Shelter house at the city park.
Not the first time for either of us, but our first time together.

We had a splendid date at the movies, and walked through the city park at about midnight. The fog rolled in as we sat at a picnic table and talked, snuggling closer, which led to other things and then the good stuff, under the cover of darkness and fog.

She was not one of my favorite girlfriends, but this was definitely one of my favorite times.
( setimret likes his metaphors mixed, not stirred, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 15:07, Reply)

Bring me sunshine...
I gave my boyfriend a blow job under the statue of Eric Morecambe in Morecambe. I like to think he would have approved.
(axlette, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 15:07, Reply)

Fairly public
I lost my virginity in a Dillards changing room.

A class act, that one.
(TheManWhoWas SlightlyKnackered, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 15:03, 3 replies)

mmm...
beach: check
cinema: check
club: check
street: check
stadium: check
park: check
graveyard: check
train: check
auditorium: check

I'm shy and don't like outdoors sex, but hey...
(fred foobar Yeah, whatever..., Thu 23 Apr 2009, 15:02, Reply)

Not car sex..
Back in the day, young Sparkie was very easily led, and madly in love into the bargain. Not a good combination.

Now, the first ever boyfriend was 3 years older than me, and wore black leather, and rode a motorbike. Oooh the danger.. the excitement!

Well, it would have been, if he wasn't just a daft kid, same as me. And an eedjit that hated getting wet in the winter. Hence his decision to keep the motorbike in the garage for the winter, in favour of a Reliant Regal, not the van version driven by the Trotters.. oh no.. this was a car version..

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reliant_Regal

It's even the same colour.....
The Reliant Regal, as you can see, is a very small vehicle, rendered horribly unstable by it's lack of a wheel.. You hardly ever see them any more, which is a good thing in my book.

Anyhoo, there we were, the maiden and the muppet, rattling along a country lane, fired up with lust. (and three pints of Springfield Bitter apiece)when he spies an open gate to a field, and just aims his chariot, it's off camber and the angle is a bit scary but it should be OK if we don't go too mad.

Yeah right, two semi-drunk bags of hormones, not going too mad..

The next thing I knew just as the eedjit seems to be trying to fit both hands into my pink mitten, and visions of Sooty floated into my head totally ruining the moment, there's a horrible crash, and the world goes sideways. I was gazing up at a very starry sky, punctuated by low level groaning and swearing from the young man who was now beneath me.

"Arse" I added to the muttering, and managed to clamber my way out of the window, I left my shoes in the "Car" and squished my way out of the field and onto the road. Luckily, the sight of a stunned looking lone female wearing mud instead of shoes caused the first car to stop very quickly. Unluckily, this was a very quiet lane, so this had given the ex plenty of time to extricate himself and join me in an explanation of wtf we were doing there..

Willing hands soon got the "Car" as right as it would ever be, and we were soon off wobbling and ratting down the road home..

It doesn't count as Car Sex, if there wasn't any sex, or there wasn't a proper car, does it?
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:58, Reply)

As a teenager...
I was having many-a-fumble with a local farmhand. Being 15 and living in t’country, these generally took place outside, the tops of bale-stacks, fields, copses…you get the idea.

The village I lived in at the time consisted mainly of a large theological college with expansive and lovely grounds. Thusly I could often be found bouncing up and down in a clump of trees on the outskirts of said gardens.

Then one day I was found,

by the President of the College and the Bishop of Oxford, who were having a post dinner stroll and discussing ecumenical matters.

Worst bit about it was probably the fact that the President was very good friends with my Dad.

It still makes me cringe now.
(Bliss/Full up to the brim, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:58, 4 replies)

Where were you in November 2006?

If you weren’t on this board, I hope you enjoy this. If you were, have a totally on-topic re-post from ‘Beautiful but Bonkers’.



When I first set eyes on her she had a pair of underpants on her head, a pencil stuck in each nostril, she was wearing a tee-shirt saying ‘You don’t have to be mad to be me, but it helps’ and she was saying “Wibble”. I don’t know how I didn’t notice that she was as cracked as Humpty-Dumpty after a five storey dive onto a crazy-paved patio. She even showed me her passport, which had her occupation down as ‘Das Fruiten-Loop’.

