Three's a crowd
My sex misconception was that having my first threesome would be a good idea.

It didn’t happen by accident. One of my best mates, let’s call him Darren, had a girlfriend who was liberal to the point of having no inhibitions whatsoever. This suited Darren perfectly and he used to boast to me regularly about the latest perversion they’d tested in the bedroom (or the kitchen, or the park… you get the idea).

I was midway through Uni at the time but Darren and I had been friends all the way through school, been in sports teams together and it’s fair to say we knew each other about as well as two guys can, or so I thought. His girlfriend Jenny was a couple of years older than us but we’d both known her at school too. She was a stunning girl and great fun but unashamedly also a sexual deviant.

The night of Darren’s birthday was when it happened. We were all a bit drunk and in no mood to stop when the music at the nightclub finished, so it was decided to go back to their house to continue the party. In the back of the cab, Jenny in the middle and Darren and me on either side, it became clear I was in for more than I’d bargained when she started groping me. A quick glance to the left revealed that Darren was already getting a hand job. He turned to me and said “Jenny’s always fancied a threes-up with you and me, how about it?”.

Well, what could I say? Nothing, as it happened. She winked at me, I smiled nervously in reply and she unbuttoned my flies with her free hand …

After an awkward payment to the blushing cabbie, we piled into their house and into the living room. I had no idea what to expect, it felt like losing my virginity again. She dabbled with the idea of just getting down to it right there, but Darren pointed out that the bedroom would be more comfortable. Our trio of bodies gradually made its way through the hallway and up the stairs, Jenny occasionally stopping to lick or fondle our various body parts. By the time we arrived at the bedroom, our clothes were all over the house.

I let Jenny dictate the pace when she wasn’t using her skills on Darren as I really didn’t know what I was doing; I’d had plenty of solo partners myself but this was my first ménage-a-trois so I didn’t want to overstep whatever boundaries remained. Nevertheless, trying to be passive and gentlemanly in such rare circumstances just doesn’t work.

Growing bored of switching attention back and forth between our respective cocks, Jenny commanded Darren to fuck her hard, and he happily obliged. While he was busily shagging her from behind, I decided to engage in a bit of ‘spit roasting’, then she insisted that we swap ends. It was certainly a weird feeling to be fucking my best mate’s girl while he was being fellated by her a couple of feet away, watching my every thrust intently. It was all a bit surreal and I didn’t think it would go any further, but Jenny wanted to try every conceivable position available to the three of us. She laid me on the bed, straddled me and invited Darren to fill her vacant rear entrance. It turns out that double penetration is much more difficult than porn movies would have you believe.

After an unenjoyable sojourn into shitty city, Darren decided it was time to watch me and Jenny for a bit while he “cleaned himself off”… yuck. I was still lying on the bed so Jenny assumed the classic ‘69’ position and began giving me a very fine blowjob while I got to work on her. Darren couldn’t stand just watching so after a few cursory wipes he decided to resume his previous position in Jenny’s wrong ‘un, which was fine for him. However, it placed me in the unenviable position of having to look directly up at his sweaty ballsack and arse. I closed my eyes and tried to concentrate on Jenny’s excellent technique rather than my best friend’s pendulous undercarriage slamming into her chocolate exit strategy.

With my eyes closed, I was finally starting to enjoy the experience myself. I could feel the pressure building as Jenny demonstrated her lack of a meaningful gag reflex and could tell she was enjoying my oral generosity too. She was really wet to the point of dripping into my mouth, so I lapped it up like a dog eating a melted ice cream. I’d never experienced anything like it before, but it was a real turn on to know she was getting so much pleasure, even if she did taste a bit different to most of the girls I’d been with before. After another minute or two she finished me off in her mouth. Feeling rather exhausted and self conscious again, I opened my eyes again only to find that Darren was already lying next to us. Confused, I looked up and noticed a trickle of light brown fluid running from Jenny’s fudge box, all the way down her lady-garden and stretching onto my own lips.

Unfortunately for me, while I had been lost in mutual oral pleasure with my eyes closed, Darren had quietly emptied a remarkable load of hot monkey custard into Jenny’s backside, and then he’d pulled out with predictable results. It wasn’t my tongue that had made her beef pocket so impressively moist after all. The worst part was that I’d swallowed most of the devil’s own cocktail in the mistaken belief that it was my prize for being so good at cunnilingus. I ended up blaming the ensuing bout of puking on the evening’s drinks.

So kids, my advice to you is: if you ever end up being asked to a threesome, for goodness’ sake, either get the boy/girl ratio right or ensure that gravity is on your side.

Apologies if the ending to this tale has left a nasty taste in your mouth too.
( chart cat has an itch, Wed 1 Oct 2008, 11:28, 73 replies)

cat
Whilst a student I used to while away most of my days smoking copious amounts of weed and watching crap afternoon telly. My companion for many of these wasted days was Cat, a stray tortoiseshell who often came into the house ostensibly to keep us company, but most probably because we used to feed her copious amounts of tuna and pickled onion space raider crisps.

Cat was special in that she seemed to be completely bat-shit insane. She'd walk in and fall over randomly. She'd rub herself with a little bit too much enthusiasm on anyone and anything, was always dribbling, and her behaviour often seemed, well, sexual. It was almost like some weird bestial foreplay.

I thought I was wise to the ways of the world, especially concerning sex, but it was only when I woke up from a stoned and highly erotically charged dream on the sofa to find Cat attempting to hump my nose that I realised I knew nothing.

Yes, I was raped in the face by a cat.
( rofl harris, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 16:30, 6 replies)

Fanny Batter – explained…

One afternoon when I was a kid, I was watching TV and became a bit confused at what I saw.

I went and found my dad who was busy in the greenhouse outside.

I casually tapped him on the shoulder and enquired: ‘Dad…what’s love juice?’

My dad spat his pipe into the begonias, and then realised that the time was right to do ‘the talk’

He poured himself a scotch, sat me down, then explained candidly and openly about sex, masturbation, pregnancy, STDs, anal intercourse and homosexuality.

Moments later, after I had picked my jaw up off the ground in wide-eyed astonishment, my dad enquired:

“By the way son, what were you watching on TV?”

I then replied: “Wimbledon...but I didn't see any 'arse-fucking' on that!”
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 29 Sep 2008, 15:53, 10 replies)

Male lesbian!!
Right.

I was ten years old and dicovered my cock wasn't just for pissing out of.
Cue FRANTIC wanking that nearly put me in a coma.

Anyway, a few weeks later I overhear a group of 'bigger boys' talking.
These individuals where mature- almost fully grown men.
They must have been all of 12.
One 'bigger boy' said "Well,yeah - if you wank yourself off it means you're gay. Scientific fact that is. Baz told me and he's like 14."

My reaction? - Holy fucking fuck!! I'm GAY!!

But i went over the situation in my 10 year old brain and came up with the following logic.

