Showing Kate Bush my bush
A few years ago, my mother dropped the bombshell that Kate Bush was moving in next door. Obviously I thought it was a cruel joke, but it transpired that it was the truth. I rode through a lot of hysterical emotions, and on the day she and her family arrived I made myself scarce for fear of hyperventilating. I went out, danced, got drunk, caught the last bus home, stumbled through the forest and passed out in bed.

I awoke, feeling like a fat slug had died in my mouth, to the sound of the doorbell. I had a vague awareness that I had definitely gone to bed wearing something and now wasn't, but that was neither here nor there. I wrapped myself in a sheet and fell downstairs to answer the door, expecting the postman, or anyone but Kate Bush. But it was the latter. My hangover was so pronounced that I didn't really have the capacity to be starstruck, so we had a little chat, very trivial, very pleasant. Then she asked "Are you okay?" which seemed odd. I said that I was a bit hungover, but was fine, the conversation shifted back to the trials of moving house. Then she asked if I wanted to have a walk with her, just down the drive. Still wearing just a sheet, I thought that everything was decidedly odd, but that I couldn't really refuse, so we ambled down my drive. As we neared the bottom of the lane, I suddenly had a very vivid memory of a dream. "Wow, this is weird, I had a dream last night that I lived in some kind of tree village, and I was the queen, and this tree was the base, and it was magical"

"Ah" she said. "Do you sleepwalk?"

"Yes..." I replied, suddenly nervous.

"I ask because last night, around 5am, my husband heard something outside, and when he looked out of the window he saw you, naked, in this tree. I thought you were a fan and panicked, and he was rational about it and said that that didn't make any sense seeing as we'd only moved that day, and we realised you must be the girl next door. So he came out and got you out and walked you back. He said you were talking about Ewoks"

I didn't really know what to say. It's always unnerving, as a sleepwalker, when people tell you what you've done, as it's quite scary to think that you are capable of doing so much without being conscious. So I pulled up the sheet a bit and looked at my legs, which were covered in scratches. Y'know, the kind you get from climbing trees. And then we both laughed, a lot. All I can say is that if you are ever going to meet one of your idols, a bit of naked sleepwalking is a real icebreaker. Plus I can say that Kate Bush saw my bush.
(aerialmeg, Sun 11 Aug 2013, 13:44, 17 replies)

Hillside Halls of Residence
When I was at University, for the first year I lived in halls on campus - Hillside in Dundee if you insist. The buildings were identical – toilets, kitchen and showers in a block and (from memory) 9 bedrooms on either side of a long corridor. The campus was split male female with a strict ‘no overnight visitors of the opposite sex’ rule that was of course roundly ignored. One fateful Sunday night, heading back up from Glasgow on the glamour wagon that was the late night Stagecoach, I found myself next to an attractive, curvaceous and very friendly redhead, let’s call her Pauline for that was indeed her name. We got chatting and it quickly transpired we lived on the same campus. The poor lass must have been missing a screw or two or simply felt sorry for me because, well basically by the time we got to Perth I was most definitely ‘in’. When we finally rocked up at her halls I noted how much they differed from my own, the layout and furnishings were absolutely identical yet the place didn’t smell of blokes, weed and overflowing bins. The kitchen and toilets were also remarkably clean however my new bestest friend seemed keen to usher me swiftly past all this to her room at the end of the corridor. Presumably before we were spotted by wandering hall mates. Basically i was being sneaked in. The girly, fragrant Pauline had delightfully fresh bed linen, another novelty – which we duly set about doing our best to sully.

I woke some time around 3am needing a piss. Pauline it seemed was a heavy sleeper and did not stir. No worries I knew my way around. Whether I was being a bit daring, blasé or simply foolhardy I have no idea, but in my infinite wisdom I decided to step out into the dark empty corridor and pad along to the toilets stark bollock naked. On my way back the inevitable happened, a door clicked in front of me, a girl in pyjamas stepped out, saw me, froze, then screamed, leapt back into her room and slammed her door loudly. So, in true pantomime farce style more doors were flung open behind me, more screams, lights were switched on, hysteria set in, threats were made, all whilst I’m standing there butt naked, trapped in the middle of a corridor of screaming girls in assorted nightwear, stammering that it was ok, I wasn’t some pervert intruder I was in fact there with…

Shit. I had forgotten her fucking name.

Have you ever tried to describe a person you barely know whilst naked and being ranted at by half a dozen irate young women? It's a bit stressful. For all the sense I was making, I might as well have been Manuel spluttering 'I here to see girl'.

Naturally this didn’t go down well and more cries of ‘pervert’ and ‘call the police’ were going up. All the while I’m standing there cupping my now pathetically shriveled meat and two whilst pointing frantically over the shoulders of a pair of seething first years towards the door of the girl who I claim to be a guest of, yet cannot even remember her bastard name.

After about 300 years she-who-was-remaining-resolutely-nameless stumbled out of her room, bleary eyed, blinking at the unfolding commotion. Not only did I have to suffer the shame of outing the poor girl as being somewhat easy I then had to explain after sitting next to her on a bus for a couple of hours, working my feeble charm then exploring her most intimate orifices I didn’t even have the gallantry to remember her fucking name.

The relationship did not flourish.

tl:dr charmless Muppet gets caught naked in a girls dormitory at 3am and isn’t even the 13th Duke of Wybourne
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Mon 12 Aug 2013, 14:08, 12 replies)

Davvy G And The Chemical Toilet Of DOOM!
Three years ago, the local rugby club decided to put on a three day music festival. £20 for the weekend, loads of local (and not so local) bands, and best of all, the rugby club is but a five minute walk from our house so no tedious pissing about with camping or transport. Sweet.

Having caught a couple of acts on the Friday, I decided to make a day of it on the Saturday. After toddling up to the local boozer to watch Newcastle beat Sunderland in a lunchtime kick off, I decided to wander down to the rugby club and savour the day's delights. Meeting up with the missus and some mates, I grabbed a beer from the beer tent, and stood in the marquee watching band after band do their thing, and generally having a good time.

