I'll let you into a little secret.
You know that fit bird on the dancefloor you’d die to knob? She's spent hours slimming, toning, waxing, plucking, bleaching, conditioning, straightening, exfoliating, moisturising, tanning, trimming, spraying, perfuming, painting, possibly surgically enhancing and expensively clothing every inch of her body – just to get your attention.

(This isn’t a special one-off effort, mind, but hours of dedicated upkeep every week - just to stave off the inevitable back-slide into Godzilla-dom.)

What effort did you put in? Slap on some Lynx? Get your mum to iron your Fred Perry shirt, did you? Wow.

And you think SHE’S the one with all the power????

Don't make me laugh.


(Sorry for bitterness, but all the women on the board saying 'we only have to ask, tee hee' are making me VERY ANGRY. Piss off and stop giving everyone a complex. Click 'I Like This' if you agree...)
(no way hose is staring unemployment in the face on, Mon 16 Apr 2007, 11:43, Reply)

Not me but a friend....
Just for the record, I wouldn't stoop THIS low.

"Have you, erm got anything?" breathed his newest prospective squeeze when things began to take a passionate turn.

"Not sure, but I'll have a look" answers the gentleman in question knowing full well he's out of rubber.

Now I like to think that if I were in his position, I'd fess up and say "Not tonight Josephine, let's just hold each other like two chaste lovers and discuss poetry instead" safe in the knowledge that I'm being a gentleman and that no local all night pharmacy is within sprinting distance.

Our hero simply retires to the bathroom and draws a biro line round his old boy, before returning to the dimly lit boudoir and announcing "Ooh, I found one".
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 13 Apr 2007, 14:13, Reply)

Quite the opposite, but I love telling this story
Years ago I was sitting in a pub with my mate Derek, we were playing a game whereby you shake all your change up, then stack it and try to guess whether the next one down is heads or tails. If you're right, you keep the coin and go again... and so on until the stack is done.
Whoever has the most coins wins and the loser has to buy the round of drinks.
As we were playing, Derek noticed a rather fetching girl watching.
"Hello," he said.
"Hello," she replied, "what are you doing?"
"We're playing a game whereby you shake all your change up, then stack it and try to guess whether the next one down is heads or tails," he replied.
"If you're right, you keep the coin and go again... and so on until the stack is done. Whoever has the most coins wins and the loser has to buy the round of drinks."
"That sounds like fun," she said.
"Do you wanna go?" he asked.
"Um.. OK," she said, picking up her bag and jacket and walking to the door.
Derek sat there for about five seconds before he realised she'd heard "do you want to go" instead of "do you want a go".
He shrugged, drained his beer, then walked out the door with her.
And yes, apparently she was an excellent shag.
He STILL has no explanation for this utterly random act of good fortune.
( difficultchild, Mon 16 Apr 2007, 7:30, Reply)

i once
recorded the news off the radio and then doctored the news guys voice to say that a nuclear war dad broken out and loads of people had died (lot of effort i know but it payed off)

played it in the car on the way home from a date and she demanded we head for the hills

after about a week of living in the woods "repopulating the human race" she came across a family that had gone camping who set her straight about world events

i was very unpopular with everybody i knew for a while after that

length? she didnt complain but then again we were doing it for the sake of humanity
( Reme Philips laid an epic dump on, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 9:44, Reply)

wasting everybody's time...
I recently met a woman at my local supermarket. Well... when I say "met", what I really mean is 'bought' and I suppose a more appropriate word than 'woman' would be 'pineapple'. But I stand by the use of the word 'supermarket' I'm quite happy with that particular choice thank you very much.

