Zebra willy
I am five years old and on a lovely day out at Whipsnade Zoo. I clap my hands with glee at the monkeys throwing poo. I watch birds of prey in a display, catching dead chicks in their beaks. I marvel at the wary suspicion of the meercats. Giddy on ice cream with strawberry sauce, we reach the zebras.

The zebras are, all things considered, rather boring when compared to the liveliness of the other animals. The zebras are just standing there eating grass. Sure, they're stripy and fun, but they're not really doing anything.

And then my attention is caught. There is something different about one of the zebras. It appears to have a fifth leg, somewhat withered; it is thinner than the others and does not quite reach the ground. It is pink, glistening in the July sun.

I gaze at the foreign object, my little brow furrowed, bewildered. I wish I could read properly so I could look at the sign and find out why one of the zebras has a poorly leg. The zebra looks unfazed by its horrible disability, lackadaisically munching grass. The other zebras are similarly unbothered. They are accepting of their equoid comrade's affliction.

I try not to stare. It's impolite.

My mum nudges me. "Look," she says, pointing, a conspiratorial grin erupting across her face, "that zebra's got his willy out."

And suddenly my world stops spinning. I am aware of the existence of willies. At that age, I can't say with any certainty that I'd seen one, but I was definitely aware that boys used them to do wees and also babies were made when a man put his willy in a lady's minnie.

That was a willy? That terrifying, gleaming, pink thing that I had mistaken for a crippled limb? That was how boys did wees? How did they hide something so vast in their swimming trunks? How do men help make babies when that thing is so gigantic it would surely destroy a lady's minnie? It would be like impaling! Was I born because of a violent impaling with an enormous magenta weapon?

After that, I feared the cock. I assumed they must all resemble that horrid, horrid thing hanging off a zebra. I refused to play show-me-yours-I'll-show-you-mine. I knew what the boys were packing in their shorts and I didn't want it anywhere near me.

I almost laughed with relief when we were finally shown diagrams of human cocks in Year 6 sex education. They were so small! They were not frightening at all!

It was, after all that, sex education that saved me from exclusive lesbianism. It was how I learned to stop worrying and love the cock.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:06, 13 replies)

Oh god this is embarrassing
But I guess it's always going to be.

As a pre-teen, my dad always had a garage well-stocked with calendars of ladies with their jubblies out. I'm not sure if my dad even used the calendars for their intended purpose (marking dates and that). In fact, I think it was March for a whole year in 1989 thanks to Fiona from Croydon and her luscious shirt potatoes.

Anyway, I started noticing something strange happening whenever I looked at dad's pornographic date tables. My little chap, who was then at his littlest and most chappiest, would move ever so slightly whenever I looked at the calendar.

My feeble little mind was unable to comprehend how there was a link between what I saw and how my appendage reacted (actually, to this day I don't think I've been able to figure that out), so I shouted out - in front for my parents - "COR! SHE'S A WILLY-WAGGLER!"

From here, whenever I saw a scantily-clad buxom young lass in the paper I'd shout out "COR! SHE'S A WILLY-WAGGLER!" Or if there was an attractive member of the fairer sex on TV (probably Debbie McGee) (standards were low in the 80s) there would be the inevitable cries of "COR! SHE'S A WILLY-WAGGLER!"

My parents found this all rather amusing, and didn't ever try to stop me. Until one day when I was in town with my mum and I saw a rather curvacious woman in skimpy summer clothing. The inevitable shout went out to the extent that I think she heard me. Cue inevitable bollocking from mum, who didn't seem to think it was that funny anymore.

I didn't say it after that.
(hnnrs, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 0:15, 10 replies)

A tale of looting and coming of age (repost)
... The summer of 1986 means two things to me. The first of these was the genesis of my lifelong apathy towards football thanks to me being the only 12 year old boy out in the street during the first week of the summer holidays as everyone else was sat indoors watching England predictably lose.

The second memory is of the fleeting bond of friendship that was forged in adventure by three twelve year old boys and ultimately broken apart by mutual mistrust. We've all grown up now and gone our separate ways. However, I daresay they both remember the events as vividly as I do for the same reason. We all learned a lot about human emotions that summer.

Firstly, we'll introduce the awkward kid with long gangly limbs and curly hair forced unwillingly into an ill-advised side parting - me. Then there was the somewhat spoiled cocky and assertive leader of the trio - Robin. Lastly there was the portly ginger haired kid full of bravado trying to assert himself - Neil.

Misfits one and all, we spent the long and languid summer days talking about Raleigh bicycles and girls. The latter discussions were charged with exotic promise as the hormonal harbingers of puberty coursed through our veins. None of us had ever kissed a girl, although each of us sought to outdo the others with embellished fanciful stories about the objects of our affections.

All very innocent now but back then the delicious whiff of salacious scandal hung thick in the air as we trudged along the footpaths bisecting the big grassy fields adjacent to a large gravel pit near our homes. Portia Clemence had once shown me her nipple (this was in fact true), Susan Jones had saucily flashed her pants at Robin, Neil was trying to find the words that would draw an adoring Liz Foster into his arms for keeps - or the end of the summer holidays at least.

And then we happened upon something which would change our lives forever.

A few feet away from the seldom used footpath, amongst the bare earth and gravel, we found a makeshift shelter. Our territorial instincts piqued, we investigated further and discovered three empty packets of Hula-Hoops, a red tartan blanket and two glossy magazines bearing a scantily clad lady on the front which hinted at the treasures which might lurk contained within the pages.

"They belong to somebody! We can’t just take them!" I protested.