At a break between sets, and as it was a particularly warm day, our group decamped outside to sit in the grass, have a smoke and another pint, and generally enjoy ourselves. Then came the call of nature...

Trotting across to the portaloos that were located to the edge of the site, I waited my turn in the queue, and, as one became vacant, headed into the blue, odorous cubicle to have a slash. Half way through the act, I heard loud voices and then, without warning, my piss TARDIS began to shake violently. Fuck.

"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS GOING ON?" I yelled, fully aware of just what was going on but feebly hoping that my aggressors would suddenly realise they were being a bunch of knobbers and stop. They didn't. "FUCKING STOP, FOR FUCK'S SAKE!" Too late. They were in the throws of Jackass ecstasy, and I was becoming more shaken than an epileptic Parkinson's victim. After a few short, but brutal seconds in which my whole body was bounced off every wall of the cubicle (not to mention the flush-stick), the whole thing crashed to the ground and showered me with piss, shit and blue chemical. There was no way out; the thing had crashed door-down.

A few seconds later, I felt the whole structure being heaved upright again; unfortunately the mix of piss, shit and chemicals that had pooled in the bottom of the portaloo had no other option but to sluice themselves back over me again during the process. However, I could at least get myself out of my effluence jailhouse, and burst the door open to emerge, a feeling of relief and rage washing over me to replace the godawful mixture that had only second before bathed me with it's warm, blue glow.

Shaking with fury, and seeing a small group of very obviously concerned festival goers in front of me, I could only really articulate a few words, which were along the lines of "WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?", spreading my arms wide with indignation. "WHO THE FUCK ACTUALLY DOES THIS SORT OF THING? LOOK AT ME FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! I'M UTTERLY SOAKED" At this point I noticed that my skin had taken on a slightly blue tinge. Great. I look like an angry Smurf. Excellent, fantastic. So I decided to articulate my disgust by flamboyantly taking my outspread arms and drawing them in and down my whole body so as to emphasise my plight. For added effect, I angled my head downwards at the same as if to encourage my small audience to fully take in just how wet, blue and covered in shitty toilet roll I actually was.

It's very difficult to maintain any sort of credible sense of anger, venom and rage when you look down and suddenly realise that your cock is still hanging out...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 9 Aug 2013, 1:40, 8 replies)

Esca-pain.
Around when I was 13 I developed a hernia. Can't remember exactly what it was called but as it was explained to me - I had a big tear in my abdominal muscles just above where my pubes had sprouted.
EDIT: Apparently caused by too much heavy lifting or physical exertion
Now this was before I became the mental giant that I am today and I had simply taken it for granted that everyone went thru periods when they had trouble standing up straight and were regularly doubled over in excruciating pain.
This obviously went some way to explaining that pain. The surgeon asked me what I did for recreation and when I told him "judo and I mowed lawns for pocket money" he was a little less inclined to call out Children's Services on my mum. He told me he'd seen grown men incapacitated with smaller tears.

Then he told us how I needed surgery. Seeing how hospitals and I rarely met in good circumstances - broken bones, cuts and stitches etc. it was no surprise that I wasn't having a fucking bar of it. I'd get better on my own thanghhnnNNNNGGGG!! OWWW!
So surgery it was.
Now I've always been very quick to come out of anaesthetics - after a recent gastroscopy the nursing staff were a little nonplussed at my eagerness to get up, get dressed and GTFO of there.

Anyhoo - I came to in recovery and tried to sit up. I was covered by an untied gown and blanket. The bastards had shaved my pubes - I was an early developer and had been quite proud of my thatch above and around the old fella. Pricks!
So, time to find mum and bail on these surroundings thinks I. I tried to fasten the gown but I seemed to be in a slightly increasing amount of pain & why the fuck do they tie at the back anyway?! I gently slid the needles in my hand out (fucking ouch!) and staggered back to where I last saw mum whilst trying not to show the world my bum. No luck there so I caught a lift down to the carpark - maybe she was waiting for me in the car (?). It must have been fairly hectic cause in this day and age I can't imagine a 13 yo. boy being able to wander off from recovery let alone stumble out the front doors in nothing but an open gown.

Mum wasn't at the car and the car wasn't even where I remembered her parking it - it was a long walk home and I really wasn't feeling the best but fuck it, they'd done what they wanted to do and I wasn't hanging around any longer than I had to. Then the parking attendant/security guy saw me and shouted.
OH SHIT!.
As I tried to cheese it (stumblingly) the gown fell off and there I was being chased around the hospital carpark by some security monkey (clearly by this stage they'd discovered the lack of me in recovery) in the all-together. Slowly dodging in and out of cars, surprising more than just a couple of hospital patrons I was keen to make a slow, naked, laboured break for it.

Eventually they caught me and as gently as possible got me on a gurney, covered my shame with a blanket and got me back inside where my mum fluctuated between showering me with relieved kisses and screaming at me wondering what the fuck did I think I was doing? The doctors checked I was ok - thankfully my naked chase exertions hadn't caused anything to come unstuck. I soon discovered that many of the nurses were young and good looking and they frequently had to come and have a good close look at my groin. So there was that.

Length? A 2-3" scar just inside from the top of my right hip. Can hardly see it these days thru the forest of grey hairs.
(s0ckpuppet logging out to reply to you if you're not careful, Wed 14 Aug 2013, 5:13, 27 replies)

Not me, but my friend's tale of woe, which always makes me laugh
For her entire time at university, my friend Evie had been in love with this guy on her course, Ginger Nick. In two years, she had just about managed to get to the "smile across the bar" stage. She also had a flatmate called Jenny, who was the most irritatingly stunning girl you've ever seen.

