I was bullied at school
...in a fairly minor way (mostly name-calling) but it went on for a very long time. Anyway, rather than facing up to it I took it out on my then friend, who was a) smaller than me and b) until that point, a completely happy-go-lucky-wouldn't-hurt-a-fly kind of chap. Not only did I lose a good friend, I think I also soured his outlook to some extent.

So sorry, John. I was a fucktard and you didn't deserve it.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:17, Reply)

Xmas Eve
i actually feel really bad about this now, xmas eve just gone and i'm in chicagos, pretty drunk. when we see an indian man of about 40 standing on his own by the bar, in the same place he had been all night. I finsh my drink, and take the empty glass in the toilet with me, i then fill it to the brim with p*ss, walk back out, and go upto this indian fellow and say "happy xmas" and offer him a "drink", he takes it thanking me and takes a sip. i walk away and actually started crying with laughter, 2 minutes later and i actually felt really bad. he was out on his own and just wanted to have a good time....
(boosh, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:02, Reply)

As a student I did all sorts of stupid things when drunk
...most of which I now happily place in the file 'youthful hijinks'. For some reason, the one evening I really feel bad about was rather tame by comparison with some of the stuff we got up to.

We'd gone to a crappy student pub -- and proceeded to get lagered as usual. 'Highlight' of the evening was watching some twunt pinch one off right in front of the bar. Nice.

Anyway, the night came to a swift end when one of our party -- the one that no-one liked -- started getting tired of having the piss taken, so smashed his glass over the table and started waving it around in a threatening manner. We swiftly exited and left the bouncers to subdue him.

There are two episodes during the long walk home that I feel guilty about. First off, we were walking past the house of someone I knew, whose front garden was bright with a swath of daffodils. What did we do? We pulled them all up, stuffed a bunch through the letterbox and an open window, and scattered the rest along the street (on peoples' cars, gardens, letter boxes etc) all the while shouting 'Monsieur Daffodeeeel!' as loud as we could. Why? I have no idea.

The other thing I feel bad about is when we took a shop's wheelie bin (one of the really big ones) and placed it in the middle of the road, on a bend, in such a way that it couldn't be seen by anyone approaching. Hilarious.

What a bunch of twunts we were.
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 13:02, Reply)

Virtually....
I am using Second Life to become a online Domme

(edit: and since they introduced voice, I have been told the English accent is a bonus)
( Not just a hatstand inflamed in the membrane inflamed in the brain, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 12:55, Reply)

Why no one should piss me off...
When i was 6... i took a dump in my sisters beach bag because she locked me out of the toilet... She didnt find it for about 3 weeks either. I blamed it on my other sister and got away scott free! My sister got send to therapy instead.
(Dodger, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 12:48, Reply)

Fried or Boiled?
When I was just 10 or so my brother had 2 gerbils, a black one (called snowflake for some bizarre reason) and a white one.

One day I decided (God knows why) to put the white gerbil in the microwave to 'see what happened'. In my 10 year old brain I was just thinking it would be funny to watch it run round on the little turntable. The radiation and actual damage it would do to the gerbil didn't occur to me.

Anyway this suddenly dawned on me and I grabbed it out of the microwave shaken but apparantly unharmed. A few weeks later it got these huge boils on it's body and had to be put down by the vet. You can imagine how bad I feel about this.

The story, however, is not yet over. My other brother, saw this happen and proceeded to blackmail me about this threatening to tell my parents / other brother. I got sick of this so hatched a devious plan.

I went and told my parents that HE put the gerbil in the microwave. He tried to defend himself and obviously a huge row ensued. He ended up in the shit and I was off the hook.

He however then told them that the event never happened and he dreamt it and decided it would be a good thing to blackmail me with which is why I said that he had done it.

They accepted this story but my mum spent the next few years when ever she suspected him of lying saying 'Are you sure you didn't just dream it.'

I felt guilty every time I heard that. Not only because I microwaved a gerbil but also because I managed to make my brother look like a right 'tard in the process.