Anyone want some pineapple?
(Andrew Avetoom, Mon 16 Apr 2007, 13:30, Reply)

I said, "Hello, my dear, would you like a sweetie?"
Then I showed her this:



...and she was mine.
( giant_squid, Sun 15 Apr 2007, 12:16, Reply)

I'm married
So it takes:

a weekend away in a posh hotel
chocolates
flowers
her feeling that she's not fat that day
not mentioning work
good weather
me talking in soothing tones about her family
recounting romantic tales of our courting
a critical time window between 'full after dinner' and 'sleepy before bedtime'
some kind of extended massage/touching
candles and/or aromatherapy

And I usually fail at the point where she asks if I want kids and my face involuntarily scrunches into a twisted mask of loathing at the idea. That's an expensive hand job.
(Fothermucker, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 14:54, Reply)

I just sent a girl a big bunch of flowers and some DVDs
Not to get sex but because she's my girlfriend, she's really ill, I can't get round to see her at the moment and I want to cheer her up.

It really depresses me that so many people run around sniffing after sex like dogs on heat - in my experience people doing this either: a) fail and become depressed and self hating or b) succeed and become insufferably smug and weirdly neurotic. The blokes I respect are the ones who, whether single or not, can sit in a pub and have an interesting coversation without going on about who they've shagged or want to shag.

Apologies for lack of hummus but it's just so sad to see my generation falling for the Loaded & FHM type of sexual propaganda, to the extent where they just remind me of glass-eyed monkeys wanking in the zoo.

p.s. oh, and I'm not a prude - I've had plenty of sex and I'm not that bad at it either....just figure there's more to life than shallow narcissistic pursuits. like drugs for instance :)
( yes yes yes man oi mate, someone's writtten 'bum' on your neck, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 14:06, Reply)

Female Tale of Man-Trapment
Well, Dave was his name, and he was in the final year at uni (and I was in the first, thus he was cool). 'I must snare him!' I thought, in my wicked female mind. I'd known him for about six months, the odd little smile, etc, and I was getting fed up. I wanted him for mine!

The plan was set to make sure he was mine. On the Monday pre-snaring shopping went ahead. You think us girls just 'happen' to bump into you looking lovely? Bollocks. A range of seductive yet non-sluttish day clothes were purchased (tight jeans, breast-enhancing t-shirts etc - no cleavage - all part of the master plan) and a killer outfit for the Friday night (tight black trousers, black silk corset, buxom cleavage)

All went swimmingly (a little TOO swimmingly?). On the Tuesday I went out for 'Quiz Nite' at my local. Dave was there. Dave smiled. Result. Wednesday I went out to a vodka bar and had a little dance with the girls. Again, Dave was there. He was a bit drunk and wandered over to give me his number and mumble something about my hair (I hope it was nice, and not 'arrgh! there's rat piss in your hair!'). This was steamrolling ahead!

Thursday (night) I texted him and asked if he was going to the club Friday. He was. Excellent.

Get all dolled up, wear a small black shirt over my corset. Have a drink or two in the local then move onto the club. When Dave is spotted, master plan kicks off. I pretend to barely notice him (girls: devious) then took off my shirt to reveal the corsety goodness within (girls: sexual predators). Then I walked off to dance with my homosexual malefriends (Dave didn't know they were gays somehow, despite the silver trousers). Jealousy is an evil thing and had the desired effect. When I went to the bar Dave came over and bought me a drink. We chatted, etc, and he kissed me. Victory is mine! I thought, as I contemplated the near £100 (a lot of money to a brassic student) I had spent achieving this kiss.

We went back to his place for a coffee (a real one not a shagging one) and kissed some more (coffee never appeared, the devious bastard (girls: hypocrites)). Obviously playing the long game, I didn't try it on nor allow him to - I'm not a good girl, I'm just a good bad girl. We're all crafty bitches really. Thinking of the wonderous relationship I had so craftily sped into life, I asked him if he wanted to go out and see a movie the next day. His romantic reply?

'Oh sorry, I can't, I'm going to Peru for six months, trekking'.

The BASTARD. You'd think he would have mentioned it before (say in the hour and a half of chatting before he went in to kiss me?!) but oh no! He was going in for the kill!

MEN! You are all EVIL LYING BASTARDS!!!
(Northern Lovely, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 11:30, Reply)

One more 'lowering of standards' story.
I work at a certain monstrous chain store (I believe it rhymes with 'al fresco') and a regular customer of mine was a rather attractive young lady.

