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)

"TEETH"
the movie.... from the sundance film festival, tells you ALL you need to know.

I am 42 and still a virgin! Dirty, dirty girls
(bugboybeast, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 15:35, 2 replies)

i
ate her cat.




oops.
(El, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:41, Reply)

There were no locked doors in our house..
and as a young boy of 5 I wandered into the bathroom where my Mother was taking a bath..

"ERRRRRRR ! WHAT'S THAT"? I asked, pointing between my mothers legs.

"Why Dear..thats where the Mad Axe man hit me with his axe" she replied.

"BLOODY HELL ! HE HIT YOU RIGHT IN THE CUNT".
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:35, 3 replies)

when i was about 17
i read that giving birth was like having an orange yanked out of your nostril*. the awesomeness of this simile has stayed with me ever since.

if that isn't a reason for sex to miss conception, i have no idea what is.

shit puns aside though, an orange ? from out of your nostril ?? any maternal b3tans want to contradict this?

* i think it was jessica mitford who said this was how her mother described birth...


( rachelswipe with a fork, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:33, 33 replies)

just cause it had to be told...
Well so over the summer I was at a party and got terribly wasted. Not long after I hooked up with some one of those girls that goes to parties cause she wont get any if the guys are sober.

so we hooked up and she did the whole oral thing as a finishing touch.

afterwards i go outside to have a smoke and when i come back inside the house i see her on the couch violently making out with one of my friends.

(now, let me just say i was not jealous by any means nor did i feel used, considering i had gotten off and was satisfied.)

i just joined the rest of the party and when i later on informed him that he had been gargling my potential children, he looked mortified and i'm pretty sure he threw up.




all i have to say is... ownd
(Argentum, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:25, Reply)

There were no locked doors in our house..
and as a young boy of 5, I wandered into the bathroom whilst my Father was taking a bath.

"ERRRR ! WHATS THAT"? I asked whilst pointing between my Fathers legs.

"Well Son...That's My Hedgehog" He replied.

"FUCK ME..ITS GOT A BLOODY BIG DICK" I said.
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:07, Reply)

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)

Christian Fundamentalist Sex Ed
While I didn't go to a religious school so to speak, there were an adamant group of bible bashers called The Crusaders (sounds friendly, doesn't it) rampaging through the after schools clubs to give free trips to cinemas and clubs to naive students in an attempt to brainwash them into following this Jesus bloke.

Being 9 years old, they had me at the 'free cinema trips' bit. After my first outing (I think we watched Flubber. Ace film that) we retreated to the delapidated school portacabins to talk about the love affair between Mary, Joseph and the Big G himself. As is so common with the everyday talk of virgin births, the conversation shifted towards sex.

Now, we'd recently been given the speech by our teachers, who had painted the picturesque moment of 'when a man and a woman love each other very much...blah blah blah'. Thankfully the Right Reverend Rottenflange was there to shed some light on the situation.

"Sex is a dirty, shameful act of which that and pregnancy outside of wedlock guarantees an eternity in the firey depths of hell" quoth the naive preacher.

"But sir," says I "God impregnated the virgin Mary outside of wedlock, so logically speaking (never use that term around a relgious zealot. You can see the sparks flying) shouldn't God be in Hell for impregnating a married woman?"

What didn't make things better was that I then suggested that in the remaining years of Mary's and Joseph's existence there must be a fair few offspring floating around, so logically speaking (man I love using that phrase) there's a chance my great great great great (etc) uncle is Jesus himself.

I got kicked out of a non-exclusive club after one film and a 20 minute talk. I'd say it turned out quite well as a) I got to watch Flubber and b) I didn't get molested. Win win!
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:56, 4 replies)

Anatomy
When I was a young 'un and just starting to realise that the opposite sex was interesting in a tittilating kind of way, the only nudity I'd ever come across was in Channel 4 films, arty photographs and very soft grumble. As a result I assumed for years that the "target" was bang in the middle of a lady's pubic triangle, so when I finally saw pictures of a pink canoe I thought it was some horrific accidental gash at the bottom of some poor lady's pelvis. Still don't think they're the prettiest things in the world to be frank.
(Vice Admiral Sir Charles Cockbrush KCB MBE DSO, who is finding it increasingly difficult to log into b3ta.com wants to duck your aunt and kick your puppy, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:52, 3 replies)

I didn't even mention this to anyone because I thought it was common knowledge
A young child (8-9), clinging on to my innocence and naiveity of life. Then I had to stop at my cousin's house one night, he was only in his early teens but I thought he knew everything about everything ever.

