Twix of Doom (pearoast)
Pearoast, but relevant. And I've still not eaten one since.

My first girlfriend and I were together for about two and a half years. A few weeks before we split up we went on a short break to Cartmel in the Lake District, renting a cottage from my auntie’s boss. We had a nice time there, wandering around the priory, eating toasted teacakes and crumpets in a small tea shop, but a more deviant event was on the horizon.

“Would you eat something out of me?” she asked one evening.

I confess I was rather bewildered and wondered what she could mean: A banana? Some chocolate? A pie? I suggested these things and she decided that a Twix would be a good idea.

The next morning we walked to the local Spar shop and, being a chivalrous type, I allowed her to choose her Twix. As the chocolate was slightly soft I suggested that we should maybe put it into the freezer for a while so that it wouldn’t melt in a flash (amongst other things) and she agreed.

“I’m ready,” she said late that evening. She went upstairs before me while I retrieved the Twix from the freezer, following in her footsteps moments later. When I reached the bedroom she had already undressed and was lying on the bed, her legs apart. For a moment I wondered how I was going to do this: do I actually remove it from the wrapper or do I shove the whole lot in? Do I put one finger in or both of them? I didn’t want to ask as I felt this would just make her nervous and would hardly instil confidence in the poor girl as she lay there, legs akimbo, about to be penetrated by a chocolate bar. I decided to insert a single finger and opened the wrapper, suddenly noticing that the chocolate was covered in a slightly grey sheen of condensation having been in the freezer all day, and was also as hard as a pavement, my thumbnail failing to leave an impression when I tested it.

“This is going to be cold,” I warned before introducing the Twix. She gasped as it slid inside and I left about an inch of it sticking out. For a moment I looked at the rather ridiculous and mildly scary sight before me, before bending down and biting off about half of the exposed finger of Twix.

Without warning the whole thing vanished inside her. Gone. I panicked, completely baffled, wondering what I should do. I didn’t think it would be The Done Thing to prise apart her labia like a mechanic lifting a bonnet before rummaging around inside, so I just lay there, staring, wanting to cry for a moment.

And then a thick, brown liquid began to ooze from her pubis. Terrified that it would ruin the sheets – which, after all, were not ours – I thrust my hand between her thighs and caught the melted chocolate as it dribbled out, but my hand quickly filled and I was then forced to consider what I was going to do with a hand full of rather hot melted Twix as I could hardly say “just crimp yourself off, love – I need to go and wash my hand”, so screwing my eyes shut I licked it off my hand while my other one was slowly filling.

Then, just as I thought it couldn’t get any worse, the biscuit base popped out, completely, eerily clean, stripped bare of chocolate and caramel, like an albino penis. I pulled it out and, hands full of chocolate, quickly ate it while I awaited for her sugary genital deluge to stop.

I don’t think I’ve eaten a Twix since.
(nasalhair The Twix guy!, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 18:26, 16 replies)

I'm hardly ever on here anymore
But when I saw this question, I couldn't resist posting a cheeky pea...

First off, I'd like to say that I have never told anyone about this. Even, now, in total anonymity, I'm cringing as I type this.

Let me set the scene - I was 18, had recently stopped hanging around with my closest friends (for reasons I can't quite remember now), in a job I hated, when I made a sudden spontaneous decision to take a week-long trip to Amsterdam. I booked the flights, managed to get the holidays short notice, packed up and flew off.

Let me say at this point that you should never go on holiday by yourself. It is probably the single worst holiday I've had, and I've been caravaning in Wales for fuck sake.

Anyway, after wandering around feeling lost and bored, and after getting far more stoned than was good for me, I stumbled across the Red Light District. I haven't seen a bigger collection of ropey-looking underdressed tramps since my last big night out in Glasgow. As a horny teenager, however, I was in a moral dilemma. Would I pay for sex? The inner dispute took about three seconds to come up with the answer : Hell yeah!

The only problem was, I couldn't decide which 'lucky lady' I was gonna have some fun with. Did I want, fat, thin, blonde, brunette, old or young? It's like you've been asked to choose which soul-sucking X-factor fame-hungry wannabe should be beaten to death with their own arm. Too much choice...

I decided to go with the one that caught my eye, that seemed to stand out. As I turned a corner, one of the girls in the windows performed a dance with her hands at her waist, firing them like pistols. This made me laugh, so I stepped up and asked how much.

"50 eauros dahrling" she said in a dodgy Italian accent.

"Lead on" said I.

We moved into the back room, a squalid, yet somehow clinical affair. The place stank of sweat and baby oil. I handed over the money to my hired whore, taking the time to look her over as she counted it.

She was tall, leggy, with long brunette hair, strong features, and a very full bra. She looked good, though I now put this down to a combination of bad lighting and the number of joints I had smoked throughout the day. I was wasted.

"You get undreassed, dahrling?" she said huskily. At this point, I did notice her voice was lower than what I was used to, but figured it must be the same in all Mediterranean women.

I promptly stripped, and joined her on the leather couch. She then proceeded to start sucking on my already hard member, without using a condom. I lay back, enjoying the sensation. It shamefully remains, to this day, one of the best blowjobs I have ever had.

