in bed. Indeed. As if I hadn't been engaged all the day long in 'putting Bob's thing(s) away! O shameless me. Smugness and lack of self-respect were (are) not mutually exclusive to mad addled Cackers!

Up until that frightful day, his mother had dutifully driven me to the bus stop each afternoon in her Honda (US standards compact - plenty of room to store your automatic weapons) The three of us in her little car What we must have smelled like after such sexathons! I contemplate this with a strange blend of mortification and pride.

On the day of discovery I walked to the bus station on my own, my days of being driven in 'style' over. I took a short-cut through a an empty building site and my boots were besmirched wih dust. But were I sad? No, really just looking forward to tomorrow's 'installment'. Wanton hussy.

There was *some* fall-out: white plastic laundry baskets haunt me to this day. Most likely was purchased from Kmart with an Employee's discount!

Post-Script: it ended badly. He was a conformist unable to deal with my wardrobe - to him I was best unclothed. Have to say felt the same about him. Wore penny loafers, for fuck's sake. When I ditched him, said I'd just realized I was a lesbian. Don't think he believed me. Too devoted was I to his love muscle. And why not-it was always at the ready! Very effective.

PPS - years later he tracked me down to be a 'character witness' because he was in midst of trial for sleeping with another underage
girl. And then told me he still loved me!! Mad fucker. In every sense.

With all apologies for Yank spelling & punctuation.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 10:56, 8 replies)
Well, I assume she was older than him...
I got this text from a good mate a few weeks ago while he was on holiday, and it made me lol so I kept it:

"I just shagged an old French bird on the beach, broad daylight, with audience! Going to poke either Dutch or Brit boilers from campsite later. Yay me!"

He's a b3tan, so he may well read this, but I'll leave it to him to reveal himself, as it were...
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 10:38, 1 reply)
i am an idiot!
I was 24 and a manager in the local night club(it was not a classy joint). I was on the rebound from a 4 year relationship and feeling low. Now this nightclub really did attract the older lady , but on some occasions they did bring there daughters out. So one night i am standing at the end of the bar watching my staff work when i get a pinch on the backside. Fearing it to be a saggy granny i turn around quick and notice she is not half bad.We end up chatting and before you know it we are in bed at it like rabbits in my tiny loft room. This is where things go wrong!. Around 3am there ia a loud bang on the door and the sound of those silly exhausts that chavs stick on there £200 novas. My flat mate gets up and shouts out the window . He gets a reply back that some one in the house is shaggibg his 17yr old girlfriend!!!! Bloody hell i thought our house was going to get stormed by the local chav scum , so in my very embarrassed state i did the most shameful thing i could ........ yes i phoned the police! i actually dialled 999 and said " There are some hooligns outside my house who wont leave". I never know to this day why i did not just go down stairs and tell him and his shellsuit soverign wearing scum mates to do one. The police arrived and moved them on then came and talked to me while i am in my boxers with some young girl about to leave. i was getting some funny looks of the twunts as well. god i am such an embarassment to the male race!
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 10:15, 6 replies)
The ‘Miracle Man’ of advertising…

When I was a wee nipper of 16, I did some work experience at an advertising agency in town. I was assigned a ‘Mentor’ in the slimy form of a filthy old 50-something perv known as Gus….Who, due to his unbelievable success in the industry, liked to be known as ‘Super G’. (Suffice to say, you’re right in your assumption – the bloke was a Galaxy-sized portion of frottage cheese).

Anyhoo, the day I arrived there was a huge problem at the firm. They had been given a big contract to advertise a product that was…well…a bit shit.

The product was some bollocks fluid that was meant to protect the paintwork on your car…(exciting, isn’t it?).. Anyway, it was called ‘Sure-GuardTM’ and was officially as-dull-as-slug-dumps. Nobody could think of a good angle or slogan to sell these bottles of unadulterated wank...

But then incredibly, Gus briefly stopped chatting me up to spurt a veritable revelation to everyone in the vacinity. “I’m going to tell you all my advertising secret” He proclaimed to the bewildwerment of everyone around. “My right hand is blessed in the way of advertising…All I have to do is put a pencil in my hand, look the other way, and my magic hand will write the perfect slogan”

“For fucks’ sake, Super-twat” The managers yelped at him…but in desperation, and finding no other answers, they begrudgingly gave him a pencil…

Gus grasped it tightly, placed his hand on the table, then calmly looked the other way. Immediately his hand sprung into life…as if it had a mind of it’s own, and it began feverishly moving up and down (‘Must come in handy’ I thought to myself ) before watching the pencil make contact with the paper and he begin to scrawl…

Just a few seconds later, and what everybody agreed was the ultimate slogan was written down on the paper . He had just made something that had flummoxed the finest advertising minds for the last 6 months look simple – a piece of piss in fact. Everyone, me included, was stunned at this incredible display. Collectively, we yelled out our amazement at what we were witnessing:

We said…

Coo! – Gus’ hand ‘Sure-Guard’ Ad-ease!

And to stay on topic…I then let him shag me up the arse.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 9:37, 4 replies)
Bindun? Fuck off!
What's so great about sex with twentyseven year olds?

There are twenty of them!

Edit: Damn. Should maybe have read the question.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 9:29, Reply)
Bovine tourism
Once upon a time, France was being invaded by a bunch of German cows crossing the border. The cows didn't move very far and were blocking the entire region of Alsace Lorraine due to their sheer numbers. To deal with this, the French ministry of Tourism decided to build a network of stations to ease the movement of the cows. To improve the atmosphere at the stations, it was decided to place a bunch of early 20th century performance artists on the roofs of the station and let them do their thing. And that's how France became full of kuh gares and sur gare Dadas.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 9:23, Reply)
ok so ill take the plunge
As you all seem to be bearing your sordid moments. Here is my shameful and never before told age gap story.

rewind to , ooh, 1997? Age 17.