Anyway he decided to inform me of the ins and outs of male masturbation in full detail. When I didnt quite understand he got out one of uncles favoured videos so I could check the visuals.

I was shocked. Not because of the video. But because for the next few years of my life I truely believed that cows were maturbated to produce milk which was infact their love juice.

I was about 14 when I worked out how stupid I was.

The worst thing was that even with me believing that cows were sexually stimulated and the prdoduct was actually meant to be entering another cow, in no way whatsoever did this hinder my consumption of milk. Yum.
(i should have joined myspace, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:45, Reply)

More bad drugs
Growing up in the rather happy & trippy go lucky days of the early rave culture in South Africa afforded me the kind of existential existence based on half truths and out of body experiences that were in direct correlation to type of music that was playing and the amount of LSD we were ingesting. One particular half-truth expounded at length by all psychedelic narcotic enthusiasts was related to a relatively new drug on the scene - ecstasy.

In between observing animals mutate out of the walls and watching tv in a blank space populated by nothing other than oxygen we noted that consumers of this "new drug" where particularly affectionate towards each other. One thing struck a resonate chord between all of us - men were massaging each other with their shirts off and seem to be loving it.

And so it came to pass that for a long time we held the mistaken belief that the reason gay people existed was because of ecstasy. This was confirmed by most, if not all of our friends in the scene. A belief we were to hold until the fateful day we were convinced that "this stuff is so fucking good its worth turning gay for". We tried it. We didn't turn gay. It was ace.

Length? I don't know...I never ended up batting for the other team.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:33, Reply)

Bad drug
We used to hang out with a mate who was a prolific shoplifter. We'd go to the shops and walk around and point out the things we wanted and he'd duly steal it for us. For some or other reason we ended up in a pharmacy one day and we spotted a bottle of spanish fly or poppers in laymans terms. This shop presented a particular challenge for our budding criminal mastermind as the spanish fly was located directly in front of the main till. The challenge was duly issued by Brandon to Danny the thief to pilfer the bottle on the proviso that it will be used on Brandons mum that very evening if the operation was a success.

Fast forward 3 hrs and three 13 yr old boys were round at Brandons house being ever so nice to mumsi. We'd offered to fetch her wine when she was thirsty and attended to her every need. The reasoning behind niceties were twofold, firstly we wanted to spike her wine and secondly we needed to be close at hand to actually observe the effect of the drug. Needless to say three 13 yr olds being nice a parent soon rumbled suspicions & after much sniggering and stifled laughter we came clean that she had drunk about 3 times the recommended dose of spanish fly.

Now it had to be said that we were expecting a rabid horny woman to emerge from the intake of the liquid. Given that Brandon was actually administering it to his mum the outcome was in retrospect poorly thought out. However in my defence we were 13 and the outcome of any event at this age is rarely discussed before anything is attempted.

Nevertheless the whole experiment was a dismal failure. She failed to alter her state into anything other than an incandescent rage and our misconception that spanish fly would result in a horny woman was blown clean out of the water.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:11, 2 replies)

Branded a cheat
I thought that the first time I cheated on someone it would be immediately apparent to the rest of the world. I thought they'd know. I thought it'd be written all over me like a label. I thought they'd see the heavy grey cloud of guilt and the euphoric afterglow of intensely illicit fucking.

No one noticed a damn thing.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:05, 6 replies)

My dinky doo is a funny colour, mummy.
Aged 5, I'd obviously been asking some troublesome questions, as my Mum had 'left' a copy of a 'birds and bees' children's book on my bed.

I suppose she hoped it would answer some of my queries, such as 'why do Mummies have boobies?'

Anyway, I flicked through, and learned a great deal. However my Mum had borrowed said book from a friend, whose own children had taken to colouring in the pictures. It was certainly a technicolour take on the reproductive system, with Crayola green ovaries and sunshine yellow sperm.

I was most disturbed however, when I found the diagram of the penis to be blue. Cue tears and sobbing, and little Whitehorse wondering why his penis wasn't blue.

