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This is a question Cringe!

Chickenlady winces, "I told a Hugh Grant/Divine Brown joke to my dad, pretending that Ms Brown was chewing gum so she'd be more American. Instead I just appeared to be still giving the blow-job. Even as I'm writing this I'm cringing inside."

Tell us your cringeworthy stories of embarrassment. Go on, you're amongst friends here...

(, Thu 27 Nov 2008, 18:58)
Pages: Latest, 27, 26, 25, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20, 19, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Just like that picutre on the intraweb...
Many, many years ago, I proposed to my girl, and she said yes. As I was raised in a Christian home, I wanted to be married in a church, and she was okay with that. Our local vicar was happy to marry us; and as he had just been ordained, this was to be his first time It was also his first time giving the required 'marriage lessons', where he would tell us about God's view on marriage, being unfaithful, etc.
As he was preaching to us in the comfort of our home, he was getting very much into it, and Mrs w4 and I, after a log day's work, were both a bit tired, and when the dog came into the lounge, plopped down at our feet, and started gnawing away happily at his bone, it took us a moment to realise the good vicar had stopped his diatribe mid-sentence. His face was turning a brilliant shade of red, and he flustered "Ah, I think we've had enough for tonight. I'll call you later for our next, uh, visit." And with that, we stood up to walk him to the door. We then noticed that the dog had not been chewing on his bone, but rather he had scavanged a rather large pink rampant rabbit. My wife and I looked at each other in shock, our hearts completely stopped, and the vicar stood still. The house filled with a horrible silence.
The silence was broken by a churning, buzzing sound coming from the dog's new toy.

The vicar performed the wedding ceremony a few months later, and the episode was never spoken of again. We haven't set foot in church since.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 17:37, 2 replies)
Ground swallow me up
Once upon a time, I worked for a call centre company, taking calls from Holland and Belgium about all manner of different products. I wouldn't tell you the company, but it may have sounded like Doctor and Shamble. The job itself was pretty exhausting, considering I had to know the details of about 300 lines and sympathise, advise and (usually) refund each caller. In Dutch. I may speak it better than Steve Mclaren, but I'm not perfect.

One afternoon, as I'm experiencing the post-lunch quasi-snooze, a nice lady calls up about those remarkably regularly-shaped crisps, and tells me that a particular packet didn't taste quite right.

I mumble some reply, and get the response:

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I apologise, we'd like to refund you."

"Oh, that's very kind of you."

I refund her, hang up and continue refunding other callers for damaged nappies, as per usual.

The following week, in my appraisal, which call should be audited? Only the one with the aforementioned tubular crisp lady. Apparently my mumbled comment on the phone the week before had been slightly suggestive:

"We'd like to receive you."

Oops. That's the Dutch for you, totally non-plussed.

Length: As long as the telephone wire from here to Rotterdam.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 17:34, Reply)
I'd almost blocked this out.
Several years ago, before they closed the loophole that allowed the sale of fresh hallucinogenic mushrooms, I was quite fond of a dose of the little blighters.

You could say that I was a 'fun-guy' (fungi, anyone? *ahem*)

Anyway, just because I liked them didn't mean they felt the same way. In retrospect, I probably had more bad trips than good, although given the chance I'd go through almost every one again. Except for one.

Six or seven of us partook of the dreaded brew at my friend's house; there may have been as many as twelve people around, but I'm not really sure. I had a bottle of wine while coming up, which turned out to be a Very Bad Idea.

For some reason, I got really angry with a fellow tripper. By all accounts I had no beef with him, I just started savagely and unprovokedly attacking his personality, appearance and dress sense. By the time I realised just how unpleasant I'd been, he'd gone home.

I can't possibly imagine how unpleasant it must've been for the poor guy; trying hallucinogens for the first time and being verbally assaulted by a drunk, drugged up mess of a person. I have felt insanely guilty ever since.

It's not all miserable though; I ran into him this summer for the first time since that incident and went out of my way to apologise and make it clear how bad I've felt about my behaviour.

He said he didn't remember it happening, but he appreciated my apology. We shook hands and played a few songs together around the camp fire.

Length? I probably criticised that too. *cringe*
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 17:30, Reply)
Mrs Maudlin again
She'd gone for the bus to work one morning, and I'd sent her a text-message saying something along the lines of "missing you already".

So she replied with a rude message which contained the words 'make you cum' involving some 'going down'.

Now, the problem arises from the fact that she'd accidentally sent it to one of her work colleagues. Said work colleague bore more than a passing resemblance to Britney Spears in her better years.

Work colleague replies wanting to know why my missus is sending her filthy messages. My missus replies with several large apologies, cringing a lot on the bus. Colleague replies back.
"It's ok, I'd guessed you'd meant to send it to Maudlin instead of me. Good job it wasn't while I was pissed.."