OK, so maybe none of the above was true in the strict meaning of the word, but Ursula WAS German, and pretty damn gorgeous. I hadn’t actually taken much notice of her at first, but my mate Joe had. This was when I was working on the beaches in Nice, and I’d met Joe at the hostel we were staying at – not an official Youth Hostel, but a ‘Relais pour les jeunes’ or something. So Joe had noticed Ursula and had invited her along to an impromptu party on the beach that night. This was just a few of us international guys passing round bottles of very cheap red wine one way and home-made cigarettes with a certain Moroccan flavouring the other.

Anyway, we were all lying on the pebbly beach in a circle, facing the centre. Joe had positioned himself next to Ursula and I was on the other side of her. Now what I didn’t realise was that she was besotted with ME!! I have to admit that I was at the peak of my attractiveness at that time, age 21, lean and tanned from bumming around with a backpack for months. Ursula was lovely – almost white blonde hair cut in a bob, amazing clear brown eyes – very unusual – fair of face, spectacular body…18 years old.

The first inkling I had that she fancied me was when (with Joe’s arm draped across her back) she turned towards me and asked me if I could speak any German. So, being the wily young fox that I was, I leaned in a bit and said huskily: “Ich leibe dich”. Well, rarely can a declaration of love have been so rapidly rewarded! She said to me “I love your voice, it reminds me of an English DJ that is on the radio in Germany, you sound just like him” then she leaned even closer and proceeded to give me a snog that rated 6.1 on the Richter scale. Poor old Joe didn’t stand a chance.

Bear in mind, we were in the middle of a circle of people, chatting, smoking and drinking around us and yet we were also alone in that special place that couples go when they are concentrating on each other to the exclusion of all else. Then she reached down inside my jeans. My months on the road had lost me a couple of inches around the waist, and I was also going commando – less washing – so it wasn’t hard for her to locate ‘little Che’ who was actually not so very little at that moment. It was all I could do to un-glue her from my mouth, re-do-up my button fly and drag her to a more secluded spot.

We went a couple of hundred feet along the beach until I could restrain her no more. We sank down in the area of shade with our feet towards the twenty foot over-hang from the promenade. She pushed me down on my back, ripped open my jeans then managed to pull her own trousers and undies down to her knees. She climbed onto my waist and with no more ado, impaled herself enthusiastically, rapidly and repeatedly on Little Che. At this point, I hadn’t had a shag in months but patrolling the topless beach on a daily basis meant that my bollocks were as big and firm as a pair of ripe passion-fruit. It wasn’t long before they disgorged their seed and Ursula disengaged and climbed off.

Now I’ve had some decent sex in my time, but that was the one and only time I got a spontaneous round of applause and a cheer at the end. During our impromptu performance, a group of on-lookers had gathered on the promenade above us were polite enough to wait until the end of Act I, Scene I, before showing their appreciation in the time honoured way. We were too modest to take a bow but grinned shyly and sloped off into the shadows and made our way back to the hostel.

What then followed was a night of passion to file away in the memory for those times in years to come when I might need to cheer myself up. I hope and pray that each and every one of you has (or has had) a night like that. As I said, I was staying in a hostel and, as a favoured long-timer, who was also working, I was sleeping for free on the floor of one of the big dormitories in my sleeping bag, as was Joe. Ursula, as part of a school group was upstairs in a small room with her classmates. We went ‘back to mine’ and as soon as the lights went out we commenced on Act I, Scene II. We only stopped when the sun was coming up and it was getting light again. At times like that you count…and the full play was in three Acts, with at least two Scenes per Act, in a full dormitory with about twenty people in it, I don’t think poor old Joe got much sleep either that night, though I suspect he had to hang his sleeping bag up to dry in the morning.

Now if only she’d been leaving the next day, things might have been different – one night of passion and then gone. But no, next day, there was a big fuss; her teacher had been alerted to the fact that she had not been in her room all night, she was effectively put out of circulation and then she started crying. Each time I saw her, she was surrounded by disapproving looking German girls and boys and teachers, she would burst into tears and start really quite embarrassing stuff like calling to me and pleading.

