Pearoast
In my days of singleness after my divorce I had a date. We met at her house as she thought I was 'up for it'.
All went well, dinner and then sexy fun times after. All was well, her daughter was away at her ex-husband's place, we made absolute pigs of ourselves as only middle-aged people with drink and drugs can*.
I was getting myself a mid-second-shag drink from the fridge, stark naked and fully tumescent when the front door opened. I hid behind the kitchen door as her daughter came in (she'd had an argument with her dad and come home in a taxi at 3 a:m) and ran crying to her mum.
There I was, in the kitchen, ready for yet another bout of very VERY rude sex, listening to the object of my 'affections' placating her distraught daughter - 'yes, he's a dick, yes it's OK you've come back, no there isn't anyone here' etc etc.
Once the daughter had gone to bed a loooong time later the object of my lust came downstairs with my clothes.
'You'll have to leave, don't make a noise'
'OK, I'll go but how the hell do I get my car away silently'?
'You'll have to push it far enough away so she doesn't hear you drive away'.
I got dressed and left. It's not easy to push an automatic Volvo. I did it though.
Never did get the second shag.

*Viagra and cocaine make a great combination.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 22:54, 25 replies)

31/8/87 was a Bad date.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 18:21, 10 replies)

Repost, but I think fits:
So I was trying to get to do sex to a girl. She was quite the prick-tease, I was to find out, but for the time being, we were just getting drunk together.

"We should go back to mine" she said, raising my trousers, "but first let's have a drink in the The Fox".

As we walked there, both a few drinks under already, she took out some prescription pills and took one - "They're for my epilepsy" she explained, "Would you like one?"

"You're alright" I said, remembering a previous encounter with the spontaneous taking of prescription drugs with horrid accuracy.

"Oh go on!" she giggled, "All my friends do - they just calm my epilepsy, but they say they make you really nice and mellow ... very ... sensual ... " she said. I would like to point out that in previous discussion she'd hinted that not only was she not averse to, but quite keen on a little back door action.

"I dunno ... " I said, playing the part of unquestioning, sex-starved student to a tee.

"They're really good" she said, popping one in my mouth slowly, letting her fingers trail my lips.

_______

I remember being kicked in the stomach - sort of gently, but repeatedly.

"Oi!" said God, "OI!"

Something sounded like a radio crackling.

"Fuck it" said God, "Let's just get the fucker out and get fucking closed"

I was flying. Beautiful, cold air on my skin. My arms hurt, but I was fine, flying through the cold night, refreshed - lovely.

Then my face hit the floor with a crack. Oh well.

God came back, this time with a kinder, softer tone, "You alright, mate? You from the college? I think he's from the college"

"I am indeed from the college" I instructed them, "I wonder if I could trouble you for the loan of twenty pounds with which to hire a public carriage, that I might hoof off? I hope that my mate Dan's awake, and that I might spend the night on his floor, as I know his liberal attitude to accommodation will be prevalent, and he lives not far from here. Would you mind? I would be most obliged."

"I dunno" said God, "Isn't he a mate of Dan's?"

"I AM a mate of Dan's!" I said, "As I instructed you! Now, twenty pounds, if you please!"

The summer passed, and soon the cool of autumn was making me shiver.

"Dan, mate? Yeah. You got a mate with a red mohican? Yeah. Yeah. Well he's outside The Fox and he's ... yeah. No. He's proper fucked. Yeah. Yeah OK - you what? Oh mate - yeah sure - yeah OK mate. Yeah that's cool."

I remember noting that Dan had grown a beard, and looked handsome with it. A small chap but deceptively strong, he swore at me profusely for some reason, and there was something to do with a blanket.

The morning arrived, and with it breakfast of tea and a sausage sandwich. A trip to the park to enjoy the mid-summer sun was arranged, and throughout it I alternately shivered and sweated, and occassionally pulled myself to the bushes to dry heave. In the afternoon I managed to get back to mine, where I spent two days in bed flitting from consciousness to sleep, with no real distinction between them. I could not focus for a week on whether or not I existed beyond mild physical discomfort.

I never did get to have sex with the girl.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 15:39, 7 replies)

Actually using the same shit pun that has been trotted out a million times already...
I fucking hate office whip rounds for birthdays, I never contribute to them and don't want to be part of them. Recently, someone sent a request to everyone in the fucking department, intent on organising a whip round for each birthday that comes up. I resisted, but after they moaned to the director about me 'not being part of the team' I eventually gave them a date. The 31st November 2014. I still refuse to contribute to these fucking collections, so am not allowed to sign any cards.

It's actually up on a whiteboard to remind everyone, so on the 24th November everyone will 'secretly' be passing an envelope and card around without actually realising that my birthday was a few weeks before.