Wank bank? I've had 2 years of mileage out of that one.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 17:09, 2 replies)
independence day
'is mommy sleeping now?'

so cringeworthy it makes me convulse with the sheer horrible cheese of its gag testing audacity.

that is all.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 17:00, 6 replies)
Cougars, you say?
One that I probably shouldn't admit to either... but what the hell.

It was about four or five years ago. I found an ad on Craigslist that sounded interesting to me- a woman somewhat older than I was looking for a younger man for company. I responded and sent a picture, and she responded with one of her own. She was tall, willowy, with curly brown hair that framed a still lovely face.

I was quite intrigued.

We exchanged emails for a bit, and she told me of the things she wanted to do to me. Waay-haay, I said, and gathered my legs beneath me to spring over to where she was. Over forty and still able to find women wanting to do all sorts of things with me? I was quite chuffed.

We met at a hotel. I had gotten a room already when she arrived. She entered- slender, my height, looking pretty much exactly as I thought she would. I felt a throbbing down below as I saw her slender legs clad in tall boots and leather opera gloves that accentuated her delicate hands and slender wrists, and the classy dress she wore that clung lovingly to her.

I stood before her, wearing a black shirt and a nice pair of khakis, carefully groomed to look my best- not bad, if I do say so myself.

She looked at me for a moment, then gave me a sad smile. "I thought that the picture you sent me was an old one."

"No, not really- it was taken about a year ago. Why?"

She looked deep into my eyes, then sighed. "I can't do this. You're too young."

My jaw dropped. "Too young?!? You're kidding me, right? I'm over forty! You're in your fifties! What's wrong with that?"

"Because you look like you're about thirty, and I would feel like your mother." She laid a gloved hand on my cheek. "But you're still sweet. Come on, let's get some dinner."

Feck. So much for cougars.

(It ended well enough, though- she's been a good friend to me ever since, though she's taken on the role of an older sister now.)
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:59, 4 replies)
50 miles of sitting with a RED FACE
In my days as a trainee accountant when I was paid fuck all, was traveling back from a job with my boss, he driving the Audi XXL whatever, he asked me about buying a home on the river here near our great metropolis of the shithole of the South East called Waterford.

I pipes up, "That's place is full of inbreds!, don't buy a home there.", previously confirmed by my brother-in-law who had just started working as a GP there.

No response from my boss............. thinking why the silence while he drives, "ding", he married his first cousin....... two kids were downs syndrome and the normal looking ones were fucked up anyway.

Long 50 miles.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:43, 3 replies)
Snow joke
I used to do a remote commute. Just three sets of traffic lights in 45mins - mostly country roads. One of the roads, at its zenith, is the border between two counties.

One of the counties has loads of high roads and can't grit them all, the other doesn't, so bizarrely, it's often gritted one way and not gritted down the other side.

Despite a sign saying road closed because of snow, I followed a people carrier up there (the driver had talked to a policeman at the bottom, he'd told her it was 'passable with care'), and there were two other cars going up slowly behind me.

All was going well till we got to just before the top. Suddenly we were in a white out blizzard, the road was at its steepest, with sheer drops, and the people carrier was slipping all over the place.

We all stopped, reluctantly, as we weren't sure we would be able to get going again. There's only one lane passable, and we couldn't turn round.

Someone had come up the other way and was trying to come past, up the gritted side. We got out and pushed, I had some bits of wood in the back of my car so we used them to shovel snow out of the way. There was a family in the people carrier, a business man in shirt sleeves behind me, and two other inappropriately dressed commuters behind him.

We got the people carrier up the slippery bit and I went back in my car, desperate to get out of the howling gale, and then I realised I'd dropped my car keys in the snow.

The look on those resentful, unconscripted, frostbitten finger tip searchers faces will stay with me for longer than the 30mins it took to find my keys....
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:41, 1 reply)
Stripped to the waist....
Back when I was an angst ridden teenager I suffered a bout abdominal pain that went on for a few months, I'd been sent round the houses to various GP's, Consultants and specialists who conducted various examinations and tests, with a pretty big history of bowel and prostrate cancer in the family they were being very thorough.

It was at about the age of 17 after seeing several doctors I was sent to a consultant for a final diagnosis. I'd been left sat in a waiting room for 45 minutes nervously flicking through year old copies of Womans Own mentally preparing myself for what was sure to come when I was called in.

Now I'd been to loads of doctors and had been bracing myself for this, all the doctors had done it, its probably medical legislation or something..... Tummy trouble + family history of cancer = Prostrate exam.

The guy was a stern looking RAF doctor who without glancing up from my file barked at me

"Right Mr_Yarrrrr, if you can strip to the waist for me please" he then turned to a sink and started washing his hands.

