Why I can never go back to Sweden

I'm married to a Swede. The blond type, not the root vegetable kind (although tubers possible have a better sense of humour than your average scando), anyway.

A few years ago we went to the wedding of one of her best friends, she was marrying a Finnish banker and the wedding was held in a castle on its own island just of the coast of Sweden. The best bit was we were going to be staying in the castle that night. The wedding itself was beautiful and touching and all he things you expect from the wedding. The evening was drunken, and carnage and all the things you would expect from the Finns. At one point I joined the semi naked father of the groom and his friends in attempting to swim back to shore to conquer "the bastard Swedes". That however is not the tale of nudity you're looking for.

You see, this is the tale of the furious incident of the tick in the night time.

In Sweden they have these tick things; they bury their head under your skin, releasing a local anesthetic and gorge on your blood. They are relatively common (especially on pets) and there is a simple knack of grabbing the body, twisting the head in a certain direction and pulling them out. If you pull it out wrong, the head snaps off and continues to burrow in causing massive infection. There are horror stories of people losing feet because of an infected bite.

But anyway, there we are, we've checked into our room in the castle, and my mother in law and her friend have come along for a nosy, they know the bride and want to pass on their best, as well as having a good poke around the castle. A long poke that seems to involve tea and sitting chatting, in my bloody room while I'm trying to get changed.

"I'll just pop into the loo shall I?"

*Silence*

Leaving them to it I wander into the bathroom, pull off my clothes, pull out my emergency beer from my suit bag and in full hand-on-hip, other hand drinking beer stance I take a no handed waz and peer out of the window. It's only when I go to shake that I realise something is wrong. There's an odd lump on my cock, and under no circumstances is that a good thing.

It was a tick.

One of those ticks is on my dick. I nearly fucking fainted. Gingerly pulling on my strides I walk back to the room.
"Honey?" I say "Can you just come here a sec?"
*Nattering"
"Uh, darling. I could do with your help"
*Nattering*
"WILL YOU GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE INTO THE BATHROOM NOW!"


Having been appraised of the situation (And stifling her mirth) she tells me that we have to pull it out.
"No fucking shit"
She then goes on to explain that it must be done the right way and regales me of tales of one footed hikers.
"Well get it out the right way" I say
"I don't know how" she says "Hang on"
Now I think she's phoning her step father, the doctor.
No
She walks back in, with her mother.
"Don't be shy she says, let me have a look"
Given the alternative I relent.
So I'm looking down, my mother in law and my wife are kneeling before me, my mother in law peering over her half moon specs at my cock, just an inch away from the tip of her nose. She has a fiddle, but can't move it.
"Brengt" she shouts. "Can you come her a second?" And in walks the friend who also kneels in front of me.
It was like a porno come true. Except for the blood sucking tick on my cock.
Anyway. They got it out. Everything is all ok.

Except the two cackling crones walked out and told the brides parents what had happened. Who told the grooms parent, who during the meal made a toast to "the English guy with a tick in his cock"
(voodo_kinky, Fri 29 May 2009, 12:38, 17 replies)

The true facts in the case of Mr Scarboro, Mr Martin and the mysterious disappearance of Arnold Fisher
So, I sat down and filled in the insurance form.

Date and Time of accident: 10.30pm, 3rd July.

Where were you at the time of the accident: Looking on, in abject horror, from my loft bedroom window, second floor of Scaryduck Towers, Weymouth.

Weather conditions: Dark, clear, very warm, half moon in Uranus.

Give a brief description of the accident: I was looking out of my bedroom window, which gives a panoramic view of the street below, and offers a pleasant vista over Portland Harbour. At no point, I may point out, was I using my binoculars to look into other people's houses.

My attention was drawn to the fact that my elderly neighbour, Mrs Warboys (name changed to protect the guilty), was standing completely naked in front of her bedroom window. I might not have noticed, but she had all the curtains open and the lights on. It was indeed a distraction, as they hang around her navel, and she appeared to have a poodle nesting in her groin.

Also distracted, alas, was the driver of the white Renault van, who I now know to be Mr Scarboro, whose whole-hearted attention to the 90-degree bend outside my house was cruelly wrenched away by the totally unnecessary sight of a very naked Mrs Warboys yawning, stretching and scratching her nadger at exactly the wrong moment.

With his window wound down and there being no other sound bar his van's engine, I clearly heard Mr Scarboro have cause to cry out the words "Christ on a Bike!" in surprise and alarm before failing to negotiate the bend and crash his van into Mrs Warboys' front garden.

Moments later, I saw the Ford Focus, driven by Mr Martin, drive along the same stretch of road, and similarly distracted by a naked octogenarian, collide with Mr Scarboro's van. Mr Martin did not shout out in surprise and alarm, as he was listening to The World Tonight on BBC Radio Four.

I would like to point out at this stage that while I called the Police to this incident, I am certainly not the person who quite unnecessarily called the Ambulance and Fire Brigade to the scene. We suspect this may have been the act of persons unknown after a now partially clothed and panicking Mrs Warboys ran out of the house screaming that one Arnold Fisher was trapped under the front wheels of Mr Scarboro's van.

It transpired only after a frantic search and the partial destruction of Mr Scarboro's vehicle by the Fire Service that Mr Arnold Fisher was, in fact, a garden gnome, around which Mr Warboys' ashes had been spread some years previously. Luckily, the ambulance was still on hand at this time to sedate Mr Scarboro before there was any further unpleasantness. Then he was sick inna hedge.

Who, in your opinion, caused the accident?: Mrs Warboys' minge

In the space below, draw a diagram showing how the accident occurred: Bingo!


( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:51, 11 replies)

stupid flasher
I was flashed once when I was 14.

This guy can't have been quite right in the head as I'd seen him a few times earlier that same day nipping to the shop and a friend's place without incident. He decided to flash me when I was out with my dog.

I say "dog", Jack was the size of a small horse. He was also daft as a brush and seemed convinced that he was in fact a very small dog. He was also generally quite friendly (although he used to smile at people in a way that really creeped them out) so what he did surprised me in many ways.

He started to growl at this strange man waving his cock at me and pulling on his leash so I was really struggling to keep a hold of him. Some people might have just let him go and if I'm honest I did consider it, but at the time I had no idea what the consequences might be if Jack were to maul him and didn't really want to find out.

By this point, the bloke is rather scared and Jack is barking at him, pulling harder then ever. Not even bothering to put his bits away, he decided to leg it...

MISTAKE

Slight backstory here. Jack loved to chase things. The problem with this is that he never quite figured out how to stop once he'd caught whatever he was chasing. We had to shut him in a seperate room whenever we hoovered otherwise you'd get a fluffy mass barelling into you and knocking you over. I knew I had to catch him before he really hurt this guy, flasher or no

The leash is torn from my hands and Jack is off like a shot. I ran after them, following the screams. By the time i catch up, Jack has the guy pinned, but I couldn't do anything to help. I was too busy laughing.

Jack had tackled him from behind and proceeded to hump him. By the time I had caught up he was trying very hard to stick his cock in this disgusting fella's ear. When I managed to regain control of myself, there was quite a crowd. All of them laughing and a few of them trying to remove Jack from this "poor poor man".

I explained to a couple of guys there what had happened. More laughter ensued and the police were called. Flasher was lifted on the spot, taken to the nick via A&E. Jack's vigorous humping had burst his ear drum.

It turned out they'd been after him for a while. This guy had been flashing pregnant women and children from the primary school down the road (eeew).

Length? I didn't see much through the tears of laughter but apparently it hurt :p
(panda_sam, Sun 31 May 2009, 0:04, 9 replies)

Unexpected cock-slap to the face
I dont wear pants...Havent done for years.
I was helping my brother in law a while back with some DIY. we were fitting new plasterboard to a small bathrooms ceiling. I was crouching on a small scaffold, my B.I.L passed me the sheet of plasterboard and I held it in place. He prepared to climb up onto the scaffold next to me, and as it was a very small scaffold, had to get pretty close to do so. He was leaning in towards me preparing to hoist himself up when the crotch of my tracksuit trousers failed with a comedy ripping noise and my cock n balls, which had been squished up a bit due to my position, burst forth and slapped my brother in law firmly across the nose.

He hadnt been expecting that.

I laughed so hard I had to drop the board.
(dave likes cheese, Thu 28 May 2009, 21:23, 8 replies)

for my dear friend misskitty
re: www.b3ta.com/questions/unexpectednudity/post435054

Mrs Spimf can’t do drugs. Not at all. She’s tried coke a few times and it always went like this...

"Want some of this coke baby?"

"No I cant, I cant, I really cant"

"Sure?"

"Well maybe just a wee bit"

Snnnnnnnnnnnnnnort!

FFW 6 hours... and we have a raging Hoover nosed maniac with one eye going to the shops and the other one coming back with the change - demanding more sex, coke,porn,sex,coke,porn - you get the picture. She even got so off her face on a bottle of poppers at Tin the park she had to be carried a good mile or so back to the bloody tent. But that's just the preamble...

A good few years back we went to a really nice hotel in a wee fishing village in Scotland - Portpatrick to be precise. With some time to kill before dinner, lolling around in our room, I decide to roll a joint.

"Want to try some hash babes"

"No I can't smoke"

"You can eat it though"

"Hmmm? Ok - not much though!"

A small piece of hash the size of a pea is consumed then we took the dogs for a walk along the beach. Drugs? No effect. An hour later there we are in the rather posh hotel bar, Mrs Spimf in a LBD looking leggy, demure and pretty damn hot.

"Would you like a drink before dinner darling”?

"Yes, sherry please"

Now I don’t know what sort of fucked up constitution my Mrs has but it would seem a tiny speck of cannabis can lie dormant in her tumblyboos until one small sherry is sloshed down there, then it begins...

Giggling - fair enough
Talking Pish - fair enough
Sudden loss of short term memory resulting is said pish being repeated on loop - fair enough
Attempt to get off bar stool and go to the loo resulting in KO style collapse in the middle of the room - erm no.

To make matters even better she had landed smack on the floor at the owner’s feet who was chatting with her daughter. Soon revived and seemingly now ok (ish) while rubbing a slight bump on her head, Mrs Spimf (brilliantly) explains to the hotel owner she might have had an adverse reaction to some prescription medicine. Owner promptly offers to call a doctor; she even offered to act as a witness in the lawsuit she had conjured from nowhere that was going to 'ruin' the 'idiot' doctor that would prescribe such powerful drugs without proper warning. Suddenly Mrs Spimf is fine and dandy again so we decide to proceed with dinner. She's now hungry - celle surprise! A sip of wine and a nibble at her starter and she’s off again. Talking pish, swaying about, stuck on a Groundhog Day loop - the lot!

Tits.

Quietly, I ask the waiter if he could sent the rest of the food up to the room and try to make as dignified an exit as one can with Ken Fucking Dodd in a cocktail dress waving and belming to a room full of bemused diners. So there we are back in the room - immediately Mrs Spimf strips naked. No idea why, the only thing I was intending eating at that point was my bloody steak, which was supposedly on its way up.

Knock knock - "room service"

"Come in" coos my idiot bloody wife, naked as a Tory MP in a boys dormitory.

The poor bloke trundles in with a splendid tray of delights, complete with comedy silver dome things on them. Give him his due he barely batted an eyelid as I hastily tried to cover my mad as a bat butt naked wife. He left with a smirk and large tip. After ten minutes of watching my wife struggling to use cutlery (she seemed to be knitting and imaginary scarf from invisible wool) I suggested at that point she might well be better in bed. So in she pops.

Thank. Fuck! Peace at last. Just as I finish my steak the convulsions start. Yes fucking convulsions.

Su-fucking-perb.

So there she is: Portpatrick's answer to Jon Belushi writhing around in bed like Linda Blair's epileptic understudy. After some 'discussion' Mrs Spimf decides it is in fact...

"Nothing to do with the drugs - it must have been when I hit my head"

She then panics - decides she has a 'brain clot' from her tumble earlier (I had a few choice words on that one). Nevertheless Mrs Spimf demands a doctor be summoned.

"Head injuries must be investigated!"

