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This is a question The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

Confess. Female b3tans may need to improvise.

(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 12:13)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Dirty dirty...
Back at some point in 2006, I visited a gay club. I'm not gay - but my friend of many, many years had recently come out and was constantly demanding my presence on a 'boys' night out.

He insisted and insisted that I joined him, citing as precedent the countless times he'd been 'bored to death' in straight clubs watching my futile attempts to pull.

He kind of had a point. Even after he came out, my mate still accompanied me to bars / clubs etc and acted as a great wing man. So I figured I owed him and agreed.

So on Saturday night we arrived at the appropriately named 'Hoist' located somewhere in deepest Vauxhall. This wasn't some fluffy camp Kylie love-in - more a dark and festishy affair under a railway arch, set to relentless nosebleed techno.

I didn't like it.

But I drank on through and soon I was shirtless and throwing my arms into the air, eliciting grins from leather clad, hairy-biker types and overly pumped body builders.

Soon I need a wazz. My mate kindly agreed to escort me and we fought our way to the bog. The toilets were your standard layout of 4-5 cubicles and a massive 15ft long, old-skool iron urinal. But this pissoir had an added feature that I'd never seen before in London's clubland.

When I say this urinal was long, it was deep too and came out about 3ft from the wall. I squeezed my way to a spot near the middle and was just about to unzip when I noticed the 'added feature'.

There was someone lying IN the fucking urinal.

In it.

Lying splayed out, wearing nothing but some sort of lycra bodysuit, covered in piss, fag butts and god-knows what else, was a human being, a person, a real live man. And he was lying in the piss in the fucking urinal.

In it.

'Oh how funny' said my mate, 'there's a Piss Boy here tonight, this you've gotta see...'

I stood down from my pissing position and looked on aghast as my mate and everyone else in the line peed freely over the bloke squirming in front of them. The regulars seemed non-plussed but I fought my way out of there.

My friend followed and tried to explain away what I'd just witnessed. 'It's a fetish,' he said, 'quite a common one too and this IS a fetish club.'

This was too much. So I adopted my earlier defence mechanism and tried to drink through it. I had three pints of strong lager in quick succession. I danced a bit. I smoked a lot. And then the inevitable happened. I needed to go. I really needed to go.

So back to toilets I stumbled, desperately trying each of the cubicles before I had to face that urinal. They were all full of ketamine snorting, fisting oddballs. So I turned regretfully to the pisser. It was quieter now and there was only the one bloke - who'd already started to pack his meat away and leave.

So I took my chance. I walked over. I looked down. I looked down into the eyes of the piss-drenched maniac and I started to pee.

I pissed in his mouth. I pissed on his hair. I looked him straight in the eyes and then I pissed directly at them. I pissed in his ears. And I pissed up his nose.

He blubbered and gurgled appreciatively, his eyes never leaving mine as I continued, for what seemed like hours, to empty my full, foul-smelling bladder all over the freak.

And that, is the the most ashamed I've ever been (penis involved or not).

C'est tout.
(, Wed 18 Mar 2009, 16:07, 21 replies)
Here's one I flicked off in the Carribean recently...
Isn't it awfully nice to have a mimsy?
Isn't it frightfully good to have a bush?
It's swell to have a pussy.
It's divine to own a chuff.
From the tiniest lady garden,
To the world's biggest muff.

So, three cheers for your fabulous vagina.
Hooray for your hoochie coochie friend.
Your lady bits, your cha-cha-cha,
Your cherry, or your box.
You can pierce it or tattoo it,
Or fill it full of cocks.
But don't take it out in public,
Or they will stick you in the dock.
And you won't come back!

(With thanks to Powervator and The Pythons for the inspiration)
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 12:53, 18 replies)
Tina "Manchild" Jones & the night I really want to forget...
This is going back a bit.

Thank fuck.

In my early twenties I used to work in a toyshop up in Middlesbrough. Nice job, too many fucking children getting under your feet, but its easy enough to scrape an errant child off the sole of your shoe.

I used to work with a lad named Gary, and one night we went out on the piss to celebrate the fact that it was Friday. We were quite happily getting pissed, talking bollocks, eyeing up the local talent, when a behmoth the size of a block of flats sidles up to our table. At first I thought they'd been a total eclipse of the pub, but it turns out this - thing - was actually Gary's *ahem* little sister, Tina.

She sits down and starts bitching about her day. Fair enough. Its good to have a bit of a moan sometimes.

After a couple of rounds a thought struck my booze-addled brain. I knew Tina. She looked familiar.

"Where have I seen you before, Tina?" I slurred.

She shrugged her massive fucking shoulders, causing the entire pub to shudder.

Then it hit me. I'd seen her playing rugby on the TV. For the All Blacks. She was the spitting image of Jonah Lomu, only with tits.

It was one of those summer evenings where time appears to stand still, where your stuck in your nice comfy seat in the pub like its a fucking womb. The beer kept coming, then the spirits, I may even have drank a few bottles of alcoholic fairy liquid water aka Hooch.

My mate Gary suggests we go to a club. Fair enough. What else am I going to do with my money - open a savings account? So, the three of us end up in some dodgy pisshole of a club.

It was on the way there that I realised I was absolutely fucking cunted to fuck. I ended up staggering into this dark place, finding a nice sofa, and pretty much passing out.

God knows how much time passed, but I came awake when I felt a hand on my groin. A rather forceful hand, rubbing away urgently. I opened my eyes and realised Johna Lomu was attempting to wank me off. Then, before I could stop it, Jonah Lomu had his/her tongue ferreting round inside my gob like a Yorkshire terrier chasing a fucking rabbit down a hole.

And I hate to admit it, but I started to get a little bit aroused. I started to kiss Jonah Lomu back.

After a few minutes of the most incredibly painful tonsil tennis imaginable, I remember thinking, what the hell. I asked Tina if she'd like to come back to mine.

She nodded eagerly. Even in this light, I could swear I could make out a dark patch round her mouth and on her chin where she hadn't shaved properly.

My reasoning for inviting Tina back was simple - I was gonna get a shag. That's pretty much how my thought process goes when I'm pissed:

a) Is there anyone here I can shag?
b) How can I convince/trick them into a shag?
c) Shag or
d) Kebab on way home then an evening of furious wanking over the Adult Channel free preview

So, Tina and I leave the club and are heading for a taxi. The fact that passersby were looking at me and laughing, actually laughing, didn't seem to register.

As I've said already, I was gonna get laid and that's pretty much where my brain stopped working.

One awkward taxi ride later, with Tina attempting to remove the rivets from my jeans with her teeth and me trying not to throw up beer and tia maria and hooch all over her head, we were back at my place.