Fact 1. - I enjoy wanking.
Fact 2. - If you wank, you're gay. (Bigger boys said it so it HAD to be true)
Fact 3. - When wanking i was thinking about girls.
Fact 4. - Gay people who are attracted to women are called lesbians.

Conclusion - I'M A LESBIAN!!!!!

NIGHTMARE!!!

Seriously, for 2 YEARS i really thought i was a lesbian. When lads made jokes about lesbians i used to get all paranoid and think "Shit!!They KNOW!!"

Funny now. But at the time it was a BIG DEAL.


I'm nearly 40 now and strangely enough i have ended up having sex with a few lesbians.
And no, i don't mean bisexuals. I mean i was the first man they ever slept with.

SHIT!! Maybe the 'bigger boys' where right after all!!

I must just have the world's biggest clitoris and descended ovaries.

It's no wonder i'm on medication.
(spiff, Fri 26 Sep 2008, 20:53, 11 replies)

Mood killers - part 1
I used to have a Nigerian girlfriend. We were in that very special place where we're buck naked, spooning and both acutely aware that the horizontal monster mash was inevitable. Then I look down at my cock resting between her arse cheeks.

"Look at that! It looks like a negative of a hot dog!"
(GONEism, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 19:05, 12 replies)

"I bought your SNES by being pounded in the ass, son."
Apologies for length in advance.

I was 13 and living in a block of flats. At that age, I was the first to own a Mega Drive and our house had pirate cable, so my 11-year-old friends in surrounding flats would always come by and visit. One night, my mum says she's going out and suggests my friends stay for the night. My friends came over and as it got late, flicked through the pirate cable and found the porn channel. Partially because I didn't want to objectify women - at that age, anyhow - and partially because I thought a bunch of boys in the same room finding the same thing arousing was a bit gay, I hid in the kitchen and heated up some pizza. What I didn't see I definitely heard as the boys turned the volume up.

There was a storyline for whatever was on - two ladies were reminiscing on how they took advantage of anyone who'd come round to their house and bother them when they were all horny and alone - first, a guy who's coming round to borrow milk, then someone who's coming round to fix the TV, they both get laid by women whose orgasms sound like air raid sirens.

Now, being the eldest, I was seen as the "wise old sage" of the group. I'm also proud to be a fucking jerk, as far as winding people up goes. I pointed out to the boys as I brought in the pizza that I didn't need to see the show. They laughed and asked why. I only had to bring up Kerry.

Kerry, aged 14, was the girl who lived opposite to our flat, with that girl next door beauty too - she was lusted over by every boy in the room, myself definitely included.

"She comes over all the time when you lot are here, wanting to borrow something," They all nodded, because they often saw her coming to my place to borrow things while they played the Mega Drive. "Why do you think it's always Kerry that comes over to ask and not her mum or dad?"

The television was muted. Jaws dropped. Pieces began to click.

As we ate pizza, I explained that the terms "borrow some milk" and "fixing your TV" were sex-slang. The former was said by some horny person wanting to get naked and play around with someone else, and the latter was a type of drive-by prostitute, who, at a moment's notice, would answer the call and fix libidos instead of TVs.

This affected two of my friends.

Friend #1 - Kerry goes to his flat for milk, and he's home alone - he can't believe his luck. He lets her in, and as they turn a corner, he makes his move - he shoves his tongue down her throat and squeezes her tits. She screams, slaps him and leaves. He told me as soon as he felt her reaction he knew I'd made it up, but he also said that at least he got one up on me because he'd "felt her tits and they were like big fluffy clouds". They definitely looked like it. Lucky bastard.

Friend #2 - I didn't know that the dad of one of these friends was going to become a TV repairman two weeks after the pizza night. For his dad's first week on the job, he came home to lots of weird questions. Imagine this dialogue:

Friend: "Are the ladies pretty, the ladies whose TVs you repair?"
Dad: "Sometimes, though I'm usually repairing TVs for men. They miss not having a working TV more than women, you know?"

That answer literally broke my friend's mind.

He had a little breakdown in front of all of us the next time he came round to my place. He wouldn't believe me when I told him I'd lied earlier, he thought I was trying to console him. I next saw him two months later. That night, he had gone home and taken a knife to his dad's van's tires. When asked why he did it, he explained to his parents he didn't want his dad sleeping around any more. Two months grounded for that.

My family and his never got on so well after that. He also tried to steal my friends after he got a Super Nintendo at Christmas, but they only time they were invited over, they poked fun at his console, bought with "your dad's prossie money".
(rzeki, Tue 30 Sep 2008, 20:49, 7 replies)

Hello B3TA
Last week I posted a message for the QOTW about the time I put some chilli powder on my cheating girlfriends Rampant Rabbit.

I have recieved a lot of messages about this - most have been pretty positive - a couple have been from femails who done the same to the BFs Y-fronts when he was caught with his pants down. 6 messages told me that I was a "wanker" (Yup!) with a small penis (depends on outside temperature) and a Cunt (Yup). One message I was sent went like this

----------------------

No doubt a few people have dropped you a line to tell you what a complete cock you are, but I felt I just had to be one of them.
I was raped by my partner when I attempted to leave him. It wasn't the first time, but he followed up by- you guessed it- a handful of chilli powder. There were other aspects to the assault, but I won't bore you with them.
It may interest you to know that you are in no way original. My experience with survivor groups of sadistic rape is that bleach and capsican are fairly common.
Now, let me tell you something you may not be aware of. This hurts. It burns like hell, and it did not stop burning for days, despite the yogurt douche that I, like your unfortunate expartner, was administered.
Capsican-based inflammation of the vagina and labia is much more painful and potentially dangerous than exposure to eyes or penises. This has to do with the fact that the vagina is a tight tube that maintains a high temperature, rather than an exposed area that can be flushed easily.
Quite aside from the traumatic aspects of intense genital pain, the constant stimulation of nerves in the vaginal area can trigger temporary or permenant vaginal dyspareunia, making sex anywhere from extremely unpleasant to impossible.
You are an irresponsible, violent man. You committed sexual assault by proxy upon your expartner, and appear to think this was clever and admirable. I hope the woman you injured reported it to the police.
Relationships end. Relationships overlap. Adults deal with heartbreak and anger in many ways. Deliberately harming your partner is never an appropriate reaction.
If you have a moment, please indulge me by picturing a woman you love- your mother, sister, grandmother, a close friend- confiding in you that a man had deliberatly harmed her by forcing a capsican-coated sex toy inside her. Picture her telling you how much it hurt, and how nothing seemed to stop it, and how the burning was so intense that she could do nothing but cry in a cold bath, rocking back and forth. Picture her telling you how worried she was that the pain would not stop, that it might damage her in some way or hurt her fertility. Picture her telling you that even though she's now physically fine, she worries that this man might become more violent, might do something else. Picture her being uneasy or uncomfortable with sex.
Then picture yourself, going round to her attacker's house in order to congratulate him. Afterall, that cunt probably deserved it.

And now, go and fuck yourself, you privileged, raping piece of shit.

