along comes a delivery...
and it's for one of the IT guys here at work. The other IT guy comes by and says he will take it back to their office. When 1st IT guy comes by, I tell him, "Hey - your buddy just grabbed your package!". Needless to say he laughed out loud, as my face turned bright red.
(The Lunatic Artist throws paint to the wind, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 21:37, Reply)

The time my friends found too much...
Let me set the scene for you...

It was the night of my 22nd birthday, drinks were flowing, people were merry, all in all, it was a Good Time.

The night progresses in a similar vein until the wee hours, at which point we all pile into my (cosy - read:tiny) flat which I share with my brother.

Now, my friends came from far and wide to join me in my celebrations, and 1 such friend brought with her a gentleman whom I had met on a couple of occasions and found rather attractive. By the end of the night it became clear that my feelings were reciprocated, and come bed time, said gentleman and I were holed up in my room having a right good time! I've always been a bit of an extrovert, and 'sexy time' is no different, we experimented and brought in to use some of Ann Summers finest 'aides'. All was well in casa Bobblebubble.

In the morning after not alot of sleep, I could hear everyone waking up, telly switched on, breakfast being made, and being a morning person, I felt like extending my suprise birthday present and got back down to it.
Now, my friend, the kind sould she is, knocked on my door and barged in without an invite, just to see if I wanted some food. Me and my birthday present looked up, shocked, and the room fell silent...silent apart from the 'whirr whirrr whirr' of the previously mentioned 'aide' that was somewhere on the bed - embarrassing me - ALOT

My friend went bright red, shut the door, went back to my living room - and proceeded to tell everyone (my brother included, poor thing) about the fact that i'm a bit (ALOT) of a deviant.

Best birthday ever....

Couldn't look my brother in the eye for a week

worth it though ;)
(bobblebubble is sick on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 21:31, 9 replies)

oh yeah it can mean that too I suppose
I have a few gay friends and last weekend I popped into a gay bar they frequent and feeling the need for some nicotine in the old airbags I decided to abscond to the smoking area. Upon entering said area it became clear that the wall mounted ashtray unit was on fire, you know that awful smell of burning cigarette ends... so I without thinking remarked . ..

'Jesus there's a fierce smell of flaming fags in here'....

needless to say I was left to smoke alone...
(The Cats Twat, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 21:23, Reply)

Does second-hand embarrassment count?
I hope so.

Because of this: I've been embarrassed on behalf of a waiter in an Indian restaurant. Honest. I thought those guys could not be embarrassed ever. But no.

Pink Goddess is blessed with abundant curves. The cutest curves I've ever seen. It was some kind of family event, so we all trundled off to a local curry house to cram some curry in. We agreed a place, in we went and sat down. The waiter came over and took orders for starters, and we all asked for ours. Then he asked for orders for mains. So, we all chipped in our orders, but somehow he missed Pink Goddess out.

"Pardon me," she said, "but I think you've missed me out!"

"Sorry," he said, "didn't think you wanted a main course."

Pink Goddess paused for effect. "Do I," she pouted prettily, "*look* like someone who doesn't want a main course?!?"

Well, we couldn't laugh, and he couldn't blush. But we all knew we wanted to.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 21:14, 2 replies)

I was 18 ish
and had just left school having failed miserably to get any A-levels. Of course my mother was not happy for me to laze around the house doing nothing, so I was told to get a job.

Due to my sparkling personality I landed a job in a window fabricating factory within the week. For several months I was happy with my lot, working 7-4 for just over a fiver an hour, cycling to work every day and eating fried steak and egg rolls from the grot truck down the road.

Eventually however I would realise the futility of my labours, my distinct lack of prospects (co-worker getting paid just 5p per hour more than me despite 6 whole years of service to the company) and the fact that I did not fit-in in any way with my colleagues as I was slightly middle class, played rugby (a sport for poofs apparently) and the fact that after the initial joyous shock of a full time wage, 225 per week before tax is bugger all.

Before this realisation crushed my spirit I was quite happy. I was a man, I paid my mum 50 quid a week and she no longer hassled me about anything. I had a missus who was dynamite in the sack and things were great.