So there I am - no choice. I called the owner and asked if she could discreetly request a local doctor give us a quick call just to reassure my idiot wife she is not destined to spend the remainder of her days communicating with one eyebrow. Ten minutes later an ambulance with full blues and twos rocks up.

Fuck.

All too soon the paramedics enter the room, along with the bloody owner and her daughter as well for good measure. After I managed to tactfully ask them to get the fuck out I had a quite word with the paramedic.

"Don’t think its the bump to the head mate" (looks around conspiratorially) "she's actually eaten a little bit of cannabis"

Paramedic looks confused,

"How much"

"Erm maybe enough for two fairly miserly joints"

Paramedic scratches head.

"What’s she doing eating it - your supposed to smoke it, at least that's what I do (winks), having said that if she's had a bump to the head we should maybe take her in for observation"

Tits.

So they go to lift the pale and shaking Mrs Spimf out of bed

"Wait!"

"She’s naked"

"Oh right, fine where are her clothes"

I gather up the frilly black undies, stockings heels and LBD and realise the chances of getting her dressed without more drama were, to even the most optimistic observer, bugger all.

"Fuck it, wrap her up in the duvet, I’ll take the clothes with me"

And so they did. Then popped her on a little chair with wheels affair and lifted her up....

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" cries my lunatic wife - "I'M SCARED OF HEIGHTS!!!!"

"Erm your only about 6 inches off the floor love"

"OH? ...Well it felt a lot higher"

*faceplams*

So we process through the hotel lobby - the entire staff and guests it would seem had now lined up to see the drama unfolding with 'my lovely wife' now back on a high waving like a mong on a day trip to a window factory.

Kill me now, please God - end this now.

So we sat in the ambulance - it was at least 40 minutes to the nearest A&E. Mrs Spimf cracking jokes all the way. Me sitting there with a face like thunder. They treated Mrs Spimf and I like we had been up all night smearing methadone on a baby, grilled me on what she had 'actually taken' then eventually they let us home at around 3 am. The taxi back to the hotel cost about 50 quid - about 15 years ago.

I don't allow my wife drugs anymore. Muppet.
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sun 31 May 2009, 12:34, 24 replies)

Kitty!
Surprise nudity? Well it's not really a surprise when toddlers strip out of clothes and go running around but ...

My best friend's toddler boy was amazing. Whenever he was left alone with the household cat (a significantly large grey tom about 2/3rds the kids size and weight) he would strip off all of his clothes, get a death grip on the cat's tail - and then standing there naked behind a starting to get annoyed cat, holding on for dear life - he would then let loose with a stream from his little willie - peeing on the cat.

The cat would take off at mach speeds - pulling the kid along behind him in a skipping bouncing high acceleration adventure where the kids stubby little legs would only touch down every few feet in giant leaps and bounds as they traversed the apartment. He screamed with delight and joy the whole way "kitty! kitty!" and he never, not for a moment, *ever* stopped peeing on the cat.

Sometimes he'd reach down with one hand to adjust his equipment and aim - after rebounding off a wall or a table he was sometimes a bit out of alignment - but mostly he just couldn't miss - he was less than a tail's length away from something almost the same size as he was =)

Truly - the combination of the sheer happiness on the kids little face and the utter terror the poor cat was experiencing - will forever be locked in memory for me - I was just standing there talking a bit with his mum when the two of them came rocketing out of the hallway and crossed the living room in front of me, making a large u-turn (no skid marks at least =)) and then back into the hallway, the giggling and "kitty!" chanting taking on a doppler effect as it passed us by. Her reaction was to say "oh my, he's at it again" and raise her hand to her mouth to hide the smile while I just went from stunned senseless to smiling from ear to ear as my brain processed and replayed the scene and I realized what it was I had seen =)

The scene cheers me up even now just thinking about it =)

(it's years later, but if I ever encounter a tiger in the wild... for at least 2 seconds before I attempt to flee for my life - I'll be sorely tempted to risk life, limb (and certainly todger) to re-enacting the scene at adult sizes.. I know it won't work... I know one swipe and it'd be over but... but.. it just looked like so much fun!)

(I think it's too late to get on the best sheet... but I'd be touched if you gave me a click anyway =))
( Allisade would love to hear from you, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 22:18, 5 replies)

Ollie Toe Fucker
I like to get sweaty in Finsbury Park with a bunch of men.

No, it's not a bukkake jizzbomb explosion free-for-all of atomic proportions - its fucking about on skateboards.

Now, I skate like I make love - frenetically, with lots of weird jerky motions, a shitload of swearing, and I usually end up hurting myself. Oh, and I'm usually absolutley off my fucking head, talking to pink elephants, slobbering at passing ladies boobies, finding Margaret Thatcher strangely attractive shitfaced.

This one time last summer on a boiling hot fucking day, I'm down at Finsbury Park, twatting about on my skateboard with my mates Phil and Steve. Steve's a bit of a Tony Hawk on the board on account of never going to school and learning how to skateboard instead. The cunt can hardly spell his own name, but, fuck me, when he's shooting round on a plank of wood with wheels on, he looks the fucking business. And Steve always skates barefoot. His weirdly long toes curling over the edge of the board - he really does resemble an incredibly well trained shaved circus chimp when he's in full flow.

Steve says to me: "Spanky - I wanna see you ollie down that slope there. If you can't do it, you owe me a pint later."

I nod.

Of course.

No problem.

Well, one slight problem: I didn't have a fucking clue what an ollie was.

Phil, who's swigging down his can of Stella says: "You don't know what an ollie is do you, you fucking retard? Tell you what - if you can't make the ollie, you owe me a pint too."

A few parents mulling about in the park tut in our general direction. (Apparently parks are the exclusive property of people with little kids when its a nice day and they don't like swearing, the cunts).

"I do fucking know what a fucking ollie is you hairless fucking freak of fucking nature," I reason. Phil had been getting on my nerves all fucking day.

He was - and still is - a cock.

"I'll show you how it's done," says Phil, and he slams his board down and sets off at pace.

And then something miraculous happens. I would quite happily have sold my soul to the devil if I'd have know what was about to happen happened...

Phil's front wheels hit a pebble or - knowing Finsbury Park - a used condom, bloated and swollen in the hot sun, the contents churning into some weird kind of rock hard spunk cheese; or a dirty old syringe pissing out blood and opiates -

and he fell, cartwheeling through the air. And he landed heavily on his knees, and what with him being a bit of a skater freak, he was wearing baggy skater pants -

- which were rendered free from his peachy buttocks as if an invisible pervert had stepped up behind him and wrenched the fuckers down.

Several parents gasped and sheilded their childrens eyes.

Steve and I, being responsible adults ourselves, pissed ourselves laughing. And then Steve launched himself forward, ran the twenty or so meters over to Phil while he was still a bit stunned and confused, and kicked him right up the jacksy with the sort of grace and poise you'd expect to see from the penalty kicker on the pitch at Twickenham.

And Steve's aim was so true, so straight, that he managed to get his foot stuck up Phil's arse; his big toe - Steve was barefoot - must've acted like some kind of living butt plug...

It was a truly remarkable sight, the ten seconds or so it took for Phil and Steve to part: Phil on the floor, wiggling his arse, howling in pain - Steve stood over him, jerking his foot back and forth, pushing down on Phil's head to try and break the unnatural, the unholy, the just plain wrong coupling of sphincter and toe, with Steve shouting:

"AAAAARRRRRGGGGGHHH!!! THAT'S FUCKING DISGUSTING!!!"

And Phil responding with:

"AAAAAIIIIIIEEEEEEE!!! STOP FUCKING RAPING ME YOU CUNT!!!"

They got a round of applause when they finally parted; well - I clapped at least as Phil pulled up his jeans, Steve found a patch of grass and furiously wiped the stinky shitty chocolate starfish smell off his toe.

I wandered over to them: "If that's an ollie, you can fucking keep it, lads. And sod buying you a pint, I think I should buy you two a room and a packet of cigerattes to smoke after you've finised fucking each other... you make such a lovely couple."
( SpankyHanky, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:38, 16 replies)

Not in a way I expected.
I remember staying at a girlfriends parents house, no sharing rooms allowed. We had not yet reached the point of sharing bodily fluids, a little bit off upper torso groping had been the limit of my exploration up until that point.

I had to sleep in the living room. At about 2am the girlfriend walks in naked, I wake up and immediately think "Fuck Yeah, Action Time".

Alas this was not to be as she ignored me and walked behind the TV set and proceeds to take a shit (quite a substantial one as well I may add). It was strange to see the body I had been lusting after in this most undignified first exposure.

I watched her walk back out and head back upstairs to her room. Fuck me I thought better clean this up as being the only occupant of the room I would be blamed if anyone saw it.

Two minutes later her mum walks in while I am on the floor with paper towels. “I heard the stairs creaking. I see Patricia has been sleep walking again, let me clean that up” she said in a matter of fact manner.

Surreal
( fagilliD Fuck I'm good!, Fri 29 May 2009, 2:55, 12 replies)

Always Ultra (or: 'When farts become visible')...

For a shy person, I have been caught more times than I’d like to mention in situations that have left total strangers unexpectedly staring down the fleshy beak of my ‘last turkey in the shop’.

But recently, I suffered an experience that mentally scarred me EVEN MORE.

I won’t bore you with the backstory too much, but I have a kidney disease that requires regular tests. My doctor is also concerned at the state of my liver (no prizes for guessing why) so just a couple of weeks ago, I was ordered to the hospital to have an ultrasound scan.

Anyhoo, on the day in question I was sat in the queue…with a line of pregnant women and some bloke who looked like Yoda’s long lost half-brother. After a long, uncomfortable wait, a nurse stepped out of one of the examination rooms and approached me. She was what can only be described as a ‘goddess of perfection’. This nurse was so incredibly, surface-of-the-sun hot that even the old ladies were shifting on their seats and giving her admiring glances. I thought the Yoda bloke was going to have a coronary.

In the afternoon heat the staff had positioned fans to keep the patients cool, and the long blonde hair of the nurse was briefly wafted as she approached. When she stopped before me, the light shone behind her and I could make out the sillouhette of her phenomenal legs through her uniform. As I sat there, It took every ounce of stamina I had to force back droplets of gland grease from bubbling to the tip of my mutton musket.

She greeted me with a seductive smile and said: “I’ll see you now, Mr Flake…please follow me…” she spoke with a voice so smoulderingly sexy that it made me want to rip out my own tongue and rub it up and down her shapely thighs like a tastebud riddled piece of sandpaper.

I walked in behind her, my eyes transfixed on her pert arse as it wiggled ever-so-slightly with every step towards the examination room.

She then sat down at the big machine, turned to me and said: “Please get undressed”. I didn’t need asking twice. Desperately trying to suppress the ready-to-launch Trident missile in my pants I closed the door, then in one swift motion I heaved my trousers and dunghampers down to the ground, before standing up proudly, putting my hands on my hips and leaning back a bit, therefore allowing my cock and balls to hang proudly down and swing slightly in the breeze.

The gorgeous nurse glanced at me, raised one perfectly trimmed eyebrow and calmy said:

“No Mr Flake, this is a Liver examination – just removing your shirt will suffice”

ooh fucking hell

Crimson faced, I slide my pants back on, remove my shirt, then lay on the bed next to the machine. The helpful hottie then begins to spend the next thirty seconds intensly rubbing jelly over my body…I thought I was on a ‘one-way ticket to Spaffsville’ as she started inching down…slowly…slowly…towards my groovy groin garden…and despite my earlier indiscretion I still thought that I was going to spurt some glistening gonad gloop out of the piss-slit of my undies right there and then.

The stunning nurse is unfazed “Let’s give you a full ‘once over’ shall we?” she states clearly and professionally, yet every word still oozes with a divine eroticism as she calmy orders me to turn over one way, and then the next, before running this big torch-like thing over everything from my moobs to that funny hairy line between my cock and belly button.

Eventually, the examination is over, I wipe myself down with masses of paper towels, apologise profusely and sprint from the building with my shirt tucked under my arm.