I honestly can’t remember how long this went on, but we were kept apart and yet so near for what seemed like ages. On their final night, we managed to get five minutes to talk and she wrote me a message in my little address book, which I still have, and have since had translated. It reads (capital B used for the double s thing):

“Ich glaube daB Du Dein Leben total genicBt. Ich finde das super. Fur mich ist das auch der beste Weg mein Lebern zu genieBen. Ich liebe verruchte Menshchen, so we Dich Das ist wondervoll Ich glaube das reicht. Okay, Ursula”

["I think you completely enjoy living your life. I think that's great. For me, that's also the best way for me to enjoy my life. I love crazy people like you. That's wonderful. I think that's enough. Okay, Ursula"]

The story doesn’t end there though. I went to stay with her and her family later in the year. If you want to know what happened, see the ‘best of’ page for ‘Debt Pron’ (sorry, can’t do linky things).
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:58, 3 replies)

Geriatrics and Mongs
I've not really had any 'interesting' al fresco experiences of my own as of yet, but one of my most peculiar memories is of being a young lad of about 12 years of age.

It was a hot summer morning in 1995, and I was watching the Saturday morning cartoons, probably Animaniacs, Taz-Mania, or something of such ilk.

In my young entertained state, I was startled out of my Saturday-morning euphoria by a rather peculiar series of moans and screams emanating from outside (we only had single-glazed windows at the time), and the yells of what sounded like a feeble old man.

"What the hell's going on outside?" asked my mother, who was too busy feeding my sister to get out of her chair and look.

I don't know if I regret looking, but it's something that will never leave me; across the grass verge in front of my house was a main road, and on this road was a bus stop. At this bus stop, there was a very old man flailing and screaming, waving his walking stick, and yelling to every man alive that it was "bloody disgusting!" and "You dirty Bastards!"

It was then that I noticed the source of his ire: two mentally disabled people, one man, one woman were banging away at each other, in their own special little way, against the bus stop. That's right, the screams were emanating from two howling mongs fucking, incessantly yelping away in pleasure as some geriatric felt the need to berate them while they were at it.

"What's happening?" my mother asked again, seeing my startled, slack jawed face.

"Uhh... nothing?" I replied, as I slowly climbed on to the sofa, curling in a foetal position.

I could distantly hear my mother saying
"Oh, they're at it again..." as I tried to wash the images out of my brain, slowly trying to reclaim my innocence through the colourful, flashing images on the TV screen.

I didn't find out the length, but it had learning disabilities.
(Lythium deals in lead, my friend., Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:57, Reply)

Blow Job, Interrupted
Aged 14, first girlfriend (feisty little minx as it turned out), in a local park after dark, totally empty except for us.

After some snogging and general awkward teenage fumbling, she breathily says 'Do you want to get more comfortable?'
'Holy shit!' I'm thinking, 'This is it, this is it!'
'Er, yeah?' I manage to mumble feebly. Smooth.

As it was, 'getting more comfortable' meant sticking my coat on the ground and lying on the cold hard concrete, but whatever, there's a good chance I might actually go from virgin nerd to the king of all sex here and it could be on the top of a monkey puzzle tree for all I care.

So there we are on the ground, the fumbling progressing to hitherto uncharted territory, when she asks, quite coolly, if I'd like a blow job. That'll be a blow job. A. Blow. Job. And would I like one? Me? Blow job.

In the 2 nanoseconds it took me to answer in the affirmative, I'd already got my kecks off, my mind racing, my heart pounding. 'Just wait till the lads at school hear about this,' I think, 'I'll be a hero!'

She's edging agonisingly closer to my old chap and I'm just about beside myself with anticipation and excitement at this stage (to be fair though, my helmet might well have actually exploded had she managed to make gob-to-bell contact).

Then, just at the point where my little man was about to know his first tongue bath, there's a shout from out of the darkness. A loud, angry shout. And then another and another. And some barking. Loud, angry, police dog-type barking. Oh bollocks. Oh shitty bollocks, what's this?

Turns out there had been a spate of break-ins in the houses that backed on to the park, and as it hadn't been quite as dark when we got there as I'd previously imagined, someone had spotted some shadowy figures lurking about suspiciously and called the rozzers. The icing on the cake was the fucking police helicopter lighting the place up with its power-of-a-million-suns beam, searing my soul like a teenager mortification ray.