Finally one evening the impossible happened. She bumped into Ginger Nick in the student union, beers were had, cigarettes were had, and finally, FINALLY, Evie jumped on him and tongues were exchanged. Ecstatic, Evie dragged him home.

They were sitting in the lounge in that awkward "who will make the move, let's pretend to sip coffee" stage, when the door opened, and a pissed Jenny fell in. Even pissed, she was still annoyingly hot. She bumbled around for a bit, then left them to it. Ginger Nick was a bit too admiring of her, but it didn't put Evie off. She was just working up the nerve to lunge and stick her tongue back down his throat, when the door burst open again, and Jenny ran back in, skirt up to her neck.

"SEE MY NUNNY! SEE MY NUNNY!!" she demanded, before running off in hysterics, leaving them both speechless. As a mood killer, it was pretty effective. Evie never did get to see any Ginger Cock.

"
( rachelswipe with a fork, Tue 13 Aug 2013, 9:14, 49 replies)

Hotel Nudity
Apologies for failing to post the long MTFU story I promised last week, fans. Something came up - namely, the BBC announced the identity of the actor playing the Terran aspect of the 12th Doctor (Peter Capaldi - good fit) so I was rather preoccupied.

Anyway - re. the subject of this week's QOTW: during one of my incarnations, many years ago, I worked in a rather prestigious London hotel. Well, it wasn't THAT prestigious, and indeed was struggling a bit and went under six months after I left, and was demolished in 1987. (There's flats there now.) It was because of our parlous financial state that we were rather lax about who we accepted as guests, and would accommodate anyone if they could afford us (we would often offer discounts). We would also accommodate their foibles. For example, if a guest wanted to bring a, shall we say, hired help back to their room, we would turn a blind eye. Pets, also, we would accommodate. Dogs, usually; but one guest in particular booked with us who had a rather unusual pet. The manager was initially reluctant to accept the booking, but the guest offered to pay extra, so we accepted. And so came the fateful day that the guest - a Malaysian businessman - came to stay, with his pet. His pet... chimpanzee.

This chimpanzee, which went by the name of Bibmoxee, was an adolescent male and a big, scary looking fucker, but we were assured it was quite tame. One of the conditions of the booking was that, when the guest was out, a member of hotel staff would be stationed in the room to look after Bibmoxee and make sure he didn't damage anything. I pleaded with Stephanie, the manager, to get an expert from Regents Park Zoo or somewhere but she refused, citing costs, and appointed me as chief chimp minder (shoulda kept my big mouth shut!).

And so the afternoon after the morning the guest checked in, he had to go out for a business meeting, leaving Bibmoxee in his suite. I was duly stationed to attend to the chimp's needs. I admit, I was terrified, but did my duty (hey - this could fit with last week's question too! Double bubble!). The guest had assured me that Bibmoxee was totally tame and not at all violent, but would sometimes get a bit "rambunctious." To mitigate this, I was given a kazoo and instructed to blow on it repeatedly until Bibmoxee calmed down.

So with a certain amount of trepidation I entered the suite. It was one of our largest and most expensive, and consisted of a main lounge with bedrooms, kitchen and bathroom off. I found Bibmoxee in the lounge sitting limbs akimbo on the sofa, staring impudently at me, his genitals proudly displayed. There was an enormous turd on the carpet and the stench was unbearable. Kazoo between my lips I cleared up the shit whilst Bibmoxee sprawled on the sofa, seeming suspiciously quiet and subdued. After I cleaned up I gave Bibmoxee a bunch of bananas, which he promptly ate, skin and all. He then spat copiously on the carpet, and proceeded to stick his finger up his bum for a good root around, and then sniff and lick the finger. All par for the course for a chimpanzee, and I watched all this warily from the relative safety of an easy chair opposite the sofa, kazoo in hand ready to be deployed.

To his credit the teenage ape behaved himself for about an hour - but then started acting up, capering madly round the room and throwing pillows. As he raised his arm to throw one at me I blew on the kazoo, hard. The effect was immediate. Bibmoxee emitted a series of high, piping shrieks, scuttled into a corner and curled up into a ball with his arms wrapped around his head. There he stayed, shuddering and whimpering. Pleased with this result, and trying not to think about what his owner had done to achieve it, I began to relax. As long as I had the kazoo, I was safe.

About ten minutes later there came a knock at the door. With one eye on the corner where Bibmoxee cowered, I opened it. It was Lucy, one of the chambermaids. She was a saucy little thing, with lambent pale skin, black hair tied back in a ponytail and laughing blue eyes. I had fancied her ever since I'd started work at the hotel.

"I didn't order room service", I said mock-seriously.

"Oh you idiot, I've come to see the chimpanzee!" The slight Irish lilt in her voice just made her all the more fanciable.

She came into the room and when she saw Bibmoxee she frowned in concern. "Oh! Is it all right?"

I told her about the business with the kazoo and as I did so Bibmoxee looked up and noticed her. Now I don't know a lot, if anything, about chimpanzees, but maybe the sight of a female, albeit not one of his own species, excited Bibmoxee; the moment he clapped eyes on Lucy he leapt up shrieking, his long yellow teeth bared in a terrifying grimace. I quickly deployed the kazoo again, and kept on blowing it until the chimp was once again subdued.

Now Lucy was staring around the room. "Never been in here before, isn't it grand?" Then she turned to me with a devilish glint in her eyes. "Let's fuck!"

She grabbed my hand and led me to the bedroom even before I began to comprehend what she had said, and realise what an extremely lucky bastard I was. Stunned by my good fortune, I watched agape as she slipped out of her clothes and stood before me, naked as the day she was born (apart from her earrings). She smiled and said, "Come on then what are you waiting for?" My heart the size of the Moon, I stumbled out of my clothes and was soon locked in a naked embrace with the woman I had been secretly lusting after for months and months. We fell onto the bed, exploring each other’s bodies, my cock hard against her belly and my fingers teasing her moist, slippery haven.

