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This is a question Guilty Secrets

We were shocked - nay, disgusted - to read on an internet discussion forum of a chap's confession that his darkest, guiltiest secret was that he recently cracked one out over press photos of tragic MILF Kate McCann. He reasoned that "she's a good Catholic girl and looks dirty, so she'd probably go bareback".

What guilty secrets can you no longer keep to yourself?

(, Fri 31 Aug 2007, 12:22)
Pages: Latest, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I play Pokémon!!!
Pokémon is AWESOME
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 18:44, Reply)
You may laugh
I play pokemon
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 17:43, Reply)
The Orient
I lived in Asia for a while. And I finally succumbed to the rampant sex industry. Daring meeself....I paid for two young ladies one night and discovered that you can pay extra for them to lick your anus (my guilty secret). A new but not unpleasant experience. Never topped that evening since and never tried.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 17:26, Reply)
My guilty secret occured just last night....
When i was in bed, reading this thread on my nintendo ds.That certainly is a guilty secret.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 17:26, Reply)
when i was a baby swipe
of about 5 or 6, my brother and i had to go to a childminder's for about half an hour before school and an hour or so after school. her children hated us, their tv only played videos (and they only had "digby: the biggest dog in the world" and "dumbo" on video. i swear to god i could still quote those two shit films verbatim). we hated it.

i was a very good little girl at the time, and never did anything wrong. one morning, though, i couldn't resist the temptation to use my new skipping rope in the lounge. where i had specifically been forbidden to go, never mind to skip.

with a neat crack, the pink rope sailed through the air and guillotined the head clean off a china shepherdess who was pouting on the fireplace. i was horrified. and terrified. and scared.

i legged it to school where i spent literally the whole day dreading being caught. every time i relaxed, i saw the jagged white truncated neck of the decapitated statue and it made me feel sick.

when i got back there that evening, after dragging a 2 min walk into a 20 min trudge, a true miracle had happened. the shepherdess had regrown her head!! i couldn't believe it. i thought angels or fairies must have done it. so i said nothing. i still felt bad for about three days, however.

but having the tact of a rutting fire engine, even then, a few days later i couldn't resist poking it in front of the childminder's daughter. "the head is loose," i said experimentally.

"oh that," rebecca said disdainfully. "it broke off years ago. mum just keeps propping it back on..."

(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 17:10, Reply)
My guilty secret is that I once saw Shampoo play live at "The Venue" in New Cross.

They were shite. Mimed. And stormed off after one song because some guy jumped up on stage and tried to snog one of them.

The warm up band were great though.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 17:06, Reply)
Don't tell my mates this .....
.... but I'm going to see McFly in Glasgow in November. In my defence it's to accompany my 9 yr old daughter. Probably get to ogle lots of MILFs too right enough. Hey, every cloud...
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 17:04, Reply)
self abuse
While an adolescent, I was forced to think of ever more elaborate scenarios for my daily (or hourly) tug. Anything to make strangling the chicken a bit more spicy. I came up with:

- Tugging in my sister's bed
- Tugging up a tree
- Cutting out the lining of pockets and tugging as I strolled
- Having a stroke in toilets anywhere
- Carefully extracting a banana from its skin before using said skin as a fruitsome johnny
- Have carnal knowledge of a range of fruit and vegetables
- Using my rigid tool as a stencil to illustrate a rather lurid letter to Samatha Fox
- Encoraging a cat to lick my tip (Kitty had no interest)
- Calling up moan 'n' groan phonelines at great expense
- Connecting my cock to batteries
- Using the friction of a silk scarf pulled quickly across an engorged helmet...

There are too many to remember. I must have pulled the pud pretty much everyday for the last 20 years. My prostate could squeeze coal into diamonds
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 16:52, Reply)
Mr John Clemo
After my parents divorced and you showed a total lack of compassion when I arrived late in to school that day I went in to your office and pissed in your kettle.

I intend to claim you molested me when you return to the country
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 16:50, Reply)
That childrens show...
On ITV, Our Parents are Aliens. The latest version, with the redhead Sophie, I think she's hot.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 16:49, Reply)
My lab smells of jizz
I've spent the afternoon, in between writing disturbing QOTW answers, reclaiming old photographic plates so I can re-use the glass. This process requires me to boil them in quite concentrated alkali solution to remove the gelatin emulsion layer, and is in itself quite fun as I get to play with hot dangerous chemicals.

But I am doing it on the open bench, and you know what? The smell produced is very similar to warm semen. And now the whole lab stinks of it.

I hope no non-scientists come in today, especially if they see me standing there wearing a lab coat and rubber gloves...
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 16:21, Reply)
Noo Noo
You want to watch that, son. Today it's going in a classroom that isn't yours, tomorrow its kiddy fiddling and jabbing smack in your eye balls.
Keep that kind of thing a secret.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 16:18, Reply)
My uni secret...
I really enjoy dancing and generally arsing about in the paternoster in the Attenborough building in Leicester university.