There was to be no blow job. We broke up shortly afterwards and I still remained a virgin nerd several years later. Rasclart.
(Crayola Oblongata Is it Monday?, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:50, 2 replies)

The blowjob that never was
Okay, now as a younger Fredzlet I used to smoke rather a lot of weed. A lot of the people I hung out with also smoked a fair bit, so for these reasons a room was often set aside at parties for those of us wishing to get fantasticaly stoned. On one occasion though, a party at my friends I beleive the house was rented and smoking was banned inside, so my friend thoughtfuly supplied chairs and such in the shed at the bottom of the garden.

Now, I was in the shed, relaxing in a chair, staring in a post-joint haze at the ceiling. The stoner crowd had thinned out a little, leaving me in the shed with a girl I vaugely knew from somewhere. At one point she leaned over me to fix another joint and someone walked in, stammered an apology and left. I thought nothing of it and continued to smoke and chat with this girl, probably about how stoned we both where. Stoners can get very boring.

Anyway, I stagger back inside to be met with my mate. She doesn't look fantasticaly happy and hisses in my ear "was xxxx giving you a blowjob in the shed?" After a few seconds of hazy confusion I realise that in the dark shed, whoever had walked in would have been met by me leaning back in a chair, looking fantasticaly relaxed with a woman leaning over me. It would have been easy to assume I'd been receiving a blowjob. I swear to god in my head I was framing a sentence or two that would explain completely exactly what had happened, and calmly let my friend know what had happened.

But no, in my stoned state I just giggled for a good few seconds, a massive stupid grin plastered across my dumb face. She rolls her eyes and looks disgusted with me. Okay, I think, that's odd. So I do a quick assesment of what has happened. I've certainly not denied and possibly verified a rumor that I was getting a blowjob in the shed. Not the worst thing that happened, I'm sure. What else? Oh shit, I realise. The girl has a boyfriend, I vaugely know the guy. Oh fuck. And he's here, at the party. Double fuck. He's a lot, a lot bigger than me. Triple fuck.

It's at this point that several joints worth of paranoia kicks in, and I spend the next half hour planning my escape from the party. I'm pretty sure there's a moral to this story, possibly several.
(Fredz A graveyard of hopes, a dump of ambition, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:49, Reply)

High risk factor
- In a photo booth in the middle of a crowded market (those curtains really aren't long enough)
- Mid afternoon in the middle of the Star Garden in the Palace de Versailles
( Devon Dan without geometry, there would be no point, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:45, Reply)

Anyone remember the Love Boutique in the Arches in Glasgow ?
and how they had a narrow stage under the projection screens where the loved up and wide eyed would gaze out onto the dancefloor below ?

Remember the stunning redhead in the tight rubber dress who used to wriggle about bent at the knee as if she was being taken from behind ?

She was .
( fudboy high ideals and crazy dreams, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:43, Reply)

Is it classed as public when it involves a bunch of stoned lads waiting outside a window in Amsterdam for their mate to finish?
A few years ago a group of about 11 of us went to Amsterdam for a weekend. This was as a send of to Gaz, who was buggering back off to South Africa to live, and the trip to the Dam was his idea. Most of the people there were just passing acquaintances of mine, apart from Gaz and his cousin Dave, whom I knew quite well.

And so we arrived and pretty soon found ourselves holed up in a nice little hash bar where we got ourselves nicely stoned and more than a little bit pissed. Then a tour of the cultural highlights was suggested - namely the red light district and, er, a fast food outlet selling massive pizzas. I say massive; they looked big but our collective mental states probably meant that actually, they were probably quite average.

Now, I was there for the trip and the company and nothing else (even though I was single at the time). The idea of paying for sex has never held any appeal to me. But one or two of the lads had different ideas.

Including Gavin. Gavin was there as a favour to his sister, who happened to be going out with one of the lads on the trip. A bit shy and awkward, but seemed a nice enough chap. We had been wandering around the red light district in a distinctly monged haze, when he stopped to look in one of the windows. “She’s gorgeous”, exclaimed he, slightly slurred.

“Well, what are you waiting for”? came an equally slurred reply from one of the group.