She'd pop in when I was on a shift and we'd chat away- I started to become rather enamored with the poor girl.

One day, she came in and mentioned she'd broken up with her boyfriend.

'I'm sorry to hear that', I said, dancing an internal jig.

She mentioned she'd be at a certain club on Sunday night.

'See you there!' she said.

So I went along.

She came in, we chatted.

'I'm off for a cigarette, coming?'

I don't smoke.

As I lit the Marlboro Light, she told me (a guy she barely knows) that it hadn't been a great week. She'd been dumped and then tried to do herself in by taking a bottle of aspirin.

*alarm bells*

We went back in, I drank, we danced, I went home.

She sent me a text later asking me out to dinner during the week.

We went out to dinner.

I'll cut to the highlights of her conversation.

'You know, I was paid for sex once.'
'I like boys to buy me things.'
'I don't mind Pink Floyd, but I get tired of his music after a while.'
'Well... I like all sorts of music, but my absolute favourite band of all time is Nickelback.'

She decided that we were going back to mine. God bless my flatmate, he'd cooked a manky fish curry and the flat smelled so bad that she got a bit ill and decided to leave fairly sharpish.

So, in summary, I am too much of a snob to shag a Nickelback fan.

However, desperate times call for desperate measures. Click 'I like this' if you think I should try anyway ;)
(Generator cannot be named for legal reasons, Mon 16 Apr 2007, 16:34, Reply)

I have tried:
Being chivalrous
Being romantic
Being macho
Being incredibly cool and laid back
Being sensitive and attentive
Being a bastard
Stalking
Ignorance
Writing letters
Chatting online
Phone calls
E-mails
Talking openly and honestly
Lying
Dancing
Singing
Being who I am
Being the sort of person I hate
Romantic gestures
Fighting
Playing sports
Being nerdy
Being dim
Being intelligent
Arguing and being stubborn
Being weak and giving in
Letting the competition win
Meeting halfway
Pretended to be interested in the same things
Actually being interested in the same things
Begging
Being forceful
Being exactly who they want
Being exactly who they think they want

All of these things, though not all at the same time, obviously. With several women. I have still had no luck. I must be ugly.
( Awesome Welles petitioning for foetuses to be rebranded 'wombles', Sun 15 Apr 2007, 20:33, Reply)

Bugger
Yet another QOTW I'll have to ignore. I have no interest in reading about people lying, whining, conniving and bullying their way into people's pants, the obligitory rape jokes, and virgins being given the worst possible intoduction to sex. For fuck's sake people, think a bit less about your genitals and a bit more about not being arseholes to people, and perhaps there would be many less neurotic, fucked up women (and men) in the world.

I'm now going to answer the question I'm imagining we're being asked this week:

The fluffiest kitten I ever saw was at a cat shelter when I was 12. I wanted it ever so much, but mummy said no. Then she took me home and locked me up under the stairs.
(w0rmwood pearl, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 16:44, Reply)

The Wheelybin gesture
There is a woman down the street from me called Woolworths. She's massive and a bit 'building shaped' but I still love her. I love the way her enormous rectangular eyes, made from what can only be described as 'glass' sit either side of her door-like mouth.

I spend what seems like centuries in my loft masturbating over and over again about the way she manages to store countless cd's, dvd's and other electrical goods (along with a range of childrens wear confusingly) inside her huge square head. People wander about inside her but I know its me that she wants.

I stand outside watching from behind a lampost, always resisting the temptation from the local slags - 'JJB Sports' and 'Argos'.
I wander up to the door, my heart pounding and my lungs listening to their IPOD nano.
Cautiously I roll up the leg of my dungarees and remove my hard hat. For a second, I wonder to myself why I decided to dress like Bob the Builder today, but that thought soon drifts away. After all, I have recently been diagnosed with Schizophrenia! I can do anything I like! Beep beep.