"But it can't hurt just to borrow them for a bit?" said Neil

"We can't hang around here. What if it's some tramp who made this shelter and he comes back?" said Robin.

While I opted to be the lookout, Neil and Robin picked up a magazine each and slipped it up their shirts carefully. Giddy with excitement, we scrambled back to the footpath and made our way carefully to a small copse nearby, fearful that an adult we knew - a teacher, a next door neighbour perhaps - might approach us and find the forbidden bounty we were smuggling away.

And thus the most deliciously scandalous afternoon was had, pouring over the full page photographs and reading aloud the stories, interspersed with gasps and sniggers of delight.

"Clarissa cooed with delight as I finally parted her lips and slid my massive cock into her inch by inch as she demanded that I fill her hungry pussy..."

Wow. This is exactly what sex must be like. Yeah.

Some of the women in the magazines were in their early twenties the thought of the private company of such mature women made us yearn for adulthood. Oh yes, we were aghast that twenty one year old ladies only ever wore stockings and lacy underwear underneath their daily clothing.

The onset of our respective dinner times meant that we had to return the magazines and run home before we were missed. Robin had other ideas though.

"Hide them in the hollow of that tree. No-one will find them there and we can come back later and have another look".

"Yeah!"

We agreed to keep this a wonderful secret between the three of us. A vow of smug silence about our find was quickly made as we departed for home, wearing great big shit eating grins on our pre-teen faces. We'd finally seen naked ladies. We were practically men.

A week later, with the first flecks of gold starting to bite into the green leaves that marked the approaching end of the balmy summer holidays we went back to check our secret stash for one last look before returning school. Once again I was lookout as Neil and Robin groped into the hollow of the tree and retrieve our carefully hidden bounty.

"They're gone!" Robin cried with anguish.

"Which one of you is playing a trick on us?" I hissed in reply scarcely believing that someone could find them in that good a hiding place.

"Somebody must have followed us here and taken them" said Neil

In that moment, the mood began to turn sour. It had to be Neil who'd taken them. It had to be. Robin hurtfully threw charges of pilferage in my direction. Our indestructible bond of friendship was breaking apart amongst the mutual mistrust and ultimately shattered as the accusations turned into an exchange of blows.

And thus we returned to school the next day, each of us coldly acknowledging the others, unaware that the mood was a foreboding warning of the jealousies and Machiavellian misdemeanour that would eventually occur when we did eventually start dating girls for real.

Ah, the summer of 1986... We found treasure but ultimately we lost our innocence.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 12 Aug 2011, 10:45, 10 replies)

My Nan
took me to the shops once and she held the door open to let past a lady who didn't say thank you.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 16 Aug 2011, 9:40, 4 replies)

In which Chickenlady confronts pr0n
Okay, I admit it: I am a nosey mother and I listened to all the government and Jo Frost directives about keeping an eye on what your children are looking at online. Until about eighteen months ago the family desktop sat at the back of the sitting room so no unpleasant sites could be accessed by my pre-pubescent sons without everyone seeing. I was sure this would protect my innocent children from seeing any vile filth peddled by dodgy types based in dingy attics and run by an overweight, sweaty bald man called Malcolm.
I was wrong.
The first thing that alerted me was the giggling - Lego.com never made them giggle like that. Neither did any of the sites that were recommended by Cbeebies, well apart from the Dick and Dom Poo game. So my first thought was that they had found another such Poo game - poo is always so entertaining for young boys I find. Many hours had been spent in our garden identifying animal poo but I hadn't yet introduced them to the Bristol Stool Chart or RateMyPoo.com. However, the giggles were not the result of a bit of good clean poo punnery, no.
I was suspicious, very suspicious. Rather than interrogate them and lose their trust I decided to ask Satsuma Man (OH) to do the interrogation - he has German heritage so I was expecting full on torches shone in faces, and veiled threats about the 'war being over' for them. I left them to it and returned to watching The World's Toughest Parents.
Some time later Satsuma Man informed me that my darkest fears had been realised; my sons had indeed been looking at pr0n online.
My sons were ten years old at the time - they did not know about the dark ways of the world. My liberal sensibilities were put aside and out came my Strident Feminist hat...well, I wouldn't really call it a hat; feminists aren't really known for hat wearing. Maybe more of a Strident Feminist Orthopaedic Sandal, not that I own any Orthopaedic Sandals at the moment though, I do have a rather fetching pair of Vivienne Westwood sandals. I suppose I'd have to call them NuFeminist though. Postmodern Feminist?
Anyway, the time had come for me to get out the big guns.

Pr0n is bad.

That's the short version which was at the forefront of my mind; very simplistic, very black and white (although the internet does it in colour now), no middle ground, no messing. What I said to the boys (with tearful eyes) was....

"You do realise that each of these girls you're looking at is someone's daughter or sister?

How would you feel if that was one of your friends, your cousin?

They're being exploited. Do you think they want to show their bodies off like this for the world to see?


Don't you realise they're all on drugs - they have to be in order to put aside the horrific nature of what they are doing?

Women are not objects for you to look at and laugh over. These women have feelings, opinions and thoughts.

Who do you think is making money out of this? Yes, drug dealers, human traffickers, evil people. Evil!

And you two, sitting sniggering over some poor girl, drugged up to the eyeballs, forced to display her body, force to commit horrific lewd and perverted acts with men she doesn't know all so she can get her next fix of drugs to stop her feeling the pain of her existence. How could you?!

I'm ashamed. Ashamed and disappointed that you would do this.

I want to know now, what you were looking for and why."

By this time both lads looked contrite; heads hung low and slight sniffing from tears of self-pity.

