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This is a question Mums

Mrs Liveinabin tells us: My mum told me to eat my vegetables, or I wouldn't get any pudding. I'm 32 and told her I could do what I like. I ate my vegetables. Tell us about mums.

(, Thu 11 Feb 2010, 13:21)
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And I've dredged this one up from the "repressed memory" section...
A few years ago, I was dating a girl called B. I've mentioned her before in my gambling post, about how she contributed to my major psychological meltdown.

This is about one time me and her mother had a slight disagreement.

B hadn't told her mum that she was very highly sexed. She had told her mum she'd lost her virginity, and it kickstarted a massive argument between them, as B's mum was fairly Christian, believing that she should wait until marriage before having sex.

As a result, B hadn't told her mum that I was stuffing her spam pouch with my pork sword on a regular basis. B's mum knew that we were going out, and had seen us cuddle and kiss a few times, but assumed that B was being sensible and not letting me scrape her cervix with my cock. She'd told her dad, but begged him to keep it a secret.

We were both filthy minded, often doing it and doing it in a variety of positions. She didn't like doing it at her parents house, but either I was more persuasive than I originally anticipated, or she wanted my cock that badly, but we ended up doing it there a few times. I always slept on the sofa there, to avoid her mum thinking that I was shagging her daughter rotten.

So, one night, I'm at B's house, watching TV with most of her family (her younger brother wasn't there. I don't think he particularly liked me nobbing his sister, but oh well). I'm sat on the sofa with B, B's mum is sat in the chair nearby and B's dad is sat in a chair further away. We've all had a bit to drink with our meal, and as such, we're ever so slightly tipsy.

"Whats the difference between jam and marmalade?"

I half slur, half whisper into B's ear. And then suddenly sober up like Satan himself has just anally raped me with a foot long dildo.

I hadn't been as quiet as I thought I was being.

B's mum had just said, "Yes, GhostAtreides, what is the difference between jam and marmalade?"

Now, for those who have never heard this joke before, the answer is "Well, I can't exactly marmalade my cock up your arse like I did last night".

But I couldn't exactly say that now, could I?

The small part of my brain that is designed for self preservation could only watch on in horror as my mouth, operating independently of my brain, uttered the ending of the joke to all and sundry...
(, Tue 16 Feb 2010, 15:22, 2 replies)

(, Tue 16 Feb 2010, 15:42, closed)
Have some chutney for that

(, Tue 16 Feb 2010, 15:51, closed)

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