Anyway, I point at my shin bone and scream into 'Woolworths' face "SHINNNNNNN". No response at all. Heartbroken at this, tears come rapidly from my eyes. And also from my cock. They call it 'piss' when it comes from there though. So there I am, Woolworths in front of me, completely indifferent to a crying and urinating man dressed as Bob the Builder with his shin on display. JJB and Argos behind me, sniggering and probably flicking themselves off. Whores.

What do I do? What I should have done a long time ago - I found a wheelybin and climbed inside. I pretend it's a spaceship sometimes.

Blast off!
(Andrew Avetoom, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 11:48, Reply)

roses are red
violets are blue
all of my base
are belong to you.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 17 Apr 2007, 20:40, Reply)

I think every man here
must have used "the prod technique", whereby you are in bed with a girl and she has fallen asleep and you are lying there awake with a stonk-on. Roll over and prod in back/hips until said woman at very least wanks you off. Guarenteed winner!
( currantbun is nubtnarruc backwards, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 19:58, Reply)

Mad stuff I did to lose my virginity
I'll try to keep it short.
I was an 18 y/o dropped off at college and eager to find out what the big freakin deal was about sex. In my effort to lose my virginity I "dated" a guy who: had braces, wore Abercrombie and Fitch, rollerbladed everywhere, introduced me to his social group as his "friend" after I had given him oral sex a number of times (I would've preferred "fuck buddy" over "friend"!), never took me on a date, asked "Have you tried shaving it?" upon seeing my box for the first time, never clearly defined whether he had broken up with his girlfriend back home whom he had several pictures of in his room, and instead of breaking up with me chose to ignore me for long periods of time while I sat in his room as he chatted on IM.
I now realize there were several thousand guys at my college who could've done a better job completing the task.
Grayson you were a douchebag and a lousy lay.
Click "I like this" if you agree.
(Windy Shrimp "wuz heah", Tue 17 Apr 2007, 4:50, Reply)

Women are hores.
I tried being pleasent to a girl all night and , predictably, got nowhere. So I began to ignore her and when she started to chat again I lost all repect for her. Deciding that being a total prick was what she deserved I looked her in the eye declaring "Look - I'm done with fucking about. Why don't you let me push a mars bar up you"
Amazingly she got up in silence and I led her to my room. I did the deed and then - because I was feeling invincible I made her bend over while I quickly pushed a small toblerone up her bumhole. She shrieked and ran from the room.......leaving half a triangular chocolate bar in my hand.
(Jumper, Mon 16 Apr 2007, 12:57, Reply)

According to my research
Women will sleep with you if:

You are handsome but not too handsome
You have a good sense of humour but are also a little moody
You have some experience but not too much
You are well-dressed but not vain
You listen to their problems like a friend but are simultaneously a little distant
You are attentive but not slavish
You are sexually profiicient but not perverse or demanding
You have a social life but prefer her to your friends
You have a job but always make time for her
You like her friends but don't fancy them
In short, that you are what she wants, when she wants it, to the degree she expects, and are able to automatically know her desires before she does.

Is that all? No - but it's a start.
(Fothermucker, Mon 16 Apr 2007, 9:27, Reply)

BO!
I met a girl on monday.
We went for a drink on the Tuesday.
By wednesday I was in her pants.
The dirty nymph wanted it all week as well.

I had to take sunday off though as my old fella was raw.

I love teh slags me.

Signed,
Craig.
(UnstableDan Bah, Humbug! ooooh, humbugs, nyom!, Mon 16 Apr 2007, 10:01, Reply)

Jemima
I met this one bird last year just passing through the town. I remember it like it was yesterday - I'd just walked over the bridge, and my fucking shopping bag ripped. I'd only gone out for a loaf of bread, a few pints of milk, some butter and some cheese. It went everywhere, the bread bag ripping (it was one of those paper ones from the bakers - I'd just chucked it in the bag with the other stuff for the supermarket), smearing gravel up what was going to be part of my tea. Anyway, she just sort of crept up slowly and nudged it towards me. I smiled at her, got up, pulled my stuff together, had a bit of a chat with her, y'know, gave her my name and stuff, and went off.

