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This is a question I'm your biggest Fan

Tell us about your heroes. No. Scratch that.

Tell us about the lengths you've gone to in order to show your devotion to your heroes. Just how big a fan are you?

and we've already heard the fan jokes, thankyou

(, Thu 16 Apr 2009, 20:31)
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It began in 1965
It was a balmy autumn I first caught a glimpse of the woman who would take my heart. There she was on the front page of the newspaper, her beautiful blond hair framing her delicate yet alluring face. She was quite the nations obsession, yet I felt a real connection with her. In fact I became infatuated, and set about devoting the next 37 years of my life towards meeting her when she would fall in love with me and we could finally be together.

Her hair reminded me of all the big American singers of the time, her dark come to bed eyes looked into my soul from every picture I could get my hands on. I soon built up quite a collection of pictures and articles which I would pore through to learn as much as I could about the blond bombshell. I would lock myself in my room when mother and father were listening to the Archers and neatly arrange the images in a semicircle on the floor. I would then get naked and kneel in the centre before slowly manipulating my member betwixt my thumb and forefinger into a state of arousal, engorged with my ruby red blood, the veins popping out at the side as the cock ring worked its magic and made my mushroom head strain at the skin in whence it was contained, with my ample foreskin slid back over and hugging the rigid shaft of my love truncheon. I would spend every evening in this state reading and learning every little thing I could about my heroine before plunging myself down upon my hand crafted anal invader and fwapping my cum cannon until i would shoot my load over her face. Being in the mid 60’s I didn’t have access to a laminator, but I can vouch that carefully spread layers of man milk dried at room temperature will create a varnish like protective layer on magazine and newspaper clippings.

After her initial thrust into the limelight she disappeared for a few years. In 1972 a relationship with her then boyfriend nearly turned into a marriage but thankfully that didn’t happen, I could still become her first and only husband. After coming that close to losing her to another man I started writing her letters. In these letters I would detail explicitly how she made me feel, how it came about that I could not get erect without having a picture of her in front of me and how I could not ejaculate unless her baby blue eyes and face where on the floor awaiting the eruption from my pump action shotgun. I would outline my wildest fantasies to her, how i wanted her to tie me up and have her wicked way with me, teasing me before impaling herself on my luncheon truncheon. She never replied to my letters, sometimes I even suspected that she didn’t read them or even get them, but I kept sending them, deep down knowing that she savoured every word of my prose and confident that she would lie in her bed at night with 4 fingers inside herself. I used to wait outside of where she lived but she never seemed to come or go from her house. Still I hadn’t met her.

Almost 20 years later, in 1986 she make a huge comeback, and the British public once more took her to their hearts, she was more mature now, and a haunting look in her eyes once again beckoned me to restart my ritualistic bouts of self love. I tried to get to meet her on several occasions, but could never get close, the press were always hounding her – it was like a witch hunt, I for one don’t know how she could deal with being in the public eye so much, I think it might have sent me a little crazy, but not her. After her initial resurgence she floated in and out of the public eye over the next few years. During this period I started suffering from erectile dysfunction and my daily seed spillage ceased. Slowly my infatuation waned and the regularity of my letters was interrupted, a weekly offering turned into a monthly note.

In November 2002 I wrote my last letter to her, 30 years I had written to her and not so much as a reply, she must never have loved me or she wouldn’t keep me waiting all this time.
I first saw the news when I was in Hull on an excursion with my Mother. A Heart Attack. Overnight. Nothing they could do. She was DEAD!

My world collapsed in on me, even though I had convinced myself she didn’t matter I now knew deep down my love for her was the strongest it had ever been. The emotional connection I had with her had transcended all manifestations of physical love, yet now we could never be together, I would never be able to hold her in my arms, never be able to withdraw my member from her anal cavities before plunging it down her throat in an attempt to make her gag on her own faecal matter.

I spent the next 4 years in mourning, coming to terms with her death and her absence from my life. In August 2006 I wrote her one last letter, in it I poured my heart, every inch of my soul before also emptying my seed from my now working again phallus into the envelope and sealing it. I posted the envelope with no name on it. Dropping the envelope into that postbox I came a little in my pants. A little part of me died that day, but the healing process sending that letter triggered has allowed me to move forwards, and slowly day by day I have rebuilt my life. My mother died in October last year, and I am now alone in this world, but it gives me strength to think that some day, when my time comes that She will be waiting for me and we will meet at last and spend the rest of eternity together. I only hope, that somehow she will know, that when we meet I will not have to utter the words, ‘Myra Hindley, I love you more now than I ever have, let me fuck you pink.’

(, Wed 22 Apr 2009, 17:10, 6 replies)
Holy shit

(, Wed 22 Apr 2009, 17:43, closed)
I'm glad I wasn't the only one.
Wanna go dig her up?
(, Wed 22 Apr 2009, 17:50, closed)
I believe she was cremated, so no use in trying to dig her up. If you can find her ashes I will spend an evening naked with you, wih red ribbons tied around our love missiles, painting each others toe nails and snorting her. then we can maybe fellatiate each other prior to slicking each others hair back with our man muck?
(, Wed 22 Apr 2009, 19:49, closed)
I knew that a post like this was going to be wrong, but I didn't know it'd be THAT wrong.... :D
(, Wed 22 Apr 2009, 19:56, closed)
That was great!
"in whence it was contained" is possibly the most contorted use of the english language yet seen on these pages, and I applaud you for it.

"I would never be able to hold her in my arms, never be able to withdraw my member from her anal cavities before plunging it down her throat in an attempt to make her gag on her own faecal matter" nearly made me choke on my own tongue.

(, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 5:08, closed)
brilliantly done!
(, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 12:00, closed)

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