After a while I decided I was ready for action. I tapped her on the head and motioned I was ready for sex. After helping me on with the condom (it's worth repeating that I was pretty fucking wasted) she proceeded to turn her back to me, took my cock in her hand, and helped guide it into what I thought was her 'lady-chamber' (or, for all you foul-mothed fuckers out there, her cunt).

I was really getting into the sex, thrusting away, and she was responding well, making all the right noises. I felt myself approaching the point of no return, so decided it would be a good time to change positions. I stopped, and indicated with what I'm sure was a ridiculous hand motion for her to turn over onto her front.

She looked at me uncertainly. "You suare?" she asked. "What about..." She nodded downwards, I looked down, and her hand seemed to be covering something over her crotch. At this point, I still hadn't cottoned on. I actually said "What about what?" in a genuinely confused tone.

'She' removed her hand, and at this point I probably don't have to tell you what was under there. If you haven't guessed it already, I'll spell it out for you. It was a cock and fucking balls, meat and two veg, David Cameron and his advisers.

She/he looked at me with concerned eyes. "Is okay?"

A million questions swarmed through me at once. Does this make me gay? Can I ever look at myself in the mirror again? Is it too late to ask for my 50 euros back?

Then I realised I had 5 minutes left, and I didn't have enough money for another actual girl. So I shrugged and asked her/him to finish me off with a blowjob. I'll say it again, I was really fucking wasted.

As she/he was sucking away I glanced down and noticed her/his 'full' bra was actually full of toilet paper, and, to make matters worse, the long brunette hair was a long brunette wig. This wasn't even a transsexual, it was a guy in fucking drag.

Somehow, I closed my eyes and climaxed. Afterwards, I couldn't put my clothes on fast enough, and as I was going through the door, all I could say was "That was...interesting"

I went to my hotel room, and took the longest shower I have ever had in my life. The smell of baby oil seemed to linger for days.

Upon returning home, whenever anyone asked me how my holiday was, I said "Fine" and quickly changed the subject. To this day, the smell of baby oil makes me quesy.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the strangest sexual experience I've ever had. Just don't tell anyone else about it.

Please?




P.S I don't apologise for length, but she bloody well should have.
(Pavlov's Frog figures no-one really reads sigs anyway, Tue 13 Dec 2011, 11:42, 23 replies)

Pearoast, as it's still definitely this ...
Ooooooooh I was at a sexy lady's house party and liquored up on eight cans of Irish Harp. Seventeen, thrusting, and full of spunky lust. Despite the aggressive boil on my nose and my flaking scalp, I fancied myself as quite a catch. I'd just successfully muttered along to Rapper's Delight (the LONG version bitches), and was working my way through U Can't Touch This. In short, I was on fire.

Idly playing the air drums, my roving eye scanned the party and fell on a dwarfish young woman who had been hounding me for some months. I had, weeks previously, sucked her mouth for sport, and found it to have a curiously pungent taste – like plaque and cigar smoke mixed with dogshit and chips. Mmmmmmm.

She kept casting dewy-eyed glances my way. Those curiously black-ringed eyes on her unfeasibly large freckled head had me all confused. Extending one stumpy finger from her awkward and pale boy-hand, she sexily beckoned me over, running her other hand through her mannish hair. Giddiness swept through me. I stepped outside for some air. Oh, goodness, a bunch of folk with a bottle of vodka. Give us a swig on that.

Gulp gulp gulp

and –––––––––––––––––– morning.

I'm in a bed. I'm still at the party house. I'm alone. But dark thoughts are nipping at the back of my mind, like an Alan Partridge striptease fantasy. And there's a form on the floor, covered in duvets.

Gingerly I leaned out of bed and pulled a corner of the duvet back, revealing a chillingly large vision of wine-stained teeth, distended eye lids and a masculine short back and sides. She was sleeping, and dressed. I was safe. But still … those ominous flashes in my mind. Fleeting, millisecond sensations of a nipple like a tube of Polos being rolled sickeningly between my fingers like a cannibal's spliff. A cow's long black tongue thrashing around in my mouth.

No. It couldn't have happened. I'd remember something like that. Wouldn't I? Yes, I would. And I didn't. So it didn't happen. Fuck it, time for a shit.

I wobbled my way out of the bedroom, across the landing and into the bathroom. Plonking myself down on the throne, I started playing through the events of the evening. It was fine. I got drunk, went to bed and went to sleep. That's it. Nothing dark happened. I'd have remembered. I'm sure I would have remembered.

Then something struck me. Or rather, the absence of something struck me.
The bathroom was completely quiet.
Silent.

I was unleashing a gallon of piss into the toilet bowl, and yet the whole room was fucking SILENT.

Not wanting to, but unable to resist, I slowly looked down between my legs.

Bobbing off the end of my cock was a grossly swollen condom full to bursting with piss and sperm, and covered with red slime and matted pubes.

Have you ever heard a man howl like a dying wolf? I have.
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 14:58, 25 replies)

Coming first

(Geoff Furst Always coming first, so you don't have to, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 13:36, 12 replies)

Receiving felatio from a lady I'd just met
in the toilets of a nighclub in north london (stay classy). Unforunately, for one reason or another, possibly due to the effects of alcohol (that's my exuse and i'm sticking to it), I was finding it quite difficult to come. The regret part came when she eventually took my penis out of her mouth and said "that's weird, the other guy couldn't come either".