It was when we got inside I noticed the smell. Imagine the sweatiest, stinkiest changing room in the world stacked high with old socks, jock-straps, and pants. Times this by a hundred and you'll get some idea of the smell emminating from Tina's pits.

"Why don't we have a shower?" I suggested, trying not to gag.

A shag's a shag, Spanky - that was my silent mantra now. A shag's a shag.

"That would be lovely!" Tina exclaimed, and I directed her towards the shower. "Are you gonna join me?" she asked plaintively.

I could hardly say - "No, on account of there barely being enough room in the bathroom to for your fat arse, let alone an entire other human."

So I simply said I'd have one after and went to find some more booze. I was in danger of sobering up here.

When Tina returned she was naked. Or, at least I think she was. It was hard to tell past the rolls of excess skin and flab. I actually shuddered.

I didn't bother with a shower because Tina made it quite clear she wanted to get down to work. She pushed me back onto my sofa, knocking the wind out of me, and she proceeded to suck on my John Thomas as if she was doing CPR. It hurt. But I was getting my cock sucked. Fair trade off in my book.

After a while she asked if I'd: "Go down on her."

I declined, instead I said: "I just wanna be inside you..." The thought of trying to find her sweaty gash in the pounds of excess flesh was too much, I'd probably have required a compass to find my way down and I undoutbedly wouldn't ever return. I was half expecting to find the skeletal, fossilised remains of one of Tina's previous conquests stuck to her inner thigh.

And this is the terrible part...

Tina boomed: "Do you have any... you know... protection?"

My first thought was, I only hope I've got God on my side, because I'm going in but I'm not sure I'll make it out alive.

But then I figured out what she meant. Shit! I didn't have anything.

"Just a minute," I said, and I went to scout round my flat for a random johnny I might have left somewhere.

Bedroom - no joy.
Bathroom - fuck all.
Kitchen - errrr....

I opened the kitchen drawer and saw it, lying there, all inviting. Well, a shag's a shag. I told myself.

Thankfully, mini-me was standing proud. So I prepared myself and went back to my sofa, creaking under Tina's considerable weight.

"Found one," I slurred, thanking Christ I was so incredibly pissed.

And then we fucked. It was scary as hell. She was so HUGE I thought my arse was going to bang against the ceiling.

Afterwards, she dressed quickly and fucked off. And I was left there. I looked down at the spunky, gooey cling film I'd hastily wrapped round my now flacid cock. It looked like a weird bodage party specially prepared - for my penis.

It seemed to have done the trick, though.

Well, I haven't been chased for child support yet...

...or should that be manchild support?
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 13:04, 15 replies)
Piss Boy and Crab Girl Do Hampstead Heath
Ever seen a woman impersonate a crab?

I fucking have. And it was weird and strangely beautiful.

Allow me to explain.

During the recent snowy weather in London, I found myself walking home from the pub with my mate Karen. Lovely girl, known her for years. Originally from Gateshead, now she spends her time on the phone screaming: "Give me your fucking money!" for a living, as she works as a credit controller for a large City firm.

So, we're up round Hampstead Heath and we gaze out across the beautiful virgin snow. It was perfect, untouched, the ground undulated and shimmered white in the gentle moonlight.

"Jesus, that's the first virgin anything on Hampstead Heath at this time of night in fucking years," I quipped. "Hang on a minute. I need a piss."

The chill night air was wreaking havoc on my bladder.

I skipped merrily across the road, stood on the edge of the Heath, whipped out my freeze-shriveled cock, and started pissing.

And I wrote my name, as you do, in the unsullied snow. A lovely flowing script, it looked like the type of font you'd expect to see Shakespeare written in, very elegant.

Karen came up beside me as I finished.

"Bet you wish you could do that," I said, with genuine pride in my maleness.

Karen shrugged, looked round to make sure no one was knocking about, "Here," she said, "hold this." and she thrust her bag into my chest.

She walked a little further onto the Heath to a fresh patch of snowy ground.

"Stay over there, Spanky! Don't look!"

So, naturally, I looked, but I had the decency to be sneaky about it. From the corner of my eye I spied Karen wriggle out of her knickers and put them in a pocket (she didn't offer them to me to look after, the cunt), then she hitched up her skirt and squatted, clamping her hands on her knees for extra support.

She then proceeded to piss, and waddle.

It was like a mezmerising, exotic dance. Like something you expect to see the New Zealand rugby team do before a match, like something out of a Stanley Kubrick film at that point you've lost any idea about what the fuck's going on.

Steam billowed up from the hot piss track Karen was laying down and also from her breath as she laboured under her efforts.

Then she'd suddenly stop pissing, waddle crablike a few paces, and start again in a new patch of plaster-smooth fresh snow.

Waddle waddle.


Waddle waddle.


Moments later Karen beckoned me over, lowering her skirt back over her legs.

"Well," she beamed with pride. "Whaddya think?"

I surveyed her work. It was blocky, bold, not without artistic merit. But there was one overriding problem:

"Erm, it just says 'Kaz'."

Karen grappled her bag back off me, in a bit of a huff she said:

"I've only had two pints of Fosters. If you wanted 'Karen', I'd have needed at least another couple more pints."

I shrugged, not really wanting to admit that Karen had beaten my effort hands down, I felt pretty ashamed on behalf of my sex:

"I like the exclamation mark," I commented meekly. "That's fucking class, that is."

I walked Karen back to her gaff, we talked about football and cricket and other such shit, but all I could really think was: a) she's not wearing any knickers, b) dispite the dark, I'm pretty sure I just saw Karen's muff, and c) I've just been beaten in a 'write your name in the snow' competition by someone without a cock.

I feel an immense sense of shame. To everyone out there packing a pork sword, I apologise profusely.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 23:56, 13 replies)
Smack the Pony

...please forgive me.

Last one from me this week, been building up to this motherfucker.

The heady days of summer, 1993, I'm eighteen and have just finished my A-Levels. Through some fucking fluke I got excellent grades and was off to Manchester later in the year to piss about, do shitloads of drugs, and pretend to be that cunt Morrissey (only without the fucking flowers). Life was good, life was excellent.

I had a job that glorious hot summer working in a garden centre in Northampton (just opposite Sixfields for anyone who knows the area). I got friendly with a group of summer workers there and we'd end up doing the tried and tested past time of teenagers everywhere - stock up on enough white lightning to kill a tyranosaurus rex, enough packets of Royals to cause serious illness and disease to the population of your average medium-sized town, and fuck off to a field, relax in the sun, and get shitfaced.

Happy days...

Now, most of the people I used to hang round with that summer have faded from my memory on account of them having a penis. I only seem to remember the various ladies who've floated through my life - I think the vauge chance that I might actually get my end away with some lovely girly means I tend to remember them more than a useless fucking bloke. I mean, what the fuck can I do with a cock?