Fast forward a week or so later and I go to the Doctors to find out the results. The quack reads me the usual riot act for my lifestyle, and then puts the scan report up on the screen for us to read together. As we study the findings, my mind wonderfully drifts back in time to when the ‘Angel of ultrasound’ was rubbing me up and down and I glaze over, looking wistfully at the monitor…

Unfortunately, I am then snatched back into reality as I notice what the nurse had written...

The report simply stated:

Liver: ‘Unremarkable’

(OK, so she could have chosen a nicer adjective, but that still meant good news – I wasn’t fucked - yay!)

Kidneys: ‘No change’

(Well, this is looking great! – I’ll be off to the pub then…)

Then I saw it…

Additional Comments: ‘Unable to get adequate reading from rest of scan - view obscured by an UNUSUALLY HIGH AMOUNT OF BOWEL GAS!’

Holy fucking wank biscuits on wheels!

I recoiled in horror, wracked with remorse at contemplating what that beautiful woman must have suffered…not only had she copped an unwanted eyeful of my ‘weapon of muff distraction’, but she had actually SEEN MY FARTS!...and nobody deserves a first-hand view of the grisly stink monsters that were perculating in my rancid guts.

Nudity seems like less of an issue for me now, considering that someone has actually looked inside of me, but still...I don’t care what happens in the future – even if I get hit by a train or something...

I am never going back to that hospital.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 2 Jun 2009, 11:03, 17 replies)

Oh yeah also
I was on the underground years ago and there was a very old, very well dressed, and very drunk gentleman standing by the door.

He was dressed impeccably from head to toe, other than the fact that his penis was hanging out of the front of his trousers. A woman opposite said "Excuse me! I don't think anyone wants to see that".

The chap said "Madam! Forgive me" and did up the two front buttons on his jacket.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 14:02, 4 replies)

Nekkid woman
My ex-stepmother is far too worthy, self-righteous and power-happy to do anything other than make an utter fool of herself in absolutely everything she does. She is also so egotistical she is prone to create rather disturbing, bordering on the abusive, but ultimately in hindsight terrifically funny scenes like that detailed below, as a result:

When I was about 14, I'd got to the stage that I was decorating my room and generally turning into a bit of a punk/goth, so there were a lot of drapes and "arty" pictures in my room.

My wardrobe door was a bit tatty, so one day when I passed a shop selling long, thin posters, I decided to get one to cover it.

The one I chose was of a topless woman standing by a deep red velvet curtain, holding a black rose, by a white marble plinth thing (I make no apology - I was 14 - full of poetry and wobbly-voiced sincerity).

I put it up and that was that.

That evening my stepmother knocked on my door, opened it a crack, and told me "Vagabond - I don't like your poster. It's demeaning to women so I want you to take it down and throw it away."

She'd obviously planned this, as I played straight into her hands.

"It's only a naked woman - it's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Oh YEAH?!" she replied "Well if you want to see what a naked woman looks like, HERE IT IS!" and she burst in, in her birthday suit.

She danced around the room several times, tore down my poster, tore it into little pieces, threw the little pieces all over the room, and ran out.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 13:57, 8 replies)

There is only one word for it – and it is “Yeeeeeooooooowwwww!”…

I used to go out with a girl who didn’t really like me. Now, of course there’s an element of understanding here – I wouldn’t want to go out with me either – but she seemed to persistently treat me with the kind of hearty disdain you’d normally reserve for peado Nazi kitten-rapists. Suffice to say, we were at the point in our short ‘relationship’ that meant we were just ambling through the motions on the verge of the inevitable break up…a break up that she seemed to be welcoming amongst her ‘special friends’ with open legs arms.

As part of this ‘going through the motions’ process, she had still come to watch my band perform our particular brand of atrocious craptitude in front of a paying, yet ‘blissfully unsuspecting of our impending shiteness’ public. This time we were at a small working men’s club, in a quaint little middle-of-fucking-nowhere village called Birdingbury.

Surprisingly, despite the fact that we were pathetically piss poor purveyors of puerile pop-pap, we began to experience a modicum of success amongst this blatantly entertainment-starved bunch of inbred mutants. Right from the off, people were dancing, cheering and drunkenly enjoying the proceedings.

What quickly became of interest to us however as the night went on, was the fact that amongst our obviously deluded audience was a bevy of quite stunningly succulent young ladies who were making no secret of the fact that they had graduated with honours from horniness school, and seemed fizzing at the flange for some band-related, ‘dirty lurve’ action.

One fine filly in particular had started the night sat on the right hand side of the dancefloor; and when I glanced over to her, she faced me and crossed her legs…making it perfectly clear to the band and I that under her obscenely short skirt she had neglected to slide her scuddies on before venturing out that evening. As a gentleman, I decided to take it upon myself to aquire full advantage of this situation. Upon establishing eye-contact, I nodded in appreciation.

She then stood up and joined her friends on the dancefloor, and put on a display for us all that made your average ‘dirty dancing’ seem more like ‘tame-arsed twatting about’.

I could not cget over how 'forward' this girl was…in the middle of the next song, she brazenly approached the stage, smiled, then started fondling my frisky phallic fruitbowl under my guitar in clear (and jealous) view of everybody!

I was astounded….Aroused, and very, very smug, but astounded nonetheless.

My girlfriend, however, did not seem to care one jot about this public display of affection by this girl – her attentions were somewhat distracted by trying to insert her entire body into the mouth of the club landlord of all people…who resembled Grizzly Adams’ Hairier uncle. Despite my anger at her, I still had to call time on my nwe 'number one fan’s activities…after all I was a professional…*ahem*.

I slowly moved back, she took the hint and went back to her seat.

After our first set, the band and I left the stage and slumped awkwardly towards the bar. At which point the girl, (I should apologise here and state that I never got to find out her name) made a beeline for me. There was no stopping her now…

“You’re lovely…would you like to come outside with me for a minute?” She asked seductively.

If the Guiness book of records had been there, they surely would have witnessed the fastest ever ‘yes’ answer in history.

She took my hand and led me outside. We had only just rounded the corner of the building when she pushed me against the wall and started kissing me in that over-emphasised, forceful, yet ‘faux-romatic’ way that late teens / early twenties folk do. Now, this was all very well and good, but with my meagre sexual experience at the time I was completely taken aback when with one swift motion, she planted her hand straight down the front of my grundies and started tugging away with such ferocity that I heard a ringing in my ears.

From the previous events of the evening I was already at half-stonk, so from the merest touch of her eager groping digits on my cock it had suddenly lurched into life, and within the blink of a hog’s eye I had gone harder than Chinese advanced algebra.

Thinking it rude to not reciprocate, I leaned forward gently then thrust my hand up her skirt to discover that the ‘hairy wink’ she had given me when she was sat down earlier was not an optical illusion, and her clopper was indeed a purely panty-free zone. However, as I delved further and established contact I encountered a slight twinge of disappointment, as I quickly discovered that she possessed a unkempt mott like a lorry driver’s breakfast. Sportingly, I still rummaged around, desperately probing amongst the various bits of dangling meat and dripping for any ‘sticky-out’ parts to flick at frantically like a boxer’s speedball.

She moaned appreciatively at this, and although I had established that this girl was not the ‘shy and retiring’ type, even I was surprised as she then proceeded to slowly drop to her knees, unzip my trollies, heave out my tadger and schlurp my monument of man-meat into her mouth like a hungry carthorse in a hotdog eating competition

Overwhelmed, yet incredibly turned on by the girl’s sheer audacity and deep-throat ability, I enthusiastically gyrated in time with the rhythmic back-and-forth motion of her head, letting my clockweights knock gently against her chin like a Newton’s cradle

Of course, I knew I couldn’t keep this momentum very long, and the spaff was bubbling within me like a gonad-gunk geyser . Eventually and inevitably…with a ‘shudder’ and an uncontrollable groan, I gurned my grimacing face skywards and exploded a gargantuan 'gland grenade' into her grateful and gaping gob. Watching her ‘gulp’ as she swallowed deeply was a glorious sight to behold…yet fate had decided I wasn’t going to be able to ‘savour the moment’…

No sooner had I began to experience the post-spurtage-whilst-standing-up ‘wobbly leg syndrome’, when I was clanged violently back into reality by the scornful screech of my girlfriend…who in a rare act of courtesy had gone looking for me, and who had turned the corner of the club just in time to watch me deliver both barrells of ballistic bollock brylcream into my admirers mouth, face and hair.

“WHAT THE FUCKING HELL ARE YOU DOING?!” She yelped – her face now etched with shock and contorted with rage.

Maybe I should have been braver…after all, she had fired into someone else that very night in front of me, but at that moment I didn't consider the multiple injustices she had made me suffer whilst we were together – all I felt was the sinking remorse of being rumbled…eyebrows deep in the overwhelming swamp of guilt that can only be achieved by being caught with your cock in another girl’s oesophagus.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry” I said, and I jerked back my hips to retract my dribbling dongler from the girl’s cake-hole. The girl remained on her knees – totally silent and still…moving only to wipe a few droplets of splooge that I had inadvertently shot into one of her eyes.

“I don’t believe this – you BASTARD!” My girlfriend shrieked. This prompted me into thinking that perhaps now was the right time for us to have the ‘we’ve got to talk’ moment…

But yet, I was flustered, with several emothions and panic running through my body. Quickly deducing that the first and most important thing to do was to put my knob away, I would give it a quick tuck then firmly whip my zip up with a swift tug...

My cock, however, had other ideas. It was still in a state of (now unnecessary) hardness and had obviously decided on it’s own that it was enjoying the open air and wanted to stay out to sniff it a bit longer…as a result of this it was not yet 100% back in my pants at point of closure…

*zip*…

…

“Yeeeeeooooooowwwww!”…


Time froze. To her credit, the girl stayed there...on her knees, as blood began to pour from my now ripped-to-pip, cheese-grated cock end.

With several ‘Oh my fucking GOD!’s cried out by everybody, the full horror of what had happened began to become clear.

Pulsating with agony and unable to communicate without bellowing various colourful expletives, I was on my way to the floor to crouch up into a pain-filled ball, when I heard a voice...

“Hold on, let me have a look at it” The girl on her knees said as I coyley recoiled.

“Jeeeessusss-fucking-Christ-on-a-cunting-unicycle!” I exclaimed, as she gently prodded at my crotch where blood was now seeping heavily…and the pain was excrutiating.

What happened then was truly remarkable. My girlfriend and this girl then shared a glance, and without a word being spoken, they seemed to decide that 'everything else could wait', and that the safety of my savagely slashed sex-stick was now the top priority.

Finally, the gobbling girl spoke: “My friend’s here tonight and she’s a nurse” she said quite calmly as she stood up “Let’s get him inside”…

With one arm around this girl and the other around my girlfriend I staggered along as they helped drag my battle-damaged carcass back towards the club.

We burst through the doors with blood still seeping from my semi-severed shaft, which was poking sheepishly through my trousers…the blood now intermingling with the last remaining droplets of spicy schlong salsa which I had involuntarily spaffed in the ensuing commotion.

Everybody turned round and saw me looking exhausted…with my arms round two girls…with one of them calling for her friend…with my mutilated member still hanging out, and with a nether-region caked in blood. What happened next was a mixture of gasps, dropped jaws…and then complete fucking hysterics (mostly by the band)

I tell you, In the sacred name of Billie Piper’s blessed butt-plug it fucking hurt like nothing on this earth.

As her friend (the nurse) approached I noticed that she was also as hot as hell – (just my luck!). However, my brief and blurry thoughts of the prospect of a 'ménage-a-trois' were quickly stifled by the fact that at this point my spam-javelin looked like it was trying to have a sympathy 'period', as bloodied lumps began to clot over my dishevelled salty stormtrooper.

I nearly collapsed as the mighty fine & foxy Florence Nightingale calmly called for the first aid box from behind the bar, then professionally released my potentially crippled cum-spitting cucumber from it's jagged zippy stranglehold, before administering an ample bandage to me in the corner of the room, watched by several hundred prying eyes. I began to feel faint as it became apparent that my blood supply had no idea where to go first – into my deeply embarrassed face?, into my diminished and deflated cock? (to hopefully give it a bit of manly pride-length), or just to simply continue spurting out of the gaping wound by my brutally butchered bell-end?...