Little shamen is shipped off to live with his dad who is working out in Russia. But not anywhere classy like Moscow (which in 1997 was still pretty dire), no I'm shipped off to ex communist central asia. A country which borders where Borat hails from, where cigs cost about 5 pence a pack and where the president was known for boiling the odd person now and then. How quaint.

I soon found out that compared to the locals, we were fucking loaded. Score. You can imagine the Russian girlies in the local dive nightclubs were just screaming for an exit visa and saw me as the ticket. Much fun was had while it lasted. But I digress, thats not the meat of this story.

About a year and a half into this, we realised after a few small fires that the wiring in our house was shot. Not trusting the local "its OK, just put wire in socket, he works" school of electrical engineering, dads company shipped out two sparkies from, of all places, Birmingham. So, with having some english company out there with us, me, dad and the two sparkies did what us brits do best abroad. Get pissed up, get lary and shag the locals.

One night we were in the club, dad was so trashed he had to go home, with our driver propping him up on the way to the car. The sparkies and I decided to keep on trucking. Closing time was 5 am, you see. After copious amount of the local vodka, which is more akin to perfume if you ask me, things start getting cloudy. I remember the sparkies brought over three "women" whom though my vodak tainted goggles were still dogs, but still within the do-ability scale. At this point alarm bells should have been ringing. To even detect a hint of old dog after that much voddy is asking for trouble.

There was more drinking, dancing, this much I remember. then there is a bit missing. Next thing I recall, im back at the sparkies guest house, in the spare room alone with one of the .. ahem.. ladies. Much noshing on the big chap occurred, then the beast with two backs emerged. I recall not being able to get anywhere near coming unless I closed my eyes.. WHERE THE FUCK are my alarm bells at this point? On fucking holiday in the bahamas the bastards.

When I pulled out to spray the man batter everywhere, the protestations from her were loud and many so it was clear that cum inside was quite OK. Again, where the FUCK are my alarm bells - im fucking a dubious old girl on the other side of the world in some poor ass country, with no rubber on my cock. And she wants me, the (compared to the locals) rich young foreign guy to shoot inside her.

So I did what any responsible, horny teenager would; pumped her full of it and promptly fell asleep.

Fast forward to next day. Its light, and all I see is colours and all I feel is pain. Oh hold on, eyes closed. Best open them.

OH FUCKING HELL. close eyes close eyes close eyes. gouge eyes out gouge eyes out. Memories come flooding back. open eyes again. Realise I have just shagged someone who is easily old enough to be my grandmother. gotta be 60's at least. The wizend old face staring back at me cracks a smile to reveal, in true central asian style, a grill full of gold and frankly some of last weeks dinner.

I bolted to the bathroom, bleached every inch of my body and would not emerge until she was gone. I scrubbed my poor self RED raw. As the community was so tight knit out there, EVERYONE knew what I had done. All the people at the factory, the town, the nightclubs. No cute local girlies would come near me again, even to get the chance to get that nice exit visa.

So there, thats my story of my age gap fuck. I guess I was out there on the frontier for the good of humanity that night. Thankfully the doctors have reassured me every year since, I dont have cock rot or any other such transmitted bug, which is a miracle considering the local population. Never saw or heard from her again. I suppose the good thing was the chances of pregnancy were about 0% as she likely did the menopause last century.

What the doctors cant do for me though, is get rid of the memory which will haunt me to my grave.

Those brum sparkies set me up, the cunts.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 7:29, 6 replies)
Made me laugh hard enough to share....
my story is posted on page 2, but today one of my coworkers asked how old my boyfriend is.

I told him, but he already knew he was a lot older than me.

"Oh, so are you going to have a 60th birthday party for him then?" asks coworker.

"Yes", says I...promptly followed by "and a retirement party, he's retiring the same day".

The poor guy I work with choked on his bagel.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 7:17, Reply)
The story of my first-time
would have made a good story for last week's QOTW, but as it's relevant, I though I'd post it here.

It was just another typical Monday night in the middle of the summer and I had gone out with my work-colleagues drinking. Gradually, we were petering out, and there were only two of us left - me and my friend "Chris" (not his real name). Usually when in large groups, I tend to get sidelined, but there were only two of us left, so the conversation at my end was starting to flow smoothly. It was one of those pubs with an atmosphere that was good for just sitting down and having a chat.

It was then that she appeared. She recognised my friend and started chatting. Quickly, he introduced her to me. In true "introductions went well, fuck the rest" style, I instantly forgot her name (but we'll refer to it as "Cassandra" (not her real name of course)). She looked about 40, had dark red hair - quite possibly dyed, but it looked like a good dye-job. She spoke in a deep and husky voice (but then again, so did most of the women from around those parts). Once she joined us, the focus of the conversation changed, but I still felt I was doing my part conversationally. No longer were we talking about geek-stuff, but she told me she was doing Karate. Being a fellow martial artist, it gave us something to talk about.

The evening flowed smoothly and drunkenly, and pretty soon, it was chucking out time. She invited both of us back to her place. I was wondering whether or not I could still make it to the kebab-shop before it closed, but decided instead to follow my new friend and see where the night would lead. On the way back, she said "The night is young". I'd heard of that phrase before. "Could it be what I think it means?" "Naaah!" She did however mention she had a boyfriend, but he was away this night. "Who knows..."

Back at her place (which was pretty close to the office), we cracked open some more cans of beer. By now, I was at that stage of drunken-ness where I tend to drift off into my own world. Cassandra had decided to go to the toilet for a bit, leaving me and Chris alone.

"You want to shag her, don't you!". He said.

Having just been in my alcoholic haze, this seemed to come out a bit out of the blue. Not sure how to respond, I just remained silent. This way, I was able to do absolutely nothing, but give both answers to the question at once. Before any elaboration could take place, she returned.

In my drunken haze, I noticed she was doing something with her clothes. I wasn't sure if she was taking them off or putting them on, I really hadn't been paying that much attention. I kept watching. The decreasing mass of clothing implied that she was taking them off.