One Friday night, while I was being a man, a man who could go where he wanted and afford drinks for himself and his lady-friend, said lady-friend and I was in a pub with another chum and his lady-friend. A few games of pool were had and the evening was going well. However something that I had ingested had decided it did not agree with me and I began to feel quite ill. We made our excuses and the bitch and I went home to bed, taking a bucket with me just in case.

The inevitable happened and at some point in the night I started chucking my guts up. I was really quite violently ill. The girlfriend patted my back and offered her sympathies but all she could do was sit back and watch me heave it all up.

That morning I felt quite a bit better and strolled down stairs for some dried toast.
"You ok?" my concerned mother asked.
"I was pretty sick last night, but I feel better now." I told her.
"Oh, that's what that was" She said.
"What?"
"I heard lots of noise coming from your bedroom, I just assumed you were having sex." She said, not batting an eyelid.

I cringe when I think about her standing outside my room, listening to me retch and thinking I'm a sexual deviant.
(Bam Bam McPenis will change all this when he is fuhrer., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 21:14, 5 replies)

When I was just a young'un at a Halloween party...
I distinctly remember that a friend of mother came as a witch.
Now, this lady had lived her entire life with a rather inpressively sized nose and a poor unsuspecting lady who hadn't met her before assumed it was part of the costume.


"That's a cracking job you've done with the nose!" said she.
Ooooh, those words alone fill my mind's eye with images of flaming cars flipping over again and again, then exploding.
(chrisdood Why yes, I am the shizzle, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 21:13, 1 reply)

Earlier this evening...
I drove my shiny new company car onto a petrol station forecourt for its first fill up. It was only once I was at the pump that I realised that I hadn't the first clue how to open the filler cap. Cue me wandering aimlessly around the car, peering randomly at the interior to no avail.

This itself was pretty cringeworthy. Matters weren't improved when one of the girls in the station shop (aged about 16) walked out, wordlessly pushed the fillercap making it pop open before walking back into the shop.

Yeah, I felt pretty stupid.
(Leonard Hatred briefly did some work on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 21:06, 2 replies)

Back in the days of yore..
,,when I was a horny teen, I was staying with my girlfriend and her rather liberal family - thought nothing of us sharing a room, were quite open minded and progressive.

So I'm due to cadge a lift into town with her dad one morning but we're having a lazy lay in, which inevitably resulting in a bout of intercourse. Things were going well and we'd progressed onto the floor, when suddenly the bedroom door opens. She bolts upwards with such speed that she'd rival an olympic sprinter off the blocks, and my view of the door is blocked; all I hear is her dad saying "are you coming?"

I had no idea how much he'd seen or not; suffice to say, I sheepishly emerged about 5 minutes later and duly jumped in the car for what I thought would be a 10 minute jaunt. Off we go, and a couple of minutes later the car breaks down! We were stuck together for about an hour, trying desperately to find things to talk about.

To his credit he never mentioned it, so neither did I. That was the only time in my life I'd wished the ground would open and swallow me whole.
(mcnelson, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 20:35, 1 reply)

I could have pushed him back in his mother
Being a brassic, freshly-separated and about to be vigorously divorced single dad, I didn't have a lot of money. A swinging great chunk of what I did have went to the ex.

And so I shopped at Asda, reduced to buying the pwned label stuff.

I usually did my shopping with Demigod, bright and early on a Saturday morning, just to start of a Daddy and Sprog day properly. We'd whizz round Asda in the trolley, I'd spin it around sometimes so he could giggle, we'd throw stuff in the trolley, and - oh, you know. He'd have been around two and a half at this point.

One fine day, however, the usual plan went well norks northward. At the till, the trolley seemed somewhat fuller than usual, and just before I began unloading (ooer), I said to Demigod that I hoped we'd have enough money for the shopping.

"Oh," he said, "don't we have any money?" I said that we should have enough to pay for the shopping.

"Well," he shouted, "that's because you don't give my mommy enough money!"

Oh ghod. Not now, please. I think of this time as "the time I found out that a small child can actually make themselves heard across one end of a small town".

