Dates Gone Wrong
Ever gone on a date when "she" turned out to be a male university lecturer in his 50s who tucked his shirt into his Y-fronts? No, me neither. Tell us how it all went shit-faced.
( , Thu 4 Sep 2014, 13:13)
Ever gone on a date when "she" turned out to be a male university lecturer in his 50s who tucked his shirt into his Y-fronts? No, me neither. Tell us how it all went shit-faced.
( , Thu 4 Sep 2014, 13:13)
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Painful memories
Back in the old days, before I grew to look like a discarded mattress, I was quite adept with the ladies. Given that I'd had 19 years of miserable celibacy, I was delighted (and not modest) about this.
So one night, bolstered by several bottles of fine brown ale, I boasted that I could bed the next young lady that I saw, regardless of her attractiveness or boyfriend status.
This was before rohypnol, so I was going to rely on my charms.
The next woman I saw was impressively busty and showed a great deal of interest in my sauciness, as indeed was her friend. For reasons that escape me I introduced her friend to my compatriot, Jamie.
One thing lead to another and before I knew it we were in her place, passions running high. Which is when things took a turn for the worse.
Being 19, I immediately set to work on freeing her impressive bazongas. What I found, to my horror, was that her astounding hourglass shape was only accomplished by the application of an industrial strength corset. After a deft move from yours truly, her body was freed of its constraints and returned to its natural shape.
In the dim light in her room she looked like a vast beige sponge, only less sexy than that sounds. I reached out a trembling hand (I assume she thought I was in the throe of passion) and gingerly touched her, finding out that she had the texture and consistency of a felt bag full of vomit.
What was I to do? Well, as a gentleman and a gentleman of 19 years at that, there was only one option open to me.
The next morning I crept from her room, battered and ashamed. I met Jamie on her landing and together we slunk from that Lovecraftian house of horrors and never spoke of it again.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 13:01, 19 replies)
Back in the old days, before I grew to look like a discarded mattress, I was quite adept with the ladies. Given that I'd had 19 years of miserable celibacy, I was delighted (and not modest) about this.
So one night, bolstered by several bottles of fine brown ale, I boasted that I could bed the next young lady that I saw, regardless of her attractiveness or boyfriend status.
This was before rohypnol, so I was going to rely on my charms.
The next woman I saw was impressively busty and showed a great deal of interest in my sauciness, as indeed was her friend. For reasons that escape me I introduced her friend to my compatriot, Jamie.
One thing lead to another and before I knew it we were in her place, passions running high. Which is when things took a turn for the worse.
Being 19, I immediately set to work on freeing her impressive bazongas. What I found, to my horror, was that her astounding hourglass shape was only accomplished by the application of an industrial strength corset. After a deft move from yours truly, her body was freed of its constraints and returned to its natural shape.
In the dim light in her room she looked like a vast beige sponge, only less sexy than that sounds. I reached out a trembling hand (I assume she thought I was in the throe of passion) and gingerly touched her, finding out that she had the texture and consistency of a felt bag full of vomit.
What was I to do? Well, as a gentleman and a gentleman of 19 years at that, there was only one option open to me.
The next morning I crept from her room, battered and ashamed. I met Jamie on her landing and together we slunk from that Lovecraftian house of horrors and never spoke of it again.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 13:01, 19 replies)
Who wants to ride on an ironing board?
That ain't no fun.
I tried me one.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 13:06, closed)
That ain't no fun.
I tried me one.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 13:06, closed)
What does a moped have in common with a fat lass?
They both have a maximum engine size of 50cc.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 14:09, closed)
They both have a maximum engine size of 50cc.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 14:09, closed)
Bear with me, I'll remember the punchline in a minute.
I think it's something about compulsury basic training.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 14:13, closed)
I think it's something about compulsury basic training.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 14:13, closed)
I think it's 'they're both fun to have sex with until your friend sees you'
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 16:40, closed)
Office lols
Bonus points for "vast beige sponge" and "felt bag full of vomit". Classy lady.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 14:51, closed)
Bonus points for "vast beige sponge" and "felt bag full of vomit". Classy lady.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 14:51, closed)
As a 19 year old I probably would have done the same, as you grow wiser, you realise you should always leave a corset on.
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 17:53, closed)
( , Fri 5 Sep 2014, 17:53, closed)
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