So... I took a deep breath and slipped off my pants.

As he turned round and our eyes met, he slowly looked me up and down and I could tell by the look on his face something was so very very wrong.
"I see... Actually I meant ABOVE the waist... but erm... I suppose we can check that too"

and its as im lying on the bed in the fetus position as he lubes up a finger and pops it in that I suddenly realise that not only have I utterly humiliated myself but ive embarassed the man to the point where the course of action that will allow us to both remain with the most dignity is for him... to finger me!

I have no idea what was said after that, only that I was driven by a huge desire to get the fuck out of that office as quickly as possible.

Though it still makes me cringe when I think of this at least I now know that if your asked to strip to the waist, the doctor ALWAYS means the top half.

(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:41, 3 replies)
Not me, but a colleague of my wife. Said colleague (we'll call her C)works in the pathology lab at the hospital(as does my wife). One of the duties involves phoning round the doctors' surgeries and giving out results of various bloodtests.

C: "blah blah blah, results for Mrs So and so. blah blah blah, more results. That's the lot"

GP on the phone "Ok, thanks a lot"

C: "You're welcome"

Except she didn't say "You're welcome". She said "You wanker". She was so shocked, that rather than apologise, she just hung up.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:40, Reply)
WHOO HOOO for me!
Australia - a land of spiders, funny indigenous animals, decent(ish) beer, good weed and beautiful ladies. And sunshine.

And so dear reader, here is a tale of Spikeypickles amazing 100% positively true threesome with 2 really fit aussie surfer chicks...........

I fell asleep with a finger in each girls foofie and they woke me up with breakfast in bed the next morning.

An epic fail.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:37, 8 replies)
I fell pray to online dating.

Turns out my Blind date knew someone I did then proceeded to tell me about how she did him and which other of his mates she’d done, this is say 20 minutes in to small talk,
At this point I was worried, she was quite intense, she made me feel like mark in peep show and Im normally quite confident, she said ” I’d do you as well”
And I actually said “oh, well, thanks, that’s kind of you” she was downing pints 2: my 1 and that is FAST.
Finally the cringey lines …

“so you look young, how old are you?”

“well 26 but it doesn’t really matter (because im going to hide from you forever)”

“oh that’s ok im 35 but im an urban cougar” (apparently this is a valid term ! I had to wiki it when I got home , I just thought she was nuts see : www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=urban+cougar )

“an urban what? … no actually I don’t want to… “ *SHE ACTULLY CUTS ME OFF*

“26 that’s sweet when I was 26 I was in a Mexican prison for smuggling heroin.. of course I had WAY more of a habit back then”

“cheque please”
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:28, 4 replies)
I was driving back from a meeting the other day and I used my voice dial on my work blackberry to call a mate. I used my customary shouted greeting of ‘HEY, WHAT’S WANKING?’ to this particular friend.

Sadly my boss, the FD of the company, who shares my friend’s christian name and who my blackberry had dialled first, didn’t find it quite so funny and rather unsportingly made a point of requesting that I stop greeting him that way.

fucking stupid blackberry dialing ninja

(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 16:09, Reply)
Mmm.... sexy goodness
A little while ago I mentioned a spectactularly failed attempt at my first threesome, and to fill you in on the details (for anyone who didn't read it), this is how that night transpired;

A friend of a friend of mine was having a house party, only because we were all spotty little 17 year old geeks, there were only two girls there.
The first was the blonde sister of the host, and essentially she was a pasty, anaemic midget, who looked like, and had the mannerisms of, a possessed puppet. The second was the girlfriend of another guy at the party, and she looked like Grotbags's little sister.

I set myself down in an armchair for the night, and decided not to move once I'd got there. I casually swigged Vladivar vodka for six hours or so, and then everybody but the two girls went to bed.

They approached me. They sat down on the arms of the chair. Grotbags leaned down to kiss me as the anaemic puppet started to undo the buttons on my shirt.
I'd have to say that if it wasn't for the overpowering stench of Marlboro lights on her breath, I'd have probably enjoyed that kiss. After all, I thought I was on a promise, and a threesome's a threesome.

As I kissed the wide-toothed whale, the blonde Jimmy Krankie began to painfully pluck at my chest hair, and I liked it. Then her hands felt their way down my stomach, to just inside the top of my boxers, and I let out a little gasp of pleasure as I anticipated what was coming next.

It was at this point I noticed Leo Sayer standing by the door in the dark in his dressing gown (ok, it wasn't the real Leo Sayer, it was the midget's Mum, but she did have a big afro).
'What do you think you lot are doing?' she asked earnestly, and my two companions scarpered with nary a goodbye.

That's not the cringiest part of the story though, a couple of weeks later I was back at the same house, only this time I got obliterated very quickly, as I seemed to be the only one who was drinking that night.