Suddenly there came a tremendous pounding at the door. I sat bolt upright, my erection melting away like a Solero in a sauna. Bibmoxee! I instinctively reached for the kazoo - only to realise that I must have dropped it or left it in the lounge when I was distracted by Lucy's out-of-the-blue offer. The pounding increased in ferocity until Bibmoxee’s fist broke through the panels. Lucy screamed and hopped off the bed. Suddenly - BANG! - the door was thrust open and there Bibmoxee stood, his face a mask of terrifying ferocity. Shrieking, he raised his arm and threw something at us - it splattered against the headboard of the bed, and I realised it was a lump of his own faeces.

So there we both were, stark naked (apart from Lucy's earrings and my socks), at the total mercy of an insanely angry shit-throwing chimpanzee, with no way of defending ourselves or of subduing the ape.

With a roar, Bibmoxee lunged for us, arms outstretched. Thinking quickly I shoved Lucy to one side, hauled the king-size duvet off the bed and hurled it over the advancing chimp. It covered him completely and he began to stumble blindly around the bedroom. I grabbed Lucy's hand and we skirted around the confused simian, through the broken door and into the lounge. I began looking for the kazoo and found it - but it had been smashed into bits, the red plastic pieces scattered around the deep-pile cream-coloured carpet. I looked back into the bedroom - Bibmoxee had thrown the duvet off and was glaring at me with a gaze of extreme malevolence. With seconds to spare I bustled the naked Lucy out of the suite and slammed the door behind us.

We stood in the corridor, breathing heavily, sweat sheening our nude bodies. A sudden thumping at the door alarmed us, but the outer doors to our rooms were heavy and secure and not even an enraged chimpanzee would be able to break through.

Suddenly Lucy burst out laughing, and I couldn't help but join in. The sheer relief of our escape sent our adrenaline levels soaring, and I could feel myself becoming erect again. With a twinkle in her eye Lucy got down on all fours and gasped, "Fuck me like a dog!" So I fucked her there and then from behind, groaning in pleasure as I ejaculated fulsomely deeply within her.

We then walked hand in hand along the corridor, got the lift to the ground floor and went straight to the manager's office where we reported the incident. It was a bit embarrassing walking butt naked through reception, we could feel all eyes on us; and I indeed said, "take a picture, it'll last longer," and I believe someone actually did.

We expected to be sacked on the spot but Stephanie laughed and let us off, with a warning not to conduct our affair on hotel premises.

The porter was sent out to purchase a new kazoo and Bibmoxee was subdued. Of course, we had to ask the guest to leave; he was angry, but he paid for the damage. Stephanie agreed that in hindsight it was a bit of a stretch to try and cope with a chimpanzee and apologised for putting our lives in danger.

Lucy and I went out for about a year until she left me for an Italian waiter.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 19:24, 15 replies)

Exposure followed by rapid shrinkage
Years ago I was travelling around Europe with two friends. We were sitting on a park bench in Brno (in the Czech Republic) when I heard a low whistle behind me and turned my head to see a large man in an open trench coat with his erect knob in his hand, wanking and winking at me furiously.

Without a flicker I turned to my friends and hissed: 'don't look now, just grab the camera, there is a man behind me having a wank!'.

Obviously the first thing people do when you tell them not to look is, of course, look, and before the poor man knew what was happening he had three young women staring at him, cackling loudly and hysterically like a set of demented witches, all pointing at the rapidly deflating member that he had been so proud of just mere seconds ago.

He ran off, followed by the echoes of our derisive laughter, his cock still hanging out but no longer quite in the class of a cock or a knob; now it was nothing but a tiny frightened willy desperately trying to shrink its way up into his body.

Unfortunately no photo was taken for posterity.
(snakelady, Mon 12 Aug 2013, 16:53, 4 replies)

Exposed A High School Bully For The Coward He Is!
As some of you may know I work in a store and for all it's worth, it's worth it.

Today I was working the tills when suddenly a silhouetted figure approached the door, and as much as I squinted, I couldn't quite make out who the man of mystery was. It was like a scene from a western as the elusive figure tipped his baseball cap forward and tucked his thumbs in his belt as he approached the till.

"Well I'll be." I thought to myself. I looked him up and down and realised it was none other than notorious high school bully, Big Bad Bertie "The Bloke" Bensinger IV. He had given me absolute HELL through my high school years, partaking in such acts as calling my mum a 'strawberry milkshake', hanging kitchen utensils off my nose and tying my shoelaces together when they were out of my peripheral vision so when I began to walk, I'd make a muddle of it and trip over myself.

I decided to keep my cool, and as he told me what he wanted I quickly fetched it for him and gave him the price. "That's 57p, please." I said, with a cold, collected stare plastered across my face. He smirked as he handed over £1. I could tell what the barstool was thinking. He thinks he's got me again. Well not this time. This time, things were gonna be different.

As I rang in his transaction, I went to get his change, and he watched my fingers closely as they slowly skimmed past the 20ps, glided over the 10ps and zoomed past the 5ps. The look on his face turned into one of absolute horror as my fingers gently slipped past the 2ps. The revenge train had reached its last stop. The 1 pennies.

He looked awkward and fidgety as I scooped up his change entirely in 1ps and handed it to him. "There you go sir. Have a nice day." I said, winking. He knew it was over. He may have won the battle, but 5 years later I had won the war. He scurried out the store, zipping up his dodgy tracksuit as much as possible and hanging his cap over his face to hide his shame, and as he did the rest of the customers turned to him, raised their fists in the air and started chanting "YOU GOT SERVED! YOU GOT SERVED!"

