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This is a question Food sex

Tell us your tales of your custard fetish and the rash you got from a bottle of HP sauce. Because we've ALL had a cucumber stuck up our chuff at least once in our lives.

(Question from MissUnexpectedNuttering)

(, Thu 6 Aug 2009, 13:50)
Pages: Popular, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

I’ve mentioned before that I used to work in a hotel during my late teens. I’d do any odd jobs they asked me, varying from gardening to bar work (under age at the time) to waiting to washing pots & pans in the kitchen.

One Christmas, they threw on a free party for all the staff, from the lowest dogsbody (Me), up to the Maître’D and the owners.

The only downside was that we had to prepare all the food ourselves. And, being dogsbody, I didn’t get near any of the fun cooking side; I was Chief Butterer of Bread for the sarnies.

We had a little production line going, someone chopping tomatoes, someone grating cheese, someone mixing prawns with Rose Marie sauce, someone dealing with the ham & mustard and so on.

The guy grating the cheese was one of our gayest, campest, most disgusting waiters. Forever regaling us with the sordid details of his filthy sex life. The married men he’d fucked, the BDSM clubs he went to. He was the person who first introduced fisting to my delicate, as then innocent, life. (As a concept, I hasten to add, he didn’t take me roughly in the store cupboard* or anything).

The party came around that evening. The beer and wine flowed, the food was consumed. Everything was going swimmingly.

And then, while I was just polishing off my fourth or fifth cheese and tomato sandwich of the night, drunkenly, my gay waiter friend approached me and whispered ‘Oh, I meant to tell you earlier, I lost the ends of two finger nails in the cheese I was grating, so don’t eat any. I wouldn’t have bothered to mention it, but I was fist fucking John in the store cupboard** earlier, so they may not have been clean’

I moved on to the sausage rolls after that, I mean, what could he possibly have done to ruin the sausages…?

*Not a euphemism

**A euphemism.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 12:12, Reply)
I can't be the only b3tan...

...that thought, when they found that bloke that had got lost in the outback for about three weeks...

...I wonder how long it took before he had a meal of man-fat?

I mean: no food, no water, not much to do all day or night. Why not? Shame to waste it, it is good protein after all and a bit more appetising than a witchity grub.

You would, wouldn't you?
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 12:10, 3 replies)
Girls' Bits and Honey...
...even if I wasn't a gayer these days, I'd never do that again.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:51, Reply)
There was this guy...
He was in A&E having a bottle of ketchup removed from his anus. His explanation was this: "I was making a sandwich and I had put the bottle on the floor while I had to get something from the top of the cupboard. While I was on the counter reaching up, I sneezed and my trousers fell down, I slid off the counter and landed on the bottle which went right up my arse." He was unable to explain why there was a condom over the bottle.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:49, 5 replies)
I used to worship the banana...
I gave praise to the almighty Melon; my allegiance could never be broken with the Lord Cheeseus, and his 12 dis-apples. I even dabbled with Leekhism, and became a Vindalu. I didn't take much Stock in being a Mueslim though.

After a while, however, I became disullusioned with Food Sects.

I am so sorry.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:41, 4 replies)
Advanced Tongue Simulator
When we went shopping, my sister would get the usual teen girl magazines. Cosmo. Dolly. Girlfriend. You know they kind, with advice, quizzes and agony aunts. She'd never pay much attention to groceries, that was something mum did.

As you do, I'd read the magazines. Especially the more racy bits like the sex advice. Once there was this article about how you could use bananas as a training aid to become really good at tongue kissing.

Well I pretty quickly figured out this was why she was so enthusiastic about fruit shopping the following week. I looked on with silent amusement as she picked out a big, firm hand of larger than usual bananas.

The following morning, no-one could figure out why she was going completely ape-shit, accusing me of being a prick, but refusing to say why. During the night I'd put neat printed labels on each banana, "Advanced Tongue Simulator".

Sibling button pushing had succeeded beyond my wildest dreams.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:35, 1 reply)
Slightly relevant
Read this story a few years ago, in FHM in the 'true stories' section.

Girl gets thrush. Girl is advised to apply yoghurt to her ladybits by a friend. Girl applies yoghurt to said ladybits, is pleased with the results. Remainder of the yoghurt is put back in the fridge for further application later.

Girl returns the following day to find yoghurt is gone. Her housemate, who had a habit of being a bit cheeky with regards to eating her housemates' food, had clearly got her comeuppance.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:16, 3 replies)
Third time's a shit one
Then once, my new brightly cloured socks accidentally ended up in a boil wash.

That was my experience of fade socks.

There, I'm spent now.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:13, Reply)
Perhaps we should have taken less time over dinner
but the company was great and the food was fresh , well cooked and well presented and the tapas was the best I'd ever tasted , better than sex .