----------------------

(Persons username witheld for obvious reasons)

This is my post for "Sex misconceptions"

I posted a story of (what I thought was) harmless sexual revenge on QOTW and NOW I have been branded a rapist by several people

EDIT: Just want to say thanks to all the people that clicky me to the best page - Woo you

-----------------------------------

On next weeks show we have Live DNA test results - only on QOTW

-----------------------------------

KMWIP
( KISS.ME.WHERE.I.POO Signed the sex offenders register on, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 16:16, 81 replies)

The ‘reproductive’ system…

I was only 7 years old when my little brother flopped on to the scene…in a flurry of noise, vom, and mustard-coloured poo-dribbles.

Unfortunately, being thicker than the thighs of a female Russian shot-putter…I was utterly bemused by this state of events…I had never even considered the concept of conception, therefore could not exactly comprehend what was going on around me.

Sure, I had seen mummy’s tum-tum grow to the size of a small Lincolnshire village, but, I had been kept ‘out of the loop’ as it were, so couldn’t put two-and-two together and deduce where this little sproglet had suddenly sprouted from.

Thusly I requested an audience with mummy for an explanation:

Sitting me on her lap, My mother softly reassured me: “Pooflake, you are such a wonderful, beautiful little boy, (no arguments from me there) that Daddy and I decided we wanted to have another baby just as lovely as you”

I considered asking her 'what the chuntering fuck are you thinking?' – I mean, seeing as she had already fluked upon absolute perfection when spawning me, why push your luck?

But being a trusting sort, I accepted her word.

As luck would have it, the very next day at school, I had my first, highly awkward sex education lesson. It didn’t go into much detail at all, and I wasn’t really listening, but I basically got the jist about how the man slots his delicate dingle-dangle into the accommodating toot-toot of a willing (yet strangely static) participant.

Well that’s sorted then.

At this point everything was kind of falling into place, but I still wanted complete clarification. After school I quizzed mum and dad further:

“Sooo…” I said to mummy, “Let me get this straight. You and Daddy wanted a baby…really badly…so…you two…ermmm…had…..sex?”

As my dad smirked and reached towards me to give me a ‘high-five’, mother slapped his hand and muttered at him to ‘grow the fuck up’ before continuing:

“Yes, Pooflake, that’s exactly how it happens”

Thus my logic was set. If you already had something great, but wanted another…then all you needed to obtain it was to do the ‘magical moist mambo’. This was truly what ‘reproduction’ was all about…

Satisfied, I went into the garden to play.

In the garden was the rabbit hutch. I reached inside and pulled out ‘Topsy’, my little bunny wabbit and favourite thing in the whole world.

Stroking him and enjoying his soft fluffiness, I thought to myself how lucky I was to have this cute and friendly little character to keep me company.

If only I could have another one.

I then considered my newly discovered wisdom…At no point did anybody say to me that this ‘sex’ lark had to be restricted to humans to work?

So with enthusiasm, love and curiosity driving me on, it was with some difficulty that I removed my kex and spiderman grundies with one hand whilst holding on to Topsy with the other. As I slid my tiny spunkless love-trumpet into Topsy’s quivering crevice, I began to pump away, pondering how long it would take for the little clone to arrive. When nothing happened, I heaved my pink chipolata further and deeper into Topsy, who proceeded to let out a tiny squeal before dying on the end of my still-thrusting button mushroom.

Wracked with guilt, I immediately lobbed Topsy back into the hutch and considered that I must have done something wrong. Technique probably. I realised that what I needed was practice.

Later that day whilst trying to put the incident behind me, I went out on my bike to see my friend Tom. Tom’s BMX was far superior to mine and I was always jealous of it. It had Mag wheels, chrome ‘V’ handlebars and a waterbottle strapped to it. It was ace.

Imagine my delight when Tom was suddenly called in to tea and he just dropped his bike and left it in the street outside his house. It was then that I realised we could both have the same bike…all I had to do was ‘make’ another.

Quick as a flash, I shoe-horned my tidgy tadpole into the top of his waterbottle and began to take the bike for a different sort of ride. Struggling to wrap my leg around the frame, I began to grind away at the little juice-hole as if my youthful life depended on it. As I fantasised about the fun Tom & I could have going down the chipshop like identical BMX-bandits, it just motivated me further and I gyrated into the boy/bike love taboo harder than ever with my little arse going up and down like a fiddler’s elbow.

After about half an hour or so of hip-grinding action, I decided to leave the ‘new bike-making process’ to finish without me, as it was time to go home. I looked forward to what shiny item would be waiting for me when I went out the next day!

As I arrived home, there was a lovely surprise. Grandma had come to visit – and that always meant lots of attention, sweets and treats. I really Loved Granny, and as I gave her a big hug, I came to the realisation that she wouldn’t be around forever…I wished if only there was something I could do to somehow see ‘more’ of her…

I then conceived a plan of epic cunning, involving the ‘accidental dropping’ of a packet of Werthers Originals and seizing the opportunity when Granny bent down to pick them up. It was rather unfortunate when Mum & Dad walked in on me ripping down the poor octogenarian’s thermal pantaloons before pre-pubescently backscuttling the old codger like an out-of-control jackhammer shouting ‘The new one can live in my bedroom!’

Many years (and several visits to the child psychiatrist) later, I am altogether better informed of such matters, and my youthful dalliance is now little more than an embarrassing chapter of our lives that my family insist we never speak of…

However…although the mechanics of reproduction have been made apparent to me, I have now developed a natural instinct which can sometimes be difficult to hold back.

Only recently I was thrown out of an Aston Martin showroom for dry-humping the exhaust pipe of a DB9 in front of a salesman, a couple from Greenwich and their two young children.

Some habits can be difficult to give up.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:58, 10 replies)

At some point,
all of the staff parties where I used to work descended into games of "I have never", because my boss' wife (the Lady Whelk) had a teenager-esque fixation with the game. Unfortunately, she always said the same handful of things every time we played, so we all knew who had taken it up the wrong'un (Lady W), been tied up (Lady W), spanked (Lady W), slept with a gay man (Lady W), been ριssεδ on (Lady W),shoved a marrow up their αrsε, (duh), been force-fed their own severed nipples (ummm) and who used excessively degrading sex acts to alleviate their chronic lack of self esteem (guess).

One night, when we were all sh!tfaced and having to swig our drinks if we'd ever had our genitals electrocuted (yes, she had), my colleague Greekie banged his fist on the table and exclaimed,

"Enough, Woman! Let us all tell of our most embarrassing moments. I shall start!"

So he started. Greekie, when not much more than a Greekling, was on his national service (which they still have in Greekland), in the wooded, mountainous hills near the north-western border with albania. (or somewhere. I have no idea what it's actually like, so imagine something like endor, with slightly more hills and less merchandising.) Here, he indulged in all the things a young man should: wine, women and shooting guns at albanians.