Over the next few weeks, we began to see each other more often. She was really shy at first, but over time she got more adventurous. We decided to meet up every day, so I'd come and meet her at the bridge, we'd have a chat, maybe sit down on the bench and have a sandwich together (I always brought one and she shared with me). Throughout our chats, I discovered her name was Jemima. She was a real lover of nature - one day when she was a kid, she just got adventurous and started going out on long walks, and now, years later, she was out all the time. She was exceptionally fit, and fittingly, was a shade of brown all the time.

As the months moved by, we grew a lot closer, but the oddities started to come out. She wouldn't eat many things, and it took a lot of coaxing into getting her to try new stuff. For example, a lot of meats she simply hadn't tried for some reason beyond me, but she got into it eventually. I also started to notice she always seemed to wear these orange shoes. At first I didn't pay much attention to it, but come rain or shine, she always wore those shoes. It suited her, I'll admit, but orange? That's a bit crazy.

Anyway, here's where it ties together. Because, after meeting up with her everyday for about 4 months, nothing really happened. I dropped hint after hint after hint that I wanted to be with her, paying her compliments, sheltering her when it rained, she didn't seem to get the message. Finally, I confronted her about it, and got told she sort of liked me, but wasn't what she'd normally go for! So, what did I do? Like any man looking for some action from some fit bird, I told her I'd change.

And I did. I started doing all these mad things to get her to like me. I started to dress like her, in browns and blacks. I started wearing nutty orange shoes. I started hanging out with her a lot more, mimicking her with my body language to get her to notice me. I even painted my head green, because she said she liked that kind of thing! She got me to do crazy stuff, like go asking people for food, yelling at kids that came past, pissing around in the lake we used to sit by. Fucking hell, I was absolutely mental to be doing all this stuff for her, I could've got arrested. But then it finally all paid off after 5 months of knowing her!

And there was another bonus to the story, too! I finally understand what people mean when they say 'as tight as a duck's arse' now.
(ratthingbazzterd, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 23:00, Reply)

I once serenaded...
...a girl outside her window. I hired a string quartet as backing band and sang a sad aria from Puccini while dressed as a romantic pirate. I also had four dozen red roses delivered and a pepperoni pizza.






Unfortunately, I got the address wrong.
(E-mail Zola Son of Che, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 10:17, Reply)

At school
I walked around all day with my trousers tucked into my socks to impress Deborah Turnbull. I was 14. My teacher called me an 'imbecile' and Deborah didn't speak to me for the next two years.

I ride a bike to work now and occasionally arrive with trousers tucked in. Just the other day, a secretary bared her breasts at me and beckoned me into the stationery cupboard for a blow job with loads of tongue action. So fuck you, Deborah Turnbull.

Actually, that last bit's not true.
(frankspencer, Tue 17 Apr 2007, 17:02, Reply)

Not so much mad – just a pain in the arse really.
To get this one girl to have sex with me I had to:

- Learn how to use ridiculous and irritating text speak.
- Pretend I was a huge fan of Avril Lavigne.
- Lie about my age.
- Act as if I was a lot stupider than I really am.
- Pretend I hated my parents (I really don’t – we have a great relationship).
- Watch Hollyoaks every single day, even though I can’t stand it, just so we’d have something to talk about.
- Send photos of someone else just so she’d agree to meet up with me.
- Arrange to meet up in secret because I knew other people might not approve.
- Stifle her screams of terror.


It was defintiely worth it though. :)
(BIV was recently envatted., Mon 16 Apr 2007, 14:34, Reply)

not mad - but effective
A friend of mine claims to have the secret to bedding women. It's a paintbrush.

Not for painting a wall, but for water-colours. The kind with a .5 centimetre head of silky soft bristle. He uses it to paint women - actually paint on their skin. It works like this:

in a bar or wherever, he takes out his brush and says he's a painter. This garners mild interest and he gives them some spiel about painting the lines of a body. In fact, he's willing to demonstrate.