Pretty soon, she was down to her underwear. " Could she possibly?" I asked myself. The question was soon answered with a resounding "Yes" as her tits came out. They looked somewhat deflated, but I was convinced she had a nice personality, so that didn't seem to matter. As if that wasn't enough, off came her knickers. She was definitely a redhead, and had made a pretty good job at dyeing her hair.

So there I was, me, some guy from the office, and a naked lady. "Now what?" I wondered to myself. "Where could things possibly go from here?"

That question was soon answered. Chris sensed my state of shyness/confusion from my silence and told Cassandra that I was a bit shy and had decided to let me go first. Not sure what I wanted to do next, I was frozen with fear, although I was by far more bemused than either scared or looking forward to having a go. And so, Cassandra agreed to have a go on me first. She was going to do both of us (but thankfully not at the same time, now that really would have made me scared). I was in my mid/late 20s, and Chris was in his early 30s. Cassandra was cheating on her boyfriend, and Chris was cheating on his girlfriend. Me on the other hand - single as a single thing. Cassandra perched herself on my leg, and Chris left the room, leaving just myself and a somewhat older naked lady sitting on my leg.

"Is this your first time?" she said.

"Was it really that obvious?" I thought to myself.

"Yes", I responded without any hesitation.

Being shy, I always considered it to be a great effort to try and initiate a relationship. For anything less than a full-blown relationship, it just did not seem worth the effort on my part to overcome my shyness. Women who in my mind were "that special someone" were few and far between. It's not that I was saving myself up - I was just rubbish at getting things going.

I had recently given Internet Dating a try. My first attempt the previous summer involved me meeting a lady called "Eleanor" (not her real name of course) who I instantly fell in love with (when I met her in the real-world). Unfortunately, she had to go off to the States for a few months, and it took ages before we met again, by which time, she was seeing someone else, which totally gutted me. I had recently started my second attempt at Internet Dating. So far, I had not managed another real-world meeting (although things were looking promising with an American lass called Lisa (name - not real) but she hadn't responded to my mail for a while). Even so, I was still feeling burned from my experience with Eleanor. I didn't really care that much about saving it up for a special someone.

As for Cassandra, she had come off my leg and was now sprawled over the sofa on her back gesturing for me to come over. One thing she did have going for her was her "No Bullshit" approach. She wasn't just giving hints, she was going for it! Now, I've always been crap at recognising when a woman wants it. This seemed pretty obvious, but even in the back of my mind, there was something asking me if I was sure I thought she was and to not do anything that might embarrass myself. Now, I did just tell you I was rubbish, didn't I?

So since that fateful day my pituitary gland went 'ping', I had been coming up with grand schemes to overcome my shyness and get laid. But here, I had done absolutely nothing and had an opportunity right in front of me.

It was now fight or flight. I chose fight. So I moved over to the sofa and started to take my clothes off despite still being shy and nervous. So anyway, I was moving my crotch towards hers, when suddenly, I realised I had forgotten something. In my mixture of nervousness and "this is it!", I all of a sudden remembered that I had forgotten to take off my underpants. I had to interrupt myself to remove said undies.

"Christ! I'm such a complete spacker!" I thought to myself, but really, I was too drunk to find it an embarrassment.

When I finally took off my undies, my nervousness was clearly making itself shown. I couldn't get it up! "Improvisation time" I thought - "think on my feet". So using my hands, I started stroking her lady-bits. Having watched many *ahem* 'educational' videos, I seemed to know what I was doing, but it seemed to come out like I was trying to do everything at once - quickly alternating between her upstairs and downstairs. Somehow, I think I managed to do something right, as she did seem to be enjoying it a bit. In the meantime, she grabbed hold of my still flaccid willy, but that was having no effect.

Things were made more nervous by hearing a knock at the door. Presumably, it was Chris becoming impatient at waiting for his turn (as it turned out, Chris was dyeing to get home in case his girlfriend was wondering where he had got to).

So there I was about to pop my cherry with a woman who'se name I had forgotten, was clearly many years older than myself who was cheating on her boyfriend, and I couldn't get it up. To make things worse, I was under pressure to finish quickly so my friend could have ago before his girlfriend got suspicious. Not good! Not good!

I just decided to give up and finish off quickly. Perhaps having a wank that morning wasn't such a good idea - nor was getting wankered down the pub. I had finished without even getting a hardon - let alone cumming. "Don't take it personally" I said. "Not bad for a virgin" she whispered. As I was starting to put my clothes on, she suggested I stay around. By then, Chris had gotten fed up of waiting and burst into the room. By now, my denim shorts were back on and I was adjusting the belt, but my top was still off. Had he come in a few seconds earlier ... the thought was just unbearable.

I put the rest of my clothes on, and moved out the room. At first, I stayed near the living-room door. Not really sure if I wanted to leave or stay around, I just stayed. I was feeling disorientated from having just had my first 'go' on someone and that someone being someone who I don't think I really wanted to have a go on. There was hardly any noise coming from the living room, but at one stage, I did hear Chris giggle for no reason at all. Gradually, I moved my way up the staircase. Chris soon left. As I had by now climbed up the stairs, Chris did not see me and assumed I had gone, so he just left. Cassandra soon came up the stairs to find me still there. Through the process of my beer-scooter, I ended up in her bed.

Now, this was more like it. Unlike the sofa, it felt more cosy in here. But even so, I still couldn't get it up! I was still somewhat confused. "How long have you known Chris?" I said for want of anything better to say. In bed, we were able to get closer together, and I was able to feel more of her. Her skin felt slightly rubbery, and smelled of tobacco. But even so, the atmosphere felt more relaxed, and I could take my time. I was gently caressing her back, gradually letting my stroking hands drift down to her inner thighs. One of them came up to play with her norks. This hand was assisted by my mouth which was longing to join in the fun. This was having an effect on her. Her pelvis was gyrating and she was clearly enjoying it. But I still couldn't get my todger up! Damnit! I still had fingers, so I decided to use them.