Anyway sorry if this doesn't make much sense , I've never admitted it before and in retrospect it seems slightly amusing.

First Post!
( aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 12:25, Reply)

OK, recent guilty secret
I was in the supermarket a few days ago. last Tuesday or something, in the beer section shopping around for something pleasant to put in my mouth (ooo, matron). I spy a big, fat wallet sitting on a shelf. It has plastic in it, a driver's licence and two or three *hundred* pounds in it.

"Holy shitting christ!" I think and, on instinct, hand it in to the nearest supermarket employee I see.

My guilty secret is that I have felt like an absolute, 100%, fur-lined, ocean-going, prize twat ever since. Bollocks to feeling good about doing the right thing, I should have handed it back minus the cash, or not at all. Yeah, that makes me a bad person, but I don't care. Pray you never lose your wallet in Guildford, because that is absolutely the last time I'm handing a wallet in. My conscience won't allow it.
( Kroney, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 12:21, Reply)

Any hole..
I shagged my best mate's wife's 16 year old sister, in my best mate's wife's son's bed.

true.dat

edit: ok, it was actually a friend of mine that did this, but it was still with my best mate's wife's sister.
(Her Ghost zomegle.com, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:51, Reply)

Re: Reading other people's mail.


I can finally get this one off my chest.


A former girlfriend of mine was several years older than me. I knew she'd been in a long-term relationship in another country prior to us getting together.

Several times she had to go off on week-long seminars or training courses so I'd pop round to hers and feed the cat & change its litter.

Anyways, as is always the way, I got curious as to her former life - about which she was very reticent to say anything. So, I decided to go through her correspondence to see what I could discover.

Bloody hell.

I found letters from some nutter who'd been stalking her* (this was the late '80's when stalking hadn't even been invented) not only did she not report the loon, she fucking moved in with him! I was a bit taken aback by this but carried on in an "In for a penny, in for a pound" manner.

I discovered that, in her previous job, she'd been severely reprimanded over some very improper conduct and barely kept her job. The details were vague but she worked for an insurance group and I *think* she either facilitated a fraud committed by the Stalker Nutter or else turned a blind eye/destroyed evidence that he or his mates were up to no good.**

Of course, I couldn't let on that I knew any of this so would have to bite my tongue and not ask any of the umpteen questions I'd have loved to put to her. Not that the relationship went very far anyway as I was constantly coming second best to a dead man. You see, I also found a folder full of pictures of this bloke, rather dashing type with a devil-may-care manner. Turns out that they were in college together where she'd always carried a torch for him. The camera doesn't lie as could be seen from the adoring gaze she had when looking at him in the photos. Unfortunately, he drowned in a swimming accident (there was a newspaper clipping to this effect). If any more proof were needed, there was a small photo of the pair of them in an antique silver frame which was wrapped in tissue paper and kept in a little wooden cigar box.



* He'd seen her on the street, followed her home and to her workplace, arranged an interview with her at work and then charmed his way into her life. This was all laid out in a 'confession' letter he'd sent her.

** A colleague of hers once told me that Stalker Nutter had followed her here and turned up at her workplace. He wanted her assurance about something or other and was most concerned that she stayed away from her former employers at the insurance company and had nothing more to do with them. Her colleague said that she was very shaken after the conversation and very jumpy for several weeks afterwards saying that if Stalker Nutter showed up again tell him I'm out.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:48, Reply)

Speaking of sisters...
I shagged my mate's 15-year-old sister. Twice.

In his bed.

And broke it. (His bed I mean.)

I was 22 at the time.
(RabidRodent I'm the person your mother warned you about, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:44, Reply)

hmmm.....
where to start...

As a child we had a school banking scheme - you know, take your bankbook to school once a week with 20 cents in it and they collect them up, bank the money for you and give it back the next day. Encourage the young'uns to save, and all that. One week I spent the money instead. Told Mum I'd lost the bankbook on the bus to school... kept it in the wardrobe for weeks until I mustered the courage to take it out, stuff it down my pants, ride my bike to the rubbish dump out the back of the farm and bury it under a dead cow...