I can't wait to see the looks on their fucking faces when they realise.
( Muns, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 15:21, 4 replies)

It was the 31st February 2013...
bindun?
(Roger Moore's Right Eyebrow saw your mum on chatroulette on, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 15:08, Reply)

I don't like dates.
They taste bad.

But one time I went out with a girl, we didn't fuck.
(CactusZack Shaved his coin purse on, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 14:30, Reply)

once upon a time
i had sex
( The Doveston haunted by the memory of his own amnesia, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 13:42, 10 replies)

Bad but good
I hooked up with this woman from work and we went out on a few dates with some fooling around. As we were getting fresh with each other I suggested she come back to my place. This she did and after some heavy getting to know you stuff on the sofa she pronounced that we were going to do it in the front room right there and then. Alright I thought, this looks good so we began to peel off, then as she took her blouse off her elbow struck me full in the mouth. Those of you who think passion will extend past blunt trauma are wrong, I lost interest and even worse, my lip swelled up!
I didn't panick tho, "look at what you've done" I said, "we are going to have to stop". The day didn't end there, we got dressed again, I cooked an evening meal and told her to stay the night. My swollen lip had gone down by then and we got to it under the sheets. Quite a noteable night actually, I let her go on top and she clamped me between her legs and hips, making sure she was fully impaled then had a huge screaming orgasm. I figured we were back on track by then.
(luckylife , 0 guests and 3 bots are online, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 13:24, 6 replies)

I once was in a gay bar (mild simmering pearoast)
In Glasgow with a gay friend. Damn I'm hip, I thought. I'm not even quivering with fear. I'm talking with, like, total fags like they're real people. I'm totally seeing lesbians playing tonsil hockey. They both might look like Bobby Hill, but hey, two chicks, amiright?

I was drinking a pint of lager to assert my heterosexuality, as all the bummers were drinking spirits or from branded bottles. You know, like I was a real man. So when a young lady came up to me and said "My friend fancies you," I assumed her friend was a girl. So I followed her, and my glib superiority turned to horror when she led me to a bloke. Who was old. Like, about sixty old. And fugly. And who started spouting indecipherable Glasweegie at me. Dumbstruck, I accepted a drink and stood there trying to think how to escape without seeming a total dick. But after a moment or two I realised I had no obligation to this guy so I just said, "Er, sorry, I'm not gay, and I'm just going to join my friends". I felt like Niles in the Frasier episode when his dad has to make on that he and Niles are in a relationship. It wasn't the being thought gay that annoyed me. Evidently people thought that was the best I could do.
(McChinaman banned, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 13:05, 6 replies)

Gemma
Amazingly cute girl lived on or around my block. She looked sweet and had an amazing pair of legs which she frequently showed off in ridiculously short skirts.

I bumped into her so often that eventually she started smiling and saying hello. One night she drukenly tried to snog me at the bar of my local pub - somebody pulled me to one side and warned me that she was a prostitute and this pub was her 'patch'.

This put me off any actual dalliances with her, but we would still occasionally chat.

One day I saw her with her face absolutely beaten to a pulp. She looked like something from a horror film. She poured her heart out to me about her boyfriend hating what she did to make money, so he would lock her in the bathroom, come home off his head and beat the living shit out of her.

I gave her my number and told her that if she needed somebody to talk to, I'd be there for her - poor girl.

2 weeks later I got a phone call from her asking if I'd like to go on for a drink with her. I said yes!

I went to the bar, at the time we arranged, and ordered a half - I didn't want to commit to a pint in case there was a no-show. As I was finishing my half which I'd made to last half an hour, I get a call saying she is running late. OK. I buy another half.

Just as I'm finishing this half, she suddenly shows up and asks if I have any cocaine - I said no. She tells me she will be back in half an hour and disappears out of the bar. She comes back in 45 minutes later (and another half later) and promptly asks if she can borrow £50. I give her a fiver! She promptly disappears again. I order one last half, make it last another half an hour, finish it, text her I'm leaving the bar and will be moving on...

I next see her about a year later. Her face has completely healed but is scarred. I ask where she has been. 'Prison - for cocaine', she says. :(

This was about 5 years ago and I haven't seen her since.

I'm not sure what the moral of this story is, but I hope to hell she is OK wherever she is....
(l0bst3r, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 12:29, 8 replies)

I met up with a bloke called Norman in a pub once, cos he’d told me he could get cheap lobsters.
He got me very drunk, admitted he had no access to lobsters of any sort, and tearfully asked me to fuck him.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 11:46, 15 replies)

Just remembered something that might vaguely qualify as a story.
I'm a member of a social networking site that's not Facebook, nor is it a dating site. The aim of said networking site is to get people off their fat arses in front of the telly and out into the real world where they might actually meet other people and have what radical elements call a 'life'. As part of being a member of this site, I have set up a profile page, with a profile pic and some blarney about the sort of things in which I'm interested.