The best part is, neither me nor my friends at the university need to visit any of the rooms in the Attenborough tower, but we still do it anyway.

Last year tops it though,the week before xmas holidays we dressed up one of the carts on the paternoster in tinsel and left a nice plastic christmas tree in there. No-one ever found out who it was, and I'm sure I'd be expelled if they did.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:47, Reply)
Crack Whore
My guilty secret opens with my then girlfriend jetting off to foreign climes, leaving me to a week of being home alone without any proper supervision. After a particularly large and unruly Saturday night, I find myself walking home at 3am in the morning, in a fairly damaged state of mind and body.

Much to my surprise a girl stops me in the street to enquire if I "wanted any company". In my befuddled haze, the penny didn't drop. Gent that I was, I replied to say that I was on my way home but that she was welcome to walk with me for a bit if she wanted to.

She then put it more bluntly and asked if I "was looking for business". The penny finally dropped. She was a whore. Now usually I would have run a mile. But a combination of curiosity, my girlfriend’s absence, a recent pay day, my flat being only 5 minutes away, and some particularly good MDMA ingested earlier in the evening, resulted in my replying "alright then".

But she was not only a whore. She was a crack whore. And before returning to the flat she made us take a detour to a dealer who supplied her with some rocks (and for which I found myself paying) . I had never done crack before but, back at the flat, she offered to share a pipe with me. Being interested in new experiences I accepted. The next couple of hours passed in an insane blur of pipes and manic gibberish. It is mental stuff which I have never touched since, but which I am glad I tried just the once. Something to tell the grandkids, eh? One of the effects of crack, at least on me, is the complete removal of libido. Which, fortunately, meant that I was much more interested in smoking pipe after pipe after pipe, than I was in completing the physical transaction with the whore. Soon after the last rock had been smoked I paid her for her time and she disappeared into the night, leaving me a gibbering wreck on the sofa.

But smoking crack with a crack whore is not my guilty secret. My guilty secret is that when my girlfriend arrived home, bearing nice gifts, she soon noticed that her brand new, and very expensive, handbag which had been hanging in the hallway was nowhere to be found. Although I could hazard a guess to its possible whereabouts, I obviously wasn't able to tell her of my theory that it had been stolen by a crack whore I had met on the way home one night.

I somehow convinced her that it must have been taken by the gasman who had visited the house on the day she left for her trip. I spent the next 6 months praying that she didn't pass a hooker on a street corner carrying her handbag.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:44, Reply)
when I'm having a wank I'm thinking about someone else.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:36, Reply)
Love is blind ..... thankfully!
A few years back, when I was less choosy than now, I once met up with a lovely woman of t'internet, the only possibly problem that she was blind.

Being, as I said, of the less choosy nature things happened and we went to her place.

As we were having fun (it'd been a while for her apparently!), a sudden flash of realisation hit me.

No, not "why am I shagging a blind woman"

but, "she can feel me, but she can't see me!!"

As I lay there with her on top, I started pulling stupid faces, gurning like a right mong at her, and she was none the wiser until I started laughing to myself. She stopped and asked if I was ok, I just said yeah, I was loving it.

I still feel so ashamed at myself for that whole episode and especially my childish actions, but then I start laughing again.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:20, Reply)
Office twunts
One job I was working on involved cabling a new office block. All went well on the job.

The new desks arrived etc.

All in position with their shiney new keys.

Got stitched up as one usually does, and a 2hour 'babysit' on a saturday morning turned into 12hours saturday and 10 hours sunday helping out with their IT department.

So the shiny new desks with keys all got swapped around at random.

Would have loved to see them try to work out which key went where.

Not guilty in the slightest.

(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:17, Reply)
I gave my teacher a nervous breakdown
When I was at secondary school, a well 'ard London comprehensive, there was a mad old bat who taught art. We called her Mrs Gravedigger, because that's what her real name sounded a bit like. She really was completely mental. She used to speak to everybody as if they were two years old, praising us as "Good children!" even though the school was populated by the sort of oiks who'd pull a knife on you for breathing. She also hated boys and consistently based marks not on quality of work but on gender - in the year I had her for art, not one girl ever got below a C and not one boy ever got above a C. She used to swan around the art department in floaty tunics and crazy jewellery spouting random bollocks about "naughty boys". In fact, come to think of it, she could have been the inspiration for Professor Trelawney.

Anyway, the one time I ever saw Mrs Gravedigger outside of the art department was the time she covered a maths lesson when our teacher was sick in Year 9. At my school, there were a lot of foreign kids with funny names and so when a teacher took an unfamiliar class, the usual procedure was that instead of taking the register out loud and embarrassing all concerned, they would send round a sheet of paper on which we would all sign our names.

So since it was Mrs Gravedigger, and since she was on another planet anyway, we all wrote down our own names plus one more.