Unfortunately while we were in the restaraunt someone broke into our apartment and ruined Portugal as a holiday destination for us forever.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:12, 1 reply)
Then one time I used to run a catering company. One of our clients, a turban wearing religious group, wanted the food for a get together.

That was my experience of feed sikhs
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:12, 3 replies)
One Friday night...
I was drinking with a mate in an over-priced Soho haunt on Wardour Street. We'd been on it all day and our quest for quim had dragged us to this place. After a few espresso martinis and some neat moves on the dance floor, we caught the eye of very well preserved forty something lady in a tight red dress.

We got to chatting and flirting and suddenly, within 10 minutes of small talk, she came out with an outrageous statement:

'I want BOTH of you to come back with me now.'

A long cab-ride later and the three of us were deposited outside a lovely detached house in Barnes, right on the river. It was lush. All marble floors and modern art with a gorgeous terrace over-looking the Thames. This girl was loaded. A high-flying banker. No time for husbands or children or other such horrible things.

Once inside she didn't beat about the bush. Rather she got us to beat about the bush. Or rather I started to beat about the bush whilst my too pissed mate looked on despondently. Poor chap couldn't rise to the occasion.

But me and the banker-chick were going at it full steam on the sofa. Meanwhile my partner in crime had taken to pacing up and down the living room floor, muttering to himself audibly, '...get up you fucker, why do you always let me down...'. I blocked him out of my mind and got down to business.

Then she made another wonderful statement:

'I want you in my arse NOW!'

No need to ask me twice. I flipped her over and attempted to fulfil her request. But it wasn't happening. Try as I might I could not get the old fella up there. Every angle and every position was met with absolute resistance from her tight sphincter.


'Oi, do something useful and find me some lubrication.' I yelled to my poor, droopy mate.

He staggered off to the kitchen and returned with a bottle of some sorts.

'Oil ok?' he asked

'Fucking anything!' I yelled back.

He lurched over and began liberally dousing us, with what I thought must be olive oil. Not the cleanest of lubricants. Probably be a bitch to get off the couch. But fuck it. It wasn't my couch.

It did the trick. Boy did it do the trick. I slipped in magnificently and my lady friend squealed in delight. Then she even squealed louder. Then she really fucking screamed. Then she leapt of the couch, ran smack into the wall, hit the floor and lay there writhing around in a greasy mess, wailing in deafening agony, all the time clawing violently at her behind, tears streaming down her face.

What the fuck was going on.

I looked around. Grabbed the 'olive oil' bottle off my knobhead friend and examined it.

Oh dear. Oh deary me.

'Waitrose Finest Chilli Oil, made with the fieriest, spiciest chillies of Southern Mexico.'

Then I felt it too. The worst, most intense pain ever, slowly spreading through my nether regions. Like razor blades slicing me internally.

But I'd got off lightly. Our new friend had real problems. But she wouldn't less us hang around to help. She screamed at us to get out. And we did. I hobbled down an unfamiliar street clutching my crotch, my mind bursting with fireworks of absolute pain. I could hardly see a thing. But we were near the river. And that's where I ended up. Knee deep in water on the banks of Thames, allowing the foul, polluted, heaven-sent H20 to slowly ease my pain.

God knows what the lady in the tight red dress did. A self-administered enema?
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:12, 4 replies)
Let's get these out of the way
My wife and I used to have this long running fight about how to pronounce the German for 6.

That was our experience of feud sechs
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:08, 1 reply)
It burns
Mrs monders has a mouth full of cold champagne. She eyes my Wang like a dirty little minx and proceeds to pop it in her mouth. Mmmm, bubbly... Cold... Warm mouth parts. Very nice.

Then the bubbles make their way down my jizz pipe and Oh. My. God. Utter agony. It was like the clap test stick they use at the GUM clinic (all clear, thanks!) except much more lively. And caustic.

This also applies to any kind of fizzy drink. Trust me.

Sorry for general lack of comedy and lies
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 11:01, Reply)
I was bent over the bed,kipper hanging out of my puckering anus, swaying slightly as I steadied myself. My ex was taking gentle nibbles from the fish, she loved the stuff and the smell didn't even put her off. She was soon naked and lapping up kipper like there was no tomorrow.

" Nyomm,nyomm yom kipper" she said as she got more and more into it.