Roll forward to school. Wandering out from under the balcony having just bhad a ciggie, and was surprised by the headmaster. Him: "what are you doing out here?"
Me: "Feeling a it sick Sir" (and it wasn't a lie, as I could feel my testicles retracting into my body at the thought of being caned for being caught smoking....)

At University I slept with my best friend's girlfriend, and she (drawn to my animal magnetism and the ability to lick my own nose...) starting going out with me. The bastard got the last laugh as I found them in bed together six months later.

Still, the icing on the cake: I left my wife of nineteen years for a lady I met on the internet. Actually, that's not quite the truth. We lived on opposite sides of the world, and I hadn't met her at that stage. So I left my wife for someone I'd never met. And I could never tell my (ex)wife why I left her....

The only slightly redeeming feature is that we'll be married soon (having met and decided that it was the best thing I've ever done).
(alnhelzz, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:22, Reply)

And Jeccy reminds me...
In Leeds train station, I saw a pensioner drop a wad of cash as she hobbled along with a heavy suitcase. It was rush hour and I picked it up quick as a flash, almost without breaking stride. Turned out to be £80 in twenties and I had a marvellous weeked on it, not minding a bit that I'd robbed an old cripple.

Well, come on. Life's shit enough...
(frankspencer, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:12, Reply)

Pleather Sofa...
I still feel very very guilty about this (although obviously not enough to actually own up to anything)...

When I was around five and my brother was about three, I decided I wanted to be an artist when I grew up and spent many happy hours decorating hundreds of sheets of paper with my childish scrawls. One day, when sitting on the sofa musing about what my latest masterpiece would be, I (and I'm still not sure exactly why) started drawing on the new pleather (fake tan coloured leather) sofa. Because I was so young and also b3ta wasn't about then, I didn't decide to draw a massive magenta cock, but instead drew a lovely eagle.

About 30 seconds later it dawned on me that my parental units may be less than impressed that I'd decided to decorate their furniture for them, and desperately started to hatch plans as to how I could undo my vandalism. Firstly, I went into the kitchen and asked mum for a water, then tipped it over the sofa. Bird drawing still there. Then I went out and said I wanted a coke - tipped over sofa, lots of fizzing, but still there. I then changed round all the cushions so that the doodled one was in the corner of the room where no one sat unless we had guests. This bought me a day to think about things, but as our aunt and uncle were coming over at the weekend I knew I didn't have long. I remember lying in bed thinking it all over.

The next day I waited until my mum was preparing lunch and me and my brother were left watching Sesame Street. I got out all my 'art materials' and selected a handful of crayons and felt tip pens and snuck over to the sofa. Making sure the brother was happily singing along to a tune about the letter B I took the pens and scribbled all over the eagle, making sure the artistic merits of my picture were completely covered with the giant mess of scribble. I then left the box of pens near the brother (hoping that he may even pick them up and get ink on him) and went upstairs to play with My Little Ponies for a few minutes.

I went back downstairs, popped into the lounge to check everything was set up properly and then wandered back into the kitchen. Thinking back I'm actually quite scared at the level of deviousness I showed at such an early age, and I went up to my mum and said:

"Mummy, I don't want to get M into trouble but I think he has done a bad thing"

I still get paranoid when a DFS advert comes on TV that one day someone will start to ask questions...
( hanabanana, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:11, Reply)

Im sorry
When i was in year one at school, I some how managed to damage my school shoes, so the heels was coming off.

My mum was pretty pissed off with me as they were less than a week old. She took me to the head teachers office, where they interrorgated me about what happened to my shoes.

I cracked up and blamed it on two somailian boys in my year, I said they did it with a dinner knife at lunch time. I have no idea why i said it.

I think they got massive bollockings and got supspended. So Hamdi and other boy, im really sorry i got you f*cked in year 1. No hard feelings eh.
(Poo_Pipe_Pirate, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:10, Reply)

Re: Nicking stuff from shops.