Anyway, this was back in the day before my cherry had been popped. (That happened when I was nineteen). And I'd developed a bit of an infactuation with a cool as fuck girl who used to work at the garden centre in the pond supplies department. She was named Katie and would hand round with us fellas, come drinking with us, and generally be more blokey than the rest of us combined.

She was also very pretty, in a Courtney Love kind of way (yes, I know - but I was only eighteen and desperate to feel the insides of a real live woman). She'd wear big black doc martins, little summery dresses with flowers, and fishnets with loads of holes in them. She was, in my teenage mindseye, fucking perfect.

One summers' evening we're sat round in a field, Katie and I and some random blokes from the garden centre. We're drinking, smoking, and listening to Jane's Addiction on a portable stereo. There's a couple of ponys mulling about too, they don't seem to mind us and just carry on grazing, doing pony-related shit.

Then we humans start to play a game. The game is simply named: Katie, Show Us Your Tits.

And she does.

And there's an awed quiet as five or six teenage lads try and hide instant rock hard erections. Seeing a pair of boobies was more impressive than having ET's spaceship land in that field and for the occupants to ask for directions to Elliot's house. It was, quite simply, awsome.

Katie's laughing at us. She's enjoying the tractor beam hold she's having on us pittiful lads.

With an evil glint in her eye she says:

"If you all give me a fiver I'll touch one of the cocks in this field," and she chuckles like a nutter, eyeing each and everyone of us up, almost rubbing her hands in glee.

Us fellas look at each other. The odds were about 6 - 1 of having a real live female stroke the luncheon meat truncheon. The odds were fucking amazing as in any other social situation the chances of getting the same were akin to winning the lottery.

So we all chip in our fivers.

Katie tucks the cash in her hemp bag and scurries off.

What the fuck is she doing?

And she approaches one of the two ponies, a little jet black fucker with a shaggy black mane, and she turns back to us, stroking the pony's back, and says:

"You ready?"

We can't turn away. We sort of know what's about to happen, but we're compelled to watch.

As Katie bends down and strokes the pony's ebony cock. She wraps both hands round the mighty member and pulls like she's milking a fucking cow. The pony doesn't seem to notice, just carries on grazing away at the grass.

But its cock certainly does.

Within moments the damn thing has trippled in size, its popped out the sheath and is dangling, hard and pink with a great black bell end.

"Ha!" says Katie, turning back to us with a sly look on her face. "Ha!" and she turns back to her pony cock.

After a few more strokes she stands, pats the pony's shaggy mane, and saunters back over to us.

"Got you all!" she giggled.

And I have to admit its my eternal shame that I was harder than I'd ever been in my life and ever have been since. Seeing that display will stay with me til the day I die as the sexiest thing my own two eyes has ever seen a woman do with a cock. OK, it wasn't my cock, and its probably a bit weird that the cock in question belonged to an animal, but I tell you what - it was damn sexy.

"Katie," I said as she stood infront of us, hands on hips, smiling down. "If I'd have known you were going to do that I'd probably have given you a tenner."

Katie sat amoung us, opened a packet of crisps, had a few and then offered the packet round.

"No thanks, Katie," I said, although it was fucking sexy I really didn't fancy the thought of eating crisps flavoured with the delicate scent of pony cock anytime soon.
(, Tue 17 Mar 2009, 10:02, 7 replies)
I'm just going to edit the question slightly...
The things I've been most ashamed of doing with I would do if I had a penis (Aka: Things i would do if I was a man for an undisclosed period of time).

1. Pee Standing Up
Whilst I am aware women can pee standing up with a bit of jiggling and faffery it's no where near as convienient as whipping out your member and letting that stream gush out over the fence/bush/next doors cat. In fact if I could pee standing up I'd go and see a U2 gig so I could piss in bottles and throw those golden bottles of love at Bono. Hopefully he would scream "I'm melting!" and disolve into a small untalented smudge on the stage.

2. Have incredibly quick Sex
Yup I'd find myself some hot chick and throw her down on the bed, stripping off and I plow deep inside of her. I wouldn't bother thinking about sandwiches or the latest debate in the House of Lords, I'd think about hot sweaty sex and I'm pretty sure I could blow my load within a few minutes leaving her disappointed and frustrated whilst I rolled over and went to sleep. In the morning I'd probably wake up and laugh at her as she flicked the bean trying to build herself up to orgasm. I'd probably then go and piss in her sink just because I could.

3 Experiment with substitute mimsies
Sticking my finger in a carefully heated watermelon probably doesn't have the same thrill as thrusting my rock hard dick into one.

4 Take Pictures of it and send it to everyone on Internet dating sites
As a man I would assume everyone posting on internet sites would want to see pictures of my awesome chunk of man meat. I'd probably take a few pictures though looking for the one that makes it look like I'm a caring kind of guy who wouldn't piss in your sink.

5. Scratch my balls in public. All the time
Not for any reason than to gross people out when they see my hand down my pants and hear that nice scratchy sound as I give my pubes a good rustling

6. Delight that my penis doesn't start dripping blood once a month
That sounds like I'd have to start showering more than twice a week, or at least change my boxers.

7. Ignore decent suggestions and just think about my cock all day
I'd pretend I was being a sweet caring guy who was open to compromise when I changed the wording of my latest fantasical idea to try and include all those whining women sorts who were jealous they didn't have the same gigantic bulge in their trousers as I did. But they are probably all on their periods or something.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 11:07, 13 replies)
Fire Engine
Picture the scene.

My grandads hundred-and-twentith birthday (well, he was fucking old) in his big old house in Coventry.

I'm five or six. Dressed in my best cloths. Sitting in a corner bored shitless while the adults do adult stuff, not fucking, just talking and being dull.

My cousin, Paula starts slapping me about. She's a bit older than me. She prods me in the back and then runs off giggling. Then she comes back and does it again. And again. Then, to add insult to injury, the adults start fawning over Paula because she can play the fucking recorder. For fucks sake! They put her in the middle of the room and listen while she plays Greensleeves - over and over and over again.

I am not a happy bunny - its usually my job to be centre of attention.

I manage to get out the room, no ones paying any attention to me anyway. Fuck it. I'm off.

I manage to open the back door and wander into the garden. Its like the Great Escape - I'm Steve McQueen and all my relatives are Germans, and Paula's the camp-fucking-commandant. I look back over my shoulder through the big floor-to-ceiling French windows. All the adults are still fawning over my evil fucking cousin, the cunt.

My young brain hit upon an excellent idea to win the adulation I deserved. This is gonna be FUCKING AWSOME!!!


