Its apparently posting things on b3ta
After too much wine. Never afuckinggain
(Melody was not PMSing on, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:53, 8 replies)

Porn
I love porn, preferrably amateur, definately not BBW and definately not barbie dolls, but its a nightmare to try a find a bit of grot with girls that are size 12-16-18 maybe on the net. Nightmare :-(

Where are the normal sized girls on tinterweb?
(McJuurgensHaircut is authorised and regulated by your mum., Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:45, 6 replies)

a case of mistaken identity
Falling out of a pub in soho after a couple of beers some considerable time ago, we were stopped in our tracks by the sight of a well dressed, middle aged man scurrying out of a sex shop and into the back of a waiting cab. It wasn't the foot long, bicep thick black rubber cock he was clutching like the lost treasure of atlantis that brought us to a halt. It was the fact that every single one of us present will swear it was John Humphries.

I also know a great rumour about Una Stubbs - if you all ask nicely enough...
(kaptinkurtz, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:43, 3 replies)

Tits.
I love tits.

Big, small, huge, the lot.

That is all.
(hoogie Original Cunt Horse Author, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:43, 2 replies)

Japanese ladies holding up rectangular boards with the time written on them.
I like to fantasize about giving them blood transfusions.
www.bijint.com/en/
( 2 Can Chunder Word to your mums, I came to prod bums, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:37, 1 reply)

Roleplaying
Except sometimes we lose the dice.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:35, Reply)

I've recently been corrupted.
Well, a few months ago anyway.
It started with me telling him my dentist fantasies. (I could have done a whole post on that, but other people have already posted far more eloquently than I could ever have done on that very topic.)

It culminated in him admitting he was well into the whole pain and chains thing, that he knew exactly how to dominate me,then coming round to mine with a bag of tricks, tying me up and doing awful and wonderful things to me.
There's no turning back. I only have a vague idea what's in store for me every time we get together.
We do have lots of vanilla sex too. So nur.

Oh, and has anyone got a drill I can borrow? ;-)
( Roota zweeeeeoooooowm, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:30, Reply)

Girls in big jumpers
Would like to get my hands up there and find out what's causing those delightful bumps.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:21, 6 replies)

Did anyone else
make an Ian Huntley/Holly & Jessica scrapbook from newspaper clippings.

I think I used too much glue because some of the pages won't pull apart.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 13:13, 1 reply)

Just don't know where I'm going wrong, really...
Maybe I have the wrong viewpoint. I believe that sex is the "unique" element in a relationship that differentiates it from friendship. We can love our friends, have cuddles with them, spend shared time with them and even live with them. All the things that "couples" do you can do with your friends - it's the "going to bed together" bit that is the difference I think between a friendship and a relationship. That mutual attraction that means that you want to bump uglies with someone, not just spend time with them...

That being the case, why is it that sex seems to become such a low priority for the fairer sex once the "honeymoon" period is over ?

OK, I have had less partners than some people I know, but I've had enough thank you very much - women of all (well, not quite) ages, classes, educational levels, nationalities, whatever.

And with *any* woman I'm with I want to give them sexual pleasure. As long as it didn't involve animals, shit or children (and preferably not other people) I'd give it a try - willingly.

You see, nothing is so much of a turn-on as to see your partner out of control with lust. To make them see stars, to see that flush on their face as they pant in pleasure...bring it on, no fetish in my filthy mind could or would compete in terms of getting my rocks off than getting my partner helpless with pleasure...

...and yet, and yet, you can practically guarantee that within a matter of months, their interest goes off the boil. No more impromptu blow-jobs, no more mornings, let alone whole days, when you just lie in bed together. You end up feeling that sex is something that is "given" to you as a favour, to keep you from straying, or basically to shut you up.

That would work fine if I was just into getting my rocks off - but in a situation where you *know* that there's a massive imbalance in desire, you just feel that what should be a glorious *shared* experience is becoming a perfunctory duty. If I could blame this on my inability to do the mechanics of the deed - small cock, premature ejaculation, lack of technique, prudishness - then at least the situation would make sense. Not saying that I am the best lover in the world - how to measure such a thing ? - but those are not issues I suffer from.