I had a brief career as a shoplifter. Instead of holey trousers, I had a battered old anorak . The lining of the sleeves was torn so I used that to my advantage. I used to get my mate, Paul, to distract the shopkeeper while I went to work. I'd rest my hand on the display of chocolate bars and sweets and then slide the items up my sleeves where they'd get lodged in the lining. We spent a couple of months in choccy heaven without ever having to pay.

Unfortunately, the shopkeeper wised up and, when we went in, grabbed Paul and accused him of stealing. He was holding out just fine until mention was made of parents being called and the police getting involved. He squealed on me and said that I was doing the nicking and not him. I was searched by the shopkeeper but hadn't taken anything yet so I was in the clear. We got banned from the shop which was a bit awkward as it was only 5 minutes from our street and was used by all our families. For the next couple of years, whenever I was sent on an errand, I'd have to get someone else to go in for me or else cycle about half a mile to the next closest shop instead. My parents never found out or I'd have been killed. Eventually, the shop changed owners so I could go back in there again.
(Fanta Menace Is tall enough to see over the fence, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:08, Reply)

I caused my parents' divorce
You know that particuar shampoo that looks like jism? Anne Summers used to sell it so that frisky couples can shoot it over each other to pretend. Well, I thought it would be hilarious when some mates came to stay over to partially fill an empty bottle of said shampoo with my own paste so that I could tell them about it after their shower.

But it all went wrong. Before my mates could jump in the shower, my mum came in from work and took an uncharacteristically early detour into the bathroom. Minutes later, dad walked in after her and I heard the following exchange:

Dad: Can I smell jis?
Mum: No...
Dad: Wait a minute... your hair's matted with spunk! What have you been doing?!
Mum: I was at work!
Dad: Where - in a fucking brothel? Your hair's thick with it! Are you having an affair?

Well, one accusation led to another and after a few weeks of not speaking, they decided to divorce. Worse than this was the knowledge that my seed had found its way on to my own mother's scalp - in luxurious quantities.
(frankspencer, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:01, Reply)

Just found a tenner on the floor in work.....
....and I haven't told anyone.

*profits*
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:00, Reply)

When I was a student
I was in one Sunday night and my flatmates were away, having been home for the weekend. One of them was going out with a girl, now his wife and mother of their 3 kids, and she used to write him letters every week which he kept (stupidly) on a shelf in the living room of our flat.

Well temptation got the better of me. I read one of them.

Actually it was all just the usual lovey-dovey mushy stuff, but there's one phrase which does remain etched in my memory. She was lamenting the fact he was away at university and she was stuck at home and she'd rather have him there so, as she put it:

"I could give you a bath and wash your cock with my mouth".

Good for him, I thought. But then I felt a bit guilty about reading that, as it was really more information than I needed to know. Sorry Stewart, but you shouldn't have left the letters lying around.

Actually, just remembered - the same year we had some other students living upstairs who used to make a hell of a noise and piss us off. In fact, Stewart once wrote them a letter which said only "Shut the fuck up!"

But one day the postie delivered their mail to our door by mistake. There was one from the bank. We opened it. It was saying that the bloke upstairs had been refused an overdraft, and would he please come in and see the manager.

We kept it for a month, then wrote "Not known at this address" on it and stuck it back in the mail.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 11:00, Reply)

when i was 13
i was round at a mates house, and one of his mates was being a whiny twunt. so i hid the kid's bike in a field round the back, and told him it had been nicked. there is nothing more satisfying and disturbing than seeing a teenage boy in floods of tears coz his brand new bike has been stolen. when it got to the stage that he wanted to call the police, we hid his phone, making him near suicidal. when he finally found his bike after searching through the field for a half hour, he tried to ride off in anger. to this day, he has no idea that it was me that let his tyres down, making him crash into a tree and loosing teeth...

length? long enough to make up for his whining...
(DonMorte Cake is a made up drug, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 10:50, Reply)

Nicking stuff
When I was a kid, I had a pair of trousers which had holes in the bottom of the pockets. I'd put on a pair of wellies, go to the newsagent and drop stuff into my pockets when the owner's back was turned. It'd drop through the holes into my boots, so there were no giveaway bulges and the one time I was caught, they checked my pockets and of course found nothing. I got really good at it, my mates thought I was some kind of criminal mastermind. I used to specialise in half-inching Bazooka Joes, but I'd throw away the bubblegum because I didn't actually like it: I just wanted the little comics and tokens.