After some gentle cajoling by some of the group (and probably fuelled by the alcohol and weed a bit) he got up some courage and went off to the window, disappearing inside like a seasoned professional. After fifteen minutes of us waiting around outside, wondering where the next slice of pizza was coming from (and one or two trying to sneak a peak through the tiniest of cracks in the curtains), Gavin emerged, triumphantly making a show of zipping up his flies as he did so. And then he uttered the words that reduced 10 thirty-something stoned-as-a-heathen-in-biblical-times blokes to a quivering mass of hysterics…

“Lovely, that. Mind, she was tight”…
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:42, 1 reply)

I just had an email to remind me
of the guy who's dick I sucked on a bus. During rush hour...
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:40, 3 replies)

Wanking did you say?
"The Homecoming"

I was once driving from Nairn (near Inverness) down to Hertfordshire, a journey of over 500 miles and about 10 hours in a crappy old Daihatsu with a top speed of 85mph. I'd listened to some tapes, listened to the radio, I was bored. Very bored. So I decided to have a little tug on the A1 as I was passing through Northumberland.

There wasn't much traffic about, it was quite late, about 9pm and winter so it was pitch black both inside and outside of the car. No one could see what I was up to as I "zoomed" southwards in the fast lane.

It was an OK wank, nothing special but it did the job and before long I withdrew my hand from my underpants. The area from my index finger to my thumb was sticky, I had no tissues or rags to hand so I licked my fingers clean. Wasn't much I could do about the mess in my pants though.

The thing I find about long journeys is it's better to get them over with as quickly as possible. I'd made this journey a few times and never stopped for a break. If I stopped, I didn't want to start again. I had to keep on going so I lit a post-onanal cigarette, wound down the window, sat back and relaxed.

Have you ever sat in a chair with your own spunk trickling down your arse crack for hours on end? I can confirm that it is not the most pleasant of sensations. Then, as the gloop starts to dry out*, a crust forms which binds your hairs together into a kind of pubic mohawk with your tip peaking out from underneath looking like a toothless one-eyed punk rocker. That's how I sat for the next 250 miles.

When I arrived at my destination thinking "thank fuck that's over", I flung open the car door and jumped out for my first stretch in half a day. "Aaargh! Fuuuck!". I had almost managed to garote my own glans with a pubic cheesewire. Thankfully, upon later inspection, my shaft had proven to be robust and instead I had managed to rip out a sizeable patch of hairs which were stuck fast and sticking out from under my foreskin.

I peeled my jeans from my arse crack and went inside.

*It takes about 3 hours to completely dry if you point the hot air blower in the general direction in case you were wondering.
( stopmeandslapme Cometh the hour, cometh your mum, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:39, 7 replies)

To be honest, I hate outdoors sex
It's always rushed, scary, cold, uncomfortable and there are never any tissues for post coital clean-up. There's nothing quite like the sight of your girlfriend squatting in the bushes ineffectively wiping her twat with an ATM receipt to put you off sex for life.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:38, 8 replies)

One-man show
I was once indulging in some pre-shag dirty talk with a young man and we got onto the subject of outdoor shenanigans. I gleefully filled him in on the filthy, exciting times I'd had and he returned the favour, telling me all about the park, the forest, the swimming pool, his car, the pub...

Turned out when he said "sex" he meant "wanking". It dulls the fantasy somewhat when it's actually just a bloke with his hand in his trousers, hoping he'll be spotted by random passers-by.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:36, Reply)

My mates at a club.
Me and my mates are at a club having fun and getting drunk. This rather drunk girl wanders up to one of my mates (this one to be presice: b3ta.com/questions/pythonshame/post386153 ) and slurs quite loudly: "I wanna suck your cock"
He tells her he has a girlfriend and a look of disapointment crosses her face, tunil another mate grabs her and drags her off to the bathroom. He comes back 10 minutes later with a huge grin on his face.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:36, Reply)

One thing that no one tells you about sex on a beach
Sand gets everywhere. I really mean Every. Friggin. Where.

You think shiting sand is bad? Try pissing it!
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:32, 1 reply)

Wahey, public sex and nightclubs
I didn't think of this in time to post for the nightclubs question, so I'm glad this came round.