Length: It's got a little longer since.
(whitehorse, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:01, Reply)

That monogamy is instinctive
Who here as a spotty youth dreamed of meeting ‘The One’?

I did.

I found though as ‘The One’’s spurned my advances and I was forced to choose another ‘The One, my heart became increasingly capricious.

Caprice did not trouble the old ticker at first when I did finally find a ‘The One’ that reciprocated. I was besotted. Declarations of love for the ages abounded. I urged my friends to do likewise as there is no heart like a heart happily given to another in receipt of theirs.

Alcohol is great isn’t it?

It truly cures all ills.

When accompanied by an uncomplicated night of lust with a buxom Scottish wench, it’s yer only man. The next morning I discovered my capacity for deceipt.

Who says you can’t love more than one woman?
Who says you can’t be kind to, take care of, share good times with, respect, admire, adore more than one woman?

I suspect monogamy is a relatively new idea in human evolution.

Rafter!
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:00, 6 replies)

Am I the only girl
who was disappointed that I couldn't feel the sperm wiggle?
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Mon 29 Sep 2008, 11:50, 5 replies)

Not sex, but the same bits, sort of
I could never understand how my fanny knew when I was sat on the toilet.
How did it know to wee then and not at other times?
Well I came to the conclusion that it was when it saw light. So I used to get dressed and into bed extra quickly just in case my fanny saw daylight and decided to pee.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Mon 29 Sep 2008, 11:48, Reply)

Growing up in a Catholic family
I was completely oblivious to sex.
As far as I knew, it was something wicked and sinful that went on because there was no other choice.

My parents wouldn't answer my questions, the bible didn't have the answer, and the internet was a distant dream.

I decided that I'd ask the only other adult that I knew, the priest, Father Sam about it.

Thanks to his tender mercies, I learned that sex was something between a young boy and his priest, involving the Rod Of Jesus and the salty Communion Paste.

So, my sexual misconception was the Jesus loves us all. He doesn't. But he fucks us with the Members of his Clergy.
Sorry...
( Cawl, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 11:47, 2 replies)

Students
I may have mentioned this before, but I was led to believe that university would be a time of almost endless sex. In actual fact, the only reason my sheets got damp was because of actual damp.

:(
(Gravity's Raincoat, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 11:25, Reply)

When I was younger...
...my misconception about sex was that I'd be getting some before I was 21.

Fucking huge and embarassing misconception that was.
( brown-wings Made with three kinds of butter, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 11:05, Reply)

My dad was just plain wrong...
My old man considered himself the archetypal ladies' man. Coiffed hair, obnoxious suits, aftershave so loud that it could get you arrested if used in a built-up area during the hours of darkness.

After he divorced mum, he seemed to turn it all up to 11 and every time I visited him he had a new, gorgeous woman 10-20 years his junior hanging off his arm and his every word.

Age 16 or so, I turned to him for advice in matters of love, seeing as I was getting none whatsoever.

He laughed and said to me "You just give up to easy! Persistance works. Effort pays off. And very often, 'no' means 'maybe' or even 'yes'!"

Turns out he was wrong about the last bit.

Yours,

Prisoner Number 36547895
HMP Belmarsh
Western Way
Thamesmead
London
SE28 0EB
(apologies_for_length, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 10:58, 3 replies)

Emma, and the hang-ups of beauty contestants
My early twenties were heaven. Stuck in the depths of a little backwater town just outside Newcastle, I enjoyed exciting relations with a variety of easy-to-please young ladies. Sex was never so easy to obtain, nor so easy to dispense.

One lass who made it particularly easy to dispense was Emma. Emma was, and let me be frank here, FUCKING GORGEOUS. She was nigh-on six feet tall, with a pale fragile complexion, high cheekbones and lots of long, straight blonde hair. She made Jodie Kidd look like Wayne Rooney, and that's no exaggeration (well, maybe a bit).

Lord alone knows what she was doing sleeping with me; I guess she just liked a bit of rough(-and ugly).

Imagine then, ousgg and Emma sat up in bed after a moment of coital bliss. This was about the fourth or fifth time we'd slept together; I was aware that my performance might not have been up to her demanding standards, and sure enough...

"ousgg, honey. You know I love you very much..."

Yeah. I knew. I knew what was coming, too.

"...but I do find sex is very unusual with you...."