"Well? I'm waiting."

Finally the reply....

"We're doing a project on garden birds at school. We did an image search for Big Tits"
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 14:19, 34 replies)

More tea Vicar?
The local park had a line of immature pines that were like Christmas trees.
Perfect for making huts. One dewy Sunday morn we discovered a mother-load of greasy stick-books under one. Stashed. We had a look. What to do? It didn't possess us to take 'em home. The church carpark was over the fence. 30 minutes or so later - CUT TO: families exit the church, sharing banalities with the vicar on their way out. Every single car windscreen had a dirty bitch and her hairy slot ripped out of a mag and pasted to it care of the dew, or light rain or whatever it was. Me and my brother were about 6 or 7. We'd pissed off home fast after the deed. And I've always pictured the looks on those happy god-abiding families faces.
( hismastersvice cunting flange-jammer, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 5:10, 4 replies)

She was sixteen
and i was fourteen . In spite of the age gap she had agreed that we could visit the local woods together for some mutual exploration .It was evening time and dark so I used my lighter to help me see the view . This was my first live muff and I had never seen so much pubic hair in my life . I looked up and asked her 'Can you really pee through all that ? '
'Of course', she says , ' Why ? '
'You better start ' I said ' I've just set it on fire . '
( horace wimp needs more than 49 characters to fully express hi, Thu 18 Aug 2011, 10:06, 4 replies)

When I was a wee lad I had two older friends who were girlfriend and boyfriend
I told them that I didn't believe they really had sex with each other. One day they asked me to make a cup of tea. When I bought the tea back they were fucking in the living room. I was still super naive and said I don't believe you're really having sex, he turned her around to show me quite clearly that not only was he penetrating her but she was also on her period. Remains one of the most uncomfortable moments of my life.
( Peej, Thu 11 Aug 2011, 13:32, 20 replies)

The Anal of Spades
I’d seen a few rude things growing up. From the lingerie section of the Kays catalogue, where, if I was lucky, they’d feature a few see-through bras and I’d get a hint of aereola; to the fantastic feeling of playing Hide and Seek in the woods with my mates and finding a few ripped out (but crumpled and weather damaged) pages of Fiesta left behind a bush. I, like most of you, had also caught glimpses of Eurotrash, although I could never pick up channel 4 properly in my room with the portable TV aerial so the picture was often blurred. Lola Ferrari looked more like a pixelated Donkey Kong on my TV.

It wasn’t until my first trip abroad that I really got to see something rude; something that really opened my young eyes to new delights that the world had so far hidden from me. Majorca was the destination, and to this day, the excitement of boarding and travelling in a plane, swimming in foreign seas and trying paella for the first time, is still overshadowed by my rude discovery.

It was our first full day at the resort, and my Mum sent my brother and I off to the local shop to get an ice lolly for her and my sister. At 13, I was the eldest and I was handed the cash. My brother, 11, followed me to the store, with further instructions from my Dad to get him ‘a Feast, because ice lollies are girly and just frozen water with food colouring in’. Off we marched and I still remember feeling a little nervous about whether or not the lady behind the counter would start rambling on at me in Spanish. We picked up the items we were asked to get, along with something each for ourselves (for some reason I bought a Lipton Iced Tea), and made our way up to pay. It was then that it happened.

On a stand near the counter, were various holiday trinkets; key rings, postcards, pens and other crap with ‘Majorca’ emblazoned across it. However, there was one set of items that caught my eye in particular – pornographic playing cards. My eyes lit up; here right in front of me, were images of ladies in various states of undress, and most of them had their bronze European tits out. “Look!”, I whispered to my brother, nudging him with my elbow, nodding my head towards the playing cards. He looked up and I noticed his eyes widen too.
“Shall I get a pack?” I asked him, unsure of whether he would think I was being naughty and would tell Mum.

“Erm, yes, do it”, he replied giggling.

So I did.

Although, I do have a slight confession to make. I didn’t actually pay for the cards, and it wasn’t intentional. After handing over the other items I was going to pay for, I just froze; I was a 13 year old boy with a pack of porn playing cards in my hand. As I glanced down, I noticed that I’d picked up the ‘Anal Sex’ edition. I’m not sure I even knew what anal sex was, but I could tell from the image on the front of the pack that it was quite naughty, although the woman seemed to be smiling and enjoying herself. Before I knew what I was going to do, the woman behind the counter handed me my shopping in a carrier bag, and we turned and walked out, with the cards firmly clasped in my hand.

Keeping them in my short pockets for the rest of the afternoon was a scary thought, but I had to do it. I didn’t want my parents to know I had them, and certainly didn’t want them to know I’d stolen them. The hours slowly ticked by and eventually we headed back to the hotel to get changed for dinner. It was here that I managed to unload them into my rucksack, and it was there they stayed until 10 days later, when we arrived back home. I can’t tell you how nervous I was walking through passport control on the way back, thinking I’d be arrested for having these cards on me.
I couldn’t wait to show my friends my newly acquired playing cards, and the very next day we were in the park, flicking through them, laughing at some of the images and almost vomiting at others. For the next two or three days, I was The Porn King; the 13 year old who had everything; Chewits on tap, free cola bottles and white chocolate mice when I demanded, and best swing in the park. My playing cards had given me power amongst my peers. They had also taught me something new – what the term ‘anal sex’ actually meant.
Time passed, and the novelty of the cards wore off. Other boys found their mum’s dildos, or dad’s video collection, and my playing cards could not compete with these. However, I kept them, there was no way I was going to get rid of them; what if my mum saw them in the bin?!