Other guy?? We'd been snogging like a pair of teenagers only ten minutes previous.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 13:56, 9 replies)

Regret-me-not
I've never really been a fanny-hound. I was too naive for quite a while through and beyond my adolescence which meant that there were several opportunities that I didn't even realise were there until it was too late. This one's slightly different.

Many years ago, when I was a mere stripling of 19 or so, I trained to be a croupier in a casino in Manchester, where I lived. It seemed (at first) a glam world that had more than its fair share of good-looking women - most of whom, at that time, seemed completely unattainable to a council-estate refugee such as myself.

A new girl started work one evening, let's for veracity's sake give her the initial S. Gorgeous. Blonde, legs up to her armpits, figure to die for and as if that wasn't enough, she had the hots for me. While technically I wasn't a virgin you really wouldn't have called me experienced in anything but imagination and the five-knuckle shuffle, so this was just like dying and waking up in heaven.

The only trouble was that, like me, she lived with her parents and couldn't afford to move out, even to share a place. So we hung out for a couple of weeks, fiddled and fumbled here and there without having anywhere to really get down to business, much to a collective chagrin (she was so up for it, it was untrue). It was really never going anywhere, as was driven home to me in devastating fashion one night when she went off with my immediate superior, a worldly, ex-army loudmouth dickhead who made no bones about where she'd be better off (she obviously agreed) and took her back to his place, leaving me shrunken and humiliated in a corner (really - I couldn't wank for weeks). She left work shortly afterwards and I never saw her again.

But I never forgot S and, although he never knew it, I especially never ever forgave him. And while I had no real grudge against her for what happened (she was a bit rude for her part in it but I had to admit that if I'd have been her, I'd have been off elsewhere fairly sharpish too), I nurtured a hatred for this man that smouldered and, in the way that ineffectual people think makes them powerful, swore by all the demons I could summon in my vivid imagination that one day I'd have my revenge. Not because he'd whisked this woman away from me, but because he'd done it by deliberately making me look like a cunt in a roomful of people whose sympathy only really made me feel worse. I'm not usually a vindictive person, but everyone has things they really can't forgive - this apparently was one of mine.

Fast forward five years or so. He and I have both gone our separate ways. S is always somewhere in the background - strangely so, since our paths have never crossed to this day - and still the failure to bed her haunts me. I've travelled, changed jobs several times and am back in Manchester for a while. Women are, by now, a regular-enough fixture in my life and in my bed for me to think that things are kind of how I'd like them to be and, without being smug, I was fairly content. But still S was, in my mind, the one that got away. And I still, even then, harboured a deathly grudge against this cockwipe cunt in a way that I've rarely ever done before or since. It really festered, to the point of being the kind of memory that really torments you when you're having a down moment. Occasionally his name would creep up in conversation and while I was fine on the surface I would go all weirdly psychopathic inside my head.

So imagine my dismay when one day he walks through the door of the place I'm working to be interviewed for a job. The second I see him the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I'm grinding my teeth and I'm instantly transported back five years. In the meantime his career has in fact gone backwards and he's applying for a job that means I'll be his supervisor. It's the last thing I want but naturally he's hired and I have to deal with him on a daily basis.

Cue Mexican stand-off. I loathe him but I can't let him know why. We have to speak but I can't bear to be near the man. And then one day he says to me the very last thing I ever want to hear from his faeces-smeared lips. 'Hey, do you remember S?'

I freeze inside. I maintain a poker face and pause long enough for it to be a plausible period of consideration. 'S who?', I say - and then, before he can speak say 'Do you mean the blonde girl at the X club? What about her?'

There's a pause and then he says 'Did you ever shag her?'

Now this throws me slightly. He must know I didn't but this has now built up to such a pitch in my mind that it's all I can do to ungrit my teeth long enough to (hopefully nonchalently) say 'No, I never did. Why?'

'Just wondered', he says. Another pause. 'She gave me a dose, you know.'

It was a moment when for a split-second, I almost believed in God. My insides were turning cartwheels and I remember turning to face him and starting to laugh. 'Really?', I said. 'Lucky me...'

I've often wondered if it was his way of trying to apologise, although it still didn't stop him being a cunt. He left shortly afterwards and I've never seen or heard about him since. And nor have I obsessed about them since. I have peace, at last. Took a long fucking time, but it was worth it.

(Sorry it was a bit long. Think of it as closure.)
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 2:17, 8 replies)

How to reduce a man to jelly
...and not in a good way.

I left boarding school like most Catholic males did in the 70s: psychologically fucked up, no knowledge of the opposite sex bar nuns and porn (not together either) and with alternating uncontrollable lust and crushing unmerited guilt. Oh, and no social skills except persistence.

Off to Uni I go, where I find that the skills picked up at the 4 6th year mixed discos we'd been allowed (5 minute dance, lights off, frenzied mutual wank, nip out for fag while she wept quietly) didn't stand me in good stead.

And then I met Mary, who was a biology PhD student, and therefore a) older and b) used to gutting small furry animals. Bought her a drink, got face slapped, bought her another, got wry smile refusal, bought her another, got "You really don't give up, do you?". "Er, no"

"Right, Friday afternoon, Block x Room yyy. Wash, shave, clean teeth. Bring change of clothes and enough money for a decent restaurant. Tell no one."