So, like I've said in an answer from another poster who seemed to be having the same problem as me - I just feel that I either go in for serial dating from now on (obviously ditching the current gf first, which I don't really want to do) and keep everything short and shallow (in terms of relationship duration !) - or I just give up now and realise that this is the way things will always be.

Because talking honestly and openly about the situation achieves nothing - been there, done that;

And "putting up with it" - done that for too many years.

And funnily enough, whenever I start with a new partner and say how this has been in the past, they can't understand it because they tell me what a good lover I am...

...and then the cycle repeats.

Sorry, this hasn't really involved fetishes, has it really ?

Can't beat a woman's bum. Just can't beat it...
( I_Was_Mordred, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:46, 12 replies)

Girls Aloud.
A mate of mine told me last year that he would like to shag the ginger one from Girls Aloud on a petrol-soaked mattress!! I don't quite know why the mattress has to be petrol-soaked but still.
(Plumstix has been spying on you since, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:43, 5 replies)

not sure if it counts as fetish...
but there are several things that I still get the horn over (I led a very wild life in my younger days, although I'm all married and respectable now). I think it's because certain things link back to certain memories or times in my life that were just stick-with-you-forever memorable.

1) Tall Latvian/Russian girls. Blonde, athletic, blue eyes and high cheekbones...and that lovely throaty accent when they are drunk/horny/laughing - this can be linked back to a girl I dated when I left school and started University. She was in the year below me at school and even to this day, I have twinges in the pant region when I hear a balkan accent...

2) green eyes - this and the one below relate to a very specific girl that a large part of me always regretted losing. Maybe it's wishful thinking, or maybe it's fond memories, but when a green-eyed girl smiles at me, I can't help but think of her...and the inevitably dirty memroies come flooding back (although, I did really lvoe her, so it's not like I only thought of her for sexual reasons...she was just great at it!)

3) naughty MILFs - nothing is sexier than a girl who can be demure and polite and a good example to the kiddies one minute, then grab you by the back of the head, growl "fuck me" and ride you like Zara Phillips going for Olympic Gold. There is the added nicety that women who have had kids are usually more comfortable in their own skin and you've got a great recipe for a fantastic playmate/lover/fuckbuddy/girlfriend.

4) Biker chicks/Rock Chicks. There's a very specific reason for this - I was a metalhead as a young 'un and did the whole leather jacket/long hair/boots thing. Girls with DMs, stripey tights and biker jackets do it for me in so many ways - I can name think of two that really cemented this kink, though - one girl when I was 19/20 and anotehr from when I was supposedly grown up and sensible - ( I was 26 and she was 30). Both were six footers, with long, long legs and both were able to get me so hard I could barely think just by walking in the room. The second girl was a biker chick with who I once had sex in a bluebell-filled forest clearing - I still can't get the image of her naked in the woods out of my head.

5) Goth Girls. Proper goths, not these Emo numpties. Got to love the long skirts, lace and bodices. I could wear my tongue out on them all (aside from the inevitable huge one that every group has. She'd just get a cursory fingering in the pub out of politeness, obviously...sadly, I wish that was a joke *sigh*).

6) My missus. Aside from being tiny and non-Warsaw Pact in origin, she pretty much nails all the other criteria. We also share the same sense of humour, love of Wodehouse and musical tastes, etc. She's my best friend and, even though I might occassionally have wistful thoughts about exes I still think fondly of, I wouldn't change her for the world. She also gave me my daughter, so I am indebted to her forever.

I don't really feel the need to dress up as a vicar, or put on a funny accent, or use a blowlamp on my nutsack as I have always found it far more enjoyable to actually engage with the girl I am in bed with and pay attention to what she likes and how to pleasure her. If you do it right, you don't need a car battery and a set of jumper leads to get her motor running, you know...