Didn't go down too well.


My mum and dad were fucking livid. We even had to leave early so they could send me to bed with no dinner. I remember my mum saying: "I'm so sorry," to everyone there. Even fucking Paula!

Apparently stripping off your trousers and pants, running up to the French windows, banging on them whilst squealing "whoop whoop I'm a fire engine!", while similtaniously squeezing out a jet of hot piss so it thunders against the glass and splashes back on your legs, goes down like the proverbial



And I remember thinking while I was doing it: Everyone's gonna be so proud...
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 14:20, 9 replies)
Apparently the most shaming thing you can do is just have one...
I have one. But I'm thinking of trading it in for something else. Being an adult male (aka: "possessor of a penis") is a shameful shameful thing.

The other day I'm walking home past my old grade school - I see the kids out playing in the field and I get a bit nostalgic for my younger days. One kid isn't getting to play cause the teams wouldn't be even - so I say what the hell to myself and I hop the fence and ask the kids if they mind me joining in for a bit so we all can play - the outcast kid's face lights up like a christmas tree and ... I'm escorted off the grounds by security (when did schools get security?!?) before I can walk halfway to the field.

Apparently my penis has made me a gay pedophile.

Shameful penis!

My parents will never understand.

I get home quite upset, to find out my roommate's got her lady friends over and they're bemoaning the current economic and job situation. 5 Minutes into that conversation I find out I'm responsible for the (unforgivably low) wages and (totally undesirable) positions of millions of women I've never met, nor hired, nor negotiated salaries with.

Frikkin PENIS! The shame! Now it masterminds the economy!

I take some umbridge at some of the more colorful terms being thrown my way and my roommate, lovely lass that she is - throws a punch at me. And then another. And another. Raising my hands in defense I manage to whack her on the chin. Cops are called.

Unbelievable penis! Now it's made me a domestic abuser!

Forms filled out, bail paid - I run to the pub to drown my sorrows and maybe find a sympathetic shoulder to lean on.

I'm informed by quite a few ladies over the course of the night that my company and conversation are welcome - but only if they come with a pint or fancy drink and a shit load of chatting up - to make up for the fact that I have a (shameful) penis.

Expensively inconvenient intoxicatingly shameful penis! Your very presence demands restitution in the form of libations!
The whole world knows of your evil.

Back at a lovely lasses place later, we have a bit more wine, and get down to business ... where I find out my shameful penis has arrived ready and willing to please - but her righteous vagina is completely unprepared!

Ever-ready penis! FRUSTRATING VAGINA.

So there's cuddling, and snuggling, and kissing and nibbling, and lascivious licking, and lapping of lusciously lustrous lower lips and honestly quite a bit more work on my part which, having a penis, I'm responsible for providing so things can continue to the mutually pleasurable portion.

Slightly wilting, tired and possibly shameful in a whole new way Penis!

Yet we do succeed in a energetic coupling of drunken debauchery and mutual delight and the shameful penis is satiated for another day.

Happy penis. Happy vagina.

Except... in the morning, for reasons of her own - from her past, that evil uncle, from unbalanced chemicals, from anger, need, or whatever...

and because I have a shameful penis

On this innocent morning, after our night of doing all the same things together, she changes her mind and...

I wake up a rapist, and she wakes up a victim.

Damn fucking penis.

It's just shameful the things it does to us. Sometimes I just hate having one.

For the record, and to maybe cut back on some possible reactive comments, yes this is an imaginary story - and - I know it's not easy having a vagina either =)

but, while acknowledging that there are advantages of being a male in society - there really are some disadvantages as well...

one of which seems to be, That if you have a penis - you're a shameful person until proven otherwise, which I'm quite tired of.

This QOTW just kinda set me off I guess - why couldn't it have been the "proudest most impressive thing you've ever done with your penis"? really. seriously. HONESTLY.

I quite like mine. No shame what so ever.

That's probably obvious though =)

No apologies for anything.

*However, No defense of actual rapists, pedos, domestic abusers or the like is intended by this stupidity. Evil is evil no matter the gender. duh.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 18:56, 9 replies)
I might regret this.
In the bath once, as a youngster, I found myself struck by the sudden urge to piss. So sudden, in fact, that a little bit started coming out.

In panic I pinched my foreskin tightly and held the rest in, but that little bit of wazz demonstrated a previously alien phenomena to me. My foreskin had swollen slightly from the urine contained within.

Fuck it, I thought. Let's go down the rabbit hole.

Still pinching tightly, I started very gently letting a stream of wee into my sealed cock chamber, and fuck me sideways the bugger wouldn't stop swelling. I kept going, watching the skin stretch out and expand til my cock looked like a fleshy toffee apple.

Unable to contain myself, I shouted for brother to come witness the miracle, but hurry, you must hurry, cos I can't hold it much longer!

He pounded up the stairs, burst into the bathroom, and was greeted with the sight of me in the bath pinching my ridiculously top-heavy child nob and giggling hysterically. He pointed, let out an almighty guffaw, then FLICKED my bell-end with all his might, sending a good egg-cup's worth of piss all over my chest and face and making me cry like the child I was in the process.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 17:22, 4 replies)
Dogging with Moses
Been deliberating if I should tell this one...

Oh, well. Fuck it. Here goes -

For a heterosexual fella I've seen far too much cock in my time.

What with playing sports and general arsing about, its only normal to see your mates meat and two veg... (well, I hope it is anyway), flapping about mere centimeters from your face. Though I can swear now in all honesty I've never ever once touched another man's penis. Not when I'm sobre, anyway.

One night when I was living with my mates Ben and Ian, Ian was on the sauce and was absolutely hammered. He always was a fucking lightweight. We got him home then settled down to watch some TV, leaving Ian to fend for himself. We heard him upstairs thumping round. Then we heard him thump down the stairs and hammer about in the kitchen. He was making an awful fucking racket. Our dog, Moses, was barking like he had rabies. Loads of noise.

Then it suddenly went silent. Then Ian screamed. A shirll, girlish scream.

Ben and I rushed into the kitchen to find Ian, stark bollock naked, with his arse lodged firmly in the front loading washing maching. Moses was sat obediently infront of him, wagging his tail.

"Err, what are you doing, Ian?" I enquired.

He tried to fix his eyes on me. He grineed a toothy grin: "I've just had a shit!" He proclaimed. Then he looked nervous: "and now I'm stuck..."

The cunt! Ben and I stood on either side of our drunken housemate, took an arm each, and pulled. And Ian came free and twatted his head on the opposite wall. Fuck Ian, I thought, as he lay on the ground moaning.

I peered into the washing machine. Yep. A great steamy runny beer shit had been planted messily inside.