“But what happened to the cards?!” I hear you cry. (well, not really, but it leads me onto the next point).

I still have them.

14 years on, after 2 house moves with my parents, to me moving out on my own into rented accommodation, back in with my parents and then finally last year to my own place; these cards have come with me. It wasn’t until this question came up this week that I remembered I still had them, so I checked, and yes, there they were, in the old box file under my bed along with my Granddad’s war medals and old school reports.

I took the liberty of taking a few photos of the images that still take me back to Majorca, the ones that really left a lasting impression:

Obviously, these links are NSFW!! They feature tits, arse, cum dripping cock, minge and ugly foreign people.

Photo 1 – The image on the box. Look how happy she is; so content - imgur.com/lN53p

Photo 2 – The psychedelic hat man. I always wondered why he kept his hat on, and why the fuck he bought it in the first place - imgur.com/byxvL

Photo 3 – Banana Split. This was the one that my mates and I used to piss ourselves at. - i.imgur.com/wG5We.jpg

Photo 4 – Horny. To be honest, this was the one that made my mates and I feel a bit queasy. - imgur.com/8X84O

Photo 5 – The Work Out. I used to wonder why she had this attire on. - i.imgur.com/RKvvh.jpg

I have actually played proper card games with these cards in the past and I think I’ll keep them for a while longer yet.


EDIT: Links should now be ok, after initially being removed by the Internet police
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Wed 17 Aug 2011, 12:31, 9 replies)

Not the first thing I saw but .......
last year I taught year 1, which is 5 to 6 year olds.

We spend a lot of time painting, gluing and other messy things which involve covering the tables in old newspapers. Of course some of the papers we had were red tops and therefore we carefully removed page three.

One day I was tidying up the book corner when I found a small wodge of paper, carefully folded and tucked behind some of the books.
What we hadn't reckoned on was nudey ladies in the more high end papers.
This was some 5 year olds carefully torn out stash of arty black and white ladies who had neglected to put any knickers on.

The next day I found a boy frantically searching for something in the book corner but he wouldn't tell me what for.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Sun 14 Aug 2011, 23:52, Reply)

I remember
The first Jazz mag I ever laid eyes on, it was filled from top to bottom with Scat.




To be fair, what else would you expect from Beatnik poetry weekly?
(FondaAccord, Thu 11 Aug 2011, 21:02, 4 replies)

In my formative years
I watched Maggie Thatcher fuck the working class up the arse
(davidcompression, Sat 13 Aug 2011, 16:20, 2 replies)

One that the mother cracks out for new girlfriends...
A short one really. My father was a particularly aggressive driver, and my mother used to be able to keep him, or rather his language, calm during journeys when they were both in the car. However, after one drive when I was around two (I don't remember this, just to be clear), my father clearly let loose a string of obscenities, as later on when at home, I was playing with my cars like an innocent cherub and saying "vrrrrroommmmm..... arsehole.... vrrrrrrooooooommm... arsehole". My father's continued laughter at this made me realise that this word was funny, much to my mother's chagrin.
(plasmaman, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 17:26, Reply)

Robin Hood, Robin Hood, Riding through the glen
A Pearoast. This isn't the first thing I saw, but it has certainly stuck with me the most.

Through my teenage years, I have had a recurring memory, which follows.

I am watching Knightrider with my family. Then, when it finishes, I watch a doctor lying on a hospital gurney, being fellated by a nurse. I put this down to teenage hormones, maybe something I've dreamt.. dunno. But this memory would constantly come back to me, over, and over again. But it would irritate the living HELL out of me.

Well, until my Stag party in 2003, that was.

The boys were round, so was my Dad. We were drinking. All of a sudden, my Dad said "Ooooh, did I ever tell anyone the Robin Hood story?"

The story went thusly. My Sister and I (I was around 9 or 10 at this point) were apparently desperate to watch Robin Hood. It was after our bedtime, so he recorded it for us. Next night, the boys came round, and my Father watched a porno with them. You can probably see what's coming.

Sunday comes around. We watch Knightrider. Then "DAD!! Can we watch Robin Hood? Huh? Can we?" Video channel selected, video played. John Holmes is shoving his considerable cock down a nurses throat.

My Mum was apparently yelling "TURN IT OFF! TURN IT OFFF!!", whilst my Dad sat in complete shock, remote in hand, while my sister and I watched a bad man put his wee-wee down a lady's throat.

The relief was palpable. I had finally worked out what had been bugging me for THIRTEEN YEARS.

The results? An obsession with porn, and I vaguely remember spending time rolling round the living room floor, trying to give myself a blowjob.
(V3lvetPresley, Tue 16 Aug 2011, 8:26, 8 replies)

Got time for a pea-roast?
The first rude thing I saw was an illustrated copy of Janet and John. The one where John goes to the Haberdasher's.

--------------------------------------
In the Haberdashery shop

Chapter One

It was a bright and breezy morning in May and just one week until the big historic re-enactment on the river. John was ever so excited, he had re-painted his punt and Janet was hard at work on his wonderful costume.

“John,” said Janet, “there are a few things I need you to buy for me so that I can finish off your costume. Would you go to the haberdashery for me?”

“Yes of course I will.” said John, “That’s the little shop owned by Mrs Briskett isn’t it?”

“Well, she’s Mrs Douglas now,” said Janet, “she can only be in her mid 40s, but she’s already been widowed twice and has just got married again. Funny how all her husbands have been much older than her…and rich.”

“Well,” said John, “she’s got a jolly nice shop. All those little drawers full of ribbons and bows, it’s ever so gay.” and off he went.