Having said that, one girl, who knows who she is, had a nipple ring that I found so damned sexy...she also let me wear her like a nosebag for hours, which was nice as I do like to hear a girl orgasm through thighs clamped to my ears ;-) You kow who you are :-D

I'm a lucky man, really.
(Chad, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:40, 4 replies)

The toughest man I have ever met
Just a tad over six foot, not particularly muscular, covered in tattoos including 6 teardrops on his face (supposed to be 1 for every person you have "taken out"), ex-Gypsy Joker (make the Hell's Angels look like the Salvation Army), several scars etc etc.

Anyway, he was a pyschiatric nurse in another hospital and we happened to work together for a week "specialling" a man who was being assessed pending a court case. We didn't talk much but he was ok and knew his job - we had no problems.

I saw him a couple of years later at a pub. My then girlfriend's best friend was laughing on the way home, when asked why she said she had dated him for a while and the only way he could get his rocks off was to be fucked with a very large strap-on dildo.

Maybe prison does that to a man?
(wallynothere rnot without protection, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:39, 4 replies)

What? Me?
Any of you that remember my past efforts will know that I enjoy sex. Nice, simple, sexy, sex. With a man. I like giving and receiving pleasure and orgasms and I'm not beyond pleasuring myself when the need arises. I don't use mechanical help in that department, mainly because I don't consider myself the kind of girl that frequents the kind of establishment where these things are sold, and I'm even too shy to order them online or over the phone. [Shy? Me?]

But, apart from enjoying good straight sex (including lots of oral) with the man I love, I do enjoy fantasising while engaging in the act and/or acts. One of my favourites is 'The Roman Mistress & the Centurian'. I made the mistake of disclosing this fact to my current paramour, Jason, and he filed the information away without saying much at the time....and then it was my birthday.

The kids were on holiday with my ex-husband for two weeks which was really good. Jason is really good with the kids but he still feels himself to be a bit of a stranger in the house, even after almost a year, so when they're away, things are much easier between us, and much louder too.

Anyway, it was my birthday and Jase said he'd make me a proper breakfast in bed - is there anything nicer than lying in bed with the radio on, gently stroking yourself under the covers, curtains open, sun shining and the distant noise and faint smells of someone else making you bacon, egg, potato bread, pot of coffee, croissants and jam? I don't think so. But when he pushed open the door and I saw that he'd got hold of a Roman Centurian's costume, I nearly came on the spot. As he leaned over the bed to put the tray down on my lap I took the opportunity to reach under his tunic and check that he was in proper 'kilt dress mode', he was. I grasped his 'short sword' and, put on my best matronly Roman voice.

"Centurian! What do you mean by entering my salon while you know full well my husband - your senator - is away in Rome?"

"Apologies, Lady. It occured to me that you might feel vulnerable and took it upon myself to act as your protector. Did I do wrong Lady?"

I won't give you the full script - I'll leave that to your imaginations, but suffice to say that I had him feed me my breakfast while I fiddled with his weapon, giving his balls a bit a squeeze whenever he caused crumbs to fall on my (now naked) breasts. At one time I made him lick some egg yolk off me as well but chastised him when his tongue slipped and brushed my hard nipple. Once breakfast was over I made him stand to attention while I 'inspected the troops'. I closed the curtains at this point as it involved me kneeling before him and 'inspecting' the outside of his cock with my mouth. I may have whispered "Do you find anything funny about my fwend Biggus Dikkus Centwurian?" at some point, whilst holding said 'friend' firmly in my hand.

Ah, the things that matron had her Centurian do that morning...just thinking about it is making me rather hot and damp around the knickers.

The next day we turned the tables and while the Centurian reclined on his day-bed (or 'sofa' as some might call it), he was quite stern with his slave-girl who had a sheet draped around her, completely failing to conceal certain parts of her anatomy. I couldn't do a thing right that day and was constantly being lightly smacked. It was amazing the amount of things that 'master' happened to drop on the floor near his bed, causing me to bend over and pick them up, and when he accidentally got some honey on his 'rod of office' and couldn't be bothered to go to the lavarium, I had to lick it all off. Honestly, the things those slaves had to put up with.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:11, 4 replies)

Readers of Bizarre magazine...
... may be aware of one of the set questions in their regular celebrity interview. I quote: "If you had to do one of the three, would you indulge in necrophilia, bestiality or coprophilia?"