On arrival, novel filth (to me) ensued. I was instructed on the location and proper use of the various ladybits, and how to make absolutely sure their owner had more fun than I ever would. Then there was Introductory Prostate Handling, a shower, Gentlemanly Weight Distribution 101, a cigarette, tooth brushing, Keeping the Ears Warm, and finally For God's Sake, Can't You Manage Another One?

The meal took most of my grant for the next month. We returned for more filth. She chucked me out at 2 am to face an 8 mile walk back to the 1st year residences.

After a week with no contact, I wandered into Bio and asked her dept head if I could talk to her. He gave me a long searching look, not without a smile, and handed me an envelope. Inside was a dissection protocol form, but instead of a description of eviscerated hamsters, there was a report headed "Investigation of Immature Male Hominid" with a mark out of 10 for every perversion we'd perpetrated. None of them was over 6.

What do I regret? Not the sex, not the meal, not the humiliation. I regret missing the Dungeons and Dragons meet that Friday, where my 43rd level cleric got lent out by the DM and killed by a spod from Social Sciences.

Told you I was fucked up.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 18:08, 7 replies)

Yes I Do.
I was in on my own one evening and decided, in contravention of God’s direct orders, to spill my seed on stony ground.

I also decided it was time I knew what kind of face a pulled at my moment of crisis. I’d tried this in the past by looking in a mirror, but as every Schrödinger fan knows this never really works.

It was few years ago when videotronic recording devices where still quite expensive and not included in every phone, but I did have a video camera, so I set it up, had a wank etc, and went to plan.

Of course the following week I lent the camera to an acquaintance who was using it for some university project and loads of people got to see the tape. Praise the fucking lord that this was before the internet was video enabled.

Anyway, the thing that people found amusing was my lack of focus on the job at hand. I was stopping to watch telly, getting up to grab another beer, smoke a fag. The sound of the telly was clearly audible as well. After 40 minutes I finally got my freak on to the unmistakable sound of an episode of Dad’s Army. Years later and there’s still an occasional ‘Who do you think you are kidding Mr Hitler’ or ‘Don’t tell him Pike!’ from the people in the know.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Fri 9 Dec 2011, 12:33, 7 replies)

Loss of virginity (pearoast)...
...I was about 15 and had just been approached by a girl at the Youth Club who said she fancied me and that she was also "on the pill."
It took me about 5 minutes to realize she wasn't referring to a cold and flu tablet and we proceeded to the local park (always deserted at night except for teenagers doing unspeakables).
So we disrobed a little and with me on top I proceeded to lose my virginity. Problem was that I thought you just inserted and waited...so I laid there *totally* motionless and after a couple of minutes she gave some encouraging movements which quite startled me as I feared she must be an epileptic or something.
It was very disappointing, but she was very nice about it and didn't dob me in to my mates.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Wed 14 Dec 2011, 16:13, 24 replies)

The List

I was about 26 years old, when during a friendly discussion at the local before a night of clubbing, the conversation moved on to heaven. Everyone piped up with theories until one friend came out with the following:

"Well" he began, whilst taking a quick sip of his pint "I was at this comedy show one time when the guy doing stand-up made a quip about heaven. He said that all of the religions had got it wrong, and when you die, what actually happens is a guy shows up with a clipboard and simply passes it to you."

"And...?" we all asked in wonder.

"And on that clipboard is a list, with the names of every woman in your life that would have had sex with you had you merely asked".

He went on to tell us that all of the women at the show burst out laughing, whilst he sat shocked, gazing around and seeing similar expressions on the faces of every bloke in there.

The same expressions on all of ours around that pub table all those years ago.

I've never looked at life the same way since.

My greatest sexual regret is that I didn't know about 'The List' sooner.
( Regger, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 8:50, 33 replies)

Not me but I'll bet he still regrets it to this day.
PEAROAST

Chubby Chasing Doormen
While working at the Australian theme bar on broad Street I had the pleasure to work with K. A nice enough chap who was always game for a laugh but was as thick as a whale omelette and like women who weighed about twice as much as Lisa Riley.

On one particular night at closing time he forgoes the usual staff pint and buggers off, we assume he has headed home early as he has work early the next morning.

My colleagues and I leave the pub about an hour later having unwound from a night of student excess and dodging hen parties. As we get to the car park we bump into K.

"Guys gimme a hand with the car will you" he asks.

"Yeah sure says us" thinking he needed a jump start. How wrong we were.

As previously mentioned K liked the larger lasses and this week unbeknownst to us he had excelled himself. We got to the car to be greeted by quite a shocking sight.

K had pulled a rather large lady and she had met him by his car so they could engage in a little push and pull. However she was so large she had become stuck between the front two seats so we al had to grab a limb and pull till she popped free.

The exact sight of this has been burned to my memory. Seeing a 25st woman with a fanny like a hippos yawn stuck between the front seats of a Datsun Cherry will stay with me forever.

So will the look on the fireman's face when we couldn't free her and they had to remove one of the front seats.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 17:16, 5 replies)

It's what I didn't do...
She was a friend's younger sister. Just 18, about to go to Uni, a pocket sized blonde with big blue eyes, saucy smile & not a straight line on her. I'd appreciated her in a purely theoretical way to date. But now she had a teenage crush on me.

Me? 12 years older, and in a serious relationship, with my soon-to-be fiancee. So when this lively little blonde made her tentative approaches, I gently put her off.

