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This is a question Gambling

Broke the bank at Las Vegas, or won a packet of smokes for getting your tinkle out in class? Outrageous, heroic or plain stupid bets.

Suggested by SpankyHanky

(, Thu 7 May 2009, 13:04)
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VIDAL SASSOON (the bastard)
It was a genius plan. It was completely foolproof. If James Bond would’ve crashed in through the patio windows, guns blazing in an attempt to foil ‘the genius plan’, he would’ve stopped, shurgged his shoulders, and said:

“Fuck me, boys – that’s a fucking genius plan you’ve devised there.” And then he would’ve fucked off to shag Miss Moneypenny up the wrong un, or continued his clandestine and somewhat disturbing homoerotic adventures with Q’s saggy old gonads and wrinkly, naked-baby-hamster-resembling orgasm stick.

My best mate Greg and I were sixteen and horny as a pair of horny toads during mating season, sat on a big horny log examining the pullout centrefold pages of an importened continental x-rated copy of I’m Horny magazine. We were both at that annoying age where we were desperate, I mean FUCKING KILL YOUR OWN MOTHER DESPERATE, to discover what rubbing your cock on the insides of a female meat gofherhole was like. I think at one stage we’d even considered fucking Greg’s dog, Daisy – but that would’ve been too fucking weird. And anyway, Daisy was a big fucking dog, a rotweiller – she would probably have ripped our cocks off if we went near her with a hard on and a tub of swarfega.

We both had girlfriends – mine was called Amy, Greg’s was called Amy’s friend (fucked if I can remember her name; it was fucking years ago). They were typical teenage relationships – we’d take them to the cinema to watch Top Gun, we’d buy them some chips on the way home, and in return they allowed us a brief fumble on their budding mammeries through their jumpers. Everyone was happy. But Greg and I wanted, no, NEEDED to take it to the next stage. To put it bluntly – if we didn’t loose our virginity in the next few weeks we would die...

Plain and simple...

My parents had gone to a family do, dragging my sister with them - I had the house to myself. And that’s when the genius plan formulated in my mind; it was gonna be fucking GREAT!!! Greg fucked off to the local off licence to purchase the alcohol on account of him having whispy pubes growing out of his chin – it made him look at least fifty, we reckoned. He came back with ten cans of kestrel super strength and a hipflask bottle of maddog 20/20 (kiwi fruit flavor). That stuff was guarenteed to remove the knickers from a nun, apparently – so my cousin Gino said. And I really wouldn’t have put it past Gino to have fucked a nun.

I stayed at the house, preparing the love nest. I laid out the game and, when Greg returned weighed down with more booze than your average P&O ferry returning from Calais, we waited for our lovely ladyfriends to arrive. And they did – plastic bangles rattling, the finest Superdrug ownbrand lipstick money could buy, permed hair smelling like a fucking chemical refinery. And then we started drinking – put on some sexy music (Level 42, Running in the Family; I thought the incredible baseline would have an arousing effect on the girls clitoral area), and after a couple of cans I suggested:

“Shall we play now?” And the girls agreed. And then I added as innocently as possible with my quivery teenage voice: “Why don’t we make it a bit more interesting – why don’t we play for cloths.”

Amy and Amy’s mate looked at me like I was a great big fucking perv, which I suppose I was. But I pressd on:

“Boys against girls – if you win a round, Greg and I will take off an item of clothing.”
And then Greg chipped in: “And if Spanky and me win... well...”

Suprisingly, the girls agreed. ZOUNDS!!!

So we started playing – not cards. Neither Greg or I had a fucking clue about cards - except maybe for a quick game of snap, which, lets face it, would've made us look as hard as Julian Clary doing a bit of sewing. We started playing Trivial Pursuit.

The first question was: Do porcupines masturbate?

50 – 50 chance. Fuck! Oh, well. “Ermm, no???” I said, swigging back my super strength lager - it tasted like alcoholic marmite.

And then Greg and I had to take off our sweaters, apparently the dirty little feckers DO wank. Fuck!