"I wondered what it would be like to have a shit on the space shuttle," Ian offered as way of explanation.

Ben and I were not happy. Not at all. We took the drunken fucker outside and hosed him down. Ian had managed to smear shit all up his arse and back.

After more girlish screaming, we chucked him on the sofa to let him sleep it off.

Ben put the washing machine on a hot wash to clean it, and appeared in the living room with a can of squirty cheese and a camera.

"We've gotta get some shit on this cunt," he says. And I tended to agree.

So we set about squirting a nice healty dollop of processed cheese over Ian's prostrate sleeping form. Spending more time than was really necessary covering his nads and cock in the gloop.

Then we started taking photos.

Oh, what fun!

The one thing we'd forgotten about was our dog, Moses. Now, Moses was particularly partical to squirty cheese. He padded past us and proceeded to give Ian one of the best blowjobs he'd ever had in his life, judging by the contented noises eminating from Ian's throat and the silly smile on his semi-conscious drunken face. Ian's cock was standing proud, covered in yellow goo and attached to an eger dog's tongue, but proud all the same.

Ben and I glanced at each other, wondering if we should stop this man-and-beast live sex show.

Well, we did. Eventually.

But only because we ran out squirty cheese.

And for his birthday that year Ian got a copy of the Crufts annual.

He had no fucking idea why...
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 16:10, 6 replies)
I create my own lube.
I was using my penis in a manner best described as ‘shafting’ a young female acquaintance of mine. She had recently got a clitoral ring and certainly seemed to be enjoying things and life in general. Indeed she claimed to enjoy ‘walking’ as well which is why she stopped taking the bus.


The deed was tracking to a tumultuous conclusion when I had a mis-stroke due to my lady friend’s abject enthusiasm. Unfortunately my mis-stroke (which occurred at hammer velocity) managed to catch the very tip of my urethra on a tiny snag in the ring, thus tearing my penis into two from the tip to about 2 centimetres down the shaft. The girlfriend was alright because she had sort of pushed it towards me.

This hurt slightly and I sort of pansied out and fainted. Hospital. Flashing lights. Blood. Watching my girlfriend endlessly walking up and down the corridor. The works.

No shame yet though right? Well, I was coming to that.

So about a month later, the girlfriends just come home to the flat having walked the 7 miles home again from work. She is in a state of agitation and delicately asks to be ‘seen to’ if my python can stand it. It feels ok and doesn’t hurt so we start to go for it, slowly at first then hammer and tongs.

Then she gets angry. “Why the fuck have you come so quickly?” She narked.

“Eh? I haven’t.” I replied.

We look down and see a creamy green discharge. The buttery pus from my tortured bellend oozed from our union.

“Well keep going then”.

So I did.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 15:04, 7 replies)
How to end a 3 year relationship by accident
A couple of years ago when i was in a long term realtion, as i took a long summer holiday all over america with my guy friends and staying true to her for 2 months while there were piles of poon all around for the whole time, i was promised a great and bountiful reward when i got home, which egged me on, so time comes that i get home and am welcomed at the airport by 'she' and we drive back to her house which here parents have left to her for the week, Sounds promising i think to myself
now jetlag had completely pwned me at this time so i go straight to sleep while shes at work. about 7 hours laters shes back from her part time job as a helper in an old peoples home, she informs me that the first part of my gift is in her handbag, so after a brief trip to the lav and a drink i look. there are 2 blue diamond shaped pills sporting the word 'pfizer'
she informs me of her plan to practically fuck for an entire day which sounds good at the time, so i pop them both in and we get down to it
many times
for many hours
now when on viagra when you REALLY dont need it
reload goes from about 45 minutes down to about 10 but your 'deposit' lessens and lessons, which is a bit sad to witness
about 7 or 8 hours into the romp
the room stinking of sweat and shame
my pork sword is lessening in its rigidity and is now slightly on the floppy side, a good firmness for a cockslap
but alas, i inform 'she' that this will be the last time before i need more sleep or a cock splint
so we get into this and she informs me she wants me to shoot my load in her face at the end, about 5 minutes into this particular expidition i get that twinge from below and it feels a bit wierder than just your average vinigar strokes
i carry on for a minute and notice that the faster i go the better it feels and thusly tell her to flip over and open her mouth
as im fapping away with this funny feeling continuing i just think 'fuck it'
this feels better when i strain so ill just go for it

oh god




all over her face, the bed, in her mouth over her tits her pillows ALL her clothes and in my run to the bathroom her shoes and the laminate floor in the kitchen all i hear from the bathroom where im trying to supress my self from laughing as im peeing at 45 degrees up the shower wall is profanities and explatives
of all kinda of unholy contexts
i stay in there for another 5 minutes making sure im empty
and then decide i should leave
as i walk out the bathroom theres my clothing piled on the counter so i take this as a sign that she thinks i should fuck miles of off
as i walk past her room on the way out i knock and a subtle reply of 'FUCK OFF I DONT WANT TO TALK TO YOU EVER AGAIN'
so i did.

as im walking down the road with my suitcase and numb cock i see a familiar car drive past me with 2 middle age people waving frantically at me,
her parents
'we didnt know you were back, when are you next seeing 'she'?'
'...You'll have to ask her that im afraid'
was my reply
which evoked 2 puzzled looks and they carry on to her house
i havent any more word from her, her parents or any of her friends for the last 3 years

im more ashamed of not taking advantage of the american poon situation, before coming home and wrecking my ex's downstairs and then peeing all over her house

(, Mon 16 Mar 2009, 23:18, 10 replies)
If your beloved
is sitting on the floor doing paperwork and you've just come out the shower.

Don't - I repeat DON'T - sneak up behind her and smack her round the back of the head with your cock and run off giggling like a twat.

Its a deal breaker. It really fucking is.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 20:11, 13 replies)
Usingg it to tyyype rhis
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 13:58, 10 replies)
Three cheers for Tim
My mate Tim is now a respected academic type.
T'was not always so...

Back when he was a student he'd spent a day on the lash. Come the evening he needed more booze, so off to the off license it was. As he bimbled there he was passed by a white stretch limo filled with a bunch 21 year old girls who screamed "Show us your cock!". As he was pissed he was too slow to react and whip out his John Thomas.

So he gets to the offie, gets more booze and then saunters on home.
To his delight he sees the white limo come round the corner just ahead, so he turns his back and prepares himself.
There's a high pitched squeal from the girls as the car pulls level, so he spins round cock in hand and goes "Blaaaaargh!".

Except it's a different white stretch limo and the high-pitched squeal came not from the hotties, but from two 10 year old boys who are slack jawed and pale faced at the sight of a grown man learingly waving his penis at them.