He had seen a lovely young lady, whom he would later descibe to us as "the prettiest girl in the whole village", and stuck her on his list of things to bang. One friday night, he slid up to her, bought her drinks, and tried to get in her pants. She was a little coy, and not wanting to push his luck (she knew most of the patrons and staff at the bar, and with this being the mountains, they also had guns) he settled for a dinner-date the following night, after which he intended to bone her in the back of his car.

The next day they met. She was the picture of elegance, and he had some condoms in his wallet. She got in his car, and they went to the restaurant.

The waiter took her coat, and she hugged him as an old friend, which it transpired they where. Greekie felt a slight pang of jealousy, which was most unlike him. They ate, talked, laughed, drank, he stroked her leg, she didn't mind. All was well. The night drew to a close, and they left the restaurant.

They got into the car, and the girl said they should head up into the nearby forest, as there was a beautiful view. They parked in a glade overlooking a ravine. Then they embraced, kissed, and after several minutes of frenzied slobbering and groping, the girl was frantically sucking Greekie off on the front seat of his car.

Greekie lay there, panting, dribbles of his man-fat glistening in the girl's hair, knowing that all he had to do now was ϝυcκ her bandy on the back seat and he could get on with not talking to her again.

"Greekie", said the girl, in a small voice, "can I ask you something?"
"Yeah, whatever", he replied dreamily from his post-fellatio haze.
"I really like you, Greekie. I want this to be more than sex. But I have to tell you something first...."
"What?"

Greekie looked at the girl. She was staring at her own crotch. He followed her gaze down, and idly noticed that she seemed to have sat on the gearstick, as there was a bulbous protuberance pushing against the fabric of her skirt, between her thighs, lifting the material like a badly erected marquee. He thought of telling her so she didn't tear her dress. Then it dawned on him.

That wasn't the gearstick.

His eyes widened, transfixed as the girl's engorged glans pushed against her clothes, twitching....

She said "I'm not like other girls", but Greekie wasn't really listening. He simply yelled "YOU'VE GOT A ϜυCΚΙΝG DICK!" instead. She nodded sheepishly.

Greekie thought for a second - nice tits, guaranteed bum fun, but dating a tranny was too much, even for him, and he hadn't planned on seeing her again anyway. He immediatedly started the car and drove her back into town. He had briefly toyed with the idea of leaving her in the woods, but she had a lot of friends locally and he didn't need half the village trying to lynch him the next day. Half the village that had seen them flirting friday, that had seen him buy her dinner and then go up into the woods to shag another man. A man in a dress.

Back in town he kicked her out the car door, said he never wanted to see her again, and drove off....

"...... and that's how I got the best head I have ever had."

We faded back to the party, the telling of stories, peals of laughter resounding around the room.

Greekie's girlfriend sat opposite him, her jaw hanging wide, a look of shock and horror on her face. We all noticed, and stifled our giggles.

"I have never", piped up one of my colleagues, "felt as appalled and ashamed of anyone I have ever dated as I do of my current partner right now."

Without breaking her look of sheer terror Greekie's Girlfriend downed the rest of her drink.

A slightly different "misconception about sex" methinks.... *cough* gender *cough*
( cs1ca, Sat 27 Sep 2008, 20:56, 4 replies)

Bless
When I was 18 I started going out with a lass who lived in a village just outside of the town where I live. Although I wasn't what you'd call a sexpert - I'd had sex once when I was 13 and then again a few years later - she was a virgin, although she had seen one cock in real life and had let a gentleman caller take a stroll through her lady garden with his fingers.

We'd been going out for a couple of months and slowly working our way through the bases until we got to the point where a nibble on her jebs and pants-on fingering action while she gave me a little wank, was par for the course.

One day however, we were both feeling particularly horny and, although my parents were sitting downstairs watching TV and could knock on my bedroom door at any moment, found ourselves as naked as the day that we were born. Thinking I could chance my arm (or more correctly, my tongue) I asked her if she'd freak out if I went down on her. She look at me a little confused and then said, 'Oh. Ok, I suppose.' Even though it was hardly an enthusiastic response it was good enough for me and, more importantly, the English legal system , so I soon found myself lapping away at her twat to a chorus of low grunts and moans of pleasure. These grew in volume until I was seriously concerned that my parents would hear her and come and see what all of the commotion was about, but she finally came to a breathless orgasm and deposited a goodly amount of lady spaff about my jaw and lower face.

Having cleaned myself up a bit, we lay there in each others arms with me waiting for the gob job I now felt I was owed, when she turned to me and said, 'I've got a confession to make.' This elicited a mild panic in me; had I just had a Crying Game moment and the vadge I'd just so fondly licked was actually an inside-out knob that a surgeon had stuffed back up him/her? Was the quantity of lovejuice so great that she'd actually done a cheeky piss in my mouth to fake an orgasm? Fortunately, her confession was much sweeter, if a lot dimmer. 'When you said would I freak out if you went down on me, I thought you were going downstairs to make a cup of tea.'

And to think, if I'd asked her 'would you be upset if I nipped round the back?' I probably could have bummed her.
(AngryGayRobot, Tue 30 Sep 2008, 10:37, 3 replies)

The Chickenlady Guide to Giving The Talk
Ever since my sons (now 10) have been very small I've been very open and told them the bits that they were ready for regarding sex… So here is my guide to Giving The Talk


Talk One - The basics of Biology

This is a pearoast from Animal Cruelty -

When they were about 6 I got hold of some fertile eggs because one of my hens (Ethel) was broody. She duly sat on them and produced four cockerels and only two hens. The chicks were lovely but within a few weeks the young cocks had become just that and were harassing all of the hens…several times a day to the point that the favoured hens had no feathers on the tops of their heads and many of them had now got bloody scabs from the over enthusiastic males holding them with their beaks.

When your young children have seen hens being given a good seeing to on a regular basis sex education is pretty easy, or so I’d thought. The following conversation is etched on my memory…

Son #1 “Mummy, what is Hector [Hector was the biggest cockerel and therefore it was his house...] doing to all the hens?”

Me “He wants to give them chicks”

The kids were already well aware that hens lay eggs regardless of whether there’s a cockerel about or not (some adults are unaware of this, and more than once I’ve heard an egg referred to as a ‘Chicken abortion’ erm….no it’s unfertilised…and will never ever become a chick, you idiot).

Son #1“But how?”

Me“Ah…well….you know how you have a winkle?”

He nods, interested now (typical male…any mention of genitalia and they’re all ears…as it were…)

Me“Well…Hector has one too”

Son #1“Where?”

Me“Under his feathers. Anyway, he jumps on the hen’s back and he puts his winkle into the hen”

Son #1“Where?”

Me“Erm…where the eggs come out”

Son #1“UP HER BUM!!??”

Me“Yes…but it’s called a Vent in chickens”
(Can you tell I used to be a primary school teacher?)

*Boy thinks*

Son #1“Mummy….”

Me“Yes darling?”

Son #1 “Is that how people get babies?”

Me“Pretty much, yes, but they always ask first and they always should like each other a lot”

Son #1“So…Daddy…and you…..”

