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This is a question Thrown away: The stuff you loved and lost.

Smash Wogan writes, "we all love our Mums, but we all know that Mums can be cunts, throwing out our carefully hoarded crap that we know is going to be worth millions some day."

What priceless junk have you lost because someone just threw it out?

Zero points for "all my porn". Unless it was particularly good porn...

(, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 16:32)
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Col Wilma Deering
Fans of the 80s Buck Rogers TV programme will remember Wilma Deering. She was blonde of hair, long of leg, and wore skintight green satin catsuits. I was so obsessed over her - my first crush - that I wrote to Jim'll Fix It so I could meet her, or watch her on the toilet, or anything just to be in the same room as her. I even made friends with a smelly retard at school (who was later transferred to a mental institution) because he had her sticker in the Buck Rogers sticker annual.

So imagine my ecstasy when a cousin in Pasadena, California, whose dad owned a laundrette that Wilma used to frequent said he could nick a pair of her panties and send them to me. He said they were very flimsy and silky. Just the thought of them gave me a boner for two weeks.

I virtually waited by the door until they arrived. And when they did, I rushed upstairs to open the package with the reverence I might have used to handle the True Cross with Jesus still on it (if I had been a Believer). They were - aptly enough - a silky green material and so soft that the mere touch of them in my hairy palms set off a rumbling in my nads.

They were clean, of course. Being an American, Corey (my cousin) would have had a schizophrenic epidsode if he'd had to handle dirty underwear. All the same - these were the very undergarments worn about the loins of Col Wilma Deering, whose arse had replaced any images I might have had of a Christian heaven. Just the sight of her moderately-sized breasts in that catsuit had already caused me to wank myself almost lame. And these were her PANTS!

Well, I must have spent the first three hours abusing myself with those delicate smalls draped across my face. Then I wrapped my throbbing tool in their coolness for one more eruption before I blacked out with effort. It was the beginning of a pattern that would see me almost hospitalised with onanistic activity over the coming weeks.

Then one day I came home from school to hear my mother telling me that she'd thrown away that 'green hanky' I'd left under my bed.

I howled a bestial cry of anguish and fell to the ground. I rolled and gnashed my teeth. I cried and blubbered like a litle girl with a bunch of nettles thrust up her arse crack. I was inconsolable.

"It was only a hanky," said my mother.

"No. NO! It was Wilma Deering's panties!" I yelled. "It was a godess' gusset! I have porked those crackers a hundred times and more! I have thrust my ardent young cock into their verdant folds and imagined her willowy hair about my balls on innumerable occasions! I have myself worn them to know my depleted testes in her pants!"

I didn't say those things. I said it had been my favourite 'hanky'. And by that time, Corey had been institutionalised for raping a pony and I had lost my supply line.
(, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 17:04, 4 replies)
Oh, you young 'buck'!
See what I did there?

And such a lovely (self)-touching story for a Sunday evening.

Have a great week, Monsieur Spencer.
(, Sun 17 Aug 2008, 23:12, closed)
You know,
I really want to believe this.
(, Mon 18 Aug 2008, 3:00, closed)
Although I have seen you around for quite awhile
I still find it hard to believe your tall tales.

sorry :p
(, Mon 18 Aug 2008, 11:27, closed)
^^Arf! at above reply^^...

The people who don't understand you don't deserve you Frank...

I clicked until my finger dislocated.

For those concerned...I can categorically confirm that every word of Frank's post is true...

Well...he thinks it is anyway.

What he doesn't know is that I am Corey, the pony raping cousin from Pasadena, and those panties I sent him weren't from the lovely Wilma, but from some old boiler with a face like a bag of smashed crabs.

Still, it's good to know he got some milage out of the old dunghampers.

(, Mon 18 Aug 2008, 12:30, closed)

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