About six months ago a girl on the site sent me a message saying she liked my profile pic. It's not supposed to be used as a dating site, but some people do anyway, and I was single at the time so I thought "Why not? It could be the chance to subjugate some poon.", and we arranged to meet for a drink in a classy okay-yah bar in town.

She turned up for the date. She looked nothing like her profile picture, and not in a good way. The only drinks this place served were foot-tall cocktails with about a hundred grammes of sugar in them and enough marshmallows on skewers on top to keep the Ghostbusters busy for a week. Because the glass of my cocktail was so tall and thin and because I am a coordination-free mong, I managed to spill it all over the table top, drenching everything in sugar and attracting more flies than Piers Morgan's face.

So I sat next to this girl for two hours, and listened to her talk for two hours about one of the contestants on Top Chef. A contestant whom she stalked from country to country, following him on tour wherever he went. A contestant on whose Facebook page she left literally a dozen messages a day. I wasn't really feeling the chemistry at this point so I went home.
( .Yeti., Wed 10 Sep 2014, 11:15, 16 replies)

Remember remember the Fifth of November
Gunpowder, treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder, treason
Should ever be forgot...
(spl00sh!, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 10:23, 2 replies)

Ides
Of March.
(yeswehavenopasties, Wed 10 Sep 2014, 8:55, 2 replies)

Rob fingers kids

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 23:48, 7 replies)

Met this girl on Monday, I took her for a drink on Tuesday,
we were making love by Wednesday,
and on Thursday,
I found out
she was underage.
Was jailed on Sunday.
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 23:35, 36 replies)

I used to see a girl every Friday.
She'd always stop my way, tell me a funny story and show me some amusing pictures. Reliable as clockwork.

Then she started telling me about this other guy, some ginger cunt who was controlling her...how he'd moved on to a new, wealthier model. Tacky and shallow.

Then one Friday, she stopped appearing in my inbox and I never saw her again.
(Jimbotfu Bummed in the gob again, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 20:41, 5 replies)

To the waiter
in the Oriel brasserie, Sloane Square. Circa 1997.

It wasn't me that knocked the bottle of St Emillion over on the table, making you have to move everything off the table, change the linen, put everything back and mop the floor.

It was the girl I was having lunch with. She was one of our brokers, we were meeting to discuss business. I was fingering her under the table, and she knocked the bottle over when she came.

Sorry.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 19:39, 33 replies)

delete this please

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 13:06, 20 replies)

All Rom-Coms
Mistaken identity, mildy offensive misunderstanding, hilarity ensues; life affirmed.



Wrists slit and single again...
(RebelWithoutApplause My underestimation will almost be the death of me, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 11:45, 9 replies)

good point, well made.
Proceeding from north to south, the first deviation of the IDL from 180° is to bend east, to pass to the east of Russia's Wrangel Island and the Chukchi Peninsula, the easternmost part of Russian Siberia. It passes through the Bering Strait between the Diomede Islands at a distance of 1.5 km (1 mi) from each island. It then bends considerably southwest (and passes to west of 180°), passing west of St. Lawrence Island and St. Matthew Island and then passing midway between Alaska's Aleutian Islands and Russia's Commander Islands before bending southeast to return to 180°. Thus all of Siberia is to the west of the IDL and all of Alaska is to the east.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 8:53, 13 replies)

Bad dates on the radio
This radio station is capable of stretching out a QOTW answer into 10 minutes of primedrivetime radio.

www.hot1015tampabay.com/list/entertainment/morning-show/blown/eST/
(LangdaleBeck Langdale Beck, Tue 9 Sep 2014, 1:42, 1 reply)

repost from 20th Oct 2011


I met a girl on Match
she looked pretty, she came across bubbly. We agreed to meetup for some drinks.

I put on a nice shirt, jeans, shoes.

I arrived at the bar (actually a hotel) and waited with a beer.

Then she arrived, dolled up to the max. 6" stilettos, shiny pink mini dress, Brunette hair done to the max. She was stunning, but in a trashy Jordan kinda way.

She looked alot like a hooker.

We chatted, I drank, she drank more ( i noticed drinks seemed to evaporate in front of her).

She then decided to tell me all of her history (bear in mind this was more of a meetup and see what you think of each other rather than a date)

Lord help me her history.

She told me she was a stripper in Manchester (half my brain at this point went into celebration mode, the other went into a mild panic. Not GF material, but a hell of a shag on the cards?), and that she used to date a of Head of one of the largest gangs in Liverpool. Alarm bells are starting to ring here.