"Do not mock my religion!" I shouted and punched her in the head. Fasting makes me angry.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:44, 3 replies)
sticky wine gums
I once bet my bf that he couldn't fit a fat juicy wine gum under his foreskin. He countered with "fine but you have to eat it afterwards"
I agreed - that thing looked massive, there was no way it would fit in. But it did. Quite easily.
After staring at the sticky wine gum in my hand for a good couple of minutes, I closed my eyes and popped it in my mouth...I'm not sure I'll ever live down the shame.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:43, 2 replies)
Yolks on you
One very hungover Saturday morning during the very lusty beginnings of my relationship with Mr Kippers he cooked me a lovely restorative breakfast of scrambled eggs on toasted muffins. Very tasty it was too, and as a thank you I knelt next to him while he was sat on his sofa and gave him a very long and dirty blow job. Now he likes his oral hard and deep and as he was holding my head and deep throating me, I gagged. My poor delicate stomach flipped over and before I could right myself it emptied itself, depositing warm sticky half digested eggy mess all over his cock, stomach, legs and sofa. Needless to say he didn't come :(
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:42, 2 replies)
She was only the fishmonger's daughter,
But she lay on the slab and said "Fillet"

Sorry, someone had to do it
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:38, Reply)
I've got loads
Of stories, but I can't afford the therapy for Sparklet Major..

Never mind, there's always next week...
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:29, 1 reply)
Ted and the Cocky's daughter
Back in the great depression me and my mate Ted where both hard up for a crust. The local businesses needed no workers and we was down to our last brass razoo. In desperation we decided that the time had come to hit the road and try our luck in the bush.

We walked for 100’s of miles and apart from the occasion bit of work for food chopping wood or fixing fences type of thing and living off wild rabbits it was a long hard slog until we came across a fruit farm. The cocky (that’s farmer for your non-depression era, non-Australian types) was growing all types of produce, apples, cherries, paw paw, pineapples, and oranges amongst others. He was hard up for help since his son had run away with the local priest to start a new life in New Zealand and he was in need of a couple of workers. He offered us 3 meals a day, a shed to sleep in, Sundays off and 2 shillings a week and his only caveat was,

“if either of you city drongos touches me daughter, I’ll fuckin’ have you”

And so it was, Ted and I hunkered down and fair worked our arses to the bone harvesting his fruit. From sun up till sun down we picked and packed in the hot sun and when Saturday afternoon rolled around he paid us our money, handed us a longy of Emu Bitter and told us he reckoned we had a bit of ticker for town galahs.

The following week was the same, except on the Saturday arvo when he paid us our money he told us he had to go to town for the night to call on the Johnson widow and then sternly warned us,

“touch me daughter and I’ll have your cock and balls to hang over me fire place”

Now I don’t know about Ted but it had been so long since I had had the touch of woman my old fella was like a rooster crossed with an owl (a cock that stays up all night) and despite the warning from the Cocky I just had to try my luck on with the daughter. And as luck would have it she was a right goer, she sucked me knob till it felt like my guts where going to come out the japs eye and then rode me like a brumby in the local agricultural show till she had fair rubbed six layers of skin off me pecker. With knees a trembling and my toggher about to draft a letter to his union rep in protest of cruel and unusual work conditions, I waved the white flag and legged it out the window but, farmers daughter was most definitely not satisfied and lay on her bed bellowing,


I hobbled back to the shed and told Ted to get his arse in there and finish up the job. And as the sun broke over the horizon next morning Ted struggled back to the shed, his tackle torn to ribbons.

“Don’t worry” he said “she promised not to tell her old man”

Later that Sunday when Ted and I where resting in the shed, the farmer burst in with eyes of furry.

“You flaming mongrels have rooted me daughter, I’ll have youse” he screamed. And after walloping Ted across the back of the head with a shovel he came for me.

“How do you know” I stammered

“She’s an idiot” he screamed “she fucking told me”

“Surely we can work something out” I cried back, and the cocky stood back and started to think.

“You and your dead shit mate get out and pick me 100 pieces of fruit and bring em to me in the kitchen” he growled before storming off.

So Ted and I slunk out to the fields to gather the 100 pieces of fruit. Ted was well pissed with me, he reckoned it was all my fault and after telling me to go fuck myself walked off in the opposite direction. I was near the cherry trees, so I picked 100 cherries and took them to the farmer.

When I showed him the fruit, he told me to,

“drop your strides and stick em up your bum” and the menacing look on his face and the loaded shot gun in his hands told me it was best to just get on with it and not argue.

So I start sticking the fruit up me arse, one cherry, two cherries and so on but, I couldn’t help myself and when I got 34 I burst out laughing and the cherries fired out of me like a rat out of a drain pipe. The farmer waved the shotty at me and indicated to start again but, it kept happening, when ever I would get close to the 100, I would laugh and out the cherries would fly.

After this had happened about 10 times the Cocky was fair dinkum fuming.

“What’s so fuckin’ funny you suburban dingo” he yelled.