In the end it tried all three. and failed.

Once patched up, the magic of the evening had understandably disappeared somewhat…and so had my girlfriend…yet I still had to go back on stage and 'perform'. For the whole time it was difficult to tell who was the more embarrassed - me, or the audience - but for the remainder of the gig I could barely look anybody in the face…not to mention how awkward it is to jig about and pretend like you're 'enjoying the music' when it feels like an atomic bomb has gone off in your shreddies, and you're actually petrified of moving...or even letting your guitar hang anywhere near your undercarriage (oh, and FYI, If you ever find yourself in this position, do NOT play 'foot-tapping' Beatles songs!). Unsurprisingly, the night was ruined for all...

We were subsequently not invited back.

In hindsight, my main worry now is how embarrassingly small my love lozenge shrank to under the ordeal...and this was at the single point when more people saw it all at once than at any other time I have ever experienced since.

Yet even today, when I glance down at my bellend when fully engorged, and the now (deceptively small) scar, I am reminded of 'what could have been' with that girlfriend, had those events not happened that night…

But all in all...I think it was worth it...a Lucky escape I reckon.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 13:03, 14 replies)

OPERATION FUCK MARIA & THE MASSIVE DONG
"Greg," I said tentatively. "Can I have a look at your cock?"

Suprisingly, Greg said no. Infact he said: "No - fuck off you weird cunt."

But it wasn't as if I wanted to play the pink oboe. All I wanted to do was... have a quick look. I was a fifteen year old boy and the only spam dagger I'd ever seen was my own and I had issues... size issues. I just wanted to compare my own length and girth with somebody elses, just so I could say: "Yep - I'm normal." Yep - I'm in possession of the sort of package any lady would be happy to receive a warm gloopy jet-powered vitamin-and-mineral-enriched deposit from.

The reason for my sudden insecurity in the semen submarine department was Maria. She was my new girlfriend and it was a well known fact she'd - how can I put this? - been round the block more times than the number 29 bus. Her last boyfriend was a sixth former named Darren who was famed in my school for being hung like a bull elephant.

I just didn't feel like I could compete.

I even spent a fucking painful afternoon with my cock sellataped to the windowsill in my bedroom, with my bell end firmly strapped in place I shuffled backwards as far as I could in an attempt to stretch my piece. All that did is HURT, and temporarily stretch my foreskin so it hung round my manhood like a flappy, wrinkly pink overcoat for a couple of days before it shrunk back to normal size.

I was - you could say - in a bit of a state, mentally.

And the main reason for this was my mate Joe was having a party at his gaff the coming Saturday night - his parents were out of town; the place was going to be filled with horny teenagers. Maria and I were going as a couple; our first official outing together. And I was hoping to use the occasion as a way to fool, trick or beg Maria into letting me fill her flaps with 100% premium Spanky cock.

- Only I had real concerns that I wouldn't be able to touch the sides on account of the last piece that rubbed against Maria's lady chamber being big and fat enough to fill the Albert Hall (including the lobby and backstage areas).

I was fucking fucked...

Then I hit on an idea. A fucking GENIUS idea...

So, its Friday night. Joe's party is in full swing. I've found a nice quiet place to sit with Maria and we're getting down to some serious tonsil tennis. I'm sat with my legs wide open, I'm wearing my best tight wight chinos. I've already managed to catch a few of the other girls at the party stealing a dirty glance at my - quite fucking frankly HUGE package. I am Billy big balls and I know it.

Maria whispers in my ear: "Spanky, just looking at your trousers is making me wet." And she snogs me long and hard, and her hand slips down my chest, over my stomach, and rests on my belt for a while. Then, ever... so... slowly...

...the tips of her fingers play over my MASSIVE dong.

FUCKING NICE ONE !!!

I snog her harder, my shaking hand reaches up beneath her skirt and I fumble round her gaping axe wound with my trembling fingers. I rub her bits roughly through the fabric of her panties.

"Shall we take this upstairs?" Maria breathes into my ear. I nod eagerly. And we slink upstairs. But all the bedrooms and the bathroom - even the cupboards full up with teenagers inexpertly rubbing and fucking.

Then I try to put phase two of Operation Fuck Maria in motion. "I just have to take a piss," I say romantically. But Maria points out the bathroom's locked. So we go back downstairs and return to our quiet dark secluded spot in the corner of the livingroom. The music's loud, there's loads of bodies dancing to Spandau Ballet. No one would probably notice if we did it doggy style right there in the corner.

Fuck me, I was horny. But this was a critical point in the Operation; I was a bit pissed to say the least and all the blood had rushed to my cock, so I wasn't thinking straight.

"I really need to wee," I say to Maria. "I'm gonna go in the garden."

But Maria gave me a look as if to say: Leave me now and you've missed your chance, buddy...

So I remained rooted to the spot through the awsome power of possibly getting some. We kissed a bit more, Maria rubbing my massive peice. And then - after a while - she unbuttoned my chinos...

...I was so into the moment I hardly noticed.

But I did soon enough - and so did the rest of the room as Maria said really incredibly loudly:

"AAAARRRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH !!! WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ????"

As she held my cock high in the air, staring at it in disbelief.

Oh, fuck...

The lights went up, the music stopped as Joe reasoned somebody was being raped or murdered in his parents living room.

And then everyone stared at the object in Maria's hand, and they stared down at me, red faced with my fly open and my real cock trying desperately and pittifully to make its inferior prescence known.

Maria sniffed my MASSIVE dong as she examined it closer: "Why the fuck have you got a salami down your pants?" she asked.

And I really didn't have an answer to that. I'd planned to visit the little boys room at the critical moment, remove the fake pork product cock, and hope Maria was too pissed to notice I'd, well, shrunk a bit when I returned.

And I went home that night with my cherry still intact...

... and with my dignity in tatters.

... I'd lost one sexy new girlfriend.

... and gained a whole raft of new Italian-sausage-related nicknames that plauged me until I moved to a new school two years later...



That was unexpected nudity, I can tell you.


...AND I never got my salami back...
( SpankyHanky, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 22:35, 10 replies)

The Tale Of Captain Sparky
Picture the scene... A hot day in Summer, not unlike today.
You've been dragged shopping by your girlfriend and the air-con is busted in your car, rendering it hotter than the Royal Box in Hell.
This had happened to my dear friend, Captain Sparky.
He got home, a tired, sweaty and broken wreck of a man.
"Right," He thought to himself, "Time for a shower and a few hours of computer-based gaming."
So, he takes his clothes off, heads to the bathroom and, well, has a shower. As you do.

Desweatinating having been achieved, he turns the taps off, opens the glass cubicle door and stops dead.
There's a man looking at him through the bathroom window.
He's on the second floor of the house.
Thoughts shoot through his head.
"Am I being perved on by Spiderman?"
"Is there some kind of Zero-Gravity-Homo out there?"
"Why did he look so happy, then so, so sad?"

Turns out it was the window cleaner.
Captain Sparky is tall, thin and had, at the time, long blonde hair. From the back, in the shower, he could pass for a woman, fairly easily (I assume. I have no hard evidence for this. Maybe "hard" was the wrong choice of word. Anyway...).

So, Mr. Window Cleaner was up his ladder, perving away on this "young lady" in the shower, waiting to get a glimpse of The Goods. Instead he got a penis-flavoured shock, right in his face.
Serves him right.
( Cawl, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 12:53, 7 replies)

READERS WIVES & THE SOLO COCK BALLET

10:40 – Morning break time

Terry the school fixer and acquirer of contraband extraordinaire (he’d once sourced a shitload of copies of that Madonna book with all the nuddy photos; my God, that was a disappointment), pulled me into the bogs. I gave him a tenner, he handed over the Tescos carrier bag full of goodies. I slipped the bag into my satchel nodded curtly and went on my merry way.

11:00 – 12:30 – Double English

While the teacher prattled on about the relationship between two characters in King Lear – the old mad fucker himself and some bird named Gonorrhea, I think, I was distracted. I kept reaching into my satchel to make sure my illicit purchase was still there. I rubbed the crinkly plastic of the carrier bag like a loving parent tousling a child’s scruffy hair. It was during this lesson of tedium – now the teacher was going on about some bloke named Duke who was from Gloucester – that I hatched out my plan. I just couldn’t wait until I got home. I just couldn’t,... So, eager and ever-so-slightly engorged, I looked up at the clock and counted down the minutes to-

12:30 – Lunch Time

My mate Greg asks if I want to go and play footie with a few of the lads. “Fuck no,” I say, and speed out the classroom, trundle down the long pathway leading to the main gates, and then I’m free. I’d already thought of a great place to *ahem* sample my wares. There was a HUGE fucking roundabout a little way further down the road, a really big fucker lined with trees and big bushy shrubs. I’d pissed about in the centre of the place before and it was pretty secluded – an oasis of calm in the middle of this busy build-up area.

12:35 – Roundabout

After legging it across the road I push through the foliage, find a nice shady spot, reach into my satchel and pull out my purchase. I tear open the carrier bag and say a little prayer. “Oooohh, yes!” I lay out in front of me on the warm dry grass the six or seven copies of this specialist reading material Terry had sourced for me. It was all good stuff. I could feel my trouser tiger start to growl in anticipation. You can keep your super models, you can keep your airbrushed porn; for me, there’s just nothing as sexy, nothing as downright cock-thumpingly alluring as seeing a load of middle aged ladies from Stoke in cheap grundies showing their wet bits for the pleasure of their fellas and the general public at large – yep – I’m talking Readers Wives. And I was the proud owner of six or seven mags packed full of the horny buggers.

12:36 – Down to business

Having released my baby-maker, feeling the slight kiss of the breeze on my balls, I’m getting down to some seriously frantic expert wankerage, flipping through the veritable feast of cellulite, cheap C & A panties, and ultra-hairy minge laid out before me. Eventually I settle on one special lady – a forty year old battleaxe from Norwich who’s bending down and spreading her legs so wide I’m sure I can see what she had for lunch that day. And it all feels so naughty, what with the sound of the traffic zooming round the roundabout. But I’m secluded. I’m alone. I am an island. I’m a maverick. And I’m having a very nice, though incredibly frantic wank.

12:37 – Release !!!

With a little whimper, like a dying puppy, I shoot my gloop over the grass and over my hand. I feel, quite literally, drained. I quickly wipe my sticky fingers on the immaculate lawn, dab my weeping bell end with a couple of stray leaves, zip up and get ready to make my way back to school.

12:38 – Oooh, bugger....

Then – as I’m putting my Readers Wives mags back in my satchel I just happen to glance up and to my left, to the offices of British Timken (they make ball bearings, you know), which has a great view of the main road leading into Duston, Northampton, its a pretty damn large building that dominates the skyline and overlooks the local vista, including a very nice view over the trees and shrubs of the centre

of ....

the...

fucking....

roundabout....

In the higher windows on the third or fourth floor – probably their canteen, what with it being lunch time - there were about fifty or sixty faces – men and women – staring down at me. I stared back for a bit. They continued to stare. I felt like a frightened bunny caught in the headlights. Some of the faces looked pretty frightened too.

1:30 Afternoon Lessons

I spent the rest of the day cringing inside sat at my desk, shitting myself to the point of distraction, hoping and praying that the school wasn’t going to receive a complaint about one of their pupils being caught doing a spot of solo cock ballet in full view of a shitload of hopefully titilated and sexy feeling, but most probably vomit-induced and disgusted factory workers.
( SpankyHanky, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 10:27, 7 replies)

Postman Twat!
A few weeks ago on one Saturday morning, the wife decides she'd get us a breakfast roll from the local butchers. It's about five mins away, after 15 mins I hear the front gate open, and being the mischievous blighter I am, I decided it would be funny to stick my willy through the letter box.....it wasnt the wife and my cock was rammed by two bank statements and our voting cards.