Midget-girl and Tubba McLardo were there again, and those devious harpies told me that they would 'get their revenge' for what had happened. I wasn't quite sure exactly what I had done wrong, but as I said, I got annihilated on the sauce, and ended up being put to bed very early in the evening.

The next day I awoke on a mattress on the floor, with my jeans undone, dirty looking tissues everywhere, and absolutely no recollection of what had happened.

I went downstairs for breakfast, only to be greeted with stony silence from the other party-goers that were there.
'What's up?' I asked, and everybody glared at me.

The host took me to one side, and explained how he had walked in on his sister and her friend pulling my trousers off, while taking pictures of me in my unconscious state, in all sorts of unflattering positions.
'Oh fuck,' I said in disbelief, '...yeah right, if you've seen my arse, what does it look like?'

He gulped as though recalling something deeply unsavoury, 'My God,' he replied, 'it's just so hairy'.


Disclaimer: I have since discovered the joys of waxing
...and if you ever see any pictures of me on the internet, playing with my own cock in a drunken stupor, and that cock isn't dressed up as Hitler or a superhero, then you'll know that this story is 100% true

(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:57, 8 replies)
I am not a twunt.
This one is quite recent, I love synchronicity.

I was walking along the main road to my favourite local pub to enjoy an enjoyable afternoon of beer and funny stories. This pub is great, (a "Samuel Smiths" if you are familiar with the brewery), I have never seen a fight or so much as a cross word in this pub, full of lovely (mainly) middle-aged people whom have lead interesting and lovely lives.

I can't stress this lovelyness too much, this is a twunt-free pub.


As I approach the pub's front door there is a young lad about 15 -16 standing about 3 yards away from the door. He is drinking from a bottle of coke, but he is not actually drinking it. Instead he takes a mouthfull, turns his head upwards and spits, making a cola fountain all over his face.

"Hmmm!" I think.

Then as I pass him, he takes a mouthfull, and spits it at me. It doesn't hit me but goes in my direction.

I cant remember my EXACT words, but they were something like "If you want a bit more brain-damage, you going the right way about it, you fucking retarded piece of piss." (or something very similar.)

He just grins and starts his cola fountain trick again.

2 milli -seconds later, his dad (presumably) comes thru the front door and says "Come-on Daniel, you can't be out here by yourself."

Daniel (Mr Cola fountain) says "mmmmokay," and staggers into the pub in a very, very, VERY brain-damaged-from-birth-type of gait.

Yes! I had called a 15 year kid whom suffers from brain damaged "a retarded piece of piss."

I did not feel very proud of myself.

Don't click "I like this " just give me abuse for being a part time twunt.

Length? I felt smaller than his coke bottle.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:45, 2 replies)
Male menstruation problems
One of my friends ( I don't care if you think it's me. You don't know who I am) had such badly bleeding piles that it left a layer of blood floating at the bottom of the bowl of the office toilet after he's flushed away his poo. Don't ask me why he didn't notice it, but the next person into the cubicle did. It was duly reported to the building manager and lots of hoo-har ensued. The result of which was that the women in the office were banned from flushing away their used sanitary products (and presumably unused ones too) as backflow from the ladies' toilet was (obviously!) the most likely source of blood in a man's toilet. Not only did my friend not admit that it was him, but he continued not going to the doctor and stopped pooing at work further confirming that the fault lay with lady parts.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:40, 2 replies)
Look at my ring
Hmmm. All day drinking on low slung benches.

A rather aloof Christian girl on the same course as me came in 'for a quick orange juice' about 5hrs into the proceedings... I hadn't seen her for ages and had heard she'd got engaged.

I turned and slurred "Hi, not seen you for ages, I believe that congratulations are in order!"

"Oh, thanks very much" she said, and put out her hand.

I don't know what came over me. For some as yet unexplained reason, I gently took her hand (I was sitting down, she was standing up behind me) and kissed it, a big slobbery drunken kiss.

Alarmed, she pulled her hand away and wiped it

"No no, she said, look at my engagement ring"
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:29, Reply)
Indian cringes
2) We'd been shown round the manufacturing site and the purpose built 'business centre'. We were shown the 'western suite' where they hosted western business men who had to stay over. Sticking our head round the door there was a nice bedroom. The toilets are through there, he gestured to the right.

We'd had a good meeting, met the CEO of the company, and were about to have lunch, but my guts got the better of me first and I had to make my excuses. I walked past the entrance to the business suite and took the next left off the corridor, reasoning that it would be a connecting door to the toilets.

I opened the door and was hit by a cloud of mosquitoes, the stench and a couple of hole in the ground squat toilets. Desperate by now, and thinking 'when in Rome' I did the business, then looked around for something to clean up with - there was only a jug of water.