I had just finished telling her a charming quip about how my car isnt fast, but its a nice runner. But, in return, and quite off topic I was now proceeding to get smashed in the face with facts about her history.. and not nice facts. Bang one after another!

My mind wandered about how out of the norm it was to divulge such secrets to what i was - a complete stranger - a stranger you are looking to date. He has bought you one drink, you have known each other for 90 mins.

"...and then I tried to commit suicide" she said, as i connected back into the conversation again.

"What? wow", I tried to act sympathetic, but I knew I could bolt.. if I wanted to. But hey, Id had a few pints and I couldnt be @rsed, plus I hadnt had s3x in ages, and well, I felt lucky.

"yeah I tried to commit suicide, when my sister found me..just in time apparently,. but don't worry, this is all well behind me" she laughed - nervously.

"really?" I asked. Well done, "when did this all happen?" I asked, wondering if it was suitable to change the subject yet.

"2 months ago"

*Alarm bells intensify the ringing*

I made my excuses and finished off my beer. She gulped her Double vodka.

"Ok, well, erm, I better get a cab, nice meeting you" I was nearly home and dry, it was an interesting night, not one I want to revisit, I felt kind of embarrassed. What a odd one.

"Lets share a cab" she proclaimed, "you can meet my friends!"

oh dear - I thought. I knew we would find it hard to get a cab from where we were. She knew I lived just beyond were she was going. I couldnt get out of it.

My cab turned up. She just got in, without me agreeing.

She held my hand.

I noticed the stench of cheap perfume. she continued to off load her history, then laugh at how silly it all was. It wasnt. It was scary.

We arrived in Birkenhead - she grabbed my hand, paid the taxi man and proceeded to push me into one of the nasty town bars. Chavvy isnt the word. Where everyone is wearing Lacoste, and rockport shoes, heavily gelled hair, with bottles of VK orange in both hands. Happy hard core bellowed out from all directions.

I got a becks and made it to the edge of the dance floor. The girl found me and proceeded to snog my face off. Wow. This is now becoming difficult. She likes me, and Im scared of her. I am now involved with a nutjob. Who, Im scared might still be suicidal, whom me saying fuck off to, might send her back into Suicidal oblivion.

I just wanted to leave, but every time, I tried, she would grab my arm and introduce me to one of her Scally mates. eventually I convinced her I was in work the next day (which i was, like i said - this was meant to be a simple met up - quick bevy and a chat). I left. Exhausted.

i then performed an excersise akin to an assasin cleaning up a murder scene. destroy all evidence etc

I then copied the text I received from another unsucessful Match.com girl I had met a few days before, talking about "not right for me, you were really nice etc, good luck" sent it to her and deleted her from my phone.

Nut job.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 23:34, 55 replies)

alright

(dozers, do fuck off ur a nob m8, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 21:12, 12 replies)

Persimmons.

( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 20:56, Reply)

Figs

( GeordieJay Bummers are deaf, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 19:32, 3 replies)

Sept 11th/November 9th.

( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 16:25, 25 replies)

Hard core fitness freak.
A person that I know is either gay or straight and he really should decide but anyway he always says, "I AM NOT GAY!!!"

Well, he was telling us a tale of another of his non-subjugating of the poon. Which did not go well. First, background to the subject line. He does ultra marathons and has always cycled and has taken part in endurance cycling and those events can be staged over 72 hours. He has completed 30 traditional marathons and does sub- 2.45 and is nearly 50. All in all a fit guy.

He had met this woman and they had gone back to her house. Things got sexy time and disaster. Erectile dysfunction and no penetration took place but a good time was had. However, the woman made it clear that he was not bf material. Which leads nicely to the ending of the tale.

"I wish that one day I could give a woman the full benefit of my aerobic stamina." - how we laughed.

Yes dear, that's the heart of the problem.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 11:48, 8 replies)

I shat myself on the Central line
I never discovered what the underlying cause was. Norovirus, food poisoning - who knows. Not that it matters.

The train was quite busy and so I thought anonymity would be the perfect cover for a cheeky fart. But no - fuck. All was not right with the world. I glanced at the map in a panic, trying to figure out where we were - I could jump off at the next station, pop to Marks buy a 3-pack of briefs and be good to go again. It wasn't to be though. As I moved towards the door, the feel of my trousers against my legs told me the situation was far worse than I had previously hoped. Time to call a full retreat.

I sent her a text saying there had been some family emergency - and we didn't meet up again. At least on the way home I had the whole carriage to myself.
(Baggenfrock get fucked, Mon 8 Sep 2014, 10:02, 12 replies)