'Unusual', eh? This was new.

"I'll be honest. I've been with a lot of men. There were a lot of men chasing me after I won that beauty contest..."

Woooahhh! Sod the bad performance. I've been sleeping with a beauty contest winner! Wait until the chaps down the pub find out about this.

"You won a beauty contest?!"

This didn't have the positive reaction I expected. Emma stiffened slightly and shuddered.

"Ohh, don't.... Look - it wasn't a good time for me. They stripped me of my title shortly afterwards"

Her charming Geordie accent was cracking and her top lip starting to wobble. I gave her a big cuddle and lay there in silence to see if the full story would come out.

"My parents were pushy...they wanted to force me into beauty contests. They called me their 'little princess' and dressed me up in big frocks"

She was on the verge of bursting into tears, now. Lordy - I didn't realise glamour competitions could be so traumatic. Miss Congeniality was quite painful, I know, but this was ridiculous.

"It...it...it was only a local contest, but the winner would go on to enter Miss Tyne & Wear, and from there it was only a short step to Miss Great Britain."

Miss Great Britain, eh? The pool team would have all bought me a pint at the first time of asking.

"I knew I'd done well, and I was over the moon when they gave me the sash, but it all started to get really painful a week later. You see, what I didn't know was that it was tradition for the winner to have her photo taken with a monkey from Gateshead Zoo. They sponsor the competition."

Now I was baffled. "What's so bad about that?"

"I...I'M SCARED OF MONKEYS!" she bawled.

Christ Almighty. "Couldn't you have used a giraffe or an elephant or something?"

"No. Apparently, they've this special pet monkey. He's like a mascot for the zoo. He meets the visitors and everything. And he's always had his photo taken with the beauty contest winner. So when they rang me on the Saturday after the competition, I had to make some sort of excuse. I couldn't bring myself to even think about holding him."

"Surely they didn't sack you for that?"

"They were a bit pissed off. They rang again on Monday. And then Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Every day I fobbed them off. Eventually, the contest manager was on the phone, saying: 'Emma. You're just not co-operating. I'm afraid we'll have to let you go'"

She sniffed a little and dabbed at her eyes.

"You see, a few girls had refused to pose with the monkey before, but none as many as..."

...she bit her lip and I saw a trickle course down her perfectly formed cheeks...

"...my six Miss Consett ape-shuns.".
( ousgg is not seeking approval, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 9:51, 5 replies)

When I was younger...
I thought a tighter lady would be more fun.

Boy, was I wrong.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 9:31, 6 replies)

Not sexual
But certainly a misconception.

Here in New Zealand we've been using the metric system since 1976, well before I was born. I was raised on metres and litres, thank you very much. So on a board like b3ta, where the majority of contributors are from the UK and USA, everyone talks in Imperial. Reading through some previous QOTWs, I was growingly astounded by the gargantuan amounts of alcohol everyone claimed to have consumed. "13 pints? Easy!" quoth one. Tales of 10+ pints per night were oft mentioned and I confess I started to feel ever so slightly embarrassed about my country's seemingly pathetic drinking habits, imagining a pint to be some vast unearthly measure.

Imagine my disappointment when I actually investigated how much a pint was.... It's only half a bloody litre! 10 pints is only 5 litres... Suddenly my own drinking prowess swelled magnificently in comparison.

I now feel much more secure in the power of my liver.
(Holy Gabrielle is Holy, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 5:40, 13 replies)

a lady on a lady
hmmm... one sunday morning after an eventful play at the neighbours house my brother and i came home to announce that we'd found out what a 'root' was. My father was intrigued. My mother looked concerned. "It's when a lady and a lady lie on top of each other with no clothes on". "We'll show you if you like?" Dad intoned that a route was the way you get from A to B, or how a tree gets it's nutrients. Silly us. A few months later I started school and quickly found that my father had lied to us. At the age of 5 - finding out that your father is a lier is indeed a true loss of innocence.
( hismastersvice cunting flange-jammer, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 3:11, Reply)

Hahahahaaaaa
I'm so drunkkkk
i'm spending like 10 minutes on this trying to get the spelling right
sorry for irrelevance
please form a queue?
(Freddles, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 0:15, 3 replies)

Did the Earth move for you?
Er, no, but there was this party...