Another moment of victory for The Sternemeister. I flexed my muscle to the rest of the customers before carrying on with my job. I sure showed him, I did!
(SirStromming, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 18:13, 16 replies)

Not me but my Best Man, Ginge about 10 years ago.
Daring eachother to go to the highest point on the death slide at Wet'n'Wild in Orlando, Florida we finally made it up the spiral staircase to 'Der Stuka' the 250ft drop waterslide. After a little cajoling I got into position and gently tipped myself over the edge to plummet down the watery chute. When I was safely at the bottom and having successfully plucked my shorts out of my arse crack the attendant signalled Ginge that it was his turn.

Now Ginge, by his and his wifes admission, has uncommonly large testicles that are best not witnessed by most men. Unfortunately I was one of the few male witnesses to such a spectacle as I heard a piercing wail as he careered down the slide with his baggy swim shorts jammed firmly up his arse. He had what appeared to be a set of maraccas hanging out of his shorts that were bouncing around like 2 large ballbearings in a pink wrinkled sock.

At the bottom he extracted himself from the ride with a pained expression that he described as being like anally raped by your own testicles.

Disappointing thing was that his wife had gone down one of the less extreme slides at the same time and her bikini top had pinged off up round her ears. Missed that.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 15:03, 2 replies)

Young, drunk and pantless
Paddy's day is a big drinking day in Ireland whether you're a toddler or OAP and that's tradition. Back when I was a younger more alcohol tolerant Daz (by tolerant I mean it tended to spew less back up) I was hanging around the city centre on that faithful saints day.

Me and my friends had decided to attended an open air Ceile (Irish ho'down) which was being televised live to the states. At some point in the festivities there were calls for volunteers to play the spoons with the trad band on stage. Being the crafty begger I was I didn't frantically wave to be chosen but raised a timid hand amongst the madness.

Security was obviously pleased with my lack of courage and allowed me up on stage with five others were we sat in front of the band. Each of us were handed a set of wooden spoons I promptly snapping mine and had to sit whilst each other contestant got to play along to a small medley with the band.

Until I heard behind me a pssst. Looking around I saw the aul fellas in the band giggling and then the eldest leaned forward and grinned "moon the cunts". Some instructions cut through the tar-thick mess that is your drunken brain and this was one. With the grace of an Olympic gymnast I stood stock straight, twisted and bent at the waist whilst expertly pulling my pants to my heels brandishing my twin buns to god knows how many horrified onlookers both there and in america.

I was promptly hoisted by two security guards and pitched off the side of the stage and was told to "fuck off" when I asked could I have a new pair of spoons.
( dazbrilliantwhites has been meaning to change this..., Sun 11 Aug 2013, 11:46, 6 replies)

Poor PTSD postman
My husband works at sea and went back to work about 6 weeks after I had our first baby. He was away for 3 months at a time. I was pretty exhausted and, after a particularly gruelling night, was on the sofa, still in a grannified breast feeding nightie at around lunchtime. I fed the baby and must have dozed off. Was awoken by a ring of the doorbell, deposited the now sleeping baby and blearily stumbled to answer the door to the postman with a parcel to sign for. Duly signed for it and came by inside thinking what a terrified looking postman he was. Walked up the hall to put the parcel down, past the hall mirror. In horror, was confronted by the sight of my hideous bed-head, sleep-deprived eyes, gross, milk-soaked nightie and, joy of joys, my left tit hanging out of the top. Surprisingly, didn't get parcels every day after that. Can't think why...
(Lolopops, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 19:45, Reply)

New Year 1996
A flatmate has got some lovely new sneakers for Christmas. I'm going to try these out, he says, and disappears from the communal kitchen. A few minutes later there's a glimpse of pasty pink and the sound of a slamming door.
We peep out of window to see a pair of fluorescent Nike soles and an otherwise completely naked flatmate disappearing down the street. Five minutes later a beaming flatmate and two police officers appear at the door.
Is this yours? They ask.
Yes.
Ominous pause.
Has he not got any other Christmas presents he could wear?
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 16:04, 25 replies)

Bitter victory
My defining moment in my teenage life came on a school sports day when I was fifteen years old, competing in the 1500 metres. It should have been a moment of glory as I crossed the finish line to rapturous applause, led by the headmaster himself. But to this day nobody remembers me crossing the finish line a full lap ahead of my nearest competitor, and nobody talks about how I set a new school record for the event - one which still stands to this day a decade and a half later. Instead, the memory everyone has of this day is of me flopping to the floor, sweating and panting, spreading my legs and exposing my right testicle through the newly formed hole in my shorts. The applause was replaced by a swell of laughter that spread from forms A through K like a tidal wave of shame as I confirmed the idiosyncratic suspicion that I did in fact have ginger pubes.

Now I'm not sure what colour they were expecting them to be but even to this day if I walk into a pub in my home town and one of the girls from my year happens to be there, even though they're all grown up with a family and a career, they will still fail to resist the temptation to shout out 'Ginger Pubes' across the pub and then break into fits of adolescent laughter.

I leave soon after.
(lickmyscripts, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 14:25, 11 replies)

I once sent..
a picture of me, naked, with a cricket bat handle up my bum, to everyone in my addrss book...
Cost a small fortune in stamps
Shirley Bindun?
(lordy lordy, Wed 14 Aug 2013, 20:33, 4 replies)

My stag night in Brighton
And I end up naked and handcuffed to a lamppost in the central reservation of The Esplanade in Brighton.

Cars are honking their horns, people have their windows down shouting at me. Then come the gropers - men, women, TV's Transexuals etc. My arse gets smacked red raw, women grab my tackle in the most unladylike manner and dig their nails in and numerous people simulate oral and simulate taking me from behind.

Then my saviour appears. A WPC driving a riot wagon. She stops next to me and asks me if I'm alright? I sheepishly say yes. She asks me where my friends are and I nod to the reprobates on the opposite side of the road howling like hyenas. And then my saviour says: "Have a good night" and Foxtrot Oscars off!
(vikingaero Deilvered To Your Door in 30 mins, Sat 10 Aug 2013, 21:34, 7 replies)

Had to visit the hospital as a teenager
The doctor seemed to think I may have twisted my testicle and was eager to have a grope before deciding whether to whisk me away and operate. He asked my father (not me!) if a couple of student doctors could watch the examination and stupidly my father said yes... at which point people began to file in until there was nowhere for me to look except at faces peering eagerly at my rapidly shrivelling genitals.