Wife came home 5 mins later.
(rambosilk Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 17:01, 2 replies)

Hotel
A number of years ago, and for reasons totally irrelevant to this story I found my good self having to share a hotel room with my dearest Dad.

I was knackered, so retired to bed, leaving Hat Snr to prop up the bar.

Having drifted off into my much deserved sleepy time the unmistakable sound of Pissed Bloke Trying To Be Quiet started to intrude, followed by my retinas burning as the twat turned the light on. Rolling over to lie on my side, I opened my eyes ready to berate the noisy fucker.

I have since learned that at that point he was desperately trying to remove his trousers in a way that only a pissed bloke can, ie. hopping round on one leg as he bends over to try and free his foot from a trouser leg.

What I actually saw, and filling my whole field of vision, was his naked arse, as he slowly toppled backwards.

And sat on my face...

This was how I came to call my dearest Dad a stupid cunt for the very first time.
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Tue 2 Jun 2009, 18:57, 1 reply)

WILDLIFE PHOTOGRAPHER OF THE YEAR
Part of my job involves trawling round on the Tube, picking up various tropical diseases from the seats and attempting to avoid the weird fuckers who think they’re the second coming of Christ, and this means I should give them some money.

Just recently I was sat on the Jubilee line travelling up to Neasden for a meeting. It was a hot day and I could feel the sweat running down my back and pooling in my arse crack – not pleasant. Not pleasant at all.

Then at Swiss Cottage a fug-ugly middle aged woman who resembled a broiled Gamorrean Guard with tits clambered onto the train and sat opposite me. The first thing that struck me was that this walking mountain of wobbly lard and cheeseburgers wasn’t wearing a bra. The second thing that stuck me was that she really shouldn’t have been wearing a baggy low cut vest top which showed off the sort of cleavage your average Alpine skier would find a challenge to slalom down.

Now, she was fucking ugly. But – being a pervert of some repute – I was instantly a little bit hard; I could feel the tip of my cock weep a little in appreciation, making a bit of a sticky mess in my pubes.

Then I did the pretending-not-to-look-at-her-tits-while-looking-at-her-tits thing. Then she did something amazing. Something truly wonderful –

She leaned forward in her seat giving me complete and unrestricted viewing rights to her pendulous bobbing and swaying zeppelins. She had fucking HUGE dark nipples the size and shape of fried eggs.

Fuck me...

So, being a perfect gentleman, I stared intently at her norks for a good few minutes. Then something occurred to me – I really should capture this moment for posterity. I had a brand new Samsung Soul camera phone in my pocket and had bought the fucker mainly because of its pretty decent camera.

I casually reach into my pocket, pulled out the mobile and pretended to do some really important fucking about with the various unnecessary functions while I prepped the camera for some clandestine North London wildlife photography – there’s nothing quite like taking a photo of a couple of trembling great tits in their natural environment.

I aimed the camera as secretively as I could, not making it obvious I was trying to capture this munters sizable assets to use as a screen saver on my laptop later. I had the perfect image of mammary goodness on my mobile’s screen- making sure to cut her head out of the frame - and then I pressed the little clicky button, and-

FLASH!!!!!

Now, I don’t know if anyone else out there’s got one of these Samsung Soul mobiles, but if you do you’ll know the flash on them is brighter than the fucking sun going super-fucking-nova. The entire carriage was bathed instantly in the brightest fluorescent light known to humankind. It’s the type of scorching light that can detach retinas and make heavily pregnant women give birth instantly.

Time stood still as various commuters looked over in my direction.

It was pretty damn obvious what I was up to...

That was an uncomfortable few minutes til I got to Neasden, I can tell you, as I sat there quietly dying of embarrassment inside while complete strangers muttered “pervert,” under their breath and mothers moved their small children as far away from me as possible...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 29 May 2009, 10:07, 9 replies)

Welcome to Miami Beach
Summer of 1990
Nan and Granddad came to visit, excited to see the video of our recent family trip to Florida and Disney that they had helped fund for our Christmas present. They settled nicely on the settee, Dad popped the video on and we all settled down to watch the video back for the first time in it’s full unedited (and lengthy) glory.

‘Ooh, that’s Mickey Mouse’ squealed Nan.

‘I don’t know why you filmed that’ harrumphed Granddad.

‘See, you didn’t believe I was late back to the bus because I’d seen an Alligator, did you?’ boasted Dad.

‘You are such a sulky teenager’ bitched Mum, at one video of 15 year old me sat on a curb with a face like thunder.

‘I loved that beach’ piped up my younger brother when a video of him, Mum and Dad playing in the sea came on.

‘Oh shit, this is going to be awkward’ I thought with a sinking heart as I remembered what I’d done.

And the camera pans off to the right as two gorgeous, topless, G-string wearing beach babes walk sexily towards it like something off Baywatch.

They get closer and the camera moves slowly with them, back to facing the sea where my family are still playing in the background as they are obscured by the profile shot of these magnificent breasts passing in front of me and then follows their thong clad arses off into the distance over a painful period of about 2 minutes.

And we sit their in pained silence.

And I want the world to stop turning.

And then my brother pipes up ‘Did you see those bazoomas?’

Yes. Joe. Sadly, Yes.

I think we all did.





Length? Well, as I said, about 2 minutes. Would have been longer if I knew how the zoom worked and I could have kept them in focus though.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 13:43, 3 replies)

Caught in the Act
My first girlfriend, to paraphrase Alan Partridge, was “certainly first in the queue when God was handing out chests”. I often remarked/boasted, as teenage boys did back then (the mid-90s), and almost certainly still do now, about her ‘assets’, with my favourite adage being that she “wouldn’t be afraid to go in the showers”. My Dad overheard this one day and added that “she wouldn’t get her feet wet”, which eventually broke forth the floodgates in terms of his array of 1970s sitcom-style innuendo-like references to the female body whenever my girlfriend’s name was mentioned from thereon in.

Anywho, as I was her first boyfriend, we were at the stage where we’d both discovered sex, me with the realisation that girls loved it as much as us boys did, and to use hackneyed phraseology, were ‘at “it” like rabbits’, most of the limited free time we had alone together; and as sixth form students with free periods and parents who both worked and younger siblings who were both in full-time education, was a lot more frequent than not.

So it passed, that one Friday afternoon, we had a free period that clashed, so adjourned to her parents’ house for some vaginally-penetrative sexual intercourse. Finding the house alone, it being daytime and all, she cheekily suggested getting down to it in the living room, and feeling the stirring in my Y-front garden (I was yet to discover the world of Calvin Klein), I was not one to cause an argument, so we soon found ourselves inflagrante on the sofa, me going away like a Singer sewing machine.

After about five minutes it happened, the catalyst to this story. “Cum on my tits” she whispered to me, mid-pushback. Wow! This was to be a first for me, the prospect of my errant member going near her bousies! The fact that she was requesting ejaculate on her mamms, would be akin to asking the Titanic to clear its bilge tanks over the dark side of the moon (and I don't mean a Pink Floyd album cover), but reaching one’s climax over a girl’s thrupnies did not require a second invitation, so I duly withdrew my, by now, pulsing gutstick from her Hong Kong garden, was met with ‘the gasp’ (not dissimilar to ‘the gasp’ when ‘it’ went ‘in’ five minutes previously), and proceeded to waddle forward on my knees, like a weary Muslim on his fifth call to Mecca that day, and straddled her, lad in hand, ready to begin stroking like a stroppy Andy Murray until the bald man cried forth his milky treat.

I was jerking away when I noticed something out of the corner of my eye at the window. Now, UK residential planning isn’t what it used to be, especially in this part of Oxfordcestershire, and parallel to their living room window was their neighbours’ driveway. I espied a block of dark blue slowly moving from left to right, and, looking up, still mid-tug, saw the next-door neighbour’s car slowly reversing down their drive. When I mentioned parallel to the drive, they could, despite the partial net curtaining of most of the window, see into the living room, should they choose to do so. In my struggle for freedom, I did not notice whether they had indeed looked in, so carried on with my personal Battle of the Bulge. It was only when that I realised, lump in throat and lump in cock, that the same block of dark blue was now slowly moving from right to left; yes, I had been spotted, and they were coming (unlike me) back to make sure their eyes hadn’t deceived them! Well fuck me sideways with a lolly stick! thought I.

So, I did what any proud Englishman would do – I carried on; I was in Sarson's Street for fucks's sake. I clocked their aghast, open mouths, and red–faced and sweating, continued to beat away for Harry, St George and England. I braved the possible ‘what would the neighbours say’ scenario (they weren’t my neighbours after all) and fed fuel to the likelihood they wouldn’t be able to look that nice girl next door in the eye again. She carried on looking my chap in the eye, and I eventually managed to bring my thought processes back to the matter at hand, eventually dousing her Devil’s dumplings with a liberal sprinkling of holy water. Like the true gentleman that I still am to this day, I did not share what I’d seen with her, and neither to my knowledge did her neighbours. We split up a couple of months later when I realised not only do girls love it as much as we do, but some let you do even more naughtier things with them. Like drawing the curtains. Then letting you wipe your cock on them afterwards.
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Fri 29 May 2009, 11:27, 6 replies)

Everyday partial nudity contest....with a contestant total of 1
I was in work one day and discovered bleeding from me bum, so I went to the docs. After a quick examination (which did include the line "At least buy me a meal first doc...) I was to discover I was infected.

I had an op 10 weeks ago which was to remove to remove a Pilonial Sinus (I think that's how it's spelled). Not a nice thing and surprisingly common; basically an ingrowing hair forms a sinus which leads to infection within certain areas of the body which tends to be hairy.

In the case of myself, mine was found to be slap-bang in the middle of my arse cleft, just below the Chocolate Mineshaft.

Now there are medications which can be taken to remove the infection, but these do not cure the root cause which is the hair itself, so the main method of resolution is to surgically cut and remove the entire sinus from the body. Meaning that since 10 weeks ago, I've got a new wound in my ass, next to my rusty bullet wound. Which randomly hurts like fuck.

I've been on tablets of varying strengths and the wound has been infected 3 times (the first of which was pronounced Strep-toe-cockia, I couldn't make it up, typical, I get a new hole up my ass and within a week I had a cock in it). Also as part of the recovery process, every single day I have to visit the local doctors and have the wound-packing changed (except for weekends, a nurse calls round to the house to do it). This involves removing the existing outside dressing and some cotton thread which is stuffed into the wound, and replacing with fresh ones.

So every single day for the last 10 weeks my arse has been seen and visited by many a Swansea nurse, so much so that I have suggested I stick it on Google Maps as a popular tourist spot. I have to drop my kegs and get a rear-bikini wax from the removal of such dressing while some nurse uses a cotton bud to ram cotton wool up my 2nd hole, it's a beautiful thing. It does have it's benefits, some of them nurses are quite fit :D

As you can imagine, small-talk during the anal exchange can be a bit weird. I have been known to have said so far;
"Do you come here often?"
"Bet you wish you was a midwife now."
"..and that's why women are shit drivers..." if she happens to hurt me while prodding it in
"Fucking hell, I'm not Sooty!" after a particularly painful adjustment by one.
Another had difficulty placing the wool packing in and said "The problem here is that your arse is too firm" which was met with the reply "Errrrr, thanks?"

Last week I had to visit the hospital for a checkup by one of the operating consultants, who after another partial moony moment informed me that there was hair growing around the wound but falling into it, so he announced he would shave me there and then. A nurse was called in, who had to palm-push my cheeks as far apart as possible while this doctor dangled a razor-blade very closely to my manhole. I made a quick funny as per; "Do I bite the pillow now doc?" to which the nurse started laffing a bit. This unfortunately led to another nurse in the adjoining room leaning her head through a door to see what was happening, to be greeted with me belly-down with my ass sticking up in the air mounted upon nurse-palm-scaffolding while an African doc was ramming a razor up my ass. I tilted my head towards her to make eye-contact and coughed "Excuse me..." before she sniggered "Sorry" and closed the door.

Still on the daily treatments now so apols for length, twas about 6-8cm deep but now only 2....
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:22, 4 replies)

*shudder*
Early on in my relationship with my girlfriend (now wife), I was visiting her down in Cardiff, where she was at Uni.