Pleased with my maturity and fortitude, I told my girlfriend of how I had manfully resisted the temptation.
:Oh, she's really cute" she said. "I'd have given you a weekend pass for her."

Bugger, fuck and bollocks.
(North Utsira South Utsira, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 0:26, 16 replies)

I oh-so-nearly had a threesome
until my girlfriend backed out of it at the last minute. Still, Richard and I had a great time regardless.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 20:43, 1 reply)

I laid back on the bed
and locked my fingers behind my head. It was afternoon. There was a knot in my stomach. I swallowed. The bed was narrow, the starched sheets rough against my skin. I felt guilty. So fucking guilty. The door opened and a man's voice bade me welcome. Back again, he said, you must like it here. I didn't reply. I kept staring at the ceiling then closed my eyes. I thought of my girlfriend, and what I needed to tell her.

I wasn't here because of what I wanted, but because of what I needed. That was my tack and I would stick to it. 'I tell myself I will not go/ even as I drive there'. The man clattered around on the far side of the room. I felt myself tense as he walked to stand beside me. I pushed my teeth together as I felt his fingers envelop my cock, the unmistakable sensation of latex, his fingers pulling my foreskin back. There was a touch of metal against my skin.

"I thought these would have gone away by now. Here we go again. Brace yourself"

The man proceeded to burn half my dick off with cold gas. Remember, kids, condoms are your friends, and STD treatment can really fucking hurt.

The worst part is that afterwards it stank of rotten meat.
(cs1ca, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 20:34, 1 reply)

DOwn and out in LA
I don't think I've ever told this to anyone. You'll see why.

I was 26 and very, very desperate. And not especially fussy. I was working in a call-centre in Los Angeles and - God knows how - ended up flirting with the woman on the other end of the line. She was, she informed me breathlessly, "big, black and horny as hell." I was white, weedy and - she informed me - sounded like Prince Charles. (I don't, really I don't, but there you go...)

So not a match made in heaven you'd think. Still, we arranged to meet. She lived in Watts, a part of LA that weedy white boys don't go to, at least not if they've read Bonfire Of The Vanities.

I went. She was waiting outside her condo, smoking. Her description of herself was accurate, although she had omitted to say she'd be wearing curlers. She was big in a way that Americans have made their speciality. The whole, er, package, is not one that has ever appealed to me, before or since. But for some weird reason, I was persuaded to drive to a remote area where - in the words of a tabloid newspaper - she performed a sex act on me. As I looked down at her curlers.

She loved my English accent. She wanted my number! I gave her a fake one and, crawling with shame and self-loathing, dropped her back home and high-tailed it back to the safety of Santa Monica.

I regret every aspect of that evening, and what it says about me. The desperation, the deceit, the misogynistic and racist undertones.

Still, a blow-job's a blow-job, eh?
(Hurple Pelmet, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 15:53, 11 replies)

A shag is not a shag
A recent post from TheManOfScience reminded me that a shag is, indeed, not always a shag. This was brought home to me quite trenchantly when a housemate bundled into my bedroom one morning (way back when i was in my early 20s) ... we were sharing an old terraced villa in Portobello, Edinburgh's seaside-with-beach suburb ... Anyway, housemate caught me immediately post-flagrante and stood there open mouthed for a while, not managing any actual words, just strangled syllables. The sheet was pulled up - it was all very decent, nothing on show - but finally i thought i better break the silence.
"It's no big deal," i said, "I just had a shag."
"No you haven't," he squeaked. "That's a cormorant."
( writerblock ... embedding disabled by request on, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 13:25, 6 replies)

Well I'll be fucked..

This is not about how I went on holiday with a girl after we just split up (because I still wanted a surf trip to Costa Rica) and how I spent the week sharing an uncomfortable frigid bed with her. Or even that, out of misplaced loyalty, I turned down licking chocolate syrup off her gorgeous drunk, flight attendant friend, who was gagging for it and told me exactly what I missed as she jetted off to somewhere else the following week.

That's a whole other story.

This post is about a previous question: "The B3TA Detective Agency. Tell us about your feats of deduction and the little mysteries you've solved. Alternatively, tell us about the simple, everyday things that mystified you for far too long."

After years and years of reading and posting to B3ta I just this minute finally got what "pearoast" means...
( gp_guineapig, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 22:49, 16 replies)

Female only piercing.
Imagine if you will a rather beautiful sex goddess with no clothes on.
Now imagine her perfect labia enhanced by two silver rings , one either side.
Imagine my delight at sticking my solid meat pole between said rings.
I did not imagine the pain I'd be in not twenty seconds after penetration after my rather long testicular pubic hair got itself tangled around the piercings and then my enthusiastic hip slapping managed to pull them free from my skin.

I Imagine she was not impressed at my crying all night.
(shake'n'bake Tally Ho, Biatch!, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 16:10, 7 replies)

One morning I woke up on a sofa
Not unusual, but it wasn't my sofa. I had no idea where I was - some living room in some tower-block flat, it seemed. And I had no idea how I'd got there. On the other end of the sofa was a middle-aged female gorilla, snoring heavily. I don't think we'd done the dirty - we were both fully clothed and I had no horrifying memory fragments of fat boobs or chunky varicosed thighs, so I was good to go. A noise caught my attention, and I looked up, to see two young girls, obviously female gorilla's offspring, nervously standing by the door. I tried to tap the shins of the slumbering monstrosity to wake her up, but I was still drunk and give it a bit more welly than I'd intended. So two girls, aged about seven and five, saw a twenty-five year old Chinaman kicking their passed-out mother in the leg, before he rushed past them to get the hell out.