I was then later whisked away for an X-Ray but left bored with a piece of lead covering my pride and joy. A bored teenager inevitably results in a wandering mind... the nurse noticed the lead had slipped from its position and went to adjust it, only to be confronted by my barely clothed erection springing me. At least I have an excuse for my sexual repression.
(Crompton, Wed 14 Aug 2013, 11:11, 6 replies)

I was once exposed as a woman hating grot peddler
after posters on popular internet website "B3ta" stumbled across my online collection of ropey "nerd birds" with lego, 12 sided dice and games workshop goblins stuffed up their fetid mimsys.
( Naked Ape call me Caitlyn, Tue 13 Aug 2013, 22:08, 40 replies)

There is many a gay bath house in Hungary.
Or bath houses that do not deplore the actions of man hungry cock whores. Anyway, I was in Budapest and due to good information from sites like gaydar, I visited a bath house with quite a reputation for man on man bum fun. So, there I was in the bath house, not minding my own business and generally trying to get a cheap sexual encounter. Not financially cheap, I am not that cheap or adverse to paying if needs must. Anyho', I was admiring the actions of two elderly old Hungarian men whilst I wallowed in the hot bath. To cut a long story short, I accidentally started drinking from the oldest ones catheter bag.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 23:09, 4 replies)

Those women were in the nip!

( Pig Bodine., Fri 9 Aug 2013, 19:15, 8 replies)

Stupid Gweilo
Back in 2006 I was living in a small city on the south coast of China. There were only a couple of hundred westerners living there and we all used to congregate in the few suitable bars. One of these was a beach bar, and a friend managed to organise a full moon party there.

At around 1am, when everyone had already had a bit too much to drink, an English girl at our table decided (I still have no idea why) to egg us on to take off our clothes and run into the sea. We (nearly all men, surprisingly enough) decided to follow her lead, tore off our clothes, and ran in after her. After a minute in the sea we felt the wind suddenly get much stronger. This meant that a storm was coming in - not a rare event in that part of the world. A few people sensibly decided to return to the shore at that point, but the drunker half of the group (including me I'm afraid) just thought this was part of the fun and swam further out. After five minutes the storm had actually started, the waves were getting pretty crazy, and we couldn't really see much at all, so we swam back to shore.

When I got to the table I found my clothes had made it halfway into the sea - everything was soaking, and my shirt was missing. My friend (the one who had organised the party) was less fortunate. All his clothes had been swept away, as had his bag with his work, phone and house keys inside. His girlfriend had the only other keys, and she was on holiday until a week later. Everyone was in the inside part of the bar now, so there was a good five minutes with a hundred or so people huddling inside, watching this naked guy running round outside in the rain trying to find his stuff. Fortunately we were able to find people with spare clothes to lend to him, and he was able to sleep on my sofa for the next week.

The real shocker came a week later when we returned to the same bar and realised the nice bit of ocean we'd been swimming around in was the outlet to a sewage pipe coming from a row of hotels on the hill. They'd thoughtfully extended the pipe 10 metres into the sea, and we'd mistaken it for a sea wall to guide us in and out. I'd even taken in a mouthful of seawater.
( Zuowan, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 16:41, 2 replies)

Don't look now
When living in darkest Africa my mate and I spent the Easter holidays acting as a boat taxi for a large motor yacht that was stranded in the harbour - unfortunately 3 months before the skipper had taken too much Bolivian Dancing Dust and was found face down in his own head ... the authorities had decided there was no foul play but the wheels of justice were grinding slowly as the London based agents didn't have the sense to grease them, and the crew were enjoying the benefits of full pay without clients shitting all over them and didn't have the grease - a nice bunch of twenty going on forty somethings who were very generous with the tips and occasional beers.

After 3 weeks of bumming about in boats in the harbour David and I had hoarded something like KSH300, and with the holidays drawing to a close we decided to blow the lot on a night of beer fuelled fun at the Outrigger, the nearby hotel in the harbour were occasionally British tourists would stay and spend the entire time wondering where the palm fringed beaches and white sands of the brochures were ...

At 7:30 donned in our finest garb David, his mate James and I strolled into the bar and ordered our first round - 15 Tusker Export stubbies. The lovely bar staff were round us like flies on a shit, cracking jokes about how long it would be before the wazungu kijanas would be puking in the flower beds while they picked our pockets and sold our kidneys. The passage of years - there have been 25+ by my reckoning - has dimmed much of the rest of the evening but by 11:30 we were down to the last few bob and had made firm friends with the bar man who was taking the traditional cut of takings and slipping extra drinks on to the tab of the suspicious looking Russians in the corner. The decision to have a Scotch as the night cap was, on reflection, probably not wise. We downed that and leaving a less than generous tip staggered up the beach to the jetty where the dingy was moored. Once we were all in the boat and with the outboard lowered we cast off.

20 minutes later and some miles down tide we finally got the outboard started and puttered over to the boat we were staying on. Once on board and having ransacked the cupboards for booze - nothing as the normal night watchman was well known to be partial to anything over 0%ABV - we decided it was time to go skinny dipping. A few back flips over the stern later - ignoring that East Africa's over polluted harbours are brimming full of sharks looking for something more nutritious than the odd drowned goat - we decided that enough was enough and it was time to go to sleep. Besides the water seemed a bit ticker and more chemically smelling than normal. As it was a nice night and the stars where shining and spinning we slept on deck.

And that is how it came to be 9am when I was rudely woken by the hooter from the Pilot boat as it drew alongside the boat to see why their appeared to be several oil leaks running from the scuppers and 3 young naked black boys dead on the deck. I leapt to my feet only to be sent reeling about as my head exploded with the effects of my first massive hangover and then beer still swilling about my guts decided to reappear.