I protested feebly that I did. "No! You! Don't!" he screamed. "My mommy can't pay for her shopping and it's YOUR FAULT!"

At this point I rather uncharitably thought that she could raise some extra with a paternity suit against Brian Blessed.

He got louder and louder, angrily claiming that I was deliberately not giving his mommy enough money. I tried to shush him, but he was having none of it.

By the time I'd gone through the till, to hysterical laughter from some people and poisonous glaring from the rest, I was just hoping that it was actually possible to die of embarrassment. Really.

I wheeled him off to the car, still bellowing furiously. Who knew that car parks echoed so much?

By the time I got him in his seat belt, he was almost literally frothing at the mouth.

He fell asleep just as I began contemplating which blood vessel to open up.

Argh.
(purplegod counting down for Christmas!, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 20:22, 4 replies)

They never knock...
How about a story of turning a cringey moment into a moment of glory...

So I was about 14, and we had recently got cable tv installed. Those of you who remember early NTL cable will likely also remember the German channels that regularly showed nudey flicks after 10pm. Veritable ambrosia for a 14 year old boy.

So one night, I'm lying on my bed, watching the dodgy German channel, patiently waiting for them to get past the story bit. Fortunately, I was still clothed when my mother came barging into the room. Like lightning I hit the off button on the tv remote.

"What was that you were watching?"

"Nothing. Just crap"

"Oh, ok"

She comes in and places a basket of washing in my room. Then leaves, and just as she exits she says:

"I'll leave you to your dirty films then"

I go bright red, but luckily she has left by now. Thinking quickly, I get up, open the door and call out:

"It wasn't dirty - it hadn't got to the good bit yet!"
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 20:21, 1 reply)

Disappearing fetish porn
In my mid-teens, I knew a guy who went over to the continent once a month, and brought back a shitload of cheap booze etc.

On one trip, he found a fetish porn mag that he decided I'd like. PVC and fisting, IIRC.

I took it round to my mate's house because I guessed he'd like a peek at it. We left it in his room and went out for a bit. We came back and it was gone. Completely vanished. Nobody but his parents had been in the house, so my mate's dad probably stole my fisting magazine.

I dunno what's cringier, me being caught with extreme filth like that by my mate's dad, or my mate, knowing his dad stole fetish porn from a 15 year old.
(weegiegeek, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 20:21, Reply)

Might only be funny to those from the west of Scotland...
Sat on the underground, opposite my girlfriend.

A homeless person gets on and sits next to her.

I lean over and say to her "what's the singer from Jamiroquai called?" and sit back.

She says, over the clattering of the train, "JK."

I pretend I didn't hear.

She replies, "JK."

Too noisy, I can't hear...

"JK!" she shouts.

Then she clicks.

Jakey's a colloquialism for a tramp round these parts.

She was fucking mortified. I tried not to piss myself. I'd have been in good company.
(weegiegeek, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 20:01, 2 replies)

I think this may be a pearoast but....
Many years ago I used to work in theatre as an assistant stage manager.

We we working on a production of The Rivals, on stage was a bowl of fruit. As the fruit had to be practical, i.e. eaten, we used real fruit. One of my jobs was to buy fruit every so often from the supermarket over the road. They used to give us gift vouchers in return for a mention in the programme.
One other thing that we managed to get for free was fags. Yes this was that long ago that we could get fags to smoke on stage for nowt in return for a mention in the programme.

One problem was that when people smoke on stage they have to put the fag out in an ashtray filled with water. When changing the set the water tended to splash. So we came up with the idea of using KY jelly.


So that is how I one day found myself in Sainsburys buying bananas and KY jelly with a gift voucher.



Length? Well a lady never tells.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 19:12, 5 replies)

I was picketing a sex shop
and I was just starting a speech about the death of family values, when the manager came out.