I was musing this myself, and decided I'd fuck the shit of a dead horse.

I wouldn't fuck the shit of a dead foal though, that'd just be wrong...

(and if you think that's disgusting, you'd foul yourself from every orifice in horror if I told you what I'm really into... I make Max Hardcore look like Max Bygraves)
(rampants, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:10, Reply)

any girl
wearing a qipao or cheongsam dress

better if shes a bit chubby too so the curves show through the material

bone on
(amazinglasercow now sporting terawatt mining lasers, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:06, 2 replies)

Eastern Europe
No Asians or "doorty oirish goorls" for me. I am geographically somewhere in between...

I seem to have a fetish for Eastern European women. They have a number of features that individually I find attractive, and as a whole I find incredibly erotic.

- Long top lips - yes, an excess of filtrum does it for me. Funnily enough, on men the same feature becomes a subject of caricature.

- Green eyes. 'Nuff said.

- Tall women, as tall or taller than me, with or without shoes. Tall with long, straight hair is even better. Leaves me breathless, speechless and verging on incoherence. I need a notepad and pencil to communicate, and a bib to mop the drool.

- Oh, and those Eastern European/Russian accents. My reaction when hearing those provocatively stressed syllables and rolling 'r's is much like Jamie Lee Curtis' reactions when John Cleese starts spitting out a bit of Russian in "A Fish Called Wanda"... except that I don't look like her and I don't have a thing for John Cleese. Thankfully.

The icing on the cake is a big set of hoop earrings. I know that in the UK these are concomitant with Chav-ettes, but I accept that this particular identifying feature is a localised exception. Again, thankfully.


OK, enough of my 'serious' approach to answering this QOTW. What else floats my boat? I had a girlfriend many years ago who loved pissing on me in the shower, any chance she had. She used to grin from ear to ear when she did it. Twenty-odd years later I still fantasise about it.

Funnily enough, she was tall, had a long top lip, green eyes and loved wearing hoop earrings...
(bulbus1 *whoop whoop* pull up, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:04, Reply)

Posted the following ad
"Man seeks open-minded and adventurous girl for sexual experimentation and fetishism. Must be open to the possibility of S&M, bestiality and maybe even a spot of necrophilia."

No one replied; in the end I realised I was just flogging a dead horse...

_{Sorry, the old ones are the best...}
EDIT: Arsecrackers, realised someone else has already done that one. Apologies.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 12:02, Reply)

A repeat...but still can't get over certain depraved fetishes...
Back at some point in 2006, I visited a gay club. I'm not gay - but my friend of many, many years had recently come out and was constantly demanding my presence on a 'boys' night out. He insisted and insisted that I joined him, citing as precedent the countless times he'd been 'bored to death' in straight clubs watching my futile attempts to pull.

He kind of had a point. Even after he came out, my mate still accompanied me to bars / clubs etc and acted as a great wing man. So I figured I owed him and agreed. So on Saturday night we arrived at the appropriately named 'Hoist' located somewhere in deepest Vauxhall. This wasn't some fluffy camp Kylie love-in - more a dark and festishy affair under a railway arch, set to relentless nosebleed techno.

I didn't like it.

But I drank on through and soon I was shirtless and throwing my arms into the air, eliciting grins from leather clad, hairy-biker types and overly pumped body builders. Soon I need a wazz. My mate kindly agreed to escort me and we fought our way to the bog. The toilets were your standard layout of 4-5 cubicles and a massive 15ft long, old-skool iron urinal. But this pissoir had an added feature that I'd never seen before in London's clubland.

When I say this urinal was long, it was deep too and came out about 3ft from the wall. I squeezed my way to a spot near the middle and was just about to unzip when I noticed the 'added feature'.

There was someone lying IN the fucking urinal.

In it.

Lying splayed out, wearing nothing but some sort of lycra bodysuit, covered in piss, fag butts and god-knows what else, was a human being, a person, a real live man. And he was lying in the piss in the fucking urinal.

In it.