Fortunately the Pilot on duty knew us - unfortunately he was a family friend.

The last time I saw him when I was in my mid twenties he regaled my wife with the tale of how he woke us up and how he laughed as I proceeded to vomit down my belly and legs while smeared in thick back engine oil ... his thick SA accent did such justice to the final words

"end hiz lettle prick was washed clean and was steeking out like an asparagus spear"
(Biff..., Thu 8 Aug 2013, 13:38, 2 replies)

On a wang and a dare.
I went to an all-boys private (snobby, expensive) school. For the first few years I went as a boarder and when my mum moved closer then I finished my matriculation as a "gay-boy" (the boarders light-hearted nick name for day boys).
My school shared a fence line with an equally hoity-toity Ladies College. A gate between the two school was situated right next to our house common room. As such we had a hearty & healthy relationship with the young lady boarders from next door - no it's not what you're thinking, all the boarders were absolute pigdogs and seeing how we're all from the country there was a good chance our families knew each other or worse still we may have been related. The "gay-girls" on the other hand were fair fucking game.

During my time as a boarder you got to know certain physical attributes about each other, you just can't help it - there are only so many tiles on the opposite wall you can look at whilst communally showering. One particular attribute belonged to a young man named Gerry Taylor. Now Gerry had a bent cock. I can't remember the medical term but Gerry's schlong turned a right angled turn to the right about half way along the shaft. Apparently even when turgid Gerry's member had a distinct curve - not that I would know of course. But when flaccid it's head sat parallel to his body.
Being the kind, caring community that we were we immediately named him "banana-cock" or just "Bent" for short. And then we promptly told everyone who would listen. Including some of our lady friends from next door. Nothing shot him down quicker when trying to get in the knickers of some pretty girl at a Social (school dance) than someone calling him Bent.
Gerry wasn't the tightest turn on the map if you get my drift - his claim to fame was getting expelled in yr. 9 while walking sodden, down the street having lit a fire in the men's toilets at the local shopping centre and setting off the fire alarm and sprinklers.

Anyhoo, on with the story. One evening we were playing a game of "I fucken' dare ya", which is truth or dare with the girly bits removed. Hey this is a bunch of teenaged boys at boarding school - after a wank and some pot-noodles you've got to make your own entertainment.
Some bright spark came up with the idea of a streak thru the ladies college. We could wear balaclavas and sneakers. We knew a secret way down to the river banks behind both schools and stashed some trakky daks (tracksuit tops and bottoms) there for us to change into and then we could sneak up the steep embankment back to our boarding house before anyone was anymore the wiser. Some of us even had the excuse of being at rowing training as a cover story.
So the plan was made - we were to run in nothing else but balaclavas and running shoes from our gate to the opposite side of the ladies college. We even decide to leave for our run from one of the other boarding houses (much to thir dismay) to throw the teachers off the scent. We chose a Friday morning as that was both schools assembly morning. And we were to meet up in the common room afterwards.
Off we went like a shower of shit - 6 fit, young blokes, tackle flapping in the breeze, dodging squeaking and shrieking young ladies as we shouted "Coming thru!" and "Make way!". We all got back safely and fully clothed.
We'd done it and got away with it (or so we thought). There was only One. Small. Problem.
Of course one of the young ladies recognised that one of the streakers had a *ahem* somewhat distinctive physical attribute. That many people were able to guess belonged to Gerry. Who when questioned, folded like a stack of towels at a linen company.
A couple of other guys got suspended along with Gerry. The rest of us thanked and in turn threatened the 'caught' culprits into keeping their silence.

Length: About 100m from one school gate to the other and then a 30 odd metre scramble down the riverbank slope and the same in reverse to get back again.
TL;DR? - Boys with bent cocks shouldn't run naked thru a girls school lest they be recognised due to their bent cock.
(s0ckpuppet logging out to reply to you if you're not careful, Thu 15 Aug 2013, 8:17, 7 replies)

I used to live on the 12th floor of a block of flats in Mill Hill, Blackburn. The block was called
Ewood Court and overlooked Ewood Park football stadium. My view however was into delightful countryside and the West Pennine Moors. To see into my flat and assuming no glare on the windows one would have to be about 2 miles away with a very powerful rifle scope or a not so powerful telescope. So, I really did feel very comfortable wondering around in the nude and getting close to the floor to ceiling windows without fear of embarrassment. So, I thought.

I was naked and wearing nothing but my yellow, man size marigolds as I was on a cleaning mission that day. Hot and sweaty and the chores completed I looked at my dirty man body in the mirror and of course thought I deserve a good wank. I was very horny, due to the yellow, man size marigolds and that I was such a dirty boy.

Forgoing the toothpaste in favour of some handy KY jelly, I applied the lube on my cock and began the lonely dance. Into the bedroom, into the other bedroom, into the lounge, pulling and jerking at my penis. This went on for some time and eventually in the living room and I was stood very close to the floor to ceiling windows with my eyes closed and focused on the task, I eventually gushed forth my volume of man muck.

Imagine my surprise when I opened my eyes, to see at the 12th floor level a hot air balloon basket with 8 people in the basket. 8 people who I could clearly see that they had clearly seen exactly what I was about in my private space, they were only 25ft away. Apparently it was the annual show at Witton Country Park.

Lucky buggers.