Her flat-mate had an old friend staying with her - a very large, very Australian lady I'll call "Daphne"
(You already know where most of this is going, don't you?)

Daphne was good fun - swigging red wine at about the same pace I could swig lager. Uncharacteristically for her race (pfffrt) she became very loud, very shocking and outrageously flirty the drunker she became.

We were all chatting in the kitchen and she was doing some harmless flirting with me in front of my lass - simply, I suspect, because she saw it was making me uncomfortable (my girlfriend also found my discomfort funny). Haha. Great, laugh it up girls.

As the glasses of wine continued to slosh down her big flapping mouth, barely touching her throat and into her even more voluminous stomach, this flirting got more intense and crude:
"Awww, y'know me... I wouldn't chuck ANY man out of bed... " *eye contact with me* "...unless it was so I could FUCK HIM ON THE FLOOR".
etc. That sort of thing.

Anyhooo, eventually it was time for me and the missus to go out for a meal *phew*

We returned later, both a bit sloshed and did the things you do and ended a nice evening drooling contentedly on each other's shoulders.

Then, at about 3am I got the old "too many beers" pressure on the bladder - the really annoying piss that makes you have to get out of a warm bed in a cold house. Grrr.

3 am... I could risk it. I didn't want to wake-up my girlfriend by faffing about trying to find where those boxer shorts got flung, so I went for it - a quick listen around the door then a brief rudie-nudie scamper down the corridor towards the toilet. Then, at the point of no return *click* the toilet door started to open.

I was caught in no-man's land.
Absolutely no chance of making it back.
I gambled, I lost.

In the time it took for me to turn back, forwards, back, then forwards again in a pantomime stylee, the door was open and there she was... Daphne, framed in the doorway wearing only one thing more than me - a big smile.

There wasn't even any point covering-up, so, in mock horror I covered my nipples with my fingers (while she took a very slow, deliberate look at 'the goods') while I muttered something about needing the loo.

Being the understanding type she was, she said "Oh, of course mate... in you go" then, rather than stepping out into the corridor, she simply turned sideways to 'make room' for me to get past her.

When I say 'room', I mean approx. 3 inches of clear space between her big naked unashamed body and the door frame.

Urgh. I'm squirming right now remembering this, but not as much squirming as was necessary to actually get past her.
I risked an arm - yip, that got past without contact, but then came the pure flesh-on-flesh contortions necessary to slide past.
All the time, she was making eye contact and grinning (with the odd sarcastic "ooh" or moan).

God, it seemed to take ages (I think I came twice, haha) but eventually I made it in and shut the door behind me, panting like I'd survived a sniper attack or something, only to hear the faint sound of an Australian-style guffaw outside.

I dreaded the next day, but good old Daphne actually spared me when we all met-up in the kitchen for breakfast. She just smiled sweetly at me then popped a whole sausage in her mouth while I turned bright purple and suffered from Vietnam-veteran-style flashbacks.

Why? Why did I just tell you all that?
( Zak McFlimby Twibbling @McFlimby, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:55, 7 replies)

Serenity & Fishing...
My mate John has got the hairiest balls in the known universe. The locals on the Planet of the Apes would scratch their simian heads, take a look at John’s hirsute knacker-wrapper and say: “Fuck me, that fella’s got the hairiest set of plums I’ve ever seen.”

Not that I actively seek out a quick shufty at John’s scrote, far from it. But John’s just one of those fellas who likes getting his cock out at weddings, christenings, and other social occasions for the amusement of others. He really should’ve been on Britains Got Talent; his Speedo afro would’ve got my vote over Susan Boyle any fucking day.

One time we were fucking about doing a bit of fishing in the Lakes. Nice day. Sunshine. Ladies walking about in their bikinis – a sudden and impromptu cold breeze which turned their nipples into diamond-hard bullets for the appreciation of a couple of perverts like John and I.

Then something amazing happened.

John caught a fish.

A big fucker.

It was green and wet (that’s about as far as my knowledge of fish goes, I’m afraid).

After we’d stopped flapping about like a couple of girls, we landed the fucker and John, being the lover of nature that he is, twatted the poor fucker over the head with a mallet and lobbed it in his cool bag. Then, as the excitement dies down and we return to sitting on the side of the lake dangling our fishing rods into the still, lucid water, I start to feel a sense of utter serenity wash over me. Fishing – not really my thing, but I’ll try anything once. And now, with the cool breeze washing in over the lake and kissing my face, I start to understand what fishing’s all about.

Its about peace. Its about quiet contemplation.

“Spanky,” I hear next to me, as if from many miles away. Feeling particularly tranquil, I turn my head and see-

- John, stood with his jeans and grundies round his ankles, his hands holding the dripping fish out in front of him. The tip of his tiny cock jiggling round the entrance of the fishy mouth. “Blowjob! Blowjob! Blowjob!” said John, in a weird two-tone police siren kind of way.

The King of Comedy strikes again.

And then something utterly bizarre happened.

The fish, which must’ve only been stunned from John’s rather effeminate malletting, started flapping about like a motherfucker and clamped its gob down over the tip of John’s member of Parliament.

John screamed.

I screamed.

John ran round a bit, trying to detach the fish from his bell end. His arms were flapping about now, the fish dangling like an ornate piece of body jewelry, clamping down hard, determined not to let go.

Naturally, being a mate, I just fell about and pissed myself laughing.

Then, after a little more inter-species-dance-mania-erotica, John slipped on the sheer muddy lakeside and fell into the water with all the grace and poise of a fat bastard with a fish attached to his cock.

Naturally, I laughed a bit more.

Eventually, John returned from the depths, covered in stinky pondweed and fish poo. And the fish had made good its escape, disappearing back into the murky water.

I helped the twat out of the lake, “Well, at least that thing was an improvement on your last girlfriend, mate.” I said.
( SpankyHanky, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 12:01, 6 replies)

ANGEL
"Watch," I said.

My mate Sean who'd come down from Coventry for the weekend to spend some valuable time in the capital taking in the culture, well, getting shitfaced and attempting to chat up under age Spanish tourists, staggered forward. I put my hand on his chest and said it again: "Just WATCH!!!"

Sean stopped and started to protest. But then I indicated the escalator infront of us - the BIG fucker at Angel, in fact the longest escalator on the whole Underground system, and the steepest in Europe. Sean and I loitered at the bottom of the escalators and allowed all the other revellers wearing their best going out pulling gear to squeeze past.

And the conditions were perfect... just... fucking... perfect...

It was a Saturday night. Sean and I - being tightwad fellas from the Midlands - had been drinking in my flat for a good long while before we went out. So by the time we arrived at Angel we were both already pretty hammered on cheap beer and Morrisons own brand vodka chasers.

"Look," I said, as I kept an ear out for the familiar rumble of the next approaching tube. They always run a shitload more tubes on a Saturday night, probably one every thirty seconds.

And as the tube pulled into the station a great gust of wind blew through and round us -

- and sped up the steepest escalator in Europe, sending every short skirt in a looooonnnnnnggggg line on a merry dance, and - as we were stood at the bottom of this incredibly long and incredibly steep escalator - Sean and I received a veritable eye-bounty of naked pert bottom cheeks; some parked either side of a tiny thong, some in frilly tight knickers, even one or two completely bare arses - we even caught the glimpse of a growler or two as some of the girls were facing the other way, talking to their mates.

And then it was over, the train stopped, the wind died down, and the skirts returned to normal. I think most of the girls were too pissed to notice they'd just given everyone an eyeful.

"Whaddya think about that, Sean?" I asked.

He just stared: "You should work for the London tourist board, mate," he said...
( SpankyHanky, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 15:04, 9 replies)

unexpected

moo ditty.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 4:44, 5 replies)

An Inspector Minge mystery...
This is one of those true stories that sound completely made up, it's also quite long but the payoff is worth it I reckon.

Back in 1991, having graduated during a recession (there's a lot of it about) I found myself struggling to get a job - I eventually found work as a guard on the Underground.

Apart from getting to live the childhood dream of many and drive a train from time to time, the job mostly consisted of standing at the back of the train and opeing and closing the doors. Part of this involves making sure that as the train leaves that no one is caught in the doors and being dragged (there was a light that told you that all the doors were closed but you still needed to check).

While I was being trained, we were told to observe the train as it left the station until 3/4 of the train length had gone into the tunnel before closing our own door, which involved leaning out of the carriage as the train departed and slowly picked up speed. During my training they changed this to 2/3 of the train length following a short spate of accidents on the Central line - guards kept smacking their heads on the wall at the end of the platform (ironically known as the Headwall), no-one knew why and the guards themselves couldn't remember how it happened.

One time a driver got to Shepherd's Bush, heard the train doors open and waited and waited for them to close. Nothing happened. He called up the guard over the extremely rubbish intercom they had back then and got no answer. He eventually walked the entire length of the platform to remonstrate with his guard (a time honoured tradition involving liberal use of the word cunt - a typical example I remember is when a driver asked me to save him one of the many newspapers left by passengers - I gave him a Daily Mirror and he said "Next time, get me one with tits in you cunt"). On reaching the end of the train the driver found the guard lying on the floor of the carriage, unconscious and bleeding from a head wound.

There had obviously been a passenger in the carriage who had opened the doors to leave the train but not told anyone about the unconscious guard. The guard later recovered but as with previous cases couldn't recall how it came about. With CCTV coverage being sporadic and of very poor quality at the time it appeared to be an unsolvable mystery.

Anyways, shortly after this, I passed out as a fully qualified guard and started working on the line as normal. One day, heading westbound from Epping to West Ruislip I was at Holland Park, not long after the morning peak.

The train and the platform were largely empty apart from a woman sitting on a bench about 3/4 of the way down the platform. As the train was leaving the station I noticed her watching me, so looked back at her - as I started to draw level (and as the train continued to accelerate) she smiled at me, pulled up her skirt to reveal, well everything - I was understandably transfixed and stared at her as the train went passed until I suddenly realised what was happening and drew my head in sharply, the tiniest moment before my head drew level with the headwall at the end of the platform.

So I had figured that was what was happening, she was transfixing guards with her genitals and causing them to smack their heads into the headwall.

I reported it, expecting some thanks for solving the mystery, instead everyone thought I was making it up. I only did the job for about eighteen months but that was just one of several bizarre experiences, there was also the North Acton Sniper (who used to shoot out train windows with a high powered air rifle), the naked sunbather on the Chigwell loop and the idiot who threw himself off a bridge in front of our train at South Woodford, but instead bounced off the track.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Sat 30 May 2009, 12:22, 3 replies)

Underage homo-eroticism, mumshock, paedo-whoops, strip-dad and accidental PHWOAR
Took me a while to think of that subject line.

The first occasion was at primary school, following a trip to the swimming pool. We headed for the showers. Nakedness was expected, but seeing my mate's angry stonk-on was not. He claimed it was 'the water temperature'. I occasionally remind him of it to this day.

Then round the same friend's house one summer, his batshit-insane mother dashes from the garden through the living room, in the buff, holding a tiny cushion to obscure her wrinkly sex purse from view (unsuccessfully).

Next, some weeks later, I'm lying on my back in their hallway, playing with his dog. I look up to be greeted by the sight of his 4-year old sister positioned directly over my head, pants and skirt round her ankles. Her words? "I done a poo, need a wipe". She had too, as my nose confirmed. I declined politely and called for help.

It gets worse. Sitting in his bedroom after school, we're playing on the Amiga. In walks his dad having just arrived home from work, sweating profusely. As we sat there, trying desperately to save our precious pixellated lemmings from comitting suicide, his father starts a conversation while simultaneously peeling off his shirt, then vest, socks and trousers in short order. Mercifully he stopped at the underpants and retreated to his own bedroom, just as I was about to scream.

Finally, a few years later, working alone in his darkened bedroom doing some GCSE coursework (as he had a PC, I didn't), I glimpse movement out of the corner of my eye. His other younger sister emerges from her bedroom completely naked, stands unknowingly full-frontal for a few seconds and then disappears into the bathroom opposite, presumably to wipe her boyfriend's cum off her chest*

That completed the set. I had seen his entire family naked.