Nestled under her pubes was her slit. My fingers were going to work moving apart the flaps, folds, lips and labia that lay therein, all the while, making sure I gave everything a good stroke. Unfortunately, my fingers could not find the clitoris. She did however have a spot she liked having caressed and even grabbed my fingers to re-position them, but even so, it didn't seem very clit-like to me. I had seen many *ahem* pictures where it was obvious where the clitoris was. Why couldn't I have picked a woman with a beginner's clitoris? Soon, my Marco-Polo like fingers went off in search of the Polo-mint hole. That was much easier to find. In they went. First one, and then two. It was obvious this one preferred penetration to stimulation. And it was so. I kept pumping them in and out, and she kept responding with her hips. This went on until all of a sudden, she started shaking. This must be it, she must have come. Her mouth made no noise at all. Either she was more of a shaker than a screamer, or she had trained herself to keep quiet. The shaking took a while to subside. I slowed down my pace but was still moving inside her. It was clear she was having a better time than me. I was still pretty nervous and still couldn't get it up, but I was still enjoying myself through giving her pleasure. I thought if I had another go at mounting her, it might just work. It didn't. I was suspending my crotch over hers but there was no life between my legs. I was persistent but not getting anywhere. Pretty soon, she said "I'm drying up". This was a cue to have a rest. As she relaxed, she farted loudly and clearly. Obviously, she was a lot more relaxed than I was. In fact, I was still wondering if Chris would pop in at any minute.

And so, the legendary pillow-talk began. In her post orgasmic bliss, she described a vision she kept having of seeing some boats in a harbour in a sunny climate. She also told me that she had lived in the West-Yorkshire mill town all her life and never left the UK, but had been to Belfast (for some reason, just about everyone who I've spoken to who has never left the UK has been to Belfast). And so, it came to discussing our ages. "How old are you?" she asked. "27" was the reply. "Please, for the love of God, let her be this side of 40!" I prayed to myself. "46" was her response. Ouch! "Does that bother you?" she said. "No." was my response. This of course was a bare-faced lie. I had learned yet another thing about myself that night - that I was capable of telling a bare-faced lie to someone even in such an intimate situation. Double-Ouch!! Back in my teenaged years, I wondered if the age difference was too great if the girl of my affections's age was closer to that of my sister than me. Now, I was with someone who's age was closer to my mother than me. Triple-Ouch!!! I've always liked learning things about myself, but I was not liking what I was learning about myself that night.

Cassandra told me that it had been a fantasy of hers to deflower someone. It was the first time she'd been with a virgin. She also told me she thought I looked younger than 27. Did she want an even younger man? The feeling was certainly not mutual. She told me that she thought her body had fared well despite her age. Now that she had pointed this out, I did notice some grain of truth, but I somehow thought it was a bit egotistical of her to mention it. She also told me that her first time was when she was 15, and that she was a bit of a tomboy back in the day (can't quite remember how the two things fitted together).

She pressed her back to my front, and entangled her legs between mine. My lowest leg was on the bed, and her lowest thigh was sandwiched between my two thighs. I had quite heavy upper legs, and was wondering if I'd cut off her circulation. This caused me to keep my upper leg lifted - not lifted above, but just not applying pressure. This was making me less relaxed and I did not fall asleep. Soon, I was getting bored. Just how long could I prevent my leg from putting it's full weight on hers? Eventually, my boredom must have had an effect, as she started moving again. But it was really just the beginnings of a trip to the toilet. Despite my company, she still felt comfortable. She went straight to the toilet without even bothering to close the toilet door, and came straight back as soon as she had finished. Clearly, her Yang was very strong!

When she came back, I decided to have another go. Still not being able to get it up, she decided to change positions. She went up on her hands and knees. "Entry will be easier like this" she said. I got up on my knees and moved towards her sticking out behind. Still couldn't get it up, let alone get it in. Things were made worse by her moving her hips around. "Stop moving around, damnit!" I thought to myself. The nervousness was making me shake. She could sense my shaking. She knew I was feeling too nervous, so told me it was best to rest a bit. Clearly, she knew what she was doing!

Thinking of my flaccid member, I said to her "Don't take this personally". Trying to re-assure me, she said "It's all in the mind". "Hey, that's my line!" I thought to myself. Ever since I had seen Yellow Submarine, I liked to use that line a lot myself (or at least I liked to imagine I'd use it). "Not bad for a virgin" she said again. She knew very clearly what she was doing, and knew just what to say, so I left it at that and tried to go to sleep. Once again, she farted without shame.

The 'break' did not last very long. I decided to have another go at it. This time, she positioned herself between my legs. She tried several things to get me going. One of which involved doing something to my pee-hole. That hurt more than it did anything else. She also tried draping her norks across my cock. They were pretty deflated, so when she was face-down, they stuck out, but when lying on her back, they seemed to vanish into almost nothing. Finally, she kissed my willy. "Was she going to go down on me?" I thought? The answer appeared to be no, but this did put thoughts of my own into my mind. I had been wondering whether or not I should go down on her. "Why not" I thought to myself, so I did.

I had never before paid any consideration to the effect pubic hair would have on cunnilingus. Now, I did. She by no means had anything that even closely resembled a 'Judith' - her ginger hairs were too thinly distributed for that, but they were as long as pubes could get. They didn't bother me in any way, but I certainly felt their presence. She was responding well. I decided to do the trick with my fingers, and pretty soon, she was shaking again.