I was in a rock club in Bristol and, as in my story here www.b3ta.com/questions/nightclubs/post401562, had wee in me, so I went to the loos.

These loos were better maintained than the other ones - there were 3 cubicles, all with thick clangy metal doors, all with locks on them. Also there wasn't a man making small waves in a puddle of piss with his snoring.

I go into the cubicle on the right, and from the left of me I hear a girls voice saying

"No Aaron"

Hmmm?

"Not that way"

OK, I think I know whats going on here

"That way is shit"

Bwahaa

The moral of the story is, if you are going to be bad at having sex with someone in the toilets be sure to have a generic name, like Dave or Steve so you can at least have some anonymity, and avoid conversations like "Hi my name is Aaron" "Oh, are you 'that way's shit Aaron'?"
(teebie jeebie, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:30, Reply)

Hampstead Heath
GF at the time was a horny bitch (and a bitch too but that's another story)

We're talking about sex and she tells me her willingness for naughty outside sex amoung other things. (aparently I was too wide for her to do anal)

One fine, cloudless, full moon, evening I was drving her back to hers for some fun time. !0 minutes away from hers she suddenly declares that she can't wait any longer, showing me her recently removed wet knickers as proof and demands that I stop here, just by Hampstead Heath.

I park up and she leads me into the park we move through some trees and find ourselves in a moonlit field. We find a relativly dry, flat spot and proceed to get down to business. She's lying on her and I'm ontop, pounding away like a rabbit in heat.

When we'd finished, she pulls her knickers on and we walk back in the car. Both of us smiling for obvious reasons. Once in the car and proceeding on our journey her grin becomes a snigger, which starts to become a full out laugh. Feeling very self concious I ask her what;s she laughing at. She replies:
"I wonder how many gays saw your arse tonight." and breaks out into full laughter.

It's not amusing to find out your gf tricked you into sex just so she could flash your bum at possible strangers. But I still got laid :)
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:30, Reply)

Three locations
The first one I attempted was on a moving scooter. To pull this off, she wore a very loose dress with no underwear, I wore jeans with no underwear, and it was a simple matter of driving somewhere dark, unzipping, and lifting up the dress a bit. We rode around a couple blocks, passed through a fairly active street, drove by a crowded bus, and then I fell out. It wasn't particularly enjoyable as we couldn't really move around at all, so we drove back to the dark place so I could privately zip up.

Next accomplishment: we climbed a mountain in downtown Seoul and found a little two-storey temple at the top. You can see it in this picture:
www.daehanmindecline.com/digital/20090126geumho/65.jpg
At night, the place was still swarming with couples in love. We were the only ones in the mood for something this crazy. We went up to the second floor and waited for everyone else to leave. Then at midnight all the lights on the mountain were turned off. We did it in the best blind spot from the stairs so no one would see us. Every time I see that little temple now I feel sort of aroused.

Last, I've mentioned before I'm an urban explorer. Most UE sites are really not suitable for sex, but I found one abandoned hotel right in the middle of downtown Seoul where the suites were still in pretty good condition, including beds with sheets. We brought a couple bottles of wine, a camera, and a masseuse uniform, and had a nice stay for the afternoon. To see pictures of the place from an earlier visit, visit my site:
www.daehanmindecline.com/digital/20080315a.html
Maybe not public, but open to the public.

What's in store next? It's a secret, but it'll be another good one.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:27, Reply)

Sex in a Kindergarten playground.
or not.

I was fifteen. I was very into angry music. I wore skimpy black clothes and had silly hair. I met Mr Psycho (who has been mentioned on more then one occasion), through a mutual friend.

Now I would like to stress that before Mr Psycho went all crazy and mental and rapey - we had actually done the deed a few times before. This is not what happened when he couldn't keep his greasy mitts to himself.

No - this was him - a 17 year old, poodle haired boy, trying to persuade me to have sex at his mother's kindergarten. Truly - the reason escapes me as to why he wanted this so badly, it really does.
However - for whatever reason it was, I agreed to go and have a look - but on no circumstances was I going to have sex with him in public if it was going to be in the view of everyone.

So off we trudge, him chatting animatedly and me with a ever growing sense of horniness trepidation. We get there and...