Chapter Two

Tinkle went the little bell over the door as John pushed it open.

“Good morning Mrs Douglas,” said John, “isn’t it a lovely day today?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Douglas brightly, “and not only that, but it’s my birthday today!”

“Oh, happy birthday,” said John, “did you get any nice presents?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Douglas smiling, “my husband really rose to the occasion this morning. He bought me a case of Chateau Lafite from the year I was born. I’ve just opened a bottle and it’s got bags of plum and blackcurrant notes, as well as a very pleasing oaky finish. Would you like a glass?”

“Thank you very much Mrs Douglas,” said John, “but it’s a little early for me, perhaps later. Anyway, I’ve got a list here of things that Janet needs to finish my costume. I’m taking part in the big re-enactment next week.”

“Right, well,” said Mrs Douglas, “we’d better see what you need. I’ve got a feeling there will be lots of other boatmen coming for bits and pieces for their costumes today. Is your punt ready?”

“I should say,” said John, “I spent all last weekend re-painting it, it looks a treat. My pole looks a little worse for wear though.”

“Well,” said Mrs Douglas, “my husband has got a big jar of linseed oil in his shed. You can come and use it any time you like. Now, what’s first on your list?”

“Right,” said John, “first off is a 12” zip. I’ve brought my collapsible ruler with me, to make sure I get the right one. Last time Janet was cross because I got the wrong one.”

“Ok then,” said Mrs Douglas, “I’ll just reach up here and get the get the box down. You get your ruler out ready.” Mrs Douglas fetched down the box of zips and put it down on the counter, but as she did so she gave a little shriek. “Oh my goodness John, just look in here.” she said.

John leaned over the counter and peered into the box of zips. Inside was a small white mouse.

“That’s my pet mouse,” said Mrs Douglas, picking him up and holding him against her cheek, “I call him ‘Wee Timorous Beestie’ as I’m a Rabbie Burns fan.”

“Gosh, I wonder how he got in there.” said John, “I’ve found the zip I need by the way”

“My,” said Mrs Douglas, “I do like that folding ruler of yours, I must get one. Now, what’s next on the list?”

“Right,” said John, “I need some bright red material, preferably something smooth, and some buttons.”

“Ok,” said Mrs Douglas, “come over here to this cabinet behind the counter and I’ll show you what we’ve got. Here we are, you can choose whatever you like from this drawer, I’m going to get on with sewing up the hem on these slacks. My niece and nephew came over yesterday and the stitches came undone when they were fishing in the rock-pools at low tide.” John started looking through the pieces of material when suddenly Mrs Douglas sighed loudly.

“What’s the matter Mrs Douglas?” asked John.

“I’ve dropped my sewing under the counter John,” said Mrs Douglas, “would you be a dear and pick it up for me?”

“Ok,” said John as he ducked down under the counter. He reached for the sewing but there was something in the way. It was the nets that Mrs Douglas’ niece and nephew had been using the day before. John had to squeeze between them to reach the sewing. “Phew, these really smell of the sea don’t they?” he said.

“Yes,” said Mrs Douglas, “we had a lot of fun yesterday.”

“What are all these boxes Mrs Douglas?” asked John.

“Well John,” said Mrs Douglas, “I’m starting a new mail-order business and I need to get all these catalogues put into envelopes and boxed up before lunchtime. I could really do with a hand. If we do these quickly I’ll fetch my very special buttons for you.”

“Ok,” said John, “no problem. Why don’t you put the catalogues into the envelopes and I’ll sit down here on this little stool and seal them up?”

“Oh thank you so much John,” said Mrs Douglas, “I’ll be ever so grateful.”

“Goodness Mrs Douglas,” said John, “what on earth is this on the floor?”

“Ha ha!” she laughed, “my nephew must have left that with his net. It’s one of his stuffed toys, hasn’t it got a funny tail and big teeth.”

“Yes it has,” said John. After a few minutes of hard work, he said, “Right, I’ve sealed all of these envelopes and put them in the boxes. Now for the buttons, do you have any brass ones?”

“Oh yes,” said Mrs Douglas, as she heaved the heavy boxes full of catalogues up onto the counter-top “I can help you there. See all these brass buttons in this box over here with anchors on them? This very special one is from an admiral’s jacket, some are from a captain’s jacket and the rest are from some sailors I met when I used to work in a bar in Portsmouth. The Royal Navy chaps were always ever so kind to me. You just help yourself to what you want”

“Right, well,” said John a few minutes later, “I’ve got the zip, chosen some material and found my buttons, I’d better pay you and get these things back to Janet.”

“Well, as a reward for helping me with the catalogues, I’d like to show you my other birthday present.” said Mrs Douglas, “You can see them from here, see, through this side window. There, what do you think?” said Mrs Douglas, pointing at a bee-hive. “My husband bought me three dozen bees and I’ve already collected the first crop of honey. Would you like to try some?”

“Yes please Mrs Douglas,” said John. He dipped his finger into the proffered jar and tried some of the honey, “mmm, it’s delicious.” he said.

“Now we need to get all these boxes out of the way. Would you come through to the back room and bring these boxes with you please?” she asked.

See John carry the heavy boxes through to the back room, he’s puffing a bit because they are so heavy.

“I didn’t really want to carry all these up to the post office on my birthday,” groaned Mrs Douglas, “and my husband isn’t really up to the job and anyway, he’s always tinkering in his workshop. I really can’t think what I ever saw in him.” she complained loudly.

“Are you talking about me dear?” said Mr Douglas, coming into the room, “what on earth is all the fuss about?”