And so, it was time for some more pillow-talk. Cassandra lay herself in front of me again. This time, I had my arm over her and was gently flicking my finger over her nipple as she talked. At first, it was the boats in a sunny climate thing again. She told me that one of her regrets in life was getting married too young. That did not last, and ended up having a daughter with someone else. She was telling me about how she had an evil aunt who died when she was about 3. The aunt still appeared as a ghost to her, and in fact, I think she even said she could still see the ghost occasionally. She also had a daughter aged 16-18 ish. When the daughter was aged 3, she seemed to go through a phase of drawing devils. In more recent times, the daughter stole Cassandra's wedding-ring to buy drugs, but despite this, they were both on texting-eachother terms. Cassandra also mentioned she was taking painkillers. They were prescribed for a condition she was having, but I could but not help wonder whether or not she used them as a means of escapism. To make things more interesting, she told me that her boyfriend could come back at any time. Fortunately, he did not.

We got back into the leg-entanglement position. I asked if my leg was too heavy, and she said no. This was my cue to totally relax my upper-leg but even so, I still did not get to sleep. In fact, I did not get any sleep at all that night. Amongst the things that were going through my mind was that I had heard rumours that the company I was working for was in unhealthy financial shape. Now, if things blow up with Cassandra and my company goes bust or makes me redundant, I'd have an eject-mechanism. However, I also thought about things in a different way. At the time, I was getting involved in the Anti-Globalisation movement. I thought that if ever thought I was about to be arrested, I could use Cassandra's house as a hiding-place (although it was a bit too close to the office for comfort). In the meantime, I had just started corresponding with another woman from the Internet Dating site I was on and was wondering if she had responded to my message.

By now, it was morning. At last, I was beginning to feel the first stirrings of life in my cock. I let her know that I was interested again, but alas, I softened again. I tried to get it in again. She told me that she was dry. Usually, she used some lube when in such situations, but she seemed to have run out. Improvising, she decided to just use water instead. From my 'research', I realised that the best position seemed to be with her on top. This may have just been because I was much bigger than she was, and I could take her weight much better than she could take mine. For a brief moment, it appeared to go in, but as usual, she was moving around too much so it popped out. Damnit!

Realising I was having more fun trying to please her than being pleased, I decided to go down on her again. The room was flooded with daylight, so I could finally see where everything was and what I was doing. I had figured most of it out by now, but it was nice to see things. This time, she grabbed the back of my head and pushed me towards her. As usual, she shook in silence.

We ended up in a snog. Not wanting to get too close to her, this made me feel very uncomfortable.

"don't take it personally" I kept saying. "It's all in the mind" she said.

"How was I?" she said. To be honest, I just wanted to say "You moved around too much", but didn't. I didn't really feel like asking her, but even so, she once again repeated her mantra "Not bad for a Virgin". Hooray for my *ahem* 'educational' videos. I also realised that our physical closeness gave her a chance to sense my legendary keen-ness in a way that can only be sensed when intimate. Once again, she verbally reminded me of how well her body had fared despite her age. It was too late for me to go to sleep. I needed to be at the office in two hours.

About an hour later, we started talking. "I think we should just be friends" she said. This was exactly what was going through my mind. We just weren't meant for eachother, but we got on well. In retrospect, what she said was what many of my attempts to start a relationship had lead to the other person saying. It was basically the same thing, but this time round, I felt relieved, rather than heartbroken. She asked me not to mention any of this to her boyfriend. As if I would! We decided to meet eachother that evening for some drinks, and possibly even a 'round two' if her boyfriend was not going to be back.

It was too late for me to go back to my flat and shower, so instead, I made do with a bath at her place. She gave me some tea and we watched a bit of breakfast-television together (I usually don't watch TV before work). I soon left her place, but instead of going straight to the office, I went to get some bananas, as I had not eaten anything yet. In my bag of things, I had some deodorant which I had purchased yesterday. As Cassandra lived with her boyfriend, I thought I'd better not leave any traces of an alien-deodorant, so I applied it outside the house (also, the less I smelled of her and her place, the better).

When I arrived at work, I was once again in familiar surroundings. As I was signing in, the receptionist noticed my bananas and worse-for-the-ware posture. She jokingly asked if I had evolved back into an ape. All I could do was grunt. I was imagining Chris coming along and saying "Leave the poor guy alone, he's just lost his virginity!". I arrived at my desk. I soon got an e-mail from Chris that said "I think we'd better keep quiet about last night". No shit dude!

Having been awake all night was clearly having an effect. During the day, my boss asked if I was feeling alright. I did not want to mention my sleep deprivation - especially not why I was sleep-deprived, so I just blamed it on a hangover. My boss had been known to go out on our midweek pub-trips and get shitfaced himself, so at least he'd be sympathetic to a hangover. In reality, I wasn't hungover, but felt more like I was still drunk from the night before.

When the day ended, I went to the pub we agreed on meeting in. I was to meet the woman I had at that time been more intimate with than anyone else before, yet I made zero effort. I did not even bother to change my clothes (although to be fair, I could not be arsed to go back to my flat). At first, I was all by myself, but after 3/4 of my first pint, she turned up.

The evening was mostly her doing a monologue of her life-story, some local history and a few odd bits and pieces (she seemed to think the carpet-industry in London was run by the Mafia), and me drifting off into an alcoholic haze. Towards the end of the evening, I inadvertently discovered one of life's secrets. After last-orders, she told me that she thought I was a good listener. I protested that I was in fact not paying attention half the time, but she was having none of it. She kept insisting I was a good listener. We did not go back to hers for a 'round two', but at least I made it to the kebab-shop before it closed. I finally got back to my flat, where I ate my kebab and had a wank - thankfully, the experience hadn't traumatised me in any way, and I was still capable of getting it up.

The rest of the week felt somewhat unreal. It was more a feeling of excitement than of bliss. While we were clearly not meant to be together, my life had all of a sudden gained a lot of spice. I was looking at things in a positive - if slightly unholy manner. Would this experience mean that I was at last immune to having my life taken over by having an intense crush on someone? In fact, I was mostly curious about how things would turn out.