Me“Yes”

Boy looks slightly shocked…

Me“It’s alright you know, when you get older you’ll understand that it’s okay and nice too.”

Boy begins to cry…

Son #1“But Mummy….I’ll never be able to do that!”

At that point I’m afraid I had to stifle my giggles, gave him a hug, told him it would be okay, he *would* be able to do it and would want to do it, then I sent him outside to play.

Ten minutes later I went out to see what the kids were up to….and I see my son chasing the cockerel around the garden shouting at him, “You git! You didn’t ask her if she wanted chicks! Leave her alone!”
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 26 Sep 2008, 11:27, 13 replies)

Asterix
When I was younger, my parents used to throw a huge costume party about once a year. A hundred or so of their friends would invade our house dressed in ridiculous outfits, while all the kids were shut in a bedroom to watch videos and get utterly buzzed on caffeinated soft drinks (sometimes even staying awake up until the heady hour of two in the morning!).

One year, when I would have been about nine or ten, the APs were discussing the theme of their next bash. Now, at the time, I had just been reading an Asterix book - specifically, Asterix in Switzerland. This features a Roman official who periodically throws large parties for all his Roman buddies, except they aren't called parties - they're called orgies.

Of course, since Asterix is a book for kiddies, these "orgies" don't actually feature any sex - just drinking and music and, because it's set in Switzerland, fondue. My parents happened to own a fondue set (a wedding present, which they didn't actually end up using for the first time until their silver wedding anniversary).

So it came to pass that, armed with my misconception, I in all innocence walked up to my parents and suggested that for their next party they could invite all their friends over for an orgy.

It was another six or so years before I figured out why they both went bright crimson and stifled laughs upon my suggestion. I didn't get it at the time. After all, who doesn't love fondue?
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 17:00, 5 replies)

i was once watching neighbours years ago
Scott and charlene were kissing. Being a confused 6 yr old. I walked up to my mum and said

"Mum, why do the people in neighbours kiss like this?"

At which point i try to chew my mums jaw off.

( i tried to snog my mum)

Queue my mum pushing me back in a horribly confused matter, whilst my older brother collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Jeeze, ive only just remembered this and can only assume it was repressed for some reason...

*begins to twitch..

*begins to weep
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Fri 26 Sep 2008, 13:35, 15 replies)

Hell, hell, hell
And another girl I was seeing. Well, she was quite petite and insufferably gorgeous. Before our first night together she'd remarked that she didn't have an arse. I've heard many a skinny girl say as such and figured I'd be treated to an arse akin to two cherries on a stem.

The night comes, I tear off her pants in a fit of triumph, and...

She really didn't have an arse. Just a mass of skin with a tiny slit right at the very bottom.

Then I realised I was looking at her front. Hahahahaha!

Actually thats not true. Turns out she had spina bifida.
(GONEism, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 19:11, 14 replies)

Adventures of a Teenage Scrubber...
I was 12 or so when my best friend told me that it was the sensation of a woman's pubes rubbing against your cock that made you jizz.

And that's why I spent at least an hour sitting in the bathroom rubbing my bell-end raw with a toothbrush.

It didn't work.

To my eternal shame, it was my sister's toothbrush... which I guiltlessly placed back on the sink after I gave up.
( DickieDoesDallas eshews witty slogans, Sat 27 Sep 2008, 8:29, 3 replies)

Oooook...
When I was but a wee lad I assumed that whenever a lady hurt herself and screamed in pain, a baby came out. I don't think this is a completely screwy logic - I'd seen women giving birth in soap operas and I assumed that pain = childbirth, not the other way around.

So anyway, I was in infant school at the time, and one afternoon my mum fell down 3 flights of stairs in coming to pick me up. I come out of class and see her in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, screaming in pain and rather bloodied up and surrounded by people. My response?

"Noooo! I don't want another brother!"
(GONEism, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 17:12, 5 replies)

There really is no pleasing some women…
Recently, I put up a bird table and my missus went fucking mental at me!

I don't know why...after all, I put her in 6th place, which I thought was more than fair…
(Mr Twisty Cheeky The worst kept secret in B3ta..., Mon 29 Sep 2008, 16:16, 4 replies)

The Chickenlady Guide to Giving The Talk
This one happened only last week and was prompted by a question raised by Son #2 in the car (again)

Talk Three - Contraception and STDs


Son#2 Mum, what's a condom?

I have by now stopped asking where they heard the word and in what context - just in case they're asking about something entirely innocent - they play rugby and will be off to senior school next year. They may still harbour hopes of Father Christmas existing but they also live in the real world (some of the time).

Me It's like a balloon that's put over a man's willy when a couple are having sex. It's to prevent them having a baby or catching diseases.

I see my opportunity to cover two more topics here - birth control and STDs!

Daytime television beckons me again…I could be the new Denise on This Morning with Philip and Fern…..

Son#2 But why do people use them? Sex is for making babies, so why would you use them?

Oh my god! Catholicism is in the genes! How the hell did that happen? After all I've told these boys? How could he have this misguided belief?

Me No, no, no sweetheart. Sex isn't just for making babies. Sex is a way of communicating, people don't just do it to have babies.

Son#2 So….you've…..

Me Yes, more than once. laughs But when the time comes for you to have sex it's really important that you use condoms - not just to prevent having babies but more importantly to stop you catching or giving someone germs.
You know how if you are kissed by someone with a cold you could catch it? Well, having sex - putting your willy into someone else's body is another way to spread germs, so condoms help to prevent that.


I then recapped on the whole relationship thing and not lying to people, how it's important that regardless of the sex of their friends and partners... But we’re not gay! ....maybe not, but there's nothing wrong with it, you know.... Your friend is gay, isn't she Mum, we've met her girlfriend, they seemed normal....

Me Anyway, so when the time comes, make sure you know them really well, you like and care for them very much, don't lie to them and always use a condom.

Bloody hell, I'm good. Loose Women, here I come!

Son #1 Yeah, and buy them a drink in the pub first.




*Sigh*
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 26 Sep 2008, 12:48, 7 replies)

‘Relationship Overlapping’

After my girlfriend dumped me, I tried to raise my spirits by going for a cruise on my own (On a SHIP – you dirty fuckers)

To my horror, the ship sank, and there were only 3 survivors; Me, a bloke called Joe and a young (rather attractive) lady called Susan.

Well, we managed to swim to a small island and started to set up a shelter etc. After a while it was quite obvious that we all got on very well, but there was also the inevitable attraction.

As consenting adults, the three of us got together and had ‘the talk’.

We lived happily there for a couple of years doing what's natural for men and women to do... But after several years of constant casual sex, Susan felt overwhelmed with guilt about what she had been doing. The moral degredation of regularly 'bumping uglies' with both Me & Joe (sometimes at the same time) was so bad that I’m sorry to report that she killed herself. It was a very tragic time but Joe & I managed to get through it and, after a while, as we grew closer, we confided in each other…and nature once more took its inevitable course...