'Oh how funny' said my mate, 'there's a Piss Boy here tonight, this you've gotta see...'. I stood down from my pissing position and looked on aghast as my mate and everyone else in the line peed freely over the bloke squirming in front of them. The regulars seemed non-plussed but I fought my way out of there. My friend followed and tried to explain away what I'd just witnessed. 'It's a fetish,' he said, 'quite a common one too and this IS a fetish club.' This was too much. So I adopted my earlier defence mechanism and tried to drink through it. I had three pints of strong lager in quick succession. I danced a bit. I smoked a lot. And then the inevitable happened. I needed to go. I really needed to go.

Back to toilets I stumbled, desperately trying each of the cubicles before I had to face that urinal. They were all full of ketamine snorting, fisting oddballs. So I turned regretfully to the pisser. It was quieter now and there was only the one bloke - who'd already started to pack his meat away and leave. I took my chance. I walked over. I looked down. I looked down into the eyes of the piss-drenched maniac and I started to pee.

I pissed in his mouth. I pissed on his hair. I looked him straight in the eyes and then I pissed directly at them. I pissed in his ears. And I pissed up his nose. He blubbered and gurgled appreciatively, his eyes never leaving mine as I continued, for what seemed like hours, to empty my full, foul-smelling bladder all over the freak.
( Albert Marshmallow is a completely irredeemable cunt, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:57, 8 replies)

Aunt Gay
My old mum used to say that you never know what goes on in someone else's bedroom. No matter what they look like and how they act in normal life, you never really know what a couple gets up to when they're alone.

And she was right. I had an Aunt Gay (yes really) married to an Uncle Neil. They were a very sweet, middle class, very catholic couple. They went to church very frequently, were involved in many things in the community, and very well liked. They both used to love for me to visit them and play Bach to them on their piano.

Aunt Gay fell off a step ladder while picking apples and broke her leg so I and my dad went to visit to help out. I was playing Bach while my dad and Uncle Neil were out tidying the garden. Eventually Aunt Gay fell asleep and I, being the enterprising young Ruddles that I was, decided to hunt around the house for the birthday present I was sure they would soon be giving me.

I trotted quietly up to the bedroom, listening out for the sound of the back door opening, and hunted around in cupboards. I didn't find a birthday present, but I did find Uncle Neil's stash of condoms (back of an upper shelf of a wardrobe, not exactly handy, but then he was catholic) and the biggest, blackest dildo I had ever seen. I rushed back downstairs and started to play Bach with trembling hands. I had a completely different view of sweet Aunt Gay. Assuming it was her that used it.
(Smale is stuffed, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:54, Reply)

Mentalist Gingers
A fatal flaw in the make-up.
(Worthless wishes he had the brains of a pigeon, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:53, Reply)

I actually like pubic hair.
This is now, apparently, a fetish.

I think the reason I like pubic hair is because:
(1) the way individual drops of moisture can be seen and sometimes catch the light on each hair;
(2) it suggests she's not expecting cunnilingus; and,
(3) she's not expecting too much.

Honestly, getting all that hair ripped out by the roots, what are girls expecting? How much pressure does that create?

I mean, what if she goes to all that trouble, and doesn't even have an orgasm? Should I feel guilty, should I practice my technique? Should I give her a refund on the waxing, pain and suffering? Should I apologise? Should I... um... go down on her?

And I can't even find intelligent and funny on the porn sites. I guess that's beyond fetish. I would like to see that on a porn site just once, a really cute girl, all clothed, being really funny. And that's all she does. And lederhosen. And pig-tails. And a bucket of warm milk... Warm milk.
(stuntsmile, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:51, Reply)

It's a feast for the senses. All of them.
I was a wee bairn of 17 when I first discovered the joys that could be had from worshipping at the Altar of Venus. It was like someone flipped a switch in my brain. I knew why I'd been put on this planet. I loved it right from the start, and haven't stopped.

I find ladies' lady bits endlessly fascinating to look at. While they all serve the same function, I've never seen two quite the same. All those folds and tucks and valleys and creases and contours and... I'll stop before I sound too much like a Geography lesson. They're entrancing, truly entrancing, and I hope I never grow tired of seeing them.