And for awhile I became known as Slimcea Boy.
( d.r._and_quinch when will you be famous?, Tue 13 Aug 2013, 16:20, 20 replies)

So, years back...
...I was sharing a flat with my best friend's mum. Long story, don't ask. So, anyway, I'm living in a just-becoming-groovy part of east London, sharing a half-derelict warehouse with a late-50s german woman. I'm spending vast amounts of time out drinking and dancing the night away, and having one night stands. So, inevitably, one night, I end up back at mine, 3 sheets to the wind with a rather gorgeous redhead. I needed to go for a pee, so staggered downstairs, tripped on the exceptionally steep and slippery stairs, and crashed to a heap at the bottom. Redhead came down to see what's happening, also slipped, lands on top of me. So as we're pissing ourselves laughing, flatmate / mates mum comes downstairs to see what all the fuss is about (this is at 4AM) and discovers 2 naked drunks tangled in each other, in fits of laughter.

She vass not amussed! For weeks I was referred to as "ferry bad boy".
(m.auron, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 20:15, 9 replies)

Pinteresting story
At the Brighton and Hove food festival last summer. I turned up later in the day with the now Mrs Deskbound.

We made our way around the stalls sampling the produce (a lot of it free at that time of day) , we also managed to fit in time for a few ciders and some potent rum served in a fresh coconut.

So, along with the bountiful amounts of sun we’d exposed ourselves to that day and the food and booze, we decided to have a sit down in an open grassy area, fitting in another rum filled coconut.

The sun was dipping below the high rises of the flats along the sea front, but was still high enough to bathe the other revellers who were sat with us in a nice orangey-yellow glow.

It was at this point that a carefree and well pickled young lady decided she needed to stand up and stretch.

Perhaps she didn’t realise that the combination of wearing a very poorly constructed white dress and no underwear would give everyone a view of her heavily pierced downstairs face.

Although she may have been quite proud of it. It looked like a pin-cushion pasty.

Length? Not even a semi.
(Deskbound You insignificant speck of dust, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 16:37, 1 reply)

this may well be a repost
new year's eve, many years ago. i had got incredibly drunk and decided to go home. occasionally when i'm drunk, i feel the urge to take off all my clothes when i need a wee. this was one of those occasions. i sat my naked arse on the toilet, rested my head on the radiator and fell asleep.
some time later, i awoke to the sound of thunderous knocking on the front door and extremely loud swearing and cursing. it seemed my brother wanted to be let in to the house(it was my fault for not letting him in immediately, of course, not his for forgetting his keys). i jumped up and ran downstairs to open the door, completely forgetting that i was naked.
sadly for my brother, the moment the door opened is one i doubt he'll ever forget. nor will my sister's ex-fiancee, who was with him.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 16:02, 2 replies)

It all started with pints of Leffe
So there we were in leafy Greenwich, my girlfriend meeting my friend's soon-to-be wife for the first time. They had recently bought a very small one bed house and made some minor re-jigging by moving the downstairs bathroom into an en-suite in their modestly sized bedroom.

The rationale for the re-jigging had been that they would have a little bit more storage space and that the downstairs bathroom was impractical
as my friend's ample 6ft 4 frame meant that he couldn't actually shut the door while sat on the loo... a little embarrassing if they had guests.

Wine in hand the girls got chatting about shopping and while Ben and I talked rugby (he's not really a football fan) and drank beer, or something like that. Ben then mentioned that he had a load of Leffe, but decreed that we couldn't be girly and drink small glasses of the stuff, no we had to have pints of the stuff.

After a couple of pints we decide that we'd go to the local pub. They served Leffe there too (yay!), so we continued to drink pints of the stuff, which slipped down nicely.

At closing time we slightly wobbled back to their bijou abode. Time for one last pint of Leffe before bed? Oh yes.

That made it about 8-9 pints of Leffe.

After Ben and Emily went up to their bed, I impressed my girlfriend with a full on naked Five Star Frog Splash onto the sofa bed. Miraculously I didn't injure myself, girlfriend or bed. No, it was later that evening that my public performance happened.

At about 3am I woke up, full on room spinning and I was resigned to the inevitable run for the loo. But wait... I cant streak through my hosts' bedroom and wake them up with the sound of me redecorating the en suite. No, the shortest route was to the door. And there I was Yahtzeeing my guts up into the gutter.

I returned to bed to the sound of an unsympathetic tut, but this shuttle sick run routine continued until it was daylight.

All I can do is apologize to the poor people churchgoers that had to witness me nude dry heaving in the street. Still, at least I remembered to give them a wave.
( @><|= w0nu!) or cunt to my friends, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 14:54, 8 replies)

When I was a nipper I was fascinated one day by a parade of horses going down the street in my home town.
It was a cold day so I walked up to one of them and asked it if it would like to borrow my jacket. It didn't answer me but just made a sort of high pitched squeal.

I asked the rider what his horse said and he told me, "Neigh, kid".
( Fork Has lost his bash virginity!, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 14:04, 5 replies)

Once, a great many years ago,
I found myself wandering the city streets wearing nothing but my underwear and a garish pair of boots.

Long story short, I kicked over some buildings.
( .Yeti. El amor en los tiempos del cólera, Fri 9 Aug 2013, 9:15, 2 replies)

Both!
As a sex pest and as a strange kind of drunken misadventure. Only one of these will I discuss here.

Leaving the pub with my friends one evening back....ooh ten years ago, we decided to streak back to his house (about 500 yards away). Just outside the pub we start to derobe leaving the then girlfriends with our clobber, I start to make a run for it, only to look over my shoulder and realise that my friends had stitches me right up and ran back inside the pub with my clothes.

We knew the landlord to this pub and it was very late anyway, they proceeded to lock the door, I may have been 500 yards from my friends house but I was a good 5/6 minute taxi ride from mine.

Needless to say the police arrived shortly after, I can only assume someone from the housing estate nearby had called (couldn't have been my so called mates could it).

The police, surprisingly, were rather nice people and after my friends explained the practical joke I was given a stern warning and allowed to put my clothes back on, the reason the police were nice people, they were two female PCs, one really rather attractive. I was a 23 year old pissed male naked in the street, I thought I had pulled.
( spanishfly is so fucking sexy people impersonate him, Thu 8 Aug 2013, 23:56, Reply)