Well, a couple more years drifted by quite happily but eventually, both Joe & I began to feel absolutely horrible about what we were doing.............

So we buried her.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 30 Sep 2008, 11:36, 8 replies)

'The hokey-cokey’ (or 'Pooflake's blowjob lesson')...

It seems like this QotW has only just had its hymen twanged, yet the subject of cock-chugging has already been mentioned quite a bit. I apologise from the heart of my bottom for bringing it up again.

But this...is my (sort of) 'BJ' story...

After my parents moved house, my new school was situated in what seemed like a different time zone. Every day I had to get up at stupid o'clock…to walk half a million miles to the cunting bus stop and then endure the arduous cockstick journey through every bastard village on the fuckpig way to whoring Rugby. Suffice to say I wasn’t a happy bunny.

The only thing that made it remotely worthwhile was that I used to claim the very front seat of the coach as my own, as it was much lower than the rest, and there was always an opportunity to look up the shorter skirts of the older girls as they ascended the steps to the ‘regular’ seats.

In the next Village lived a lad called Liam, and he always used to sit next to me. He was a bit younger than I was, but even for his age was young looking, short and naive. Therefore the unwritten law was passed, and the task was thrust up myself to teach him the ‘code of the schoolyard’.

I relished this opportunity to pass on all my worldly knowledge…regarding such great topics as ‘cleavage', moving on to 'boobage’ and then 'fun with breasticles'(advanced). Over time I was painstakingly moulding the budding padawan in my own graven image of a sweary sexual deviant.

One fine summer morning, as I was trying to catch a few Z’s on the way to school, I was gently nudged by Liam:

“pooflake…...Pooflake!” He whispered sheepishly in my ear “I’ve got something to ask you...”

“What the bloated mimsy-rot do you want?” I snorted derisively at him for interrupting my slumber.

"Erm...the thing is…I’ve heard about something...I'm not sure...but I think it's a bit rude and I don’t know what it is” he tentatively replied.

Raising an eyebrow I sneered: "Oh, go on then, what have you heard?"...half expecting him to start talking about 'wispy hair' in his undercrackers.

He replied: "Erm...well......What's a 'Blow Job'?"

Time stopped.

At this point I had a choice. He had taken a massive gamble, sharing a potentially gargantuan moment of embarrassment with me. This was something deeply personal that he was questioning to his trusted friend and mentor. He didn't want to risk looking like a 'prize-winning porridge pistol' in front of his mates, so had sensitively and privately enquired to me. (I mean, where do people go to learn about this stuff anyway?)

So there he was, reaching out...a heartfelt plea to be given the lowdown and guidance regarding something vital…life-changingly important....all he was certain about at that point was that the subject matter was of the sort of rudey nature that he could never ask his teacher...or (god forbid), his parents about. He had put himself in a very vulnerable position…

Well, what could I do?

I was tender in years myself, and although furnished with some knowledge of such matters, intensely inexperienced.

However, it soon became evident that even at that young age...I was still an utter cunt.

"Right then mate, let me tell ya" I said, stifling a giggle and putting my arm around him reassuringly. I could almost feel the relief ebbing from the boy, who had no doubt lay awake all night pondering over whether or not he should ask for my sage advice on this delicate quandry.

I continued: "Well, I'm not gong to lie to you. As you can imagine, it's a sexual thing. How it works is...a boy and a girlie take off their clothes, then…the girlie slips behind the boy and she reaches around with the left arm, grabbing his nutsack firmly and tightly. She then breathes in really deeply and puffs out her cheeks as much as she can. This creates a strange biological and physical effect in girlies that results in an increased pressure of the grip, and she holds tighter and tighter for as long as he (or she) can stand. It may sound weird, but it feels really nice for the boy"

(Cue Liam's jaw dropping wide open and a prolonged pause as he attempts to process what has just been relayed to him)

...

...


He finally spoke: "Erm....riiiiiiiiiight...(I could almost hear the cogs going round in his head)...but why is it called a 'Blow Job' then?" Liam pondered further.

"Ah, there's two reasons for that." I immediately and confidently respond. "Firstly, because when the girl can't hold her breath any more, she exhales and 'blows' all the surplus air down the back of the man's neck, which again is a pleasurable experience..."

At this point Liam slowly nods, hanging on my every word. This was making perfect sense to him and I could see him visualising the sordid scenario in his (now warped beyond recognition) impressionable young mind...

I continued: "The second reason is a bit...well...'kinky'. Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Liam's beady peepers nearly pop out of his head, as if he was about to be told the secret of eternal life: "Y-y-y-y-y-yeeeeeAAAAH!" he implored.

"Well then", I shamelessly enthused: "Whilst you're in the throes of the 'job', the girlie gives you a 'blow' by punching you stoutly on the back of the head with her right hand, and the jolting sensation makes you spurt your splooge extra hard!"

"NO.FUCKING.WAY!" exclaimed little Liam, his face aglow with titilation.

"Yep - and that's all there is to it. It's brilliant - I've had loads of 'blowjobs' you know..." I concluded with a knowing smirk, mentally congratulating myself on the 'job well done' of ruining someone's fledgling educational career.

The youthful pre-teen felt empowered by this mature tutelage and couldn't wait to bound energetically off the bus to share his wisdom with his fellow classmates.

Unfortunately for him, he had decided to ‘fluff up’ his story somewhat by breaktime, and claimed to his friends that he had actually received a blow job the previous evening…before proceeding to ‘act out’ the situation 'as it really happened’…

When it came to the ‘highlight’ of his tale, amongst his spirited, graphic display of amateur dramatics, he of course did not opt for the universally acknowledged ‘move your fist towards your mouth and poke your tongue into your cheek’ signage for the beloved blowie. Instead, he used his newly acquired information to demonstrate the ‘sex-act’ which had allegedly been partaken on him.

I still remember chuckling to myself when I spotted him on the playground with an audience of about a dozen (increasingly confused) younglings, proudly displaying how he was a 'man-of-the-world', with his knees slightly bent, whilst thrusting his hips, winking at the girls, making a gesture with one outstretched hand that resembled a dying spider, swinging wildly into mid-air with the other hand, all the time with his cheeks puffed out like Louis Armstrong doing a particularly strenuous trumpet solo, and a rampant look of ‘fierce eroticism’ in his eyes.

It was like a demonically deranged, solo porno version of 'the hokey-cokey'

I crept out of sight as the collective pointing and laughter of his peers rang out to uncontrollable levels…before all sound was metaphorically drowned out by the monumental 'clanging' sound of 'the penny dropping’ in Liam’s head, as he finally realised...that in the very midst of the 'kids can be cruel' years, he had lined himself up to have the veritable living piss ripped out of him for the rest of his natural school existence.

And thus it was so…(although to be honest, me telling everyone in school about it didn’t help him much either).

I'd like to think that I gave him an important lesson in life that day...and that lesson is:


'Never, EVER pay any attention whatsoever to anything Pooflake says (or does)...EVER'.