I trickled some of it over my arse and had a bit of a circumspect rub at some of the larger dangleberries, but realised I needed more water.

Nothing doing. A slight trickle of brownish water came out of the taps, then nothing. I looked around for towels, paper, anything, nothing.

Bollocks. I knew there were some napkins in the conference room, so I tried to sneak back in to clean my hands... and bumped into the CEO of the company we'd just met.

He wasn't staying for lunch, and he thanked me for our input - and extended a welcoming hand...
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:22, 2 replies)
This happened to a friend of a friend.
He was in his room, having a wank, and then afterwards, he looked to the side of his table, his mum left him a cup of tea !
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:19, 22 replies)
Forward or Reply
First post so I’ll try to keep this short.

Many, many stories I could tell here but one which still makes me cringe to my core was when I worked in the same office as my girlfriend at the time. We frequently abused / past the working day emailing and msn’ing one another.

“Forwarded” an email conversation to her I’d been having with a colleague who was being a little strange though with the addition of me questioning his sexuality (he was gay but at this juncture we were yet to establish this fact) and generally deriding his character. Unfortunately I hadn’t clicked “Forward” but “Reply” instead!

Length? About 15m the walk from his desk to mine to question why I’d sent such an email.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:12, 1 reply)
Not Cringe in the usual way... just unpleasant.
I'm currently sat at work, trying to animate a system and waiting for the damned thing to render all the frame.

I just got back from having a rather pleasant dump... sat on the toilet seat when I got there was a smattering of arse-hair and a few little roll-ups of toilet paper... the sign of a vigorous and hairy arse-wiper... one who'd failed to clean up after themselves.


That is all.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:02, Reply)
Indian cringes
1) I was a long way from home. I'd come to see a manufacturer 6 bumpy hrs drive from Mumbai, and had booked into the only hotel for miles around.

It wasn't the smell of damp carpets that made me feel ill at ease - it was the complete absence of any other guests. The hotel was massive, over five hundred rooms, conference centre, etc, a huge, faded, 50s monstrosity.
All that was missing was a squeaky trike.

I've done loads of lonesome travelling in my time - 6 weeks in northern Sweden springs to mind - but this place really got to me.

The many staff were all over me like a rash, fawning, obsequious. I had four people, ostensibly gardeners, watching me swimming. I couldn't take a sip of tea in the morning without the cup being filled by overly attentive waiters.

On the second day I realised what was *really* doing my head in. It was the ubiquitous musak in the empty restaurant, the lobby and the lifts. It was a loop of no more than half an hour, "the Shadows" style stuff on the sitar. It was excruciating and relentless.

By the third evening, I was really starting to crack. I went to the restaurant and drowned my sorrows, bought a beer then a bottle of wine and ate well. The 'piece de resistance' was a rather splendid Irish Coffee, a huge mountain of squirty cream topped with cocoa powder.

For some inexplicable reason, I started to berate the waiters who came to clear my plates. I went on and on for ages about how come they didn't go OUT OF THEIR FUCKING MINDS listening to the looped music, about India's rich musical heritage, how they should take control of the music, put on some banging tunes, or just anything, something different to this inexorable loop. I bent his ear, good and proper, got out my soap boxes and used them to get on my high horse. After about 1/2 an hour of this drunken tirade I was running out of steam.

It was then one of the waiters said "that's all very well sir but did you realise you have a huge chocolate and cream stripe down your nose?"
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 15:01, Reply)
About three weekends ago.
The humiliation isn’t actually mine, not in it’s entirety, but the end result was my suffering.

The normally wonderful Scarpette and myself were having a lovely Sunday in the lakes. We decided to go to Brantwood, as neither of us had ever been and we avoid places like that during the tourist season but figured it would be quieter on a cold November day.

After a drive in which she twice took a wrong turn, our harmonious peaceful afternoon was starting to become a little tetchy, with me getting the blame for not pointing her in the right direction and me resenting this because she had told me she knew where she was going.

When we arrived at Brantwood, we realised that we had failed to take account of the fact that there was a craft fair on, which was proving surprisingly popular.

So popular that finding somewhere to park was going to be a nightmare.

We were guided, by a kindly man in a yellow jacket, to a narrow space that needed to be reversed into and my lovely missus does not really like reversing.

Unfortunately, as a reward for taking her coat to the toilet to wash bird shit off it earlier that day, I had come back to find I was being rewarded with a pint of beer with our Sunday roast. Which became two pints. So I couldn’t take over the driving duties to help out.

She made one attempt, but was out of line, so had to pull forward.

Same with attempt two.

And three.

And four.

By now people are watching and she is getting worked up.

Attempt 5 is a fail.

As is attempt 6, which is followed by a stall.

She is now properly upset and we are both aware of people looking at starting to laugh.

