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This is a question My sex misconceptions

Freddy Woo writes, "aged eight, a boy from my class told me everything these was to know about sex: male prostitutes are called destitutes and women use tampons to stop men sticking their willies up them. Also, women pee out their bums, something I didn't realise was wrong until I was about 18 and my first girlfriend looked at me aghast."

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zero points for conception/misconception jokes

(, Thu 25 Sep 2008, 15:54)
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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.
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 12:58, 10 replies)
I was good and ready to click at the idea of your Dad aiming a high five at you.

Who would have thought then that such an innocent, almost sweet story would have culminated in you rodgering granny in the hope of making a spare.

(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 13:10, closed)
I now feel physically sick.

*pushes rabbit sandwich away from desk*
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 13:32, closed)
Your train of thought
is certainly a runaway!
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 13:40, closed)
Ha! it's a good one today!
Unfortunately I'm now unable to get that well-known hilarious image of the chap in women's underwear with his cock up a Range Rover's exhaust out of my mind.
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 13:56, closed)
hahahahaha stunner !
as always Mr.Pooflake, you have set the bar very high..
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:02, closed)
Me too!
I once put my throbbing helmut into the exhaust pipe of a Lotus Esprit in a dark car park 'cos I thought it was the sexiest thing in the world (the car, not my knob).

And took one of the valve caps as a souvenir.

(I still have the valve cap somewhere)
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:24, closed)
I worry that this
Is actually true :|
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 14:47, closed)
Autophilia And Furries
Unfortunately for me, I once saw a picture via the medium of the interweb, of an oil painting that a Dragon-Furry had painted of two dragons, each with their cocks up an exhaust of a dual-exhausted sports-car.

Autophilia is bad enough, but Autophilia with furries is even worse!
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 15:03, closed)
I've seen that painting too!
(, Mon 29 Sep 2008, 15:54, closed)
me too. Was it linked in the newsletter?
(, Tue 30 Sep 2008, 18:31, closed)

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