"Look apeloverage, you can yell and scream all you want, but until you promise to start using the tissues instead of the walls you're still barred."
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 19:07, Reply)

Hmmm......years worth of cringe coming up......
Last and hopefully final one.....I staggered round to a squeezes house, off my head on valium and booze and stripped totally naked, standing starkers sayin 'dya fancy me'. I got the response ' you're pissed...' 'No I'm not' I replied, before I then staggered into the bathroom, slipped over and cracked my face on the side of the toilet bowl. Later on that night, I found myself in a house somewhere, smashing the place up, getting arrested, wriggling out of the handcuffs and being chased by a number of coppers who sat on me, cuffed me and chucked me on the van. The worst thing about it was I was banged up in the morning that I was due to go into rehab. I only found out where the sore face had come from months after the event....after a cringey reminder of the event. Another cringey bit was sitting in court, now three months sober having to listen to the transcripts of my verbal that night. French, German.....and alot of swearing. Ouch.

The time I had a threesome with a cringey husband and wife. I wore wellys to their house.

The time I snogged near enough everyone in the nightclub but was so blacked out I learned about it, again, weeks after. After a complete minger thought i kissed him cos i fancied him. Eek.

The time i used a stolen credit card to pay for something for my landlady...who was in the navy. So I had to fess up. I got evicted not long after.

The two occaisions that I slept with best friends boyfriends.

The time I slept with a total nutcase minger just so I could have his bag of coke and indulge in some blood sports. (he was up for it, i took the oppo). YUK.

God...I could go on...i think i need 24 hours to think of some other goodens...yes, they do get cringier!
(Oops....did I say that out loud cos I really bloody want to., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 18:59, 3 replies)

Can't live with 'em
In secondary school, one of the boys in my class lost his mother very suddenly and unexpectedly. He'd only been back a few days.

Just in time to hear me pipe up on the topic of embarrassing things parents do (in the loudly unassuming way only kids can) - "I swear, if my mum did that I'd kill 'er."

Mmhm.
(Rem Sir, why are you thrashing about on the floor?, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 18:23, Reply)

Email whoops
On Friday I was at a day's filming which went pearshaped after the industry expert presenters turned up for the final slot and wanted to change things last minute on quite a complex programme... needless to say this ended up with everyone getting tired, us not getting even 10% of what we needed shot and lots of nashing teeth after they said they wanted to reschedule. This in turn led to phonecalls over the weekend explaining to my boss why it had not worked out as I was reponsible for planning and ensuring they had (which I had been assured by the client it had).


Yesterday I received quite terse email from the client in question, well in fact one of our main client's client. I was surprised by it's tone, but then realised that when I had forwarded on a message meant for drafting by a collegue, as I'm pretty crap at wording professional sounding things(!), I'd managed to send it to the client aswell. Below is his initial email followed by the response he received:


Chadder,

Thingy has indicated that we could look towards any studio bookings in January to repeat the filming event. Does this sound acceptable from your perspective? Confirmation will give me the momentum to spend some quality time on reviewing/building the content .

My apologies for whatever part I played in the collapse of last week , we all learn from experience !!!


Person
-----------------------------------------

Person,

We hope to have confirmation of all XXXXXX filming schedules for 2009 in due course.
Certainly, from our perspective, we would prefer to have you return whilst the presentation is still afresh, however it seems unlikely that there will be any available filming slots before January.


- Rather than waiting until January try actually doing the work you were supposed to have done.
- Will Doodah be in attendance, and if so it might be an idea if he has glanced at these things rather than just taking your word that you will both be able to breeze through it.
- Thanks for the shrouded apology... indeed, how sapient, we do learn from experience.


Chadder
_______________________________________

When I got to the end of his email and saw that I had sent it to him I wanted the ground to swallow me up - followed by lots of frantic emailing, and ending with a very grovelling phonecall from me to him. Fortunately, he took it all very well and said that he found it quite refreshing... so perhaps from now on I'll adopt this approach or be even blunter with all our clients - then again I do actually quite like my job.
( @><|= w0nu!) or cunt to my friends, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 18:14, 1 reply)

I was with the girlfriend one weekend...
and she was lying on her bed while I sat at the desk browsing the internet. The door was slightly open, so anyone outside would be able to hear us talking to each other, but not be able to physically see us.

Anyway, browsing away, I see there's a new computer game out. Pro Cycling Manager! While viewing all the new features of this game, I said rather loudly 'mmmmm, that's nice'.