The girls got an easy one. And so it continued. There was a flaw in our plan. Greg and I had failed to remember that we were absolutely, monumentally, incredibly fucking stupid. It took about ten minutes before we were in our pants – the girls, on the otherhand, were showing only a sexy flash of ankle, having only had to remove their socks.
The really fucking annoying thing was that neither of the girls seemed impressed or in the least bit sexed up looking at our scrawny teenage bodies. But God thank alcohol. Amy, who’d been knocking it back like Oliver Reed fifteen minutes before last orders, leaned forward and slurred: “How about a sudden death? If you answer the next question right, we’ll snog each other?” she said, giggling to her mate. “And if you get it wrong...”


So, moments later, I had Greg’s tongue pokling round inside my gob like a slab of wet liver. It was not good. Not good at all. I hate to admit it, but I may have got a bit of a lazy lob on. The plan was going horribly wrong. I stopped snogging my best mate, drank half the bottle of maddog, belched romantically, and said: “What about this – if we get the next question right... we get to see you play with each other? And if we get it wrong-“ I could see Greg motioning to me to shut the fuck up. Well, I didn’t reallly fancy wanking Greg off, so I left it open. “Well, we’ll do anything, and I mean ANYTHING you tell us to do.”

Amy’s mate said, matter-of-factly: “OK. You’re on.”

And so, my hand trebling, I drew the next question card on the pile and passed it over to the girls. And, being a thick twat, asked for an entertainment question. And the girls laughed and read:

“Who was the offical hair consultant to the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics?”

OH... SHIT...

Obviously, we got it wrong, our gamble in the hope of a tad of girl-on-girl-hot-teen-sex-action had fallen flat on its arse. Now we had to face the consequences...

“Now you’ll do anything, won’t you,” said Amy.

We nodded, feeling fucking miserable. I had a very werid feeling I might have to suck Greg off. And I could tell by the look of abject horror on his face he was thinking the same about me.

“So,” said Amy’s mate. “You’ll do absolutely anything we want? You can’t back down? We can ask and you’ll just do it?” she was really enjoying this.

Greg and I nod. The girls confered with each other for a while. Then we did what they asked us to do. And soon afterwards the girls put on their socks and shoes and went home. We completely disregarded the fact they were in the top sets for every fucking subject at school, while Greg and I spent most of our time in school drawing willies in the excercise books.

“If my mum finds out about this, she’ll fucking kill me,” I said. Greg didn’t speak, just put his cloths back on glumly.

"That REALLY IS the last fucking time I kiss you, Spanky..."

I shrugged agreement.

And what did the girls ask us to do? What terrible pennance did we undertake for not knowing who the fuck Vidal Sassoon was, let alone that he did some poncy-arsed haircuts at the Olympics?

Well, Amy and Amy’s mate had no fucking interest in our puny little bodies. Or in seeing the two of us get it on in – what I’m sure would’ve been – an incredibly hot gay tryst. No.

Did they fuck.

Instead they went home happy as pigs in shit.

And later that evening, when my parents got back home and I’d received a level eight hiding on my ‘getting a good hiding from my old man scale’, I sneaked the phone into my bedroom and gave Greg a call:

“Mate – stay away from my place for a bit... I had to tell my dad you forced open the lock on his drinks cabinet and stole all his booze... Sorry...”


-Click- as the phoneline went dead.

Don’t gamble. Just don’t do it. Well, especially not when you could be outwitted by the sheer fucking intellectal prowess of the rotting corpse of a dead horse...
(, Thu 7 May 2009, 13:27, 6 replies)
Marvellous post
spanks - strip trivial pursuit. Will have to give that a go!
(, Thu 7 May 2009, 13:34, closed)
masturbate? Never knew that - click - great tale.
(, Thu 7 May 2009, 13:43, closed)
bloody ell
mate hahahaha
(, Thu 7 May 2009, 13:57, closed)
great stuff!...

But from you I wouldn't expect anything else.

(, Thu 7 May 2009, 16:56, closed)
love it mate!
you and pooflake are truly gods amonGst QUOTW!
(, Thu 7 May 2009, 17:32, closed)
I Like This...
...for the image of a masturbating porcupine, and for "as hard as Julian Clary doing a bit of sewing".

(, Thu 7 May 2009, 18:23, closed)

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