* Seriously. She was a bit of a slag
( chart cat has an itch, Fri 29 May 2009, 5:25, 10 replies)

A friend
invited me around for a Chinese the other night.

Unexpected Noodle tea!
(Sivvus trolley collision in the fruit aisle led to a jam, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:22, 6 replies)

Not MY unexpected nudity
cos I knew we were starkers. But ... a shorter one this time ! (Fnar).

Last Christmas day night me and the fiance got absolutely plastered. He challenged me to a game of Drinking Trivial Pursuit, confident he'd win. Unfortunately for him, most of the questions came out as film related, and he's shit at films, and more importantly I'm not.
So many shots of vodka later he's going all for a forfeit he thinks I'll refuse (therefore meaning he wins by default)- he says, "If you get the next question wrong, you have to run up the garden naked. If you don't, I'll run up the garden naked."
I'm feeling no pain (having had more than a few voddies myself) so I agree.
Sadly for him chance picks a film question, which I get right. So has to strip off and do the run.

However:
My fiance is totally blind. He has no sight whatsoever, and he couldn't run in a straight line anywhere if his life depended on it. I'm not much better, but I have some residual vision and it's my own garden we're talking about so I know the route. Somehow he persuades me to get naked and run with him too (fuck knows why - I won the bloody question afterall !) I think we'll be fine though cos it's dark and the neighbors won't see. And we're drunk so it's all fun and games. Heh.

So two fucking drunk blind idiots strip off and stagger out of the back door, dogs barking, wobbly bits shaking, and I try to guide him - running - up the garden path. We giggle like lunatics and run through the frosty night air like a couple of nerks, trying to be quiet but failing as only drunken twats can do.
We get up to the other end of the garden, having bounced off the shed, plants, trees etc, knocking over garden furniture, and turn to come back. The dogs are still going nuts and we're gurning like fools.
Suddenly the neighbor's back door opens.
"Who's there ?" shouts my elderly male neighbor, obviously thinking there's a fucking burglary in progress or something. His missus is cawing from behind him, "Be careful Eddie ! "
We freeze in the dark... just as one of the dogs runs past the pir sensor for my 500w security light - something I had deliberately avoided tripping - which comes on with a firm "click".
And there we were- the two mental blind buggers that all the neighbors don't know how to talk to, naked as the day we were born, and illuminated in 500 watts of glory.
My fiance, having no light perception, says, "Whassappening ?"

The only sound I could hear in the chilly stillness was the neighbor's back door closing with a slam.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Fri 29 May 2009, 20:51, 3 replies)

Many years ago...
...and a young MattInAHat had embarked on the great adventure of living in sin with the artist formerly known as Mrs Hat. Unfortunately living with She of the Spectacular Norkage was not the filthy, sordid fuck fest that I had previously envisaged and pretty soon we had gone from liberally exchanging bodily fluids at every given opportunity to the kind of sexless existence usually found on the problem page of the Mail on Sunday.

As another evening was being endured watching shite on a fuzzy portable television, my beloved's sweet voice drifted through the icy atmosphere.

"I'm out of fags. Nip round the shop and get me some"

"Of course my sweet" I replied.
"nothing would give me greater pleasure than to hasten to tobacconist in the pissing down rain and get you 10 Lambert and fucking Butler" I didn't add

So collar turned up and head down against the rain I made my way to the shop and duly purchased the requested tobacco product, all the time hoping that this selfless act would result in my getting a shag. Or a quick hand shandy. Even a quick grope wouldn't have gone amiss.

As I stepped out of the shop I looked up to watch the rain coming down, and as I did so, my vision was drawn to a window. A window with the curtains open. A window with the curtains open and the light on. And the resident of the room, (The young, blonde resident of the room) lit up like a Las Vegas magic show was seemingly getting ready to go out.

I started walking so as not to be too obvious a pervert, gaze locked on the young lady slipping out of her blouse.

"Go on!" my sex starved brain screamed at her.
"Show me your tits!"

And she somehow heard.

Her hands reached round to her back and fumbled with the clasp of her bra, TheMattInThePants suddenly waking up and remembering what he's been missing.

The bra went slack as the object of my ogleing succeeded in freeing herself from her clothing....


At the exact same moment the the side of my face came into rather abrupt halt against the previously unnoticed lamp post thoughtfully left in my path and leaving me with a rather fetching bruise.


"What the fuck happened to you?" asked my beloved upon my return.

"I was watching some bird getting changed and I walked into a lamppost"

"Well you deserve it you fucking twat"


I didn't have sex that night
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Thu 28 May 2009, 23:15, 1 reply)

The exact opposite of erotic...
Many moons ago in the 1970s when I was a student, during the summer hols I worked in a large mental hospital in the North of England as a 'temporary psychiatric nursing assistant'. Ostensibly I was providing relief cover for 'proper' psychiatric nurses. In fact I was given all the shitty jobs. Three weeks on a dysentary ward. *Shudders*

But I spent some time on a ward for 'the bad boys' - the violent ones, the fireraisers, shit-throwers, dead bird eaters, escape artists, compulsive wankers and general chancers. None of them with a mental age of more than five, but in adult bodies with adult urges. Some of the urges were quite strange as we shall see.

Some of our patients spent the day 'at work'. (D'you remember those hand-painted 'Britains' models you used to get? Well, guess who hand-painted them?) Others couldn't hack that, so spent their days in the playground. Apart from breaking up the occasional fight or attempt at buggery, they could be left under 'light supervision'. It really was a playground: it had industrial strength swings, see-saws and climbing frames and a great big fuck-off sandpit.

Sunday was visitors day, so if you were on duty you had to clean the boys up, put them in their Sunday best and impress upon them in the strongest possible terms that they had better behave themselves.

Sunday lunch was always nerve racking. What you didn't want was shit, piss, bad language, inappropriate touching, food throwing or anything that would upset the visitors to put in an appearance. Normally visiting time passed without anything major happening, but one event is indelibly etched into my memory.

There was a commotion at one of the tables, the visitors gaping in horror through the window. And what a sight to behold! One of our largest and ugliest patients was running around the playground, stark naked, laughing manically and furiously wanking his terrifyingly large dick; this and his fist were liberally smothered in some white gunk that he'd found to use as a lubricant. At the crucial moment he launched himself head first (arf!) into the sandpit.

Myself and the charge nurse dragged him inside, yours truly getting the delightful job of cleaning him up and checking for injuries. While cleaning off a thing like a cement condom, I discovered what the lubricant was: toothpaste. Add that to the gravel rash and you can imagine the state of his knob.

I never want to see anything like that again.
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:55, 9 replies)

It was the pits.
I was a horny teen and I sat and stared with wild-eyed bewilderment at the very stunning and totally topless Teutonic temptress as she froliced on the beach only yards from my stirring loins. I'd never been abroad, and I had no idea that in abroad women would expose themselves on a packed beach, let alone jiggle their perfect, beautifully tanned jubblies in full view of slobbering teens such as myself.

I was in love. She was delightful and even the short brown hairs that jutted from her armpits couldn't quench my burning desire for this bespectacled beauty. Offers to go with my parents for ice cream were barely registered and swiftly dismissed; partly as I was determined that my eyes wouldn't miss a drop of the treat they were drinking in, but also because my swimming shorts offered scant disguise for the admittedly meagre swelling they contained.

But the law, as it pertained to toplessness on the beaches of France, wasn't sufficiently specific for the horny young me. It was certainly permitted to expose ones breasts should one desire, and that pleased me for what seemed like forever as I watched my siren make countless deposits in my recently opened account at the bank of wank. But the lack of restrictions in this newly discovered and sometimes lovely law meant that I was suddenly left with an overwhelming desire to detach my eyes when the sunlight was blocked by my sweetheart's elephantine mother as she waddled into view, pendulous breasts a-swing and the wind flowing freely through her hair... the hair, that is, that circled her nipples.

It was as though she'd shot me in the cock with an anti-arousal ray. I was softened in seconds as if she'd squeezed the life from my loins with one of her all too ample hands. Nausea gripped my stomach and twisted it while I wished a wind would kick sand into my eyes to relieve them of the terror of this sight. And then she bent away from me to pick up the ball she'd so carelessly dropped, her all too small bikini bottoms vanished into her cavernous arse and I knew immediately that she'd robbed me forever of the most wonderful sight my eyes had seen outside of my dad's special magazines. Later that night as I tried to picture the perfection I'd seen in her daughter, the wrinkled face, rhino-skin arse and sagging boobs of my tormentor swam into my mind's eye, and then the nightmares began.
( Moey, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:35, 3 replies)

I have a 6 month old boy.
In March this year, my wife, child, and her family decided to go up town for my wife's birthday. A nice meal and lashings of Sun -lik was had in Ping-Pong, the london eye was ridden, and I was constantly checking my phone for football updates, and Neil Harris scored a hat trick for Millwall against Hartlepool, coming back from 2 - 0 down.

A nice time was being had by all.

Then we decided to go for a drink before going home. We ended up in some stange building nearby which had a theatre in it. It was like a conference centre, but had a bar in it so all was well.

My son needed changing, so being a modern male I decided to go and change him. I slung my wifes garish changing bag onto my shoulder, picked up my son and off we went to the get his arse changed.

I found a baby changing room, opened the door, and in we went.

Only to be greeted with the sight of a big fat greasy pig of a woman woman sitting on the toilet in the corner, pulling a blood soaked cunt mouse out of her hairy clopper.

"Jesus fucking Christ, sorry!" I think I said, as my body recoiled. The roly poly chair breaker noticed me at that moment and started jabbering on in some pissed off johnny foreigner language. Of course, I had already about turned and was making for the door - no doubt giving my son a good eyeful of the irate fat fuck with her gigantic trollies around her pale swollen ankles as we exited the room.

Ordinarily I would have buggered off and found somewhere else, but this place was like a maze, and my lad needed changing. I couldn't be arsed to try and find another, and besides, what was that salad dodging flabmeister doing in there anyway? She should have gone to the ladies, which I guess was a bit too far for her waddle to.

So I waited outside for fatty boom boom to finish plugging her unkempt fadge, trying to come to terms with what I had just witnessed. She came out, clocked me and started going off on one again in German or Polish or whatever.

"You shouldn't have been in there anyway, its for baby changing" I informed her.

She looked at me blankly, so I pointed to the sign on the door. She looked at it, tutted, and waddled off.

Try as I might, I can't get the image out of my head, and my brain seems to load it up at the most inconvenient moments.

The horror. The horror.
(Spaff_Quaffer Wise fwom your gwave., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 11:31, 9 replies)

More than a handful
I'm quite a busty wench. When I get older I'm going to be abit like Nurse Gladys from Open All Hours - I suspect young shop boys will get caught in my cleavage and need oxygen to keep them going. My dad has always said I could keep a family of ethnic minorities in there. Stray objects, if not nailed down, have been known to gravitate towards my norks due to the mass of said globes, and form an orbit around them. That is, if they can escape the orbit of my arse, which is the sort that Freddie Mercury alluded to in "Fat Bottomed Girls". I genuinely have back problems due to the weight of my tits, because the rest of me isn't built the same way - except my arse of course. So - you get the idea, there's a whole lot of woman in all the right directions here. As a result, buying bras is abit of a trauma at the best of times, and garments that fit on the top half are far far too big on the waist for me. And clothes that fit on the waist need to be lycra based - and can cause fear of busting out all over, so to speak. To add to this, I am virtually blind, so the possibility for accidental pop outs without me knowing them is pretty high.