I did mention he's all respectable now?
(, Wed 18 Mar 2009, 14:25, 7 replies)
Having a wank at work.
I nearly crashed the bus.
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 13:40, 2 replies)
Brown Marker
Shane was a big lad. A very big lad. Built like a concrete shithouse, he'd captained the regional team back in Ireland when he was younger and a mere six foot seven. Our hypothesis, therefore, was that one too many scrums to the head had knocked out what little judgement and wisdom he had. Shane could be told anything - anything at all - and so long as you kept a straight face he'd take it as sworn truth.

I first met Shane a few years ago during my fresher year at uni through some mutual friends down the local student gaffe. He was in full Arsenal gear, sipping at a pint of Guinness while his deity team were getting crushed by whoever they were playing (I don't do football). 85 minutes in and the reds are down 3-0. At this point I get a tap on my shoulder from Shane asking if this meant Arsenal would lose the match.

I had to stop for a second to make sure he wasn't pulling my leg. Now, I'm a firm believer that if you ask someone a stupid question, you should expect a very stupid answer in return. This was prime opportunity in my eyes.

'Na mate, the premier league works like Eufa.'
'What do you mean?' he slurred. The booze was kicking in.
'Well, you know how they play legs in the Champion's League, and whoever has the higest score after 2 games goes through? It's the same here. Arsenal beat them 4-0 last time, so as long as they don't conceed again, they win.'

Without so much as a whiff of doubt, he cracked a huge smile and returned to the match. When the whistle was blown, all 15 stone of Ireland's finest leapt onto the table in full celebration, which resulted in every non-Arsenal fan simultaneously cracking up.

So you could say he was a bit gulliable, but nonetheless Shane became a firm associate of mine during our pub adventures as I had the innate ability to warp his perceptions without hint of remorse. The fellow publicans adored these fool thoughts of his, and we'd all chip in with the corruption.

One night, on our ninth or tenth pint the conversation inevitably turned to the ladykind, where a confession slipped that Shane had never 'dunked his tortilla chip', as he put it. Well then, let's get that sorted. I knew (from friends and not personal experience, obviously), a very seedy little strip bar in a back alley, which we concluded would be a good place to pick up loose women. A swift one for the road, and off we fucked.

Many eye candy performances by the girls later, and Shane has his eyes fixed on Poison Ivy (not original, I know), a redhead in school uniform not unknown for her toying with classroom equipment. As part of her routine, an old-fashioned chunky marker pen would, well, take a detour down the dirt road for the paying eyes of the viewer while Schools Out blared in the corner (not original, I know). After 'relieving' herself, the pen in its newfound brown glory is hurled off the stage, into the eager lap of Shane. It was not a pretty sight. An explosion of rage was expected as his jeans now embraced a much darker colour. Not a look of anger in sight, but one of hope.

'Foxy, mate, what do you think this means? Have I pulled?'

Again, let's see how much bull I can throw at Shane without cracking.

'Well Shane, you know how when a bride throws the bouquet, the person who catches it is the next to get married? Whoever catches the stripper's sex toy is the next one to fuck her'

That gleaming look reappeared. That gleaming look which meant no question was raised of my explanation. With all the charm of 12 or so pints, Shane leaps from his chair to clamber onto the stage, whips his cock out while gesturing the universal sign for making the beast with two backs. Ivy responds with a perfectly pitched slap to the face while two heavies attempt to bundle Ireland's finest. They fail and all hell breaks loose like an old Western as Shane levels most of the furniture, meat and veg swinging in the rage.

And that, my friends, is what Shane fool thinks Ivy dung with a pen is.

Oh, so Pooflake can and I can't?
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 9:47, 7 replies)
So wrong I wish it was a lie
I'm the proud father of a little tubby 18month old boy. He's a funny little fella.

Being the happy little daddy that I am we spend hours running around the house, hiding from each other......all the fun things that a father and son should do.

Occasionly, and because he's my boy it's not wrong or peadophilic in the slighest, we have a bath together. It's great fun. I'll blow raspberrys in his little tubby tummy and chuckle as he squeals and splashes about. Sometimes I blow them on his botty and joke that he's farted. He squeals and splashes like a demented seal.

A couple of weeks ago we were going through this routine. I'd added diprovan to the bath as this is good for his eczema and my psoriasis. It also makes the bath a bit slippy so when I reached forward and blew a raspberry on his belly he slipped forward. I gave him a little kiss on his curl-covered head and sat him back up. Due to the afore mentioned diprovan he was quite a slippy little monkey and fell forwards again.......and kissed me on my willy.

I got out the bath pretty damn quick and felt very, very wrong.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 16:53, 10 replies)
A history of cock
I have so far stuck my cock in....

Melons (See "Desperate Times" or page 3 here),
Virgins (see "Loosing my Virginity")
Napkin rings (see "Scars with History" and "Wanking Disasters" or page 3 again... )
People I've loved (See "Worst Sex Ever")
People I've hated (See "Worst Sex Ever")
A whole host of nice arses
A mate's girlfriend (See "I'm going to hell))
A hole bored in a potato (don't ask)
The twisted sleeve of a T-shirt.
My own fist,
A bloke
A shammy-leather,
3 lasses in 8 hours
2 lasses at a time
A vibrating lego contraption I made at the age of 13,
An oven glove
A pillow
Some underwear
Countless socks

I have had my penis pierced a few times (see body modifications)
I've shown it to many people online
I've stirred drinks with it
I've made cock-puppets
There's even a frikkin' photo of it on Wikipedia...
I've shot cum into my own face on by accident...
...And then deliberately for my own amusement.

But this question - much like my cock - must be aimed at someone else, because I'm proud of it all.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 12:47, 16 replies)
A Cautionary tale
Once again.. there's no shame here, but if my life of experimental self-gratification can act as a "what not to do with your cock" example to others, then I'm glad to be of service.


I never realised that the 'cock rings' that I regularly saw in magazines (as a teenager) were adjustable so that they could be released.
You learn these things by experimenting -
Or as you could say - the hard way.

I was a Teenage lad (shortly after the blissful discovery of the "orgasm") and as you do, I slipped a napkin ring around my todger. You just gotta find out how it feels.... right?

Mid session, the surrogate napkin suddenly became too big for its ring... Being the smart lad I was, I reasoned "It'll go down if I get turned off".. so, 10 minutes of mentally picturing my grandmother naked should do the trick... but No! I was in fact increasing in size.

I was HORRIFIED: I obviously harboured disturbing subconscious thoughts for my Gran. Subsequently I took no pleasure in the sudden and painful understanding of the bio-mechanics behind my now monsterous and painful hardon: so long as the napkin ring stayed... so would this monstrosity..