“Oh, nothing,” said Mrs Douglas, “don’t you worry about a thing.” she sighed.

“Well, while I’m here, have you seen that watch I was fixing?” he said, “I’ve found my special watch-makers instrument, but can’t find the watch.”

“Yes, here it is dear,” said Mrs Douglas, passing him an old pocket-watch.

“Darn,” said Mr Douglas, “now the nut at the end of my instrument is jammed. Could you loosen it for me please my dear?”

“Ok, pass it over here,” said Mrs Douglas. She tried loosening the nut with her fingers but it was too tight, so she held it between her teeth and turned it until it was free. “There you go, now I’ll see you later.” she said as he went back to his workroom.

“God, he is so useless!” complained Mrs Douglas, “next time I might go for someone a little younger, he is so much hard work.”

John blushed a bit and he was starting to sweat under the strain of the boxes, “Here you are Mrs Douglas,” he said, putting the boxes into her arms, “I really must be going now.”

“Wow, these are a lot heavier than I thought,” she said, her biceps bulging, “I must get to the gym more often. Anyway, you run along John, don’t forget we’ve got linseed oil if you need it.”

“Thanks Mrs Douglas,” said John as he dashed back to the front of the shop and out of the door, “I won’t.”


Chapter Three

“Where on earth did you get to John?” said Janet as John rushed through the door.

“Well,” said John, taking a deep breath, “when I got to Mrs Douglas’ shop, she told me I was the first punter of the day. Her husband had given her a very fruity ’69 that morning because it was her birthday, and she asked me if I wanted to try it. Then she reached for my zip and discovered the Wee Beastie inside, she seemed a bit surprised and nuzzled it against her cheek. She was very impressed by my fully extended 12-incher and when she invited me behind the counter to rummage in her red satin drawers, she dropped her trousers. She asked me to duck down under the counter and I got my head between her fish-nets, it smelt a bit fishy down there but we both had a giggle about her funny beaver. I was going to get up but she said that if I licked her flaps she’d show me her special button. She told me she liked seamen a lot and showed me her 36 bees, and said I could put my finger in her honey-pot. After I’d licked my finger she took me inside and started moaning and her husband came in for a watch. He seemed a bit upset but she tried fingering his nuts then put his little tool in her mouth and that cheered him up a bit. When he’d gone she started moaning again and then relieved me of my load. That made her gasp and she clenched her muscles but I think she was fairly pleased with me because she said I could come round anytime and oil my pole.”

What do you think Janet is going to do with those pinking shears? I hope John’s got enough energy left to run away.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Mon 15 Aug 2011, 13:24, 14 replies)

I love horses, and they seem to be quite fond of each other too
My aunt owns a riding stables and we used to visit about once a month for a catch up, a shetland pony ride and general messing about in her woods (not a euphamism).

There was lots of excitement on the yard once when we were there. One of the yard staff was leading George the stallion towards a paddock with a mare in it. For some reason unbeknownst to my young self he appeared to be sprouting an extra leg that was swinging in the breeze and was making lots of strange noises that sounded like Scooby Doo laughing.

Someone shouted, "He's a bit useless, it's going to take 5 of us to get it done." One person was holding the headcollar on the mare, then when they opened the gate I looked on as he tried to get a piggy back on her. It took two yard hands either side to stop him falling off, one to keep shoving him in the butt for encouragement, and another person to guide his new leg into the other horse's bum bum and hold it in there.

The lady holding the mare shouted "has he gone yet?" , this was met with a shout back of "Yeah, he's done it!!" from the quintapedal support man who until now had been squeezing the fifth leg and had been waiting for something to happen like a safecracker tumbling locks.

A horsie type, who looked like a female pop-eye, turned to me and said, "Just like a peep show innit?". Being 6 I had no idea what I had just witnessed, but I thought it'd be rude not to agree.

I've never seen a real peep show so if someone could confirm that yes a peep show consists of 5 people helping a stallion with no sense of balance blow his load into a bemused bay horse, I'd really appreciate it.
( Draconacticus Reject shampoo. Demand real poo!, Thu 11 Aug 2011, 17:48, 2 replies)

Hedge Porn
Naturally for a man of my pre-interwebs generation. Unfortunately, it was fairly specialist, and led me to believe for about 6 months that most pretty girls had stonking great cocks.

my classmates were of course gentle and patient in their explanation when they realised my misconception. Oh yes.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 11 Aug 2011, 16:16, Reply)

I led a sheltered life until I was about 15. I'd had boyfriends before of course, but all very innocent. However, at 15 I started going out with a lad of 16. We'd been going out for about a week when he suggested a walk in the local park. Attached to this park was a very secluded bit of overgrown woodland.. of course we ended up there. After the usual bout of tonsil hockey he decided to take things a little further by directing my hand down into his crotch. After quite a short space of time his penis managed to escape from his trousers. I'd never even seen a knob before that... very odd looking creature I thought. Still, he guided my hand a little until I got the idea, and all was going swimmingly for a while. Suddenly, however, I felt it start to twitch and throb in my hand. I looked down, wondering what was going on.

Now you must understand that I didn't have a clue what was about to happen, I was a very shy person, totally innocent of men and their wicked ways. I feel, therefore, that I can be forgiven for screeching in terror as he chucked his muck, and for letting go quite violently - almost throwing this pulsating, spitting, purple headed monster away from me.

I don't think he could forgive me though, for ensuring that our little tryst ended with him plastering his own face, neck and chest in his own ejaculate, since he never spoke to me again.
(Freakmandu, Tue 16 Aug 2011, 4:44, 5 replies)

When I was about 7 and my older neighbour showed me this...

( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 20:17, 11 replies)

When i was about 9 in 1987
my friend who was about 13 at the time had a parent free house so we went round there to watch tv.

He had something to show me that was in the VCR...revenge of the nerds, which is basically a rubbish film on how the nerds wanted to get with the cheerleaders and have their wicked way. Now we did'nt watch the whole thing as his mum was due back shortly but he had a 'favourite scence' which he promptly showed me. It was where the nerds had set up a hidden video camera in the girls changing rooms and they could watch a live feed of the nudey ladies from nearby.

There is a certain bit on that scene where one of the nerds says 'i wanna see some bush pan down' and it cut to a literally half a second close up of this hairy bush, my friend at the time obviously liked this bit and kept rewinding it and trying to pause on the close up. I literally i heard ' i wanna see some bush pan down' bout 20 times till he got the video paused directly on the close up.

Now he must of been proud on his pausing technique because when he was successful on getting the love muff in all its glory in full 28" in its near non wobble pause on screen he proceeded to whip his knob out and wipe it all over the screen repeatedly shouting excitedly "this is how you have sex, THIS IS HOW YOU HAVE SEX"

Luckily my dinner time was approaching and had to leave, 22 years later and to this day i can still here this yank saying 'i wanna see some bush pan down' in my head, scarred for life? i think so...
(djgalaxe, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 15:13, 2 replies)

Would have been the first rude thing THEY saw
One Christmas at school, we were to have a fete, the centrepiece of which would be a Santa's Grotto. Our usually scary headmaster would dress up as St. Nick and various younger siblings etc could be taken in to visit him.

The grotto was a large chicken-wire and paper mache affair, and us fifth-years were given the task of building it. One lunchtime, as we were about to apply the final layer of pasty newspaper to the inside of the grotto, one boy realised that the sack of newspapers we'd been given included quite a few Suns... and so, inevitably, when Santa entered the grotto for the first time, he found that the entire inner surface had been papered with Page 3 tits. It was a thing of beauty, almost hypnotic, with bulging mams literally filling your vision wherever you looked. Like a peek into Peter Stringfellow's mind.

Unfortunately we were forced to paint over it before the tinies arrived.
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 13:45, Reply)

I am serious, and don't call me......
We didn't have a VCR until ages after everyone else at school (1990 I believe) Even then it was one of those old Ferguson jobs that took two men with a wheelbarrow to install, and the volume of the mechanism was akin to a freight train crashing into a tin roof.

So, I was ten years old when we got this contraption, and we soon gathered a collection of crackly videotapes. The usual stuff in those days, The Neverending Story, Labyrinth etc etc, while mums Scotch videos would consist of The Darling Buds of May, Corrie etc with the usual "DO NOT TOUCH" scrawled on in biro.

However one day I noticed a videotape in a plain wallet, hidden behind a photo atop the highest shelf in the lounge, and when I asked mum what the videotape was doing up there, she gave the usual cryptic parent response of "minding its own business" before hurriedly moving the conversation on.

Big mistake.

Instantly my sole aim in life was to find out what was on this mysterious videotape. A film or an ITV drama with explicit bits surely - after all my parents were pretty prudish and awkward when it came to such things (my sex education outside school was pretty much having a 70s NHS pamphlet hurled at me when I was dying in bed with flu). I finally seized my opportunity when they had to nip out for a few minutes leaving me alone. After nearly breaking my neck standing on tiptoe atop a dragged-from-the-kitchen bar stool, I finally got a grip on the edge of the tape and sent it crashing into the fireplace. My shaking hands wrestled the tape into the machine and, with wide-eyed anticipation I sat down to watch what would be surely an erotic masterpiece.

What was on the tape?

Shirley Valentine

A film as titillating as a wet weekend in Grimsby. The only eyebrow raising scene was perhaps a 3 second glimpse of Pauline Collin's flappy tits as she dives naked from a boat.

:o/
( h3donist tryin' to play me out as if my name is Sega.., Fri 12 Aug 2011, 16:19, 7 replies)

Strange tingly feelings about grown up things -- a potted history
I remember being in the primary school playground one day when a lad found a used condom near the railings. Naturally, he picked it up by jabbing it onto the end of a stick, then waved the stick around and chased people with it. I had no idea why the teachers were so concerned, but I learned the word "condom" that day, and that there was something dirty and grown-up about them.

Then it was half a Page 3 found in the primary school playground. Only half... thankfully the top half. I just remember the sudden mood change as everyone started saying, "Ommm, boobies" and flocked to see it.

By age 12 my friend was keeping a scrapbook of Page 3 clippings.

My first sight of the ladyflower would have been in a copy of Escort that was doing the rounds at school. It was so... bushy. And wicked. And wrong. And amazing. I think the many many gigabytes of pornography I have watched over the years has been all about chasing that feeling of seeing it for the very first time. But it's a feeling you'll only ever have once.

I'll finish with the first hardcore film I saw aged 16. It was a VHS tape that had been copied so many times it was barely viewable, and it was full of old 70s loops. The proper 70s stuff with the proper 70s music. There was a scene with a white girl, then two men (one white, one black) come in to service her. I will remember what the black guy said for the rest of my life:

"THE HONKY CAN HAVE YO' BEAVER, BUT I WANT YO' LITTLE BROWN HOLE, MOMMA!"
( SqueakyG, Thu 11 Aug 2011, 19:24, 1 reply)

Fluid Mechanics
As an alumnus of the early 90s Key Stage 2 program, my sexual education began aged 10 with a cartoon about genitalia.