Not my finest hour.
(McChinaman banned, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 4:25, 7 replies)

Ok, first go at this. *awaits random flaming*
Long time lurker, but signed up in the end. Lurked since so apologies to the profile hunters.

One new years eve we were all out at the local and had our fill of ale. I was 18, had a crush on a girl a couple of years younger than me (enter Shambolic) but nothing ever happened there, other than I got to know her brother who was the same age as me. Ended up working as slaves at the same supermarket and became the best of friends. That night, Steve (as was his name) became increasingly interested with an "older lady" with a face like a bag of spanners who was with the group of girls we met there. She was ancient - a whole 7 years older than us. She had a young daughter and was known as a bit of a bike locally so I wasn't impressed, even less so with her interest in my best mate.

Anyhoo, drinks were had, midnight rolled past and the pub kicked us out. By this stage I had decided that this harriden was not fit for my mate and he should abandon his attempts to get laid. Being a mate, and drunk, this translated into "are you sure about this?" which was met with "yep I`m in, see you tomorrow".

I left and the deed was done. Thus followed the next 4 weeks of him telling me all the things they got up to, how well she gave head, the positions they tried and how often he made her cum (which to me at the time as a fully paid up member of the virgin club was wankbank gold, and worth taking notes for). Finally things got the better of him and he gave her the old "it's not you, it's me" speech. "You deserve better, you shouldn't be with me". Cue a distraught phone call to yours truely from said lass, who I had oddly formed a friendship with despite my initial misgivings. She was my best friends girlfriend after all, so I thought I should at least try to get along.

Long story short, after Steve dumped her in the best way he knew how, she called me. A few months later and the woman I had grave misgivings about and made some half arsed attempt to warn my mate about, became my girlfriend. There began the next 10 years of my life being manipulated and physically abused by this cow. *edit* should point out that I finally ended the relationship by giving her a grand so she could fuck off from my house which she refused to leave and set up elsewhere. The good old "you're dumped" simply failed to work - in her mind she had rights to live in the house I rented in my name whilst she was not paying a damn thing. Shortly before she finally fucked off she moved into one of her friend's house and whilst I thought salvation had come that only lasted two weeks before she moved back. I still wish I knew how her friend managed to banish her in one night when it took me months and a large amount of cash to shift her arse from my house.

Eventually I met a lovely girl where I worked at the time who had had a strikingly similar 10 year relationship with a guy who was equally adept at the mental and physical manipulation techniques. We got talking and eventually went on a date. She's upstairs in bed now as I type this and I couldn't be happier (not that I`m on b3ta and she's nicely out the way - I mean in a good way). More importantly she's happy too.

The regret? I`ve only had two sexual partners? Nah not really. We wasted 10 perfectly good years of our lives under the thumb of someone else who manipulated their way into our minds so much so that even the thought of breaking up was taboo. My girl and I could have met earlier maybe, had things been different, but I`m a firm believer in that your experiences to date make you the person you are. Had I met her first, all those years ago, I`d still have been an immature 18 year old and who knows where it would have gone. The life we have now? Unlikely, as much as I wish it were otherwise.

So for the tldr crew, with the exception of Chart Cat's post, dont regret what you`ve done or missed. It makes you who you are now. Shit happens (no pun intended) but things generally work out for the best.
(sumi, Thu 15 Dec 2011, 1:00, 48 replies)

Turkey!
I was 18 and just hanging around the street with my friend and his girlfriend.They suggested we walk to the local park to see if anything interesting was happening.They bumped into a girl they knew well. I had seen her about and had heard she was a bit of a wrong un.

Anyhoo, 15 minutes later i was told she wanted to 'get off' with me.
To my mind, that meant a bit of kissing.It soon became apparent that my expectations were about to be surpassed.

After a heavy kissing session underneath a street light at the park, she unzipped my jeans and started to fumble inside......

I was struck by a moment of sheer terror, and the now 38 year old even added me on Facebook to post on my wall about it -

24 hours earlier a friend had arrived back from holiday.He thought it would be a funny holiday present to buy me the biggest pair of blue saggy Y-fronts you have ever seen. Now, as a typical 18 year old in 1988, underwear was not being put in the wash basket as often as it should.So, with the underwear as scarce as it was, i thought who the hell is gonna see them?

'But it's only massively saggy blue Y-fronts,' i hear you not shouting.
Did i mention there was a massive turkey on the front with the motif 'Gobble gobble?'

The first time a girl puts her hand inside my trousers,and i'm hanging on to chastity for the sake of a fuckin' turkey!

She saw it and pissed herself laughing.It killed the moment and we never spoke again until 2 years ago on FB.

She asked me if i had ever told anyone about it.I told her i had posted about it on an anonymous forum a couple of years ago....

She asked me if there were any replies.

I said; 'yes, one bloke replied - Well, i hope she followed the instructions on the packet!'

She replied back; 'Well, i certainly didn't!'

And we speak even less now.
(Tivert, Thu 15 Dec 2011, 0:30, 7 replies)

I was 17
This story for me - is embarrassing, regretful, yet its a regret I can live with.