You know how a love-bite/hicky causes surface capillaries to burst and make your skin go a blotchy red/purple? well... my Dick was VERY much like that... ALL OVER.

I was terrified, and in my moment of need turned to my trusty Minicraft Drill... Two cutting disks later, the pewter napkin ring was only HALF off!!

Cutting disks cause HEAT. Pewter is a fairly soft metal, so it doesn't actually cut well.
HEAT. did I mention that? HEAT!!! Heat in a metal ring, Painfully tight around my best friend.


so... Water. More water. cut. Water. CUT. JEEEEZ.

You know something has gone seriously wrong on the road to self-gratification when you're naked, on your knees with cock in one hand, electric cutting tool in the other, and wearing goggles.

So... cutting bit by bit I manage to make decent cut, gently working it until I had wafer thin cut-line... progress, sweet progress. And then it happened. The disk snagged and bit in.

As if the cutting disk shattering and forcing wafer-thin shards of metal into my tadger wasn't enough, I then panicked and used pliers to rip the rest of the napkin ring open.

Pinching skin between plier and inside of ring, and THEN badly cutting myself with the sharp edges.

Compounding my misery, pain and horror, my MUM came up to see why I was "making toys" at 2:00am on a school night.


LMAO. let's just say "ribbed for her pleasure"


As some of you know, I'm into piercing. Rest assured that watching a tattooed bloke grasp your manhood and shove a 3.2mm needle clean through it is a walk in the park.... Well, it is if compared to watching blood gush from your shaft as you use oily pliers to tease out shards of pewter napkin ring and crushed lumps of ceramic cutting disk.


Apologies for bumps, and blatant re-post.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 15:00, 5 replies)
I swear,
I was sending...um...pictures...of...um...it's glory...to an ex. (she wasn't an ex at the time, I hasten to add. I'm don't stalk my exes. Well, not all of them, there aren't enough hours in the day to follow around all the women I've fucked up relationships with).

But to take the picture to send, I had gone to my offices toilets and taken a look at some pictures that she had previously sent me. Until I was, you know, 'ready'.

Then I snapped away, got a couple of shots that showed me, shall we say, in a flattering light and sent one.

My phone was fairly slow to send pictures, so I went back to my desk and put it down next to me, waiting until I heard the tell tale buzz that my penis was flying in 1’s and 0’s through the ether for my waiting beloveds depraved pleasure.

Then I promptly forgot it and went to get coffee.

I came back to my desk and my boss was hovering waiting to talk to me, so we are chatting away and then I noticed his eyes start to drift down to my desktop.

I followed his gaze and as clear as day, there is my phone. There is my erect penis and, worst of all, so there was no getting away from where the picture had been taken, there was, in the background, the distinctive red and white tiles that adorned the cubicles in the staff toilets.

The pause was excruciating, the conversation swiftly wrapped up and my boss and I never had a non awkward conversation again.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 13:41, 2 replies)
Typing "first" with it.

(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 12:16, 3 replies)
Someone asked me how long mine was once.
First, I put it in a thimble. Too big for a thimble.

Then, a cup. Far too big for a cup. The cup nearly cracked.

A pint glass. Yup! Couldn't even fit it in their without it shattering.

We got a bucket, and it was far too big to fit in that.

So then, we got a large wooden cylindrical container. Finally, I found something that my cock could fit into. And, I could move it all around in there too!

So, to recap.

Somebody asked me a question about my cock. It scraped the bottom of the barrel.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 12:37, 3 replies)
I was in Portugal on holiday, and this couple went out to get pissed, leaving their daughter in their room...
(, Mon 16 Mar 2009, 14:45, 10 replies)
Penis mightier than the sword.
I wrote this handy guide for a man who is rather enamoured with both swords and his willy.
Thanks to Viz for inspiration.

Everyone knows someone who owns a penis, and many of us also know someone who owns a sword - but which is better? Edward Bulwer-Lytton once said that the penis mightier than the sword, but is it really? We graded both sword and penis in a number of categories - read on to see the startling conclusion.

Harming other people

Penis - can carry STDs, which may cause long term harm. Also, seeing a gentleman of the road fondling his scabby member outside Camden Road tube station left the author with long term psychological damage. 6/10

Sword - excellent at causing harm, especially when applied vigorously to opponents body. Can even in some extreme cases cause death. Not so effective if opponent is armoured, however, on balance, the sword wins this round - 10/10.


Penis - not great at carving, unless the material to be carved is exceptionally soft and the owner of the penis is excited and impervious to pain. May be used for carving soft butter or custard. Penis doesn't do so well here - 2/10.

Sword - excellent at carving with its pointy tip and sharp sharp metal. Not very easily controllable however, as tend to be quite long, so person weilding sword for carving needs good hand eye coordination. 8/10.


Penis - great in a snowy area, as the penis can eject a stream of yellow 'ink' enabling the owner to write their name at least once before they notice how cold it is outside. 6/10.

Sword - see carving - a bit too long for easy writing, although can be used to mark a variety of materials. 6/10.


Penis - used to be an essential tool in human (and all mammalian) reproduction - when excited, known to spit up wriggly milk, a key element in the making of babies. Mad scientists have somewhat reduced the role of the penis in reproduction today, with crazed notions of cloning and basting tubes. Still, in the majority of cases, a penis is used to make baby, a fact the author observed about 11 weeks ago. 9/10.

Sword - not great at reproduction, unless you wish to reproduce smaller versions of the original by chopping the original in two. Actually, could work for earthworms. 3/10

Excretion of waste fluids from the body.

Penis - this is where the penis comes into its own (oo-er). Exceptionally good at removal of piss. 10/10

Sword - the sword is let down in this category by the fact that although it is also good at the removal of fluids from a body, it also has a tendency to kill owner of said body. 2/10

Entertaining of owner.

Penis - have you ever met a penis owner who does not enjoy some down time with madame palm and her 5 lovely daughters wrapped around his pink oboe? The penis clearly wins this round. 10/10.

Sword - Zorro was kept entertained by his sword, but unless you are caped crusader of some description, a sword can only keep you entertained for so long - not a life time. 8/10.

So, what are the final scores?

Penis - 43
Sword - 37

We have conclusively shown that the penis is indeed mightier than the sword. However, in a fight between the two, my money would be on the sword.

(Oh, and the shame element of this answer? that I spent time writing the bloody thing when I could have been doing something worthwhile)
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 14:57, 4 replies)
A(nother) Cautionary tale
Though un-ahsamed of this, Others might benefit from the knowledge.


Wanking when young was an act of desperation... It was to fulfil a need. Wanking in later years became more of an art-form... finding novel ways to achieve the ultimate goal became my vocation - and if you can imagine it - I've probably tried it.