As it turned out, things felt like they were back to normal the following Monday. I did have a few more encounters with Cassandra, and on one occasion, she even introduced me to her boyfriend, but a few months later, I moved somewhere far, far away and did not have another encounter again. It wasn't long before I realised just how little the experience had changed me. Basically, I had mostly confirmed a few things that I had suspected for a long time. I realised a bit about the darker side of my character - I can lie even in intimate moments (although this may have just been me being polite), can take part in someone's cheating on their partner (although to be fair, it was her decision to make, not mine, and she clearly made her own mind up). One good outcome from all this was my closer friendship with Chris (as well as being closer friends, we were now Custard Cousins). Also, pr0n is good for you - it's educational.

I did not tell my other friends about this. In fact, things seemed just like they were. A few months later, I realised that yes, I was still capable of having intense crushes (though thankfully, not on Cassandra, but with someone else I later met through Internet Dating).

They say that losing your virginity is a life-changing experience. Is it bollocks! However, looking back, I can honestly say I have no regrets about the incident.

Apologies for length.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 5:05, 11 replies)
The current Mrs Traitor was 27 when we met, but had a penchant for plaid skirts and ties and was often mistaken for a high school student.

However, back when I was in Canada, I dated an 18-year-old while I was 21. She was half Native Canadian and half Filipina which sounds more exotic than it really is (she didn't know how to use chopsticks and her favourite food was McDonald's).

Yeah, only a three-year gap, which is why this story is about her younger sister, at the time 16. Her boyfriend was 26.

Now, in Canada, that's totally legal. If you're 16, you're fair game, although it's still obviously frowned upon. Thing is, they met when she was 15. They tried to wait until she was legal age, and I'm told they failed miserably.

Around that time, their father, a small-time Filipino gangster, was thrown in jail for dealing drugs or punching someone or something like that. Both of his daughters (he actually had two more older daughters who ran away at a young age) were suddenly homeless. They dropped out of school and moved in to a youth shelter. The younger sister found her sugar daddy and immediately moved in with him (with full approval of her jailbird dad). Meanwhile, the girl I would later date drifted between youth shelters and hospitals until she was 18.

Yeah, quite a family. I'm not going to say what the mother's job was but she died of leukemia long ago. The father and his brother, when they were out of prison, were actually kind of fun to hang around even though they didn't speak English and really didn't live up to my expectations of gangsters. The daughter I dated was definitely the rock of the family, the one they always went to for a loan. Also, because she was legally Native, they would drive her out to the reserve where her treaty status got her a huge discount on cigarettes, which they would then resell at a marked up price in the city. The two sisters struck fortune when they were struck by a car; they weren't injured at all but they both got a payout that was supposed to come when they turned 18. Which meant being homeless until then. The younger sister spent her $20 000 on a Camaro or Mustang or something, which then got scratched up immediately after driving it home.

Anyway, after getting to know the younger sister and her older boyfriend, I saw that statutory ages really don't work in every case. The law was supposed to protect this 15-year-old girl from predatory older guys, but this case was the exact opposite.

In the years they were together, he totally supported her financially, giving her a place to stay and even paying for her to continue high school. I seem to recall he also did all the cooking. She gave him gonorrhea. Twice. Oh yeah, and she was so bitterly jealous, he wasn't allowed to watch any movies other than prison movies, because she wasn't comfortable with him viewing the image of another female. And he did absolutely everything she demanded of him, right up until she finally decided to leave him at age 18 for some scumbag kid who'd started dealing speed for her recently released father.

Let's just say that when her older sister and I broke up, I moved hemispheres.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 3:08, Reply)
I was 16...
Due to some unfortunateness, I'd ended up living in a flat above a customer workshop.

I was 16, earning £150 a week and paying £70 a week for an all in 1 bed flat 20 seconds from work and 5 minutes from town, and this was when you didn't need ID.

I didn't know it at the time, but life was very very good.

So, NYE 2000. We're at my uncles house having a family do, there's this fabulously cute, svelt young lady I've got my eye on. 17 years old, older chick, if I pull I'm a legend forever!

As it transpires she has an eye on my cousin and slinks off into their bedroom for some new year fun, I sit on the stairs and suddenly feel this legs part and straddle me from behind and a pair of hands start to softly caress my shoulders. Hoping it's not my sister or worse, I turn around and am presented with none other than the mother of previously mentioned girl.

Ladies and gentlemen, 30 years my senior. An age gap of no less than thirty years.

She spends the rest of the evening drunkenly touching me up and flirting with me in front of my mother and family, no less than one year older than said mother.

Come one am, we stumble back to my flat and she teaches me many valuable lessons as we greet the new year in.

The next day, I get a phone call from my mother explaining how the entire family is ashamed of me and how she's let her and myself down.

Shortly after, I got a phone call from my uncle laughing and telling me how much of a legend I was :D.

Good times.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 2:05, 2 replies)
my friend Neil:
"Christina Ricci's sexy because she has the body of a woman but the face of a child."
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 1:47, 1 reply)
Not a huge age gap but...
It has recently become a running joke between my brother, his best friend and I for his best friend to look over at my brother and say, "I'm going to steal your little sister's innocence later. How do you feel about that?"

He said this one night while we were eating pizza in a restaurant (needless to say, the people around us weren't our biggest fans) so I responded with, "This whole 'steal my innocence' thing... is that coming with the assumption that I'm innocent?" The girl sitting beside me (one of my brother's friends) looked at me in horror and screamed, "What the hell did you do!?" It really didn't raise the opinion of the people around us any.

I know it doesn't really answer the question, but it makes me laugh.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 1:11, Reply)
I have a thing for older men.
I lost my virginity on my 16th birthday to a 38-year-old. We had met at a concert and had been chatting online (cringe)...oh, did I mention that I live in NZ, and he lives in Australia? Yup. So I was on holiday in Sydney for my 16th, and of course he came down. We retreated to a rather spectacular hotel, and I was all geared up for a good shag with an older bloke who knew what he was doing.