I was 17, and madly fancied another girl in my class, maybe even loved her, everyone knew this was so also. She was stunning. Perfect body, perfect ass, boobs - the lot. She was in the top 10 fittest girls of the school - easily. I had asked her out already, and had been declined. She did the same subjects as me in college, she would sit next to me in class.. everything. It was the perfect teenage crush. Every day was a rush when she was there. It was like a drug, and I couldn’t get enough of it. If she wouldn’t go out with me, at least seeing her every day was good enough. I hated 3pm on Fridays & weekends, and loved Mondays.

The problem was, I simply thought I wasn’t good enough for her. Stereotype Teenager was I, Braces, skinny, broken voice etc. So i never noticed any advance from her.

We were badly behind on our Coursework, so one day she invited me round to her Nans house, as she was minding it whilst she was away. I turned up to what was going to be a group study, cover off a few assignments drink lots of coffee, work until very early morning. We had done it before with 3 or 4 of us. It was quite a good way of getting a few difficult assignments out of the way - together.

Instead - only I turned up, so it was us two - alone. We didn’t do any studying, she cooked me some dinner. We sat and watched Titanic... then went to bed.

Knowing my luck wouldn’t be in, I instantly headed for the couch to get my head down, but was awestruck when she said instead I should head to her nans bed with her.

So (doing little Dances in my head) I picked myself up and walked into the main bedroom with her, then lay down next to her.

Thinking - no BELIEVING that this girl was not interested in me, meant I lay there next to her and didn’t move.. too scared to ruin the moment. For me, things couldn’t get any better than this... in my naive eyes, she didn’t fancy me
so this would be the next best thing I would remember for a long time.

Should I even have mentioned to her that we should even hug/cuddle - may result in her brushing me off and never speaking to me again. To me, this was the best option... to lay there next to her and not speak.... for 9 Hours. But in my Hormone enraged eyes, they were the best 9 hrs of my life.
My face was a kin to an happy excited Dougle from father ted. Confused with the next thing to say.
I had been closer to her than this before. like when we had our photo taken in a photobooth and she sat on my lap giving me a semi... but this was different. It was on a bed for starters... I don’t think I had ever even been near a bed - with a girl before.

I lay there, wide awake for the remainder of the night. I didn’t bother her. Instead I thought of all the ways I could say hello to her, but instantly rubbishing them.

The next morning it took me until the front door closed behind me, for my logical head to start working again. The rest of that day I felt like my heart was broken, such was the regret.

We moved on shortly after that, nothing ever happened between us. But with each day my brain matures, I look back with a little more regret.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 12:02, 9 replies)

Fat Birds
I love the description my brother gave me the day after he'd shagged his first fat bird.

"It was like trying to get an overloaded wheelbarrow to the end of the garden."
.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Sun 11 Dec 2011, 11:05, 19 replies)

Like many people on this board, I too almost had a threesome.
Only two women off.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 7:28, Reply)

I DUN A WOBBLE FUCK WITH A FATTY THEN MADE A CUM ON HER GUNT.

( mark morrisons prison shoes I love Willie, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 18:25, 13 replies)

ayia napa ayia napa bo
Lads holiday to cyprus in 2000. the second or third night we went to a foam party. My memory is akin to a well worn-in dartboard due to an alarming amount of Keo having been drank but I recall being directly under the stream of foam and thinking that I may drown.

*SCENE MISSING*

I am being led from the club by the hand of a girl. I am staggering wildly. Speech slurred. She knows me from the hotel we share. She leads me back to her room. We get it on. God knows how I got a hard-on, I blame me being only 19 at the time. More chance of America voting in a muslim president than me getting a bonk-on after a booze these days.
After a while of mattress wrestling there was a knock at her hotel room door. She hops out of bed to let in her friend who is sharing the room. She is accompanied by my friend Lee.
"what the fuck are you doing here?" he asks.
"I could ask the same of you" I reply.
Lee walks round the bed and pulls the curtains back to reveal its now morning. Sunlight hits this girl who's guts I had been shoving in not a minute previous and I realise that she is an ogre.
The wave of shock sobers me like I've just main-lined a keg of slap flavoured adrenaline.
Without any further conversation I wrapped a bedsheet around me, scooped up my clothes and went back to my room to shower, cry, and eat soap.
(Raol Duke, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 21:49, 4 replies)

If it's tlfy then dbr
Many, many years ago, in a far-off suburb in North London there lived a young man called Che Grimsdale. He was a fresh-faced young man of 17 with a ready wit and skinny legs. He was as horny as an old man’s toe-nail and well practised in the fine art of serial masturbation. At this time he had a best friend who was on his third or fourth girlfriend, having popped his cherry a year or so before, but our Che was one of those lads that a) are very shy with the opposite sex and, b) seemingly unattractive (or invisibile) to girls. Yes, our Che had never even kissed a girl, had never been ‘on a date’ or ‘gone out with’ a girl. The very name Virgin Records made him blush and squirm and he was more or less miserable when not stoned out of his gourd.

Now, in order to earn some cash, he got a Saturday job in the kitchen of a department store restaurant, and in this kitchen was a charming catering student. She was a reasonably comely wench, svelte of figure with silky blond hair, though her face was nothing to write home about. Anyway, Che got along fine with her, working in the confines of a tiny kitchen, banter was bantered, glances were exchanged, bodies were brushed up against…Che got a little hot under the collar.