By my 11th birthday I knew far more about female anatomy and the act of reproduction than I’ll ever know again. I knew about fallopian tubes, I knew about wombs, I knew about ovaries, uteruses and the cervix. I knew that the male genes were carried by sperm. that sperm was mixed with seminal fluid and that both were called ejaculate.

So when my parents forgot to take their VHS of Trainspotting back to blockbuster I recognised the scene where a naked Kelly Macdonald rides Renton as ‘Sex’. Turns out knew bugger all about sex. Why were they so sweaty? Why did they need to pump up and down? Why were they saying things like ‘Uh nearly’ and making it look such bloody hard work? I had assumed the man would insert his penis, deposit the next generation and remove his penis; like a machine filling a donut.

I came to the conclusion that the mechanism of sex was more complicated. The man obviously inserted his penis, began to ejaculate and then had to carry on forcing out sperm until the woman was filled to the top of her fallopian tubes and the ovum had been reached. The passage of the fluid and eventual impregnation would be aided by vigorous pumping, like when I filled my bike tires, hence the sweating, the bouncing and the grunting.

I don’t know when I was disabused of this early belief, maybe when I began to ejaculate myself and realised I would never saturate a whole womb, but it was certainly a big part of my childhood sexuality. Even today if I’m watching porn and the woman shouts something like ‘yeah! fill me!!’ I can’t help but wonder how full she already is; past the cervix? Somewhere near the fundus?
(Asser, Tue 16 Aug 2011, 21:52, 5 replies)

I got my first eyeful from Susie Monroe
in an "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" deal in primary school. Sadly the thrill was never repeated as she got fired and sent down for it shortly afterwards.

There's no way this hasn't bindun, now I think about it.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Tue 16 Aug 2011, 15:11, 1 reply)

I force all the women who work for me to dress like nurses.
Luckily I'm the administrator of a hospital.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 16 Aug 2011, 10:11, 4 replies)

Not the first thing...
...but it's the height of rudeness to delete your threads when there's a lot of conversation happening.


( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 15:50, 28 replies)

When I was 10 or 11
My sister was 15/16 and discovering boys and having parties when "babysitting". My brothers and I would be banished to our bedrooms and strictly forbidden to go downstairs, despite the stomach-growlings of young boys urging us on to the kitchen. It wasn't that bad, because once drunk her friends would start investigating the house and find us, and start blathering drunken shite, making fun of my heavy metal posters (I was big on Skid Row, Poison and Motley Crue) and being entertaining - they would take the piss out of my sister and even bring up an illicit tin or two, and we'd play up to them saying what an evil witch our sister was.

Her boyfriend must have been a few years older as he had a car, and I remember one day going to (well, being brought to) the beach with them and a bunch of their friends. I can't remember the exact reason why, but at one point I was sitting in the car while everyone else was down the beach. (Maybe I was listening to "Shout At The Devil"). One of my sister's friends came in to dry off a bit, having gone in swimming. She evidenly hadn't expected to go swimming, as she was sitting there IN HER WET BRA AND PANTS in the passengers seat RIGHT NEXT TO ME with HER PUBIC HAIR CLEARLY VISIBLE THROUGH HER WHITE UNDIES.

I didn't know where to look and my Adam's Apple had never felt so engorged in my throat before. Here was a practically naked woman right next to me! With boobs! And hair down there! Which I could see! Or, well, which I would able to see if I looked slightly to my left. I somehow found myself rigid with concentration looking stright ahead, while I awkwardly chatted with this vision of woman who had arisen from the ocean.

Fwapped myself silly when I got home.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 12 Aug 2011, 4:44, 13 replies)

A nerdy kid.
I was a nerdy kid. Back in the 80s, when the world was monochrome and bleepy. At 8 years old, I was programming a ZX Spectrum. I could read through a program that was printed out and tell you what it does.

I would while away my hours in computer shops looking at all the games. I'd visit every newsagents in town to get my hands on a copy of Your Sinclair the minute it came out.

One day, I'm in the computer shop. I noticed a game on the shelf I hadnt seen before. Strip Poker. With a curious excitement, I lifted the box from the shelf to take a closer look. I flipped the box round to take check the screenshots.

Wow! My eyes were out on stalks! Look at that!! Amazing! I think it was the first time I actually felt a rumble in the joy department! I had seen something I had never seen before, and I liked it. I liked it alot! The quality, the curves! It was just beautiful! I had never seen such realistic computer graphics!
At that point, I knew it was time to upgrade to 16 bit and get an Amiga.
(Miggyman, Tue 16 Aug 2011, 22:17, 7 replies)

I've worn glasses since age 7
and my eyesight is pretty poor.

As kids, we seemed to go swimming an awful lot. One local pool changed the layout of its changing area and created a central locker area with a male and female changing room each side.

This wasn't a problem until I finished swimming, came back to the locker area (sans specs, obviously) and realised I didn't know which way to go. I couldn't see well enough to read the signs on the wall and wandered into the wrong room by mistake. I couldn't really see the people in there very clearly either. I noticed that some of them were wearing one piece swimsuits (as favoured by women) and they all seemed to be staring at me.

This alerted me to my mistake, so I walked towards some of the naked ladies, squinted and peered intently at them to verify that they were, indeed, ladies. Once I realised I was in the wrong I walked out, blushing.

I realise it would have been more socially decorous to go outside the room as soon as I thought I might have made an error, but I was actually quite an innocent child. The women and girls I approached with a look of fierce concentration and stared at probably didn't think so, though.
(slowly play it cool, Trig, Sun 14 Aug 2011, 12:37, 1 reply)