Attempt 7 fails and the car stalls again.

And I do the worst possible thing I could ever have done.

I laughed.

Now, in my defence, it was a nervous, oh fuck this is embarrassing kind of laugh. It just escaped, I didn’t mean it.

But the fact is, I laughed.

She is now utterly humiliated and totally fuming with me. She decides we are not ‘fucking going to fucking Brantwood’ anymore and goes to drive home.

And I say ‘We didn’t come all this way not to go and look round now’.

But she insists on driving off, giving me shit and talking to me like I’m the worst person on earth.

My temper snaps.

‘You are not going to talk to me like that, let me out of this fucking car’

And that, my friends, is how yours truly found himself watching the taillights of his girlfriends car fade into the distance as she zoomed off with my wallet, bag, food and mobile phone on her back seat leaving me standing alone on a fucking hillside overlooking Coniston water as the sun started to set wondering if I was going to freeze to death over night.

Half an hour later she came back and we had a nice picnic watching the sunset.

But that half hour was not pleasant.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:59, Reply)
I REALLY, REALLY, shouldn't tell this.
But I will. But it means I can never show my face at any B3ta get together and may change my user name in a moment.

When I lived in the south of England my local pub had quite a nice habit of having late night lock ins. Not for everybody of course, the landlady had a selected few of her favourite locals whom where invite to stay behind and consume vast amounts of ale.

One such evening myself and maybe half a dozen friends where quaffing to our hearts' content until maybe six in the morning. I nipped to the loo for an extended pee and when I came back everybody had gone, and the front door was locked and the landlady was nowhere to be seen.

Wondering where the landlady had gone, I called her name, "Sarah?" I shouted (Name changed to protect me).

No answer.

I made my way behind the bar and up the stairs to her private flat shouting "Sarah" all the way.

I opened the door to her private flat and see Sarah lying, crashed out on her sofa.

I sit beside her and not wanting to scare her gently shake her shoulders.
"Sarah! Sarah, you have to let me out."

She comes to, blinks her eyes, recognises me and quite deliberatley reahces out her hand and starts rubbing my crotch.

"I wondered how long it would take you before you found your way here" she purred (actually she slurred, but purred sounds a bit better.)

I am a guy, and contact between a lady's hand and my man bits causes an immediate and totally involuntary rush of blood and turns-off all other senses.

I began kissing her, and like all good porn stars begin gently probing her mouth with my tongue.

RIGHT. This is the cringe bit. I have withheld certain information until this point for maximum effect.

I was about 21.

Sarah was around 65.

Her false teeth fell out.

*currently running round my office screaming "NONONONONONONO"*

suggestions for new user name most welcome
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:49, 27 replies)
Bonfire Night
I have a slight problem with long silences in mixed company. In fact in any company, long silences generally make me incredibly uneasy, a little bit sweaty (in a sexy way :p) and most importantly, a little bit desperate! So, this little quirk of mine has landed me in trouble more than several times.. If a silence goes on too long I feel I have to fill it! And, generally in my semi-panicked state the only thing I can think of to fill this awkward silence is not to point at the corner and yell "Hey look an Elephant!" oh no it is not.. I generally open my mouth and recite the foulest joke I know..

Moving on to the actual story. I shall set the scene a little. It's bonfire night (yay!), or at least in and/or around the date. My mother has a bonfire party every year on the nearest saturday to November 5th. It's awesome, we build a great fire in the garden, set off fireworks, get tiddly on mulled cider and beer and eat sausages and drink soup from cups and generally lark about outside until well into the wee hours. It's a little cold but it's really good fun!

This particular year there were quite a few guests. My entirely family (a fair size in themselves) were, amongst others, joined by an old Irish family friend in his 60s (Irish Chris), my mother's best friend (also in her 60s) and my brother's wife + her parents (ex SAS guy and his diminuitive but amazingly dominant welsh wife).

All is well! Apart from whenever my brother's wife or her mother open their mouths. My brother's mother in law bought herself a Ladyship and she is serious about it. We have to call her Lady now.. Yes! Anyway. All is lovely until that fateful moment around the bonfire at about 1.30am when, oh noes! the big Silence hits like a bowling ball to the nuts.

I endure it for a little while, nobody else seems to notice me squirming away in discomfort on my chair and they all stare pensively into the fire. So eventually, after what seemed like an eternity of waiting for someone to end my torment I open my mouth with "Oh hey guys I have this GREAT joke!" Oh no... So I procede to tell this joke about vampires and a bar..

I reach my punch line after a long and elabourate joke telling, it was beautiful I tell you, and gleefully chuckle to myself before realising what I'd just said. Irish Chris was wetting himself laughing, my dad laughed politely but you could tell he didn't understand the joke.., my siblings are all looking horrified, my brother's father in law got out one hearty part of a laugh before being slapped in the face by his militant wife and then followed a looooong silence punctuated by the sounds of an old irish man wetting himself slowly, until one of my brothers cleared his throat and remarked "Well darras. I think you just managed to hit a new social low."