IT WAS SHITE. He kissed like a fish, hands everywhere, treated my tits like stress balls, stabby fingers, the works. To add to that, the first few attempts at shagging were terminated when he couldn't get it up. Amazingly, I didn't dump him after this. A few months later, he came over to NZ to visit. Repeat of Sydney incident, and I'd had it. Dumped him good and proper.

The odd thing is, he's still a family friend, and he still has a thing for me. He buys me nice things for Christmases and birthdays. I still cringe when I think about it though...*shudder*

However, I didn't learn my lesson. The next man I started a relationship with was...who else but my 35 year old BOSS? The shagging was slightly better, but still nothing mind-blowing, and he insisted on trying (and failing) to make me come every 5 minutes or so. Very tiresome. The 'relationship' was alright until I ended it some 4 months later. He went spacky and started stalking me.

It ended over a year later in a court case, and to protect my identity I can't say too much, but it was quite honestly hell. And he had big pus-filled spots on his back too. Uck.

So I'd like to think I've learned my lesson from that! I haven't had any relationships with older men since then, but I was in love with two teachers (40+) in my last year of high school, and I still can't maintain a relationship with someone my own age for more than a couple of months.

Older men are shite shags, in my experience.

Length? First was stout and bulbous, second was long and sort of bendy.
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 1:05, 2 replies)
A tale of aged romance
There i was, knocking back pints in the lovely city of Berlin at the tender age of 17.

I go over to join a group of stunning Danish women that we had been talking to the night before, when one of them asks me where i went after we had kissed the night before! "You must be pulling my leg", "If i had kissed you, i would remember it".

Quickly things take off and before i know it we are rolling around in bed. Sadly we part ways and i continue exploring europe.

By the time our group reaches Barcelona i'm sick, i need to see her again. I pack my bags and head straight for the train station, first train to madrid - then the first flight to copenhagen.

I spend a fantastic few days with my beautiful 28 year old Dane.

And before i know it, i find myself back in her apartment more than a year an a half after that fateful day in berlin :)

First time post, Long time Lurker
Apologies for length -insert penis joke-
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 0:35, Reply)
Young, lonely and ridiculous
This is a repost!

I still psychically cringe from this memory.

I came out of a 4 year relationship having been cheated on and immediately went on the lookout for rebound sex, there weren't many options to be fair. By chance I struck up a conversation online with a woman who worked remotely for the company I worked for and we got talking for hours, thus begins the online relationship cliché. One thing leads to another and she arranges to get on a train and come down for a day to "see the sights".
I was 18, lonely and looking for easy sex. She was a 27 year old married mother of one looking for a divorce. What could go wrong?!

I arrive at the train station and she is too frightened to come over to my car. 10 minutes later and an awkward hello and we're on our way to the hotel. We arrive and settle down on the bed and begin but things rapidly start to disintegrate:

1. During making out, she suddenly gets up to go to the bathroom, being a smoker she is extremely self-conscious of her breath, she's going to brush her tongue.
.....Ok. I can deal with that.
2. She settles back down yet any attempt to fondle her bits is followed by a firm forceful push away. WHAT THE HELL? She insists we carry on, she's just not used to intimacy and is too ingrained from pushing her husbands hands away.
3. Her kissing is awful, I'm beginning to lose interest, no tongue and no passion. Time to get these clothes off.
At this point it just becomes a battle, she clearly has huge issues with intimacy from her failing marriage and I'm as flaccid as a popped balloon. I still want to screw so I push on.

I end up naked, she has most of her clothes on. Clearly an eating disorder and gravity has taken it's toll, she hid it well until now.
She's still hitting my hands away every other minute but I eventually get her stripped down and begin pleasures of an oral nature, hell she evens start to get into it, moaning, moving, the works - that is until she's about to cum! I can only describe it as a punch to the face. I'm beginning to lose patience. I'm no longer turned on.
We revert back to making out and I finally get to feel her boobs and I'm disgusted. This is awful, they feel like plastic bags filled with 3 parts water, 1 part sand. I'm ready to leave.
I'm pretty much flaccid, I'm feeling annoyed but I'm still kinda horny so let her go to work but to no avail. No amount of hand or mouth action gets me started. We even try some sex. No, that didn't work, it felt like I was thrusting into an open space, either she was too loose or me too flaccid. That's it, I'm mentally scarred.

We give up, I had to entertain her for an entire day after that and it was the most uncomfortable experience of my life.
We didn't re-attempt anything of a sexual nature. The way those boobs felt was so wrong, the way she pushed my hands way made me feel like a rapist.
How screwed up is that?
(, Thu 11 Dec 2008, 0:00, 3 replies)
Unexpected non-rejection
When I was a much younger, much goth-ier pizzaforcat, in my more nihilistic moods I'd go to art exhibition openings with my brother, where we'd get truly wasted on free, cheap cask red and compete to see who could get rejected by the angriest lesbian we could find.

Sometimes, however, the shaven headed 50 year old woman in the bikie gear is actually just a 50 year old bikie that is flattered by the attention from a drunken young man, not a bull dyke.

Oddly she was one of the best shags I've had before or since, and we're still mates :)
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 23:09, 4 replies)
My girlfriend tells me I am much less mature than she...
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 23:02, Reply)
How To Win Friends And Influence People
1) Throw drink over someone.
2) Realise a fraction of a second too late that he's actually really good looking.
3) Apologise sincerely and buy him a drink.
4) Marvel at his powers of forgiveness from the comfort of under the duvet - such lovely manners.

Me? 31. Him: 23. As Sharon Stone once said - "not bad for an old broad". Although I might revert to just starting conversations in future...
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 22:29, Reply)
right then
like the total fanoir i am i have just posted this follow up to my buyin the missus some trinkets tale on off topic - i'll nip back over there and delete, anyway

confusingly it is off topic for here but - ach fuck it it's a long story and you're free to scroll


The diamonds I bought a few days ago were set in a ring today.