Assuming the lady in question is in good health, and of good hygiene, the lady bits smell divine. The aroma which greets me as I get closer is the most delicate, intoxicating perfume. Baking bread, wonderful though it is, doesn't come close to a woman's cassolette.

Just as I'm fascinated by how they look, I adore how they feel. The textures are an unalloyed treat for the fingertips.

And the taste. Oh, the taste. Again, assuming good health and hygiene, it is truly ambrosial. I've not tasted two exactly the same, but they've all been unimaginably delicious. It is a shame that it is not also nutritious, because I'd be happy to survive on nothing else. The contrast in flavours between the outside and the inside... man, I'm losing concentration just thinking about it.

There's nothing nicer to hear than the catch in her breath as I get it right. Well, the catch in her breath, eventually followed by the wailing and moaning as I continue to get it right, that is.

I mentioned good hygiene. All it takes is soap and water. I cannot understand why anyone would ever want to use those scented and/or flavoured "feminine hygiene" products. Why would anyone possibly want to disguise that beautiful aroma and flavour?

Being allowed to go down on a lady is a privilege and an honour, and I would be truly sad if I was never allowed to do it again.

Does that make it a fetish? I don't know, but it certainly does it for me. I cannot comprehend how anyone could not like doing it.
( flake has nothing against your right leg, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:45, 7 replies)

The difference between kinky and perverted?
Kinky is when you like having your bum tickled with a feather.
Perverted is when you use a live chicken.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:39, 2 replies)

Electricity.
No, really. It's a genuine form of S&M play (known as electroplay or e-stim).

There's something cool about having hundreds of volts flowing through your knackers. Sometimes it's painful, sometimes it's a turn-on.

Mind you, I like any form of pain. Hot wax, flogging...it's all good.
(Flap Burger hasn't really got a burger made of flaps, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:34, 3 replies)

Amateur Porn
I love surfing for porn on the net, sometimes it's a shared activity with Mrs Lardy, sometimes a solo thing. My particular fave is looking at pics of normal people, doing naughty things. It's the modern equivalent of Readers' Wives and I love it. Young, old, fat thing, doesn't matter to me, as long as they're real people, that there's a chance, no matter how remote, that I might bump into them one day.
(lardyboy Next stop, Fissplap Central, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:32, 2 replies)

I do love a man in a suit.
Moreso if he's wearing glasses. Made my morning commute that much more bearable.

Someone like Gareth Malone in fact. *dribbles*


I, on the other hand, seem to attract the much older man. I think having terrorist coloured skin might have something to do with it. I must look like some dainty little Asian girl who thinks a woman's place is in the home being subservient to her man.
(ToysForBigBoys would spread her legs for Nick Clegg., Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:25, 2 replies)

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You've got a nose
Like a B-52.

xx
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 11:06, 1 reply)

Pigtails
not on a school girl you filthy fucking perverts.

On a woman of the appropriate age. I have no idea where this has come from, but putting pigtails on a woman really cranks the sexy-o-meter right up.

Add some sexy undies, suspenders and a white shirt and I will be a drooling mess on the floor.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 10:46, 2 replies)

Really unconvincing dirty talk
I have mentioned the crazy nympho librarian that I had a fling with in my student days in a post below (small, blonde, extremely shy yet a complete porn star in the sack). One thing that I forgot to mention was her penchant for dirty talk. The thing that got her off more than anything else was to be treated and talked to like a complete and utter whore.

Now I used to be a bit of a thesp in my younger days (can't be arsed with it all now) so could usually put on a fairly convincing show with most things but this I found really, really hard. We would be doing doggy and she would want me to pull her hair and say something like 'I'm fucking you like the dirty whore you are' etc and the slap her a bit. Basically, anything that was totally humiliating would really get her off. Imagine someone saying all of this but in an utterly unconvincing manner with not the slightest hint of conviction. That was me. She still loved it though.

She also wanted me to pretend to rape her.

I think that she had issues.
(Tom Jones's Mojo Hasn't had any since, Fri 23 Oct 2009, 10:45, Reply)