Cringe.. Sorry mum.

EDIT : Seeing as the multitudes requested it. Here is a condensed version. If I were to write everything I said that night (even if I could remember it all) it could well end up being several pages considering my character development and friendly banter/conversation additions.

Three vampires walk into a bar, they find a table and sit down. The first, with a sly nod at his fellows saunters over to the bar with a casual swagger. Leaning at a jaunty angle he winks at the bartender and orders a pint of blood. The bartender looks a bit puzzled before replying "Sorry mate, we don't serve blood here. But we have a whole range of ales on tap here, pilsners and spirits. Whatever you'd like." So the vampire straightens up, sighs and orders a pint of stella and some peanuts. He takes this back to the table where he slumps down folornly.
The second vampire stands up a little nervously, straightening down his cape he edges his way to the bar where he nervously stutters his way through an order for a pint of blood. The bar tender shakes his head firmly, "Sorry mate, as I told your friend we don't serve blood here. You'll have to settle for beer or spirits or any of our vast non alcoholic selection." The second vampire sighs like the first and settles for a Vodka and orange and a packet of crisps. He takes this back to the table, shrugs and sits back with his colleague.
Now the third vampire is beginning to look a little cocky, "Hang on lads, I'll be back in a jiffy!" He quips as he strolls to the bar, "Hello my good man!" He opens confidently, "May I trouble you for a cup of hot water?" The barman, having expected yet another request for blood smiles in relief and fetches the hot water without comment. The third vampire thanks the barman and takes his water back to the table.
As he sits his friends peer into the cup and sneer with contempt. "Bah! Call yourself a vampire. You didn't even TRY to get blood!" They cried! "Ahhh" Replied Vampire number 3 with a knowing little smile as he reached deep into his cape pocket and pulls out a used tampon, "I brought my own!"
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:40, 7 replies)
Has just happened...
I'm Suffering from pre-payroll deadline jitters and working in an unfamiliar office trying to get the wages beaten into shape.

I decide that a caffiene fix is needed and brave the twenty yard walk down the Trafalgar Square end of St Martin's Lane to Cafe Nero minus my suit jacket, which hangs from the back of my office chair.

After being handed a steaming mocha, all is nearly right with the world. I step forward and open the door, a shiver reverberates down my spine. Brr! I can't step through the door however as a figure is on the other side and taking their time to come through, avoiding eye contact with me even though I'm holding the door open for them. I'm left freezing cold for longer than necessary without even a nod of thanks.

"You're welcome" I icily offer, as they walk past.

"Mmmmfffff, mmmmmmfffff" they reply.

Now the entire shop thinks I'm a cunt.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:29, 1 reply)
Another sex one
If you have Google Earth, fire it up. In the "Fly To" box, paste these lat & long coordinates into the Fly To box.

53°47'17.05"N, 0°18'3"W

Or alternatively, use Google Maps, but you'll have to switch to 'Satellite' view.

Right, see that field? See the cycle track on the other side of the trees, the trees that are particularly thin there?

Well, on a hot sunny afternoon in the summer of 1990, Mrs Maudlin( at the time my girlfriend of just over 6 months) and I plonked ourselves down on the grass there, which led to me laying over her and having a lengthy snog (as you do when you've not been going out for very long), as that's what the hot sunny weather does to you.

However, we decided to take it further. She raised her skirt a bit and moved her knickers to one side, I unzipped and we full sex.

Nothing exposed because we were in the classic missionary position. But all the same, I quite blatantly thrusted away for a good 30 mins. Now, being only 17 and probably only the 5th time I'd had my wicked way, 30 mins sounds like a long time, but I did manage to discharge the mutton musket a good 4 times.

Anyway, that aside, this all sounds lovely and passionate and why would it make us cringe when we remember it? It was the middle of the afternoon. On a playing field. Every so often people would cycle by, with us humping away in clear view through the trees.

Not 50 yards away was a group of 12-14 year olds playing cricket. In the middle of the field, about a dozen kids were having a kick about. Some kids had a frisbee. In the far corner, someone had a kite. A guy with two pet dogs came past us through the gap in the trees. It was a busy field.

Did we care? Did we hell. We were shagging in the sun and couldn't give a damn if anyone guessed what were up to.

However, it's a different matter now. Nowadays, we can't begin to comprehend how we had the audacity to shag like rabbits in broad daylight.

Actually, I'm no longer cringing, but looking back with fond memories. Which kind of makes my post invalid.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:28, 3 replies)
While Mrs. ScousersPet was still a student, I nipped up to visit her for the weekend. She shared a flat with a nice, kinda gothy girl, who I will call B to protect the innocent.