The only time my light-handed tendencies manifested themselves as an adult was when they shut down the computer magazine I was working on, and made us all redundant. They were kind/stupid enough to give us unsupervised access to the office so we could use the computers and 'phones to look for new jobs. So of course it was bonanza: all the computers were stripped down for parts and the boxed software was gone too. But I won, because I nipped down the fire escape with the brand-new, £1000+ laser printer*. Fuck me, it weighed a ton and I had to walk miles to get to the bus stop. Worth it though.

* New enough that a few months later, when it went wrong, I actually called the manufacturer to come out to my house and fix it on-site because it was still in warranty. Bargain!
( reallywittyname veraciously conspues lexiphanicism on, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 10:42, Reply)

Pants
A male friend of mine once asked if he could wear my knickers.

I let him.
( e.m.m.y. foxtrot uniform charlie kilo india tango, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 10:29, Reply)

mondane
I had often mused on the nature of addiction. What is it, exactly, to be “addicted”? Are the parameters self defined, and if so, how can consensus be reached to define the essence of “addiction”? Was it measured and defined only by its effects? If so, how could one theorise on consequences? Is a man who mainlines heroin, but is nice to his wife and children more or less an addict than a homeless waster who dabbles in lieu of other, accepted, entertainment? Was there such a thing at all, or was it just a necessary invention of the caustic jealousy of a society to those who had rejected its imposed mores in favour of the individuals own?

Normally, this sort of half arsed speculation idly filled my comedowns, as the strychnine and bicarbonate made the jaw ache, and Screamadelica made the impending sleep seem an even more delicious draught. It made me feel clever: a cheap blanket to cover my insecurity.

But this time I was thinking of, shall we say an acquaintance called Jeremy (I refuse to call any man named Jeremy a friend). I had given Jeremy his first tab of LSD and he had taken to it with a passion I had unanticipated.

Within six months he was living in a tree. To misquote Marwood: His mechanism had fucking gone. He was like those tapes we used to make in the old days: a copy of a copy of a copy of a human. Blurred, fady and distorted. Whatever. His choice.

Now I am old, and my bones feel as brittle as flint and my guts spill like an ugly confession over my cheap jeans. Mostly I can’t sleep and I lie awake in my IKEA bed and construct fantasies based on half imagined fragments of memory. I pluck the glistering shards from the sea of misery which fills my head: a cheap blanket to cover my insecurity, and my failures. And I know the morning will come. The nights pass in restlessness and sighing, and from the sea of my sadness, I cling to my ashamed achievements. And I await morning, and a day at the office.

And that is my dark secret. It is that I have failed. Regardless of the others, I have failed. It is that I have accepted this life. I did not spiral out, instead, like a coward, I hunkered down and “sobered” up and accepted the nature of “addiction” and became “clean”. And every day my sorrow is matched my society’s joy at my conformity. My black socks. My direct debits. My email account. The everyday darkness of the secret failure in me.

Also, I am too scared to piss in a shower.
(sirolimus, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 9:55, Reply)

Marriage
I am to be married to a wonderful South Korean goddess in a month. She is coming here, on Thursday, to the UK having finally got her UK Visa. My guilty secret? I havnt told anyone in my family....
(wackers1, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 9:45, Reply)

..and it's still there
A while ago my slightly geriatric boss left his cell phone at work. I did what any good Christian would do and took a picture of my nut sack and assigned it for the background of his phone.

He came in later that day to get his phone and I stifled a smile as he checked his messages. It's been two months.