I was led to a buzzing thriving little workshop filled with industrious sharp eyed little Indian men darting around in a blaze of brightly patterned loose cotton shirts. Security was non-existent. One or two half assed plastic London gangsters could have had the lot in less than 10 minutes. The place was grubby and reeked of men and shoes and wet metal. But they all seemed happy and bright, chatting and laughing - it didn’t feel like a sweat shop. The place whirred and whined with dozens of angry little hornet drills nibbling and chewing like manic dentists - little shards and sparkles of gold and platinum made their battered wooden benches glitter under their tiny desk lamps – every one personalized with ganesh or the bhudda or some Bollywood babe.

When I bobbed my head from side to side it looked like ice on tarmac. But I didn’t dare do that initially - convinced of some sleight, some chicanery, a jigger here and a pokery there and my bona fide Antwerp gems could suddenly haven been taken for a ride into a tin or drawer or any of the million places a quick dark hand could slip a tiny shard of sharp bright icy wealth. But slowly I felt guilty. All around were men who earn in a week the cost of a cheap steak and a bottle of house wine. I watched them carry sapphires rubies diamonds and pearls in their grimy hands with care and diligence but no awe or desire.

The man who so skillfully set the thousands of pounds of diamonds into the platinum setting I had personally designed worked meticulously. He was clearly determined to do it not just right, but perfectly, shoddy was not an option here when so much else in this gaudy desert hick-town frontage was. Very quickly I felt uncomfortable just being there, watching, sitting on my little stool, sitting right there behind him on a ‘boss’ stool that had been ushered in as soon as I arrived. Sure there was an attempt at CCTV but even the most half assed of card trick chancers could have made switches in their little booths with ease. Christ I could have purloined the odd stone while I was there, and blamed it on the apparent chaos and I would have probably strolled out while some poor but highly skilled sod was carted off to the clink.

As they drilled and ground and polished I felt more uncomfortable. I was there basically to accuse every one of them of being a thief, a vagabond. I tried to feign I was there for the colour - the experience, but they all knew the deal and accepted it graciously - another wealthy fat white prick determined to show ‘em who’s boss. You wont trick me boyo! To be honest I don’t think any of them even wanted to. I think they had too much honour. All those men were skilled, dedicated yet quite clearly dirt poor, but had far more dignity than me. Looking back I am quite certain not one of them would have switched my stones for crap. I enjoyed the experience and the ring is quite frankly stunning. It is worth twice back home what I paid – easily.

I learned some humility today but sadly, would I trust them to do it all again with me waiting in the front shop sipping tea?

Would I fuck.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 20:05, 10 replies)
I'd do bad things to Natalie Portman
This has always made Leon an awkward viewing experience.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 20:00, 3 replies)
Just 4 years..
My best mate is 36 and his wife is 32.. lovely couple..

He met her 18 years ago...ahem.. at the school gates...

God that just sounds so wrong..
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 19:55, Reply)
Sod it - can't wait 'til Thursday
Max Krugland. Sounded like a very cheap action hero or the assistant to Doc Savage: Man of Bronze. In reality, he was a deeply tanned, blond-haired, blue-eyed South African who stood a fair six foot seven in his socks, and he was the security officer at Freeman Hardy Willis.

The 'Krug', as he was known, was also one for the ladies. Much younger ladies.

I was the store's assistant manager at the time; the manager was Danny, who was but a few years older. We spent plenty of time drinking together and became firm friends. Of course, being single and in our early twenties, we took great delight in hiring young bits of fluff from the local sixth-form and kitting them out in the tight black skirts that were the shop uniform. It gave myself and the manager something to ogle while sorting through mounds of till receipts and stock orders.

Meantime, The Krug was ushering the pretty, naive young flowers into his own personal stockroom - I recall we had set him in charge of the canvas-topped light sports trainers which were so in fashion around the Millennium - and deflowering them with all his orangey Bloemfontein might. There was many a girl came into FHW as a shy young teenager and left with red cheeks (all of them, quite possibly) and an irresistable fit of the giggles.

Late one August morning, Danny rang me in a panic:

"Ousgg, can you get down the police station?"

Cripes, I thought - we've been broken into.

If only it was so simple. It turned out that, rather than require me to stocktake after a burglary, Danny needed a bit of a character reference. Apparently, he and Max had got to chatting in the shop after closing time, and in between the many tales of young conquest, Max had offered Danny one of his 'special' ciggies.

Ten minutes later, they were both stretched out on the shop floor in a cannabis-induced haze, when PC Twunt had tapped on the window and hauled them both down the station.

Apparently, both had subsequently undergone some fairly unpleasant cavity searches. Danny, thankfully, had come up clean, but the bobbies had found three Ecstasy tablets on the person of Max. He could stuff it, as far as I cared, and good luck to him - I was looking forward to him being deported and getting my hands on the teenage norks myself. I managed to bail Danny out in short order and we fled, leaving The Krug in the cells.

Next day at work saw no Danny, no Max, and an unpleasant call from the central office:

Them: "We have received a rather disconcerting report from your local police."

Me: "U-huh"

"You do realise that it's Freeman Hardy Willis policy to discontinue immediately the employment of anyone caught using illegal drugs on the premises"

"Of course"

"And we are asking you, as assistant manager, to request that Danny Lastname and Max Krugland do not come into work for the foreseeable future. They will receive their termination notices through the post."

"Of course. I will tell them that"

"The Police have informed us that they were both in possession of cannabis and 'another drug'. For the completeness of our records, do you know what the other drug was?"

"Y...yes. I do"

"Would you mind telling us?"

"Well..." and I paused. "...this won't affect my job, will it?"

"Of course not. It's just so that they get a full briefing of why they're dismissed"

"That's OK then," I said...

...Krug, our sandshoe guard, had E's"

Hull. Me. Train. I know.
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 19:36, 6 replies)
I had a think for older men
The biggest gap was the man I lost my virginity to.
Me: 16
Him: 40
(, Wed 10 Dec 2008, 18:55, 6 replies)

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