It's a dead depressing sight. There is dirt and bark everywhere. There is a freaking playground - complete with smiley faces everywhere. It is bloody grim. The sandbox is quite clearly not an option - I didn't particularly want to think about how many little kids had peed there.

I turned to him - gave him a look of complete disbelief - and walked off in utter horror and disgust when he looked back at me, grinned in what I assume he thought was a "sexy" manner, and said "So... what do you think?"

I should have left him then the seedy bugger.
(Poppet some assembly required., Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:20, Reply)

working up north
and given hostel accomodation , me and my missus plus six guys so they put us in the eight person dorm made up of four single bunkbeds. Bedtime arrives ,berths allocated so that my beloved is on the bunk above me , much joking about a girl sharing our room at night then everyone goes to sleep and thats fine .

Morning comes and the noisy farty snoring men get up and go for breakfast leaving me and beloved in the room alone ...

Beloved
What
Are you awake ?
Yes
Fancy poping down for a cuddle
A cuddle ?
Yes a cuddle , and perhaps breakfast
Breakfast ?
Yes breakfast ....

A bit more euphemistic banter and beloved jumps down into my bunk and soon has 'breakfast' in her mouth and seems to be responding well to her favoured style of encouragement from me , which was largely based around what a dirty little girl she was and how she should rub breakfast on her face and.. you get the idea .

All was fine until I decided to sit up in bed to get a better view of proceedings and noticed the bunk opposite was full of a guy called Trevor , a fat sweaty virgin who was thrashing away under the covers with his eyes tight shut .

I don't think its wrong that I let my beloved finish before shouting at Trevor ,after all breakfast is the most important meal of the day
No apologies for length
( fudboy high ideals and crazy dreams, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:14, Reply)

Where to start...
At the top of the slide at the local playing fields, front of a VW pick up truck (bit cramped), in a jacuzzi in Barbados, on a golf course, in the back of a Vauxhall Astra, in the front of a VW Golf, in a cattle shed (empty at the time) with someone wearing only a pair of golfing shoes(?!), work car park, very well known airport 'Express' train, restaurant toilets somewhere in south London... Am sure I will think of others.
(Senora Veranos cannot and will not so ner..., Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:12, Reply)

Worth it, I suppose.
Like many a young'un before and since, a drunken midnight dip in the balmy summer waters of Weymouth bay quickly turned into an impromptu sub-aqua cock-wetting with a lady friend.

All got a bit 'Showgirls' for my liking, but overall we were having a merry time, so I wasn't too concerned when I spotted an interested duo stood on the beach, watching. "Doggers," I thought, as I humped away. "What's the world coming to, eh? Anyway, to business."

And with that I flushed my balls and we awkwardly detached from one another, and began the wobbly wade back to shore. Naturally the unscrupulous pair who'd been getting their vicarious oats legged it, but as they did, I notice one of them dropped what looked suspiciously like my jeans.

Nope, not doggers. Just your run of the mill, opportunistic thieves. Fuckers took me for twenty quid.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:10, Reply)

*cringes at memory*
As a young, permanently priapic teenager, I once had a wank up a tree.

Seemed like a good idea at the time as I was guaranteed some privacy.

Didn't really think it through though: climbing back down was, erm, messy.
( chthonic, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:10, 5 replies)

Last Saturday
Last Saturday my best friend had a birthday party, which was a brilliant bash.

The next day this comment was posted on facebook:

"Who lost their pants in the Stable!!! Haha Oh dear"

We still don't know who's they are!
( mister.f is now married, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:10, Reply)

I'm really quite shy
But I've been given a handjob on the (fairly packed at the time) Gatwick Express, had an amazing experience on the rooftop of a Moroccan riad, and one extremely ill-advised episode approximately ten feet from the from the front door of Clerkenwell House when I was (supposed to be) DJing.

Record ran out, manager ran out(side), then ran out of patience at which point I was run out of town (well, fired)...


EDIT Oh God, and in my mother's very public back garden - with a very vocal companion. The shame.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:06, Reply)

I done it with a girl
On top of the Agglestone once.

And it was great.

Well done me.

Weight? About 400 tonnes.
( BobbyParadise, Thu 23 Apr 2009, 14:05, 1 reply)