Not so much length as texture.
(anotherlogan and the whit he shites, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 7:27, Reply)

Bloody "nose".
As a young teenager, I was forced to visit my father out of state for several weeks during the summers. One fine day, during one of these summers where I was probably 13 or 14 years old, I snuck off with a young lady I'd been seeing who was several years my senior (but still a teenager herself). We ended up in the basement of her grandparents' house, where we proceeded to do the sorts of things young couples do together in dark rooms. Before the, erm, task was finished, we were interrupted by the sound of an adult coming downstairs. We quickly dressed and turned on the light, acting like the innocent angels everyone thought we were. We were summoned upstairs to be social, and that was the end of our fun for the day.

After I got home, I stopped in the bathroom to take a leak. I unzipped my shorts, pulled myself out, and *almost* passed out from the sight of blood. (You have to keep in mind that at that time I had very little knowledge of such things) I was covered in blood, and my formerly pristine tighty whities now appeared as though they'd been involved in a murder scene. I cleaned up as best as I could, and in my fright, neglected to put said underwear in the garbage, instead putting it in the hamper with the rest of the dirty clothes. Queue a very strange conversation with my stepmother the next day when she discovered them while doing laundry. Thinking quickly, I told her I'd had a bloody nose and grabbed the first thing I could to absorb the blood as I didn't want to drip on the new carpet. She bought it, but I ended up doing everyone's wash (dad, mom, 3 step-brothers) for a week for being so careless as to throw bloody underwear in with the rest of the clothes.
(WillF http://www.flickr.com/photos/silverfischdotnet/, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 3:19, Reply)

horny dogs and children...
...so in my youth I lived in a picturesque suburban court. All the families that lived there got along and played cricket and chasey, etc. Weekends were like the opening sequence to Neighbours with the smiling and waving as you go out to get your paper.

But there was one kid that none of us could stand, he was kind of like Toady, except we hated him (and none of the people on Nieghbours seem to hate Toady. Why!? He's always been a twat!). Anyways, Toady was about six and would try to get in on whatever we were doing, be it football or frisbee. One day, we were having fun, he was tagging along, when the resident horny dog made an appearance.

It just happened that this dog was quite a large doberman, we shall call him Bruce. And Toady was petrified of him, especially when Bruce had wood.

So as all the kids scatter back inside, up trees, etc, Toady approaches me, teary eyed and hysterical, begging for help and advice on what he should do...

...I told him that if he got down on all fours in the middle of the court, Bruce would think he was another dog and not attack him...
(lessmiserable, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 2:57, Reply)

always scat... scat scat cat
not so much terribly guilty secret but I havent let on.. and I did blame my brother, and force my mother to clean it up...

After the usual combination of cider and what ever was a pint for a quid in the wetherspoons that evening, come chucking out time one was merrily.. well merry... for once not tankered...

the walk home with best mate was a mile, so 15 minutes... 10 minutes in I get the usual belly rumbles of an imminent explosion... no worries I can hold this no problem...

we arrive at my parents gaff... but we were waffling and it wasnt feeling all that bad... infact it was so incontrol I was able to have a quick 2 min conversation outside the hosue arranging the next evening...

belly rumbles... so a tally hoe is said and off up the drive around the back... this is no mansion... think 20 seconds up round back and through awkward gate...

then fluffing double locked stable doors... just 2 meters behind which was my throne...

I got through opening locks as I undid my belt and jeans... leg it through flung open the door.. turned to squat...

and missed the loo by about 5 inches...

you'd be surprised to know how far thin beer poo spreads...

two hand towles and a few loo rolls later its clean... student clean (tiles floor and wall thank god)

next morning... the hand towles stashed in my room in a plastic bag werent smelling.. bonus...

but I did get rudely awoken by a moaning mum about drnking too much and being sick...

lol.. however I was incredibly spritely.. thankgod my brother wasnt...

guess who had the blame...

soz bro...

oh the cat lived in that back area.. sure she had a right good old mouthful
(feedingtimeatthezoo day 1 of his bikini diet started, Mon 3 Sep 2007, 1:27, Reply)