And at the exact moment I said this, her Mum walked past.
(Le Moribond is not dying, clearly., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 18:08, Reply)

At Miami airport...
I was about 8 years old and had visited relatives in Germany for a fortnight.

I was traveling alone*, and although I am okay in my own company, I had really missed my dad and was looking forward to seeing him.

I came out of customs and there he was, waiting in the arrivals lounge. I ran up to him, flung my arms around him, and as I gave a great heaving sigh, I hugged him with all my strength.

A strange voice said, "Err...."

I looked up and, sure enough, it wasn't him. Dad was actually 20 feet away, laughing his cock off at me as he saw what I had done.



*They used to allow this - you had to wear a big tag like Paddington Bear that let the cabin crew/groud staff know that you were an unaccompanied minor. I doubt this is allowed these days - and I doubt that any parent would want to do it anyway.
(Guizmeaux, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 18:01, 1 reply)

I feel as though my whole life has been leading up to this QOTW
The company I used to work for had an IT Director who was pretty much useless - what's more than that, he was intensely creepy.

I never could quite put my finger on the reason his mere presence disturbed me so much. Yes, he used to stare at my boobs when he talked to me, in fact I don't think he'd have recognised my face in a line-up ... but it went deeper than that.

Overnight he was suddenly moved to another office in N Ireland, no explanation ...

Being the nosey cow that I am, I did a little digging and found out the back-story (nothing too interesting as it turned out). So, one Friday lunchtime in the pub with colleagues some months later his name comes up.

I start into a rant about him - a proper character assassination:

* What a pervert he was
* How his presence sent shivers up my spine
* How he'd been discovered getting sucked off by a young work experience girl in the loo
* How despite being no bloody use whatsoever he made xxx,xxx in bonus alone the year before

I could go on, in fact I did ...

10 minutes later he walked out of a little alcove about 15 metres away from where we were sat in the VERY QUIET pub with a woman he'd been interviewing as his replacement.

I swear I felt my heart stop beating ... strangely enough, he was nice as pie to me after that, perhaps he thought it was my first strike in an attempt at blackmail?

* insert your own length gag here *
(Penguins_Made_Me_Do_It is a dolt ... and she don't care, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:53, Reply)

Back to school...
... after christmas I was eager catch up with what people had been doing. At the gate I met my mate Tom and we quickly went through presents, TV specials etc.
He told me that our other mate Andy had spent the hols with his grandad and as a present he had recived a spanking new Casio keyboard and his grandad was teaching him how to play piano. Apparently the gramps was really good and knew all the latest songs.

I didn't believe it so when I saw Andy the first thing I said was "Hey Andy, hows your grandad on the piano?"

Andy gave me a shocked look and said "He hasn't got any fingers, you cnut" and ran off sobbing.

I froze, mouth flapping open and did a whole body cringe and then set off to find and beat the crap out of Tom.




I found them both together, laughing like howler monkeys on nitrous and the penny finally dropped.

They'd been planning this all fortnight and I cringed again at my gullibility.

I did have a grudging respect for them though. For my mates, who used to think that stink palm was the height of subterfuge, this was real Oceans 11 level planning.
(Bo Nidle Coming back in from the cold., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:40, Reply)

Pacemaker...
I'd got one of those new-fangled l.c.d. watches and the novelty of the hour-chime hadn't worn off yet.
"Beep, beep", said my watch.
"What the fuck's that?" asked W.
"Shit!" I replied, "It's the low-battery warning on my pacemaker."
It was while I was thumping my chest, and shouting "Start - you bastard!", that I remembered that W's father had died, not three days before, of a heart attack.
(minimalist ..., Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:34, 4 replies)

Many , many moons ago
Back when cereal boxes all contained toys and the only alcohol to touch my lips was the obligatory white lightning or kiwi flavoured 20/20, i was the ripe young age of 15, there had been some kind of sleepover involving about 8 or so friends, and my and my lovely young misses at the time had zipped are 2 sleeping bags together, to create a private sanctuary, and with the unencumbered spirit of youth, we had both slept in the buff.
The morning sun had risen and everyone else had gone of to make bacon sarnies. We started a little heavy petting, we had shed our sleeping bag of protection and she was sitting on top of me, as a lay there and rose in more ways than 1 from my sleep.
I remember looking up into her eyes, when i heard the faint creak of a door, and my eyes lept from those of my lovely young lady to the rather appauled and disgusted face of my good friends mum