One Saturday, it so happened that the two of them took their break at the same time, chatting away, she suddenly came out with a comment that is seared on Che’s memory as if it happened yesterday, and not in 1980:

“Don’t you think that the nicest thing two people can do is spend the night together?” she breathed.

“Yeah…” Che replied. “ME TOO” shouted little Che from the confines of Che’s suddenly too tight underpants.

Anyway, the weeks went by, and one day she invited me round to her place, and in her large bedroom we listened to David Bowie and chatted about this and that. I found out that she was an amateur gymnast (moan…) and she she showed me some of her moves – including one called the crab. She was wearing tight, stretch jeans and a tight top that looked like it might have been her gymnastics leotard. Her pliable form bent and twisted, while I admired from the bed. When she had tired of this, she joined me on the bed and got up close and personal…BUT…she was waiting for me to make the first move. Me – who not only hadn’t got to first base, but wasn’t even on the bench…not even the waterboy. All I had to do was to take her face in my hands and pull it towards me for that first kiss, which would then lead to a night of passion (surely the first of many) with a girl who could very probably lick herself clean like a pussy cat. We ended up on her bed sort of play fighting…and that was it.

Now, as a man, I’d love to be able to go back in time to that evening and coach the young Che to say: “Look, I’ve got a confession, I’ve never had a girlfriend before…can you show me what to do? I’m in your hands, guide me, teach me, earn my eternal gratitude, I’ll make it worth your while.”

But no. Nothing happened, and then a friend turned up to give me a lift home.

The next Saturday I invited her to a party. I was annoyed at myself, I was embarrased, but more importantly, I was now as horny as the Brighouse & Rastrick brass band, riding a herd of Highland cattle. I’d given myself a good talking to, vowed that if the situation occurred again, I wouldn’t fluff it again.

By damn fool luck I was offered the chance to try acid that night and like the damn fool I was, I didn’t turn it down.

When Paula turned up at the party I was tripping my teenaged tits off. I was talking to one of my friends at the time and I tried to introduce her to him: “Paul, this is…er…” shit, what was her name again? “Er, Paul, this is…a friend from work….” What the fuck was her name? Why couldn’t I remember it?... “Paul, I’d like you to meet….”

At this point she helped me out: “I’m Paula”, she said. “Nice to meet you Paul.”

I had two choices really, suicide or despair. It was two more years before I finally popped my cherry.
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Thu 8 Dec 2011, 15:54, 6 replies)

Slimer
(pearoast)

Never have sex with a boy who has a projector in his bedroom and insists on pausing Ghostbusters while you insert Tab A into Slot B.

The night I made that mistake is the night I found out that looking up at Dan Aykroyd's shocked expression made a million times bigger by being stretched across the wall all the way through sex makes me feel ashamed (and regretful).
(reducedfatLOLcat, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 16:30, 1 reply)

He lied.
There were no puppies.
(emadex thinks the world will end on, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 3:13, 2 replies)

Jackie(16)UK.
Following on to a previous post on this topic I was more into computers than girls up until around the age of 18. It was around this time that I started noticing this apprentice hairdresser working at the rather expensive salon across the road from my office.

Each season all the staff would wear a different uniform and this particular summer it was dungaree shorts with a black crop-top underneath. By my reckoning half of the girls in there were sporting at most 3 items of clothing each that summer and this one girl finally started to get my hormones a buzzing.

But this isn't really about her.

Leaving the office one day I was talking to a colleague about this unnamed chick across the road when our 16 year old office junior piped up that the girls name was Laura and she used to go to school with her and could perhaps introduce me to her. I hadn't really noticed the office junior at this point as she was rather... plain. Let's call it plain.. to be nice.

I started talking more and more to the junior to glean morsels of information that may assist me in my quest to have this dungareed temptress. She clearly took this as some sort of come-on and started to flirt with me. I was pretty oblivious to this as there were now only 2 things in my life. My Atari ST and dreams of Laura.

Jackie the temp decided to up her game one evening by bashfully presenting me with a small wrapped gift.

It was a condom.

"I know this looks forward and I'm not as attractive as Laura. But I'd really like to do this. I've never done it before."

my 17 or 18 year old virginal brain suddenly went into hormone mode at this prospect of an almost guaranteed cherry losing moment and to my shame, despite having no attraction to this girl I clinically arranged for the deed to be done.

A few weeks later my parents went away for their summer holiday so I arranged to pick Jackie up on my Honda 125cc Moped from her home in the flats.

Cutting the rest of the sordid details short I ended up rooting around in her guts for at least a good 4 minutes* before hopping off and delcaring myself spent. Despite her protestations about being scared of getting on my moped again I insisted it was the only way she could get back home and dropped her back on the outskirts.

She asked for a repeat performance on a number of occasions but I'd ticked the box and was happy to go back to the Atari ST again.

My regrets?


1. Making her take a terrified motorbike ride back home after she'd given up a gift she'd never be able to give to anyone else.
2. Not having a few more goes to get some practice before meeting a girl I really liked.
3. Never getting to rummage around inside Laura's guts as I'd lost my cherry and pretty much lost interest in girls for another 12 months.


* ok. 2. or 1.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Fri 9 Dec 2011, 16:04, 8 replies)