You could all do well by heeding that advice.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Fri 26 Sep 2008, 11:52, 8 replies)

Tenuous
A common misconception is that a woman can only spit or swallow after oral.

I was seeing a girl who worked in Canterbury Cathedral. This will become relevant very shortly.

She was amazing at playing the pink oboe. Absolutely incredible. On one stand out performance I apparently spluffed extra hard, and she said some had got stuck up her nose. She tried to snort and sniff and blow (no jokes) but to no avail. She couldn't stop for long after as she had to dash off to work.

At Canterbury Cathedral.

Where she sneezed it on the floor.

I wish I was making all this up. If I was, I'd have a bigger cock and the ability to be monogamous.
(GONEism, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 23:35, 1 reply)

Monty Python had it right.
"What about a kiss boy? You don't have to go steaming into the clitoris like a bull in a china shop."

One of my pet peeves is the poor state of sex education in this country...

Seriously what the fuck?

How often in life will mr/ms average be required to analyse the relationship between Juliette and her maid in Romeo and Juliette?

How many times is the average person going to need to know what the square root of 59 is?

How useful is it to the average person to know the rates at which hydrochloric acid dissolves magnesium strips, when the acid is diluted to varying degrees with water?

How often will Joe Bloggs have to explain the formations of ox-bow lakes?

How many times is the average person going to have sex?

I rest my case your honours.

Its no wonder most chavs have produced 10 retarded, illegitimate, fucksporne before they hit 14.

*In a bad mood now*
(Bam Bam McPenis will change all this when he is fuhrer., Thu 25 Sep 2008, 19:01, 5 replies)

Happily Ever After
I thought that when people fell in love they'd have wondrous sex and be all happy and bluebirds would sing around their bedhead as they consumated their beautiful relationship in sunlit sheets and glorious passion. They'd live happily ever after as best friends with a hot sex life.

The reality...

Scenario 1: you meet someone, you have drunken sex; later you have sober sex, it's okay - nice, and you have all those new relationship hormones buzzing around; you like them, you fall in love, the sex is okay; it tails off, you have a very loving but asexual relationship. Touching them feels wrong because you're so close to them it's practically incest, and not in a good way. You can't do sex but you can do love.

Scenario 2: you meet someone, you have drunken sex, it's dirty as fuck, it's hot and it's amazing; later you have sober sex (though it's better drunk); your relationship is a trainwreck, you can't call it love, you don't know what's happening emotionally but you can't be in the same room as them without tearing off their clothes; you exhaust each other in a perpetual state of mutually assured destruction, but the sex is AWESOME. You can't do love but you can do sex.

My psychiatrist is making a fortune.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 16:39, 33 replies)

At my primary school...
...there was this rich girl, she showed total disdain for everyone and everything.

Once day, the teacher had clearly just had enough, and she flipped. She shouted something like 'I have had it up to here with you, I am trying to teach you and you just sit staring out of the window like in your in some kind of penthouse'

The kid I was sitting next too piped up 'I'm telling on you miss, she's too young to be in magazines like that'

...and his parents were called into the school to discuss how their five year old son knew what Penthouse was before he knew what a pentouse was.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 16:21, 1 reply)

My Dad...
My dad was always pretty honest about life, sometimes too much so.

I remember once when I was about 11, he turned to me and said "Agnostic, if you wank too much, you'll go blind."

I just sadly turned to him, and said "Dad, I'm over here"
( Agnostic Antichrist Baltimora, Wed 1 Oct 2008, 9:30, 5 replies)

Sex ed
At the age of 16, the fat old bag who was the head of biology at my school decided my class was due for a frank no-nonsense discussion about sex. We were all given a sheet of paper on which we had to write any questions we had about sex, which were then folded up and put into a carboard box. The idea being that she would pull the questions out one by one and answer them.

Sounds like a good idea? Well it probably was until she said the worst possible thing, namely: "Don't worry, nothing can possibly shock me". Red. Rag. To. A. Bull.

Some of the questions:
Do I need to put a condom on the gerbil before shoving it up my arse?
Can your husband still get it up?
Can you catch AIDS from shagging a dead body?

It turned out that she could be shocked, at least that was the impression I got when she stormed off red faced and we were given a bollocking from the head of house. I guess her sex misconception was that she was going to get sensible questions from a bunch of 16 year olds about to leave school.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Tue 30 Sep 2008, 11:52, 2 replies)

Don't think it was a misconception....
.. more of a misguidance. Or maybe misconceptions after the fact.

A number of years ago a friends (then) 11 year old son was telling his mother of their sex education classes. Ash was grade six in primary school. The class was run by a lady doctor from the state education department.

I remember my own Sex Ed classes were held in year 9 at high school. When I was 14.

Ash went on to tell his mother that the first period started with the teacher talking of the female side of the equation, breaking the ice with a question, "Can anyone tell me another name for a Vagina". The first shy hands wet up and answered along the lines of Pussy, Quim, Cooch, Chuff, Minge etc (bearing in mind these were all relatively innocent 11 year olds) and then the shyest of shy timidly calls out "Cunt, miss" and amidst all the laughter the teacher held her composure in check and repied, "Yes, that's the most common you usually hear. Now any more..?" The lesson ended shortly after having the basics of female anatomy and development explained and questions answered.

At this point in having the story related to me, I was saying how rather impressed I was at the teacher’s ability to get the kids to be comfortable and open about the topic.

The second period began in a similar vein, this time with “another name for a penis”. Apparently the boys in the class outdid themselves this time and had a ball. Figuratively speaking. Again the period ended with the basics of male anatomy and development and ended in a Q&A session.

Now, at the time, I had a 7 year old son and knew that one day I would have to broach the birds and the bees subject at some time and was rather impressed at this approach to sex education. But wait, I was told, there was more…!

The final session was all about the actual mechanics of sex. Its why’s and wherefore’s…..The ins and outs you may say.

Ash had explained that after the initial discomfort on the subject the whole class was enjoying the Sex Ed periods. He had learned the truth behind a lot of his own sexual misconceptions at the time. Seeing that most of that came from South Park, I could understand why – although I never had the heart (or balls) to correct him in his usage of Cartmans mother’s misheard expression “Rim Jaw”.

However, even MY jaw dropped on the answer to one of the final Sex Ed questions. One kid in Ash’s class asked the teacher, “What’s BUTTFUCKING”…. To which, the teacher’s straight faced reply was, “Well, that is something that South Africans do..”. And from that day on, the only South African kid in the class was nicknamed “Eddie the Buttfucker”.

Poor Kid.
(Sir Jester, Tue 30 Sep 2008, 11:45, 3 replies)

Lying bastards....
I was told by an older family member that a girl would fall in love with any boy who's semen she had ingested.

I spent years wanking into cups of tea, cans of coke and any foodstuffs that had potential to be eaten by the then object of my desires.

Nearly shat myself when a girls dad ate a chocolate eclair that I had spunked into.
(Tugnut Ex of this parish, Fri 26 Sep 2008, 15:42, 5 replies)

The Chickenlady Guide to Giving The Talk
Many of The Talks have happened in the car - I suspect it's more to do with having my undivided attention than not having to look me in the eye, but maybe that too.