...shiver...

the face disappeared as quickly as it had appeared and we covered up our shame, although i was never allowed entry in to that particular humble abode ever again. (fna fna)
At the time it was more funny than embarrasing but now 15 years on i have a slightly better idea of how i'd feel if i walked in to my front room of a Saturday morning to find 2 teenagers naked and giggling on my best wool rug, and i cringe and die inside a little.
(nothin, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:33, 1 reply)

Officer Potential?
I once went to Blandford Forum, home to the Army's Signallers, as a wide eyed and eager recruit on a familiarisation visit.
To those who aren't into the Army, I was a potential officer. I had everything to prove before the hallowed doors to Sandhurst would open to me.

Alot of things go through your mind during the time you are on one of these familiarisation visits.
You want to be confident, but not arrogant. Sophisticated, but level headed. Calm, but not casual. Yet, knowing this, you also want to stand out and be noticed. You get the idea.

So all 16 or so of us all sit in a great lecture theatre and get briefed on what we're doing that day. First off we have a talk from a Major.
Problem, she's not here yet.
So the nice Captain asks if any of us know a joke.

"A-ha!" thinks I, "this is my chance to shine, showing my confidence and public speaking skills!
"I'll tell the 'talking dog' joke, that always goes down a storm.".

So I stand up, grinning ear to ear, and start to get my head together.
"No, no." Says Cap, "Go down to the stage and tell it.".

And as I walk down, I forget what joke I was going to tell.
Under the bright lights, my mouth goes dry and my legs go heavy.
My mind latches on the only other joke I know well enough not to fluff up.

But I can't tell that, somone will get upset!
Shit, no... I'm here now, just gotta go with it. Just gotta tell it better than ever before, draw them into the story!

So I tell them this.
(Cheers for the html help guys)

Firstly, I got no laughs.
Secondly, I actually acted out the final line. Tongue out of my mouth, legs at wierd angles, the works.
Thirdly, the bloody Major walked in for the very last line. Arse.
( Pointy Head poked another hole in my anorak on, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:19, 8 replies)

SCIENCE!
This is the story of how my favourite teacher became one of my least favourite...

It was Biology, and Mrs Birch was telling us all about sex and willies and fannies and other fascinating stuff. We were gathered around in a small group, and she was talking about spunk. She held up a small plastic container and said,

"your typical male ejaculation would only fill about a quarter of this tube. Now, I'm not going to ask any of you boys to demonstrate this"

Cue minor laughter from the girls. Cue me, in a woefully misjudged move, cockily stating "That's a pity, I'd have done it".

Thinking this would get a laugh or at least a little kudos, I was soon put in my place when Mrs Birch handed me the container and said "that's good of you, why not use my office"

Silence.

More silence. Panic.

"uh....no....it's okay", I squeaked.
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:16, 5 replies)

Sports day.
I'm reminded of another tale from my youth.

It was one of my first sports days at primary school, and consisted of various races over a distance that seemed impossibly long at the time, but in reality was probably only 50 meters or so.

There would be the customary three legged stumble, the classic egg & spoon charge, and, as no sports day is complete without it, the ultra challenging sack race.

Growing up in a tiny wurzel filled village, all our sports were played at the local park, and the entire village would turn up to watch, cheer on their kids or get involved in one way or another.

I had, for reasons unbeknown to me, been entered into the 400 meter race with the bigger kids. At the time 400 meters was like a marathon to me and my miniature pins. It was tantamount to child abuse making me run that far, but I took up the challenge like a coward who couldn't say no, and ran as fast as I could.

Unfortunately, as fast as I could was about half the speed of everyone else. This meant that by the time the rest of the field had crossed the finish line, I was still a couple of hundred meters away. By the time I reached the final straight, the entire village was watching me heroically trying to finish the race and an almighty cheer rose from the gathered masses.