My housewarming party to be exact. The housewarming party where I ended up in hospital having knocked myself out on the bathroom wall.

I got back at around midnight, ready to resume festivities. However, in my absence it transpired that one of the party goers had decided to avail himself of the 'facilities'. Which equated to my bed. His reasoning being that I probably wouldn't have been needing it that night, what with me being laid up in hospital with a severe case of alcohol-induced vomiting and all that, complete with weeping friends at my bedside convinced that I wasn't going to make it through to the next morning. Mostly because they were tripping off their boxes at the time, but anyway.

I got back at about the same point that Darren emerged sheepishly from my room, complete with somewhat flushed female. He caught sight of me and flashed a 'fuck, I didn't think you'd be home tonight' look, and shambled past me on the stairs. I didn't think anything of it at the time, wanting to resume the attempts at serious alcohol poisoning, so went for a piss and headed back to the kitchen for more beer.

It was when I eventually went to hit the sack that I realised the reason for Darren's somewhat startled look.

Whilst the Earth hadn't moved, the same couldn't be said for my bed. Whereas that morning the bed had been firmly placed against the back wall of my bedroom, it was now a couple of feet adrift and at a slightly more jaunty angle than it had been. The bed legs weren't even on castors for fuck's sake.

There was also the small matter of one of the legs having fallen off in the process...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sun 28 Sep 2008, 23:29, 3 replies)

Unfortunately, misconception was never part of my childhood.
Since I was three years old my mum worked doing party plan for a company that sounds a little like ham bummers.

Every catalogue got a good look through, for five years the abundance of catalogues that came through even ended up being used as underlining for carpets. Nothing was ever kept secret when it came to the joys of sex. Anything I wanted to know about sex was generally worked out from the books and suitcases full of stuff that were lying around the house in copious quantities. I was always a strong reader as a child and I think I read my first lesbian fantasy novel when I was eight years old. Thanks to a dictionary I was pretty clued in to how lesbians went about their business despite the rather excessive references to riding crops, bed posts and various kitchen instruments.

I even managed to get a childminder sacked by saying that she had a friend round they were doing exactly what I was reading about in the book in the living room! Innocent ten year old coming out with this stuff to such a graphic level or babysitter protesting innocence? Who were my parents going to believe?

Unfortunately, as cool as this upbringing may seem it did have a number of downsides too.

With sexual awareness comes the longing to try a lot of what you have learned out, and that came to me at an insanely young age leaving me constantly beating my little man at the slightest sexual thought.

Later years were also awkward, one girlfriend came back to mine to meet the parents on the afternoon my mum was sorting out her sales items, cue her walking with me into the living room to a table full of battery powered rubber cocks, a stack of sex orientated books and a few bottles of the various lubes Ann Summers sold amongst them.

The worst incident was when I brought another girl back a few years later, I generally warn girlfriends now, with a number of women it's a definite upside in their eyes, but at the time I kept it quiet.

We went into the house and she asked to use the toilet, I had already checked that there was nothing around to cause embarrassment and directed her to the toilet (Old house.. through the kitchen and out back!) when she came out she looked somewhat sheepish.

I fucking freaked out when she told me there was a dripping bottle of lubricant in the bathroom sink. My mum popped it in there with the intention of sorting the damn thing out when she returned home from the party she was doing.

On the upside, when she had received the explanation, she saw the funny side we were fucking like rabbits within a few minutes.
( Muns, Sun 28 Sep 2008, 22:59, 8 replies)

Just remembered this one
Before proper sex ed I had only heard about sex from friends and the old porn stashed in a bush trick.

I knew sex involved putting my penis inside a girl, but there was one problem. My penis pointed up when erect. Surly this can't be correct. I thought that the only way to put it into a girl was if it was perpendicular to my body. This was logical in my mind. So i had to fix it. Every time I had an erection I would try and pull it down to make it stick straight out. Finally I found out the truth without permanent damage.

Also when I was really young I thought that when you had sex the penis comes out of the girls bum. I even remember in year 4 drawing a picture in my school book of my friends peepee coming out of his girlfriends bumbum. He threatened to tell the teacher. It's amazing how quickly I was able to turn the bum into a pair of eyes for a funny face. Every time I opened it on that page I giggled.
( bobzarkoff, Sun 28 Sep 2008, 22:41, 1 reply)