Talk Two - Relationships

So we'd already covered the basics of anatomy and the mechanics of sex and the biologically intended outcome of babies - remember the chickens.

The next bit that I felt I needed to address was Relationships - it's no good if my sons know what goes where and so on but have no idea that ones feelings enter into all this.

Again this was some years ago. The conversation began with one of them asking me what the word 'gay' meant as it was being used in the playground and they didn't understand it but knew it was something rude.

Me You know how there are mummies and daddies who love each other? Well sometimes some men only want to be with other men-

Son #1 You mean like Uncle David in the army?

Me Er, no. Uncle David is in the army but he's married to Auntie Sally and the army isn't just for men you know.

Ha! Nip that stereotype and sexist thinking in the bud right there! I will have liberal, openminded sons!

Me I mean that some men and some women decide that they want to share their lives with other men or other women.


Okay, so we'd got that one straight, the boys moaned that children in the playground were calling each other gay and being nasty - the usual schoolground stuff. The conversation developed on to sex…as it so often does…

Son #1 So if I have a girlfriend have I got to have sex with her?

Me No sweetheart. When the time comes that you both feel ready to 'share' your bodies with each other...

[Me? Preach? Nooooo! Vomit bags can be found near the exits, thank you.]

...then you will want to make love or have sex. It is really, really important that you wait until you find someone you really care about. Don't lie to them, never ever tell one girl you really like her and then start going out with another one at the same time - that's just wrong. But having a girlfriend is about being with someone because you like them, it's not just about sex and it's not something to rush into.

Son #2 When will all this happen?

Me Probably when you're in your late teens or maybe after that - there's no hurry.

The sound of two pre-pubescent boys thinking this one over………………

Son #1 So mummy what you're saying is that when we're about 18 we'll have girlfriends and we'll have sex with them. And we'll be nice to them and not lie to them and like them too.

Me Yes. That's about the size of it.

I was now feeling very smug with myself - I had done The Talk and covered the basics of relationships - what a wonderful mother I was! I could take over from Trisha or even Jeremy Kyle!

Son #1 But mummy does this mean we'll have to……kiss them!?


Ah you foolish woman….you may hope that you're setting down foundations for them to grow into good men but you forget that they are small boys who think girls smell funny.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Fri 26 Sep 2008, 12:14, 9 replies)

Babysitting lady seduction shenanigans
Teenage-PJM was a scant seventeen years old, over laden with hormones, hair gel, bell-endedness and concern as to the effect of excessive Onanism on the hirsuteness of his palms whilst being chronically under-endowed with brains, confidence and precious little lady related experience. I'd probably spent more time having injections than having sexual intercourse at this point.

I was at the time good friends with two sisters of my own age - Anna and Clara, the daughters of a local plod, who lived nearby in a street of houses reserved for serving police officers. Being the polite and clean cut teenager as I was, their parents welcomed me escorting their daughters out for age disqualified beery nights out in the local pub. These two girls were very close friends, so trusted in fact that I treated them with an almost sibling-like regard (stopping short of giving them Chinese burns and dead arms).

Sure enough, Anna - the elder of the pair confided one evening "I know someone who fancies you. But I can't tell you who they are. I promised them on my life that I wouldn’t" which was followed by some knowing winks and a hint of innuendo, followed by the vague suggestion that she’d “set us up” one evening without any warning. A fruitless round of guessing ensued, having gotten nowhere finding out the identity of the mystery woman, teenage-PJM fucks off home cross-eyed with stupidity and lust.

Next evening the phone rings. It's Anna. Her and Clara are babysitting for their next door neighbour this Friday, would I like to come round and help out with them again? They have MTV… Sure, why not.

Anna and Clara's next door neighbour; Lyndsey, was going through the throes of a messy divorce and not content with keeping the house, was off out that Friday night to get utterly shitfaced and humiliate her soon to be ex-husband by bringing home a random fella right under the noses of his colleagues who staffed the small Police Station, just yards away at the end of the street.

Sure enough, teenage-PJM finds himself sat on the sofa in between Anna and Clara, watching MTV as the kids stubbornly refused to make any sort of a nuisance of themselves, no doubt having seen teenage-PJM coming down the street.

"God" belmed teenage-PJM, "I wonder what sex is like when you're really old? Like thirty or something?”.

“That’s Lyndsey’s age!” blurted Clara.

Indeed. The awfulness of it. Imagine being say… Thirty-four years of age and still having sex? Oh the thought of it.

As the evening went on, we sat lower and lower in the sofa reaching for the glasses of wine and beer thoughtfully provided by Lyndsey.

In my alcohol fuddled state, I looked to my left and to my right. Anna was tall, slim and coolly attractive. Indeed, we'd drunkenly kissed one evening at a party a few months before, although it was mutually agreed afterward that "it had never happend". Her sister Clara was equally pretty, but possessed of a mischievous sense of humour. I must confessed that Clara once kissed me whilst under the influence. But again, we didn't speak a word of it. We talked, laughed and fooled around like the carefree teenagers we were. Clara’s eyes sparkled as we exchanged yet another filthy joke as Anna looked on with feigned indignation and sighed “God, you two are so disgusting”. Anna was looking admittedly quite radiant in the glow of the television, transfixed with Michael Jackson’s latest video featuring morphing faces and Macaulay Caulkin.

“Go on then Anna, who is this mystery woman you told me about?” I asked.

“I really can’t tell you! I promised” she replied, winking. Clara nudged me in the ribs and poked her tongue out at me, playfully.

It got later and I got drunker. The identity of my mystery admirer vexed me, as I explored the modest extent of my wits to figure out who she might be.

Who could she be… Who could she be…

With that, the front door opened and in walked an inebriated Lyndsey in the process of noisily bidding her female drinking partner goodnight as she tottered through the doorway in heels not designed to support a woman of thirty years vintage and under the influence.

“Hallo!” she breathed, swaying slightly as she stood in the lounge. “Don’t go home yet, we must have a drink and a chat first!”

I sat there in between the two girls, innocently.

“Oh, PJM I’ve got something for you!” said Lyndsey.

“Stay right there”. With that she ran up the stairs, risking life and ankles in those heels.

*clomp*clomp*clomp*clomp*clomp*clomp*

“Hold out your hand then!” she said as she reappeared in the lounge.

With that, I felt something small, flat and square, with sharp edges being placed in my palm. I couldn’t see because my view was blocked by Lyndsey’s face as she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek as she whispered "I'm glad Anna and Clara organised this one, fancy coming upstairs when they go home?".

I looked down and saw that she’d placed a condom wrapper in my hand. I was shocked. I didn’t know what to do…

So I did the only thing that hormone laden, bell-ended teenage-PJM could do. I gathered up my wits, seized the moment…

And…

…fucked off out of there as fast as my legs would carry me.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 1 Oct 2008, 19:55, 25 replies)