On the Saturday night, the three of us were all heading out to go to the local rock club (Jilly's for anyone who cares) and, in true student fashion, we all got pissed on cheap, fizzy trampagne.

While we were necking Bargain Booze's finest, the subject of shagging inevitably reared it's slightly moist head. B decided to tell us why she had just split up with he fella of three months, Kevin. She went into great detail about how Kevin really wasn't very tallented in the trouser and how he was crap in bed. It turned out that, in the three months they had been at it, he'd never once made it more than 20 seconds before "arriving" and, during that time, he had done nothing to get B to "arrive" either. So he got The Spanish Archer.

We all had a great laugh about this and made many a witty and cutting remark. Continuing our giggling derision the whole way into town.

We stopped at a pub along the way and a few more ales were quaffed. After being there for half an hour or so, a lad came over and started talking to B. They were chatting for a bit when he looked at me and said to B "who's this?"

B said "This is Mr. Mrs. ScousersPet. ScousersPet, this" and she paused for effect that this point "is Kevin"

Beer came out my nose. I passed it off as a cough. I tried to hold a conversation, but kept giggling. I could see he was getting irate and the inevitable "what are you laughing at?" question came up.

I knew this was coming so had planned a list of plausible andswers - everything from dodgy brown acid to having recently watched that episode of Only Fools And Horses where Del falls through the bar. It was all in hand, no feeling would be hurt in the making of this story.

So I said "I hear you've got a small cock and are shit in bed". Before clamping a hand over my mouth in shock.

He just went red and walked away.

I still wince at the thought of the look on his face.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:27, 1 reply)
Small talk
Just started contracting to a major UK firm. I'd moved back to the north after having gained my colours down London. So first day on new job and time to meet the client side.

Waiting in meeting room with head of service and glanced at the name of the guy were were due to meet. "That name rings a bell, there can't be many O'Hares* in the business, I'm sure I worked with his brother two years ago when I worked at "large petrochemical data centre in Lancashire" said I. "We worked away a lot on projects around the UK together, haven't seen him in years though".

*names changed to avoid future cringes.

"Crikey, he looks just like him, must be his brother. Come to think of it I'm sure he had at least one other brother in the industry", says I as he walks in.

"Buffet say's he knows your brother. Do you have a brother called Seamus*" says service manager.

*names changed to avoid future cringes.

"I did have but he died a year ago suddenly of sleeping pneumonia in a travel lodge whilst working away on a project" says client rep.

First impressions and all that...

"it's ok we had a large familiy - 6 sisters and 5 brothers, er.. make that 4. Say's he.

Truth be told, I only open my mouth to change feet.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:22, 1 reply)
2 for the price of one:
The first in which I cringe with every telling:

As some of you no doubt know I used to work for an offshoot of the BBC, this meant that I had to visit Television Center regularly. As part of my employment I also had the opportunity to join the BBC Club, among other benefits this allows access to the onsite bars at the various BBC buildings. Therefore we spent an inordinate amount of time when we should have been working in the staff bar at TVC.

It was one of those Friday evenings when I was working the late shift and really shouldn’t have been in the bar at 6 when while buried in the massive queue I spotted a very cute Indian looking girl, “Fuck I recognize her from somewhere” thinks I, is she the one I was failing to chat up last week? We make eye contact a couple of times until it’s obvious that she knows I’m paying her attention.

Still having no recollection of where I know her from I can only think of one way to proceed that’ll leave me some dignity, style it out. Therefore I wander across to her and open up with “Hiya, I haven’t seen you in ages how are you?”

About 10 minutes into this conversation consisting of nothing but small talk I suddenly realize where I know her from, I’d just spent 10 minutes chatting small talk with Konnie Huq (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konnie_Huq). I think she saw my sudden expression of horror when I noticed but was too kind to say anything as I closed the conversation with “Well, it’s been nice catching up, we’ll have to do this again soon” before escaping as fast as my small remaining shred of dignity would allow.

The second in which hopefully he cringes with every remembrance:

Before I was at the beeb I was working for a different media company headquartered at Pinewood Studios. I didn’t have to go into the main office often but one time while I was there Ricky Gervais was in the main canteen taking a break from shooting the first season of Extras (as I was later to find out). Everyone was in awe of his very existence so it was with some trepidation that I slowly approached his table and said “I’m sorry to interrupt you Mr. Gervais, I’m sure you get this all the time but I just had to come over and say; I think you’re one of the most talentless cunts ever given the misfortune to be allowed a TV show” before pulling a swift 180° turn and leaving before I got lynched.
(, Tue 2 Dec 2008, 14:18, 3 replies)

This question is now closed.

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