Ladies - you know when a man touches your neck with barely perceptible finger strokes? Or your wrist, or the inside of your elbow, or your collar bone? With a fine brush, that sensation is doubled. He begins with the wrist and the hands, and explains that the whole surface of the skin is criss-crossed with such lines of sensation, increasing in intensity the nearer you get to erogenous zones. Collar bones are electric, nipples are defibrilating, labia are a direct lightning strike. It's a persuasive pitch.

And once they've felt that delicate brush tracing patterns around their perineum and clitoris, around their buttocks and a-hole, their desire for cock is pretty much animalistic.

Genius.
(frankspencer, Sun 15 Apr 2007, 20:29, Reply)

It was a combined effort...
At the ripe old age of 17 my best mate and I decided it was time I finally lost my cherry so we started checking out likely suspects in the neighbourhood.
Eventually, we discovered the girl who worked the late shift in the local service station was not completely repulsed by the idea, but had a (older, possessive) boyfriend and didn't think it was a good idea to run around behind his back.
"Bollocks!" cries the mate, "I'll take care of that!"
So a few weeks later we're at a party, the girl is giving me the eye and my mate takes the plunge. He walks up to her boyfriend and asks him to tell him all about the one subject everyone has ever avoided discussing with him.
Delighted, the boyfriend accepts, drags my mate off to a quiet corner and proceeds to bore/scare the hell out of him.
In the meantime I nip off to the bathroom with his girl and ... about a minute later, emerge a MAN!
Oh yeah, I hear you say, so bloody what? That's not very daring is it?
Here's the question my mate asked to get the boyfriend out of the way:
"So after you were booted out of the SAS you had a pretty bad trot for a while and I know you ended up in jail for multiple assaults, what was it like?"

My mate, by the way, appears to have enjoyed his brush with death and now makes a very nice living working with high explosives at a uranium mine in remote Australia.
I suppose once you've distracted a psycho so a friend can shag his missus, anything else is a doddle.
( difficultchild, Sat 14 Apr 2007, 1:01, Reply)

Am I bad?
So getting hot and heavy under the covers at a friends house with a girl I met 10 minutes ago at the party downstairs.
Never met her before (or since) and as it was the 80's... we're heading to shagtown!

Suddenly!

"Do you have a condom?" she asks
Frozen with what can only be described as cock-softening fear I replied... "of course!" LIES!!!!
"Um... let me just... aha... ok ready to go" I say pretending to fiddle with the non-existent latex.

Was a fantastic shag though... kind of one of those fear ones that go by too quickly but was very exiting! (like a rape I presume).

Anyway, had to... 'release'... in my hand as I'm not a bad guy.

Although I did wipe it on the back of her coat on the way out. Ahahahahahaha
(Crash0ng does not recognise your line., Mon 16 Apr 2007, 16:00, Reply)

God theres some shameful stuff when i think about it.....
How about the time i drove someone from Brum to Oxford Without my glasses on at 2 in the morning so she could return her satnav to a friend , Result = Shag
Or the time i took a friend to a swingers party only to watch her get ganged by 6 coloured gentlemen, Result = Not a sausage
Oh god, ive always wanted to see 2 guys together she says.... Result = 2 Shags and a sore bum (Im not even bi, she was very very hot in my defence)

Ive got hundreds of these so its best i stop now lol
(Brother_Will, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 14:42, Reply)

Hmmm
I took a mouthful of my own jizz in return for a blow job from my bitch of an ex does that count?

Edit // I would like to add it tasted fucking disgusting worse than any sperm I have ever tasted.
(obesevegan wont pay for b3ta credit crunch etc excuse, Fri 13 Apr 2007, 11:13, Reply)

it definitely became easier
when I worked out it wasn't me that was supposed to take the Rohypnol...
( dan j the filthy bastard, Tue 17 Apr 2007, 20:04, Reply)