“Sorry boss” I replied “It’s just when I was on me way back here I saw Ted in the back paddock”

“So what, that’s not funny, the little cunt better be picking fruit is all care about”

“Oh he is” said me “he’s picking pineapples”
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:25, 5 replies)
Used to work in a butchers shop
Used to work in a butchers shop
Got a job there when I was sixteen, as an apprentice.

Got sacked 6 months later though for sticking my cock inbetween thick, bloody slices of steak and riding it riding it riding it hard until I came, my tartar love-sauce flying all over the counter. I got sacked because some of it went in an old ladies eye.

She cried a bit.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:18, 1 reply)
Used to work in a butchers shop
Got a job there when I was sixteen, as an apprentice.

Got sacked 6 months later though for sticking my cock in the bacon slicer.

To be fair though, she was the bosses daughter.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:11, Reply)
The Greengrocer's Daughter
When I was 18, I used to date a girl named Sarah, 21. Her father Bert was a greengrocer and a thoroughly nice chap and her mother Lucy was a very attractive lady and very welcoming. However, they probably wouldn't have been so friendly if they knew what Sarah and I got up to with some of Bert's produce.
Now, as I was still relatively young and a bit of an amateur when it came to sex, some of the things Sarah did shocked me a little to say the least. Highlights of our relationship included:

- Sarah using leeks as a makeshift dildo. Not just 1, a whole bundle of them, held in position with an elastic band. After climax, she'd lay exhausted and sweaty with leeks protruding from her spam purse, sticking out in all directions. I used to call her 'The Praying Mantis' when she was in this position as it looked like she had some extra green legs.

- She asked me whip her with runner beans. I felt a bit weird doing this, mainly because she'd hang a couple of turnips (tied in place by their stalks) to my scrotum and they'd dangle about like some sort of ball-bag tumour. I'd then have to have anal sex with her and push a turnip into her quim. She really got off on this

- I made some anal beads using 5 radishes and some nylon string. Getting them into her back passage wasn't a problem, her sphincter seemed to lap them up, as if it was swallowing them. The problem occured when one end of the string came untied and one radish got left behind as I pulled the Rampant Radish(TM) out. Watching her poo the remaining radish out will stay with me forever - It was like a baby's head crowning at first, and then it shot out at force and rolled across the bed. She let out a sigh in relief.

- She would make us dress as Adam and Eve. We'd wear cabbage leaves over our privates and she'd have huge mushrooms covering her nipples.After taking a bite from an apple she'd have to punish herself. This was done by me - my gutstick was the serpent and she'd suck me into oblivion.

I'm sure I'll remember a few more of her kinks.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 10:09, 6 replies)
Knowing that
the reason we were in the petrol station was so my mate Dan (not last week Dan) could buy some condoms, I decided to run up to him when he was in front of the cashier with a cucumber telling him we "would probably need this as the old one was getting a bit worn". Dan was not pleased. The cashier cracked up. Good times... He got his own back later though which is another story for another week...
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 9:51, Reply)
A friend of mine is a nurse and told me this story. Maybe it's an urban legend, but it's a good yarn.

So a guy has been admitted into A&E with a ketchup bottle wedged up his arse, wedged so far he couldn't get the thing out. He claimed that he had gone for the weekly shop, but when he came back found he'd locked himself out. Being a chap with initiative, he put his shopping bags down and climbed the drainpipe towards an open window. But sadly the drainpipe was too weak for him, and came away from the wall. He fell back, and landed *SMACK* on a bottle of tomato sauce which had coincidently been left standing upright, the bottle being inserted up his rapidly-descending rectum.

Which was just about possible, my friend said. What the guy didn't explain was why there was a condom on the bottle.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 9:29, 3 replies)
Ronald McDonald
didn't have much meat, but his buns were quite nice.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 9:11, Reply)
tomato sauce
my friend works in A&E

you'd be surprised how many people she has to deal with who've fallen on tomato sauce bottles.

(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 9:10, Reply)
Mr Kipling
had an exceedingly good cock.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 9:10, Reply)
strawberry milkshake
for some strange bizarre reason my ex decided he was going to pour strawberry milkshake into my belly button then lick it out.

he forgot that earlier that day i'd had my belly button pierced.
he swallowed a crusty attached to the bar.

my belly button was left alone after that (he had a strange fixation with it that i'll never quite understand)
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 9:03, Reply)
Once while doing the gentlemanly thing

of lapping at an otter's pocket I found with my tongue what felt a lot like a rice crispy.

Luckily it didn't go snap, crackle or worst of all pop.
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 8:51, Reply)
Cooking with chillies
A common one - others have mentioned it. Seeing girlfriend hopping around the living room going "ooh, aah, hot hot hot" also hardly uncommon. Band on the CD player right that moment: the Flaming Lips. (True story.)
(, Fri 7 Aug 2009, 7:56, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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