You've probably read about my horrifying disaster with a napkin ring, when - though a series of errors and ignorance around the working of the erectile properties of the one-eyed trouser-gopher - I ended up on my knees, engorged and metal-clad cock in one hand and Dremel in the other... This one however falls below that in terms of horrifying moments... but none-the-less represents what must be one of man's more horrific blunders in the name of self gratification.

The phrase to describe man's needs "Warm, tight and wet" is, in honesty a bit bland, but as a teenager in love with ejaculation, my goal was to replicate those conditions, and Fuck it. A typical week's R&D would go like this...

Hot Sponge.
This proved to be too "cleaning" and I cleaned a lot of skin off my bellend. Ouch.

Hot Sponge Mod 1.
With Soap!! (see, I wasn't stupid). Cleans skin off bellend, and STINGS MORE. BUGGER.

Hot Sponge with "Shammy" leather liner.
Smooooth and yummy. With added Body lotion... Better! SUCCESS!!! (but leaves weird streaks on the car)

Most teenagers are infamous for spending suspiciously long in the bathroom... I possibly had them trumped by being the only lad who'd take half the garage with him.

What I though would be the culmination of my work would the the only logical extension of the "shagging an orange" theory. Oranges are acidic, they have sharp pips and they are SMALL. We needed something less acidic and larger. MELONS!!!

The only thing that a melon naturally lacked was warmth.

My parents were out, I used to live in the country, and we had just got a microwave. Excellent. Not one to master the power settings, I plumped for "turbo". I nuked the melon in 30 second bursts, waiting until the outside felt good and warm. 5 minutes later we were ready to pork.

I retired upstairs with a hole-saw and a drill, and proceeded to remove a neat 52mm diameter slice of potentially sharp and hard skin.. This was going to be sublime... then, using the handle of a wooden spoon, I poked a "pilot" hole into the soft melon-flesh.... it was easy....

I experimentally nudged my teenage boy-hood in though the hole in the skin, and the first inch of soft, warm and forgiving melon-flesh lovingly gave way......

~~~~~~~~ Wavy lines ~~~~~~~~

We'll take a little break here so I can tell you that later on I learned that the hardish parabolic skin of a melon concentrates the microwaves into the centre of the fruit. This - put simply - means that if the outside of the melon was warm, then the sugar-rich and watery centre was going to be literally boiling.... but - you just have to learn the hard way sometimes. *sigh*

~~~~~~~ Wavy lines ~~~~~~~

..... satisfied that I'd found the perfect scabbard for my throbbing friend, I thrust home to the hilt.

It actually sizzled.

And I walked funny for a month.
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 14:48, 3 replies)
I'm sure my dearly beloved
won't mind me telling you about the first time we did anal.

I'm sure she'd be absolutely fucking overjoyed.

Anyway, we do the deed. A handy squirt of shower gel smeared on my purple headed spunk-chucker as lube and we're away.

And rather nice it was too. Tiny girl, my Mrs, size 8. Thought I might have done her some internal damage.

But no. She's from Cardiff and like most girls from Cardiff, they're well versed in the fine art of anal by the time they're about fourteen.

Afterwards, we're lying in bed panting and sweaty. She asks me how it was. I say: "Very lovely, thank you."

I glance down at my cock, wanting to give the fella a bit of a wipe as he feels a bit... sticky.

And he's encased in pale yellow shit. He looks something akin to Han Solo encased in carbonite in The Empire Strikes Back, only my little chap's not being pushed round by Boba Fett on an antigrav sled.

Then I notice my nadgers are, thighs and even my knees are smeared in shit.

And the sheets. I glance over to Ms Hanky lying on her front, panting. Her pert little bottom isn't looking its best. Her cheeks are covered in, yep, shit.

Either my spunk acted as a lubricant on her bowls or the pounding must've acted had some kind of plunger effect, like a sink being unblocked.

The bedsheets we're covered too.

Even the fucking pillows.

I glance further over my shoulder and -

Yep, there's even a delicate female-sized handprint in lovely yellowish shit on the wall above the headboard. In our passion Ms Hanky had somehow managed to cover her hand in the stuff and had used it to steady herself as I hammered away from behind.

As soon as Ms Hanky caught on, surveying the scene in our room with her big blue eyes, she shot up and was running to the bathroom to have a shower, leaving me looking back down at my cock. Well, she's not gonna suck it now, I thought. It appeared to look back at me. If it could talk it would've said:

"Look what you've done to me! Look! You utter, utter cuntbag bastard!"

To this day, the Ms Hanky hates it when I bring up our first ever adventure in bum sex.

I mean, what should've been a romantic event was reduced to a farce.

It should've been remembered for what it was: An act of love and trust and ultimate friendship with my life partner...

...(where I just happened to squirt a hot load of manfat inside her colon).

(, Mon 16 Mar 2009, 15:19, 11 replies)
I think I am going to cry with shame at this.
When I was about 12, my mum walked into my bedroom without knocking.

I was on my hands and knees on the bed, seeing if I could bend my cock round to touch my arse.

Edit: OK, I may as well go the whole truth, as I am sure it was obvious anyway. I was seeing if I could put it in my arse.

*curls up and dies*

(she didn't leave a cup of tea)
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 12:52, 11 replies)
Wanking for an audience
An ex-girlfriend of mine asked me if I'd wank infront of her. She said it would be sexy.

So, I get down to work, pumping away on the wee chap and grunting like a gibbon.

After a few minutes of gazing intently at me pleasuring myself, with a look on her face as if she was conducting a science experiment in school, she says matter-of-factly:

"You can stop now. It's not doing anything for me."

I was suddenly pretty ashamed, though I still said: "Erm, would you mind if I finished myself off?"
(, Fri 13 Mar 2009, 11:06, 6 replies)
a "my mate" story (but this time it;s true)
The stage: Reading Festival, the year just after bluetooth phones had been introduced.

The scene. Bunch of us wandering blindly round the tents blasted out of our heads.

The penis. My mate has a look for bluetooth devices on his phone and discovers 37 of them. Wow! What can we do about that? In a flash of brilliance he undoes his belt and sticks his phone down the front of his pants, takes a photo of his todger and sends it off on it;s merry way via bluetooth. We crouch down (drop to the floor giggling and holding onto each other for support) and listen for the response.

"Oh wow! I got a bluetooth!" someone close to us cries. "Let me see" cries his friend. "Ewww!" "WTF!" and other sounds of disgust are suddenly heard, success! Then we hear a girls voice pipe up "But it's so small"

We almost died from laughing that night.

37 bluetooth devices.....
(, Thu 12 Mar 2009, 14:46, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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