Unfortunately, I didn't quite take the cheer in the nature it was intended and thought they were being mean. Being the timid little thing I was; I ran the last 50 meters with tears streaming down my face. I ran straight to the outstretched arms of my mum and cried my little socks off, refusing to take part in any other sports for the rest of the day.

The memory of an entire village simultaneously congratulating me for running really well, and apologising to me for 'being mean' makes me cringe even now.
( Moey, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:10, 2 replies)

Actually, I'm not a rent boy
(Sorry, bit of a long one this - please be patient with my pathetic attempt to build the appropriate tension.)
Further to my earlier post about being mistaken for a woman (/shameless self-publicity):
www.b3ta.com/questions/cringe/post314605

In a similar vein, the same friend and I had, the previous year, lived in separate halls of residence which were either side of Hyde Park. Mine was round the corner from a Wetherspoons, so, on Thursday evenings, we made a ritual of heading over there for a cheap curry and a few pints of ale. (We were undergraduates - nights out had to be cheap!)

So I would normally wait at the top of Hyde Park for my friend. Normally he'd be ten minutes late or so, and it wasn't unusual to see other people waiting there for their friends. You'd stand there and occasionally make small talk while you all waited; some were more conversational than others, and it was perfectly harmless.

So I didn't think anything was awry when one chap came over and said hello. He seemed to be making quite an effort to be conversational, though at the same time he seemed rather awkward about it. Turned out he was Portuguese, he was a nurse, working down at the hospital in Roehampton, etc., etc. Conversation seemed a bit involved, if rather stilted. Just to keep conversation flowing, I proferred,
"So - you're waiting for a friend then?"
"...yeah..."
It should have made me worry that he had um-ed and ah-ed over such a simple question, but to my then comparatively innocent mind I never thought that he was trying to be suggestive.

Then it started to rain. I had a small, fold-up umbrella, which I put up to keep myself dry. I didn't invite him, but nevertheless he got under there with me. That was when I realised things were perhaps a little suspicious. I gave him the benefit of the doubt - ok, it's raining, it is a one-person umbrella, but he is foreign. I'm sure they'd think nothing of this in Portugal.

And just as I thought I'd set my mind at rest, he put his arm around me. Oh god he's gay and he thinks I'm gay oh jesus tittyfucking christ I'm hanging around on my own in a park after dark does he think I'm a prostitute?

That splurge of thought manifested itself in a typically British display of diplomacy:
"There's really no need for that."

Evidently, he begged to differ. And started rubbing my back. In a tremendous display of self-restraint I managed not to scream, hold my hands over my arse and run, but just yelped
"Please, you're making me uncomfortable."

It would seem - thank fuck - that he got the message. There followed then 60 of the most awkward seconds of my life before my friend appeared through the winter darkness of the park. I have never been happier to see him.

Afterwards, I told my friend this story. His response?
"Yeah, I thought he was a friend of yours. I slowed down 'cause I didn't want to interrupt your conversation."
Well, that amid howls of laughter. I, on the other hand, was indignant and ashamed. Do I look like a prostitute?

Between this and being mistaken for female, I don't know which of the two incidents I find more worrying - on one hand, at least the guy who thought I was gay didn't think I had tits. On the other hand, I suspect he wanted to bum me.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:09, 2 replies)

Cheers buddy!
I was young (ish) and very, very naive. I was really late to the party when it comes to girls and sex and generally not being a total nerd.

So when I got my first blowjob, and she looked up at me smiling, I didn't know how to react. I thought for a second of what to do, and nothing came to mind. So I said, "thank you".

Her smile vanished and she looked at me as if I had just shat on her bed. She said, "no...just don't. Never do that."

I cringed. My vaguely successful attempt at faking experience had just flown right out the window, leaving me confused and scared.

Nowadays I know the correct response is to wink at her and say "Dy-no-mite!"
( Damocles wants no part of your debauchery, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 17:03, 9 replies)

I pretended
that 'blowjob' had come up in a biology lesson. But that I hadn't fully understood.

"That didn't come up in class," said Mum.
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Fri 28 Nov 2008, 16:55, Reply)