The list came back to her. We waited.

She counted the heads in the class. She counted the names on the list.

She looked very confused. And did another head count.

She stood at the front of the class and scratched her head.

"That's funny... Twenty-four children in the class..." Another head count, "...Forty-eight names on the list..."

A few giggles broke out.

"Calvin? Is Calvin Klein in this class?"

Some bright spark pulled himself together enough to say, "He's just gone to the toilet, Miss!"

"Mickey Mouse?"

We couldn't contain ourselves any longer. The entire class exploded into hysterics and Mrs Gravedigger, very upset and confused, ran out of the classroom to fetch the head of maths, who after taking one look at the list gently led her away.

We never saw her again. Word on the street was that she'd had a complete breakdown and been sectioned.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:10, Reply)
Me too. a few years ago I saw a kid hit with a garbage truck and not a tear was spent or at any funerals but almost anything in a film will set me off. Other techniques include laughing at how cliched it all is and yawning. I had to fake a coughing fit during the truman show. And it was shit.

In work in a shop I like being a real cunt to certain people. If obviously underage people come in and go to buy beer I will help them carry it or even get things from the top shelf. then when they get to pay for it I ask them for the ID they obviously dont have. The look of surprise/dissapointment and hatred makes me feel warm inside.

Heres one for you that I was guilty about for ages. Once on a school trip to rome I had a wank in the Toilets in St. Peters Basilica. I'm proud of it now but at the time I was sure I was going to hell. Of course now I'm an athiest. I guess it was my first attempt at showing god what I thought of him.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:03, Reply)
So Rachelswipe's real name is actually Bill Drummond?

Surely not.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 15:00, Reply)
Seeing as I'm digging up repressed memories
I've just remembered the first time I saw a real live fanny* (that's fanny as in pussy for the Americans on here, not as in ass).

*Other than my younger sister's but that doesn't count, coz that was a quite normal and non-sexual occurence.

I was in the upper years of primary school, aged 11-ish and we were beginning to become curious about certain matters relating to our wee-ing organs. Consequently there started a spate of "debreekings", which was a made up Scots word for forcible removal of a person's trousers and also underpants if possible. I personally avoided this by successfully fending off my assailants (I was a rotund kid and bodyweight won over skill - also I only had a wee baldy half-incher at the time that I didn't want anyone to see).

However, one girl, who we'll call Ann for obvious reasons, wasn't so lucky. She was grabbed by a bunch of randy kids (male and female, I should add) who whipped off her skirt and attempted to get her pants off too. She grabbed the waistband of her panties in an ultimately successful attempt to retain them on her person, but the force required to do so caused them to ride right the way up her front-bottom cleft, with the result that everything became visible, proto-pubes and all.

I hasten to add that I was not one of the active participants in this event, merely an observer.

I've now just realised that I've just admitted for the first time to being a witness to the sexual assault of an 11 year old girl. Jeez, I'm going to hell this week. I feel quite disturbed now - seriously.

Length? Told you already - half an inch. Well, it was then...
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:47, Reply)
I know the secret of rachelswipe
She's really all a prank by The KLF that was put in motion after they deleted their back catalogue and burned their merchandise.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:46, Reply)
my parents' guilty secret
One day when I was 10, I was watching tv in my parents' bedroom (I didn't have one in mine). I happened to drop something I was fiddling with - a reel of cotton, as I remember - which rolled under the bed.

So I started rooting around under there to find it.

Total haul: 1 'Joy of Sex' video, one 'art' book, a half-empty packet of condoms and 3 Viz annuals (wtf?).

This of course led to a full search of the room the next time they went out. And in the top of the wardrobe I found the second stash. I've never spoken of it to anyone, but it's burned on my memory forever - I'm hoping posting it will be a cathartic experience.

one set of love eggs;
two vibrators (one of the 'black mamba' variety);
another 2 sex videos;
a 'Spitting Image' video (again (wtf?);
a sailor's cap;
one photo album with grainy 70's pictures of my mum using aforementioned vibrator (only the top one of which I ever looked at, before slamming it shut in horror, but which I will NEVER forget);

and the most upsetting of all:

a video of Jim Davidson in pantomime.

Pray for me.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:43, Reply)
how very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very unfunny you are
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:40, Reply)
The only time I ever cry
is watching Hollywood films. I had to clear my throat gruffly during Armageddon just the other night.

When granny died, I didn't give a toss.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:29, Reply)
One for the girls!
I often flick through womens fashion magazines looking at the new trends for this season and pretend I give a fuck.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:13, Reply)
I told you that I was a statue made of gold, and brought to life by sorcery.

The truth is that I am covered in a thin layer of gold, underneath which I am but a man.

And that is my gilt-y secret.
(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:11, Reply)
I did think of "Gerry McCann's vegetable patch", but decided against it.

(, Wed 5 Sep 2007, 14:06, Reply)

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