So picture the scene (wavy lines......)
Boyfriend-of-the-time and I go out one evening to some nasty cheap fun pub and get fecking munted. We have been drinking all sorts of shite off the back row of the bar in this place just to see what it tastes like, then go back to his and drink some rough as fuck homemade sloe gin. I mean, (shudder) this stuff was fucking evil and it turns my stomach to even recall it. I hate gin at the best of times, but as is often with these things, it seemed like a good idea at the time (it wasn't - and thereby hangs two sad tales, but one isn't relevant to the qotw so is for another time.)
Eventually we get back to mine - we don't stop over at his because I've got two big German Shepherd dogs at home who need letting out and caring for. We stagger in, let dogs out in the garden for a wee wee, decide against taking them for a last-thing-at-night (now early morning) walk as we can barely manage to walk ourselves, and stagger off to bed.
The house I lived in at the time didn't have a big back garden - what it did have was often muddy as fuck, except for the concrete bit just outside the kitchen door. The house was in a terrace and this bit of concrete was overlooked by the bathroom in my house and that of the house next door. This is where my beastly dogs liked to piss last thing at night if they didn't get walked, so often first thing in the morning before they went out there I had to get the hosepipe out and wash it down, else they'd be walking around in their own night old piss as they circled for the morning doggy dump (somehow fresh piss they managed to avoid !) They didn't care a toss about walking in their own last night's wee - but when a dirty great pair of GSDs track dog piss into my kitchen and through the house, I certainly did !

On this particular morning I am still dressed in last night's bed attire, which is a see through red thing from La Senza that has only a passing aquaintance with the top of my thighs and can't even hope to cover my capacious arse, which barely covers my badger and is just not up to the job of restraining my lady lumps, plus the smallest see through g string known to woman.
On this particularly morning, I am also still pissed from the night before, can see less than usual because I'm still bladdered and can't be bothered to put on a dressing gown because it'll only get wet and wrapped round my legs as I prat around with the hosepipe like a spastic learning semaphore. And the dogs want a wee NOW, as I can tell by the doggy whining and panting.

So I peep out of the kitchen door at about half six, then thinking that my luck is in because I suddenly remember that Next Door are on holiday. So I scurry out there in last night's stupid fuck-me heels as they're the only shoes I can find (playing "tip toe through the dog piss" as I go).
I am sleepily washing down the concrete with the hose in one hand, whilst trying to keep my tits inside baby doll nightie cups that seem to be at least three sizes too small with the other, when the seal on the hose attachment gives way and I get the spray back - freezing cold water right at my chest. I am immediately fucking sodden, like a drowned rat. Instantly the red thing from La Senza becomes utterly window transparent and I'm there looking like a wet and wild amateur porn effort, with my puppies out of the top of the thing, glistening with water, and my vadge now utterly visible, and gasping in shock. I swear and squeal like a demented animal.
It is then when - well, I just get This Feeling.
It's the feeling you get when you're being watched. I get this alot, being blind as a bat and apt to walk into things, and often can't tell whether it's based in reality or not, but this time I was fairly sure it was. I squint myopically upwards and realise I am right under next doors bathroom window. Squashed up together liked sardines in a tin, barely able to contain themselves as they gape out of the little open window - they musta stood on chairs for this as it was the top pane they were looking out of - are three delighted builders who are looking straight down at my unfettered tits and sodden scanties. In my pissed state I had forgotten Next Door were having work done whilst away on holiday.
On being discovered, two of them slink away, chuckling, but the middle one says, cheerily, "Nice morning for it, love !"
Totally fucking mortified with embarrassment I decide to brazen it out rather than run off, and I say, "Thankyou - now on yer way, sonny jim !"
I could hear them laughing through the walls all day.

The even worse thing was when they came knocking on the door the next day when I got up and they heard sounds of life from my house. A courier had left a parcel for me with them, and when I answered the door, they chorused, "Didn't recognise you with yer clothes on !"

The work went on for another six weeks. I remained red as a beetroot for at least eight.
(womanwhocanonlylivewithdogs, Fri 29 May 2009, 18:52, 6 replies)

Woo!
*lifts up top*


*jiggles boobies*


*runs away*



No point clicking on this. It will only get taken off if it wins.

Edit - the post, not my top.
( girlinthehole, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:07, 7 replies)

Little Bastard!
A few years ago my little sister (17) was shacked up with a 29 year old crack head, no job just the scum of the earth. They were together about 6 months before I found out what he was really like.

One Sunday afternoon I took an unexpected trip to my Mum's house and found that the front door had been kicked in. After a load of crying from my sister I'd found out that he'd kick the shit out of her and then booted her out of the house with no top on. After my sister had got back to my mums he turned up pist and kicked the door in. After a while of her begging me not to do anything I had a drive over to his house. Was in two minds to knock, but ended up booting the fucker off its hinges. He came running to the top of the stairs in just a towl and I saw red, grabbed the little fucker pulled him outside and began to pan the shit out of him whilst he was bollock naked.

Not a very funny story but....
(rambosilk Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 14:51, 5 replies)

Accidental flashing
Around 2000, I was very much in to playing with computers. Far more so than I am now. Like all my friends at the time, I had a small website which I had linked to my webcam so you could see the excitement of me sitting at my desk, taking and uploading a photo every minute.

The webcam was programmed to switch itself off at a certain time each night so I could have some privacy. What I failed to take in to account was daylight savings time.

I had obtained a particularly fine piece of mature audience audio and visual entertainment for the night, and had settled down to watch in the time honoured fashion. The first I knew was then I got a text from a friend saying "Enjoying yourself?" To everyone who saw my furious gurning as I tugged at my 14 your old lady prodder, I apologise. Unfortunatly, the blasted website took all their admin tools down for maintainance, so I couldn't remove the espically fine photo me of producing my man juices.

Length? Not much back then.
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Sun 31 May 2009, 18:24, 5 replies)

Hated in Korea
I've got one that probably affected 10 000 times as many people as all of your stories combined. It involves full frontal nudity, election tampering, Japanese imperialism, and good old fashioned punk rock.

Where to start? I moved to South Korea in December 2003, and found a place immediately in the local punk scene. It's small, young, and has more than enough to rebel against. The earliest band, Crying Nut, played some very patriotic concerts during the 2002 World Cup, and have become a household name, AKA sellouts. The crop of bands at the time were very opposed to this, especially when one band broke rank and appeared in a very retarded cell phone commercial.

I was briefly unemployed in 2005, giving time to dedicate to photography and making zines. One day I was hanging out with the lead singer of Rux, who also managed all the punk bands, including pogo punk bands Couch and Spiky Brats, both who at the time had the requisite spiked hair and studded jackets. He got a call from Casio, who wanted Couch to appear in a TV commercial, but was having trouble reaching the lead singer. Finally he answered, welding torch in one hand, cell phone in the other, high up in a construction site. He listened to her offer, and replied (in Korean of course), "Fuck it, I won't do it." I later interviewed him for the zine, where I concluded with "You won’t see Couch on TV anytime soon." Couch's singer was quoted saying "If that commercial makes us clowns, I don’t want it." Keep that in mind.

Months passed, and Rux was invited to appear on Music Camp, a "live" music performance show on MBC, one of the main broadcasters in Korea. It's live in the sense it's broadcast live, but the musical elements are mainly prerecorded so it's more like air guitar karaoke. Music Camp mainly featured trashy pop acts, but occasionally would spotlight an underground band. There was probably some opposition to this among the punks, but I don't remember.

On the morning of the show, Rux found out they were allowed to do whatever they wanted on stage. They being typical Korean punks, this meant inviting as many of their friends on stage with them to wave flags and raise banners. I really wanted to go along so I could try taking pictures of how pop stars act backstage. Just before I was out the door, Mrs Traitor started complaining how I always prefer the punks to her. I stayed home and we sorted it all out. Otherwise I would've been on stage at the performance, on live television broadcast nationally.

We turned the TV on but missed the Rux performance, but we watched the rest of the show hoping they hadn't shown it yet. The pop acts were all amateur, awkward. One act which featured some pop star after her return from Africa featured some very awkward dancing in which she was clearly supposed to dryhump some black guys. Their hearts weren't in it. The emcees kept apologising for technical problems earlier in the show.

After it ended, I called Rux's guitarist, to see how it went, and my wife got online. We both found out at exactly the same split second, and shouted "Holy shit, they got naked!"

Here's the moneyshot (NSFW).
www.daehanmindecline.com/transfer/musiccamprux.asx

Or you could watch it on Youtube (but don't judge Rux based on that performance).
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oX8AuyjDAw4

Note that at the time, the Korean punk scene was having a love affair with the Adicts, so the lead singer of Couch was wearing white face. He was literally on TV, being a clown. With his cock flapping around for hundreds of thousands to see. He was joined by the guitarist from Spiky Brats.

And so began the shitstorm, and our story is far from over. Why the performance wasn't aired with a few seconds delay, I don't know. That would've assured that only the minds of the middle school girls in the audience would be poisoned, and not the entire nation's TV audience. I had the Rux guitarist on the phone, and he sounded like someone had just made love to his dead grandmother. The two flashers were arrested, along with the lead singer of Rux, though he was released. For the next few weeks, the media tried to prove that the lead singer put them up to it, so he would be sent to jail too.

Before this performance, nobody in the country knew that punk existed. Now they knew, and they hated us. You'd think that this would've brought out a ton of support from new people, but it didn't. The Korean punks warned me it would be dangerous to wear any kind of punk clothes (not that I particularly do anyway). If you watched the YouTube video, there's one guy with a brightly coloured mohawk and a Clash shirt which features the Japanese Imperial flag. Reports speculated that he was some kind of anti-Korean Japanese imperialist. He shaved the mohawk off and held a press conference to basically tell everybody not to jump to crazy conclusions.

The then mayor of Seoul (now president of Korea) remarked that perhaps the government should run a blacklist of lewd performers, harkening back to the '70s when musicians were routinely jailed.

Music Camp was cancelled (but possibly brought back later. MBC, the network, had been engaged in a very important legal battle against Samsung and the Joongang newspaper. Recordings had been leaked to MBC of the presidents of both companies trying to rig the 1998 presidential election to try and revive the military dictatorship. Evidence had been illegally obtained, but fortunately the CEOs were losing the battle. Then the tables turned thanks to this incident, and it was MBC who was on the wrong side of the law. Some people even speculated that Samsung paid the punks to show their dicks to the country. Traitors walked free, and reporters were jailed.

Then the media shitstorm moved on. There was news that girls 12 years old and younger were being raped at a a kids' summer camp. What's more, the camp was run by the daughter of the previously mentioned '70s dictator. She remarked to the media "What are you so upset about? It's not like they're old enough to get pregnant." I think for once, us punks implausibly had a bit of sympathy for the dictator's daughter and her rape camp.

Shortly after, all lawsuits against Korean punk were dropped. The two flashers were released from jail after having spent three months inside. The lead singer of Couch told me jail was awesome, and the food was so good he gained weight. They were on some kind of probation that forbade them from performing for a year, and they waited a couple months before breaking it.

Things went back to normal, with our small scene struggling to keep afloat in a city of 10 million, and we all faded back into obscurity. But these days if you mention Couch loud enough, you still might get somebody yelling at you.
(racetraitor has an alibi for, Fri 29 May 2009, 4:49, 3 replies)

So there I was......
Laying on the beach in Magaluf. I hate sunbathing. For me, it usually involves a mild feeling of embarrassment about my flaccid man boobs where onc my pecs resided, then a stark realisation five minutes later that I had gone tomato red despite factor 50 sunblock, and then several hours trying to remain in the shade. But, despite my ex's yearly promise that we would 'do stuff' on holiday this year rather than just the beach-apartment-club drudgery that we always did, it was week two of our holiday and we'd yet to make it past the beach.

So there we were, her laying silent and glistening, covered in sun oil, me sitting under a parasol, the only person on the entire beach wearing a t-shirt, reading a book about world war one and generally not fitting in as usual.

There's something about topless women on a beach that I find completely unsexy. I'm sure I can't be alone here, there's just a weirdness to it that renders even the most stonking pair of norks uninteresting when displayed publicly, but despite this I had, through boredom, began allowing my eye to wander. Shades are fantastic for a bit of beach ogling, and so long as you remember to hold your book the correct way up, no-one need know you're staring at them as they lay there, tits in their armpits, baking themselves to a crisp.

And then she arrived. They stopped at the sunbeds directly in front of ours and dropped their beach towels, this knuckle dragging neanderthal and his stunningly beautiful girlfriend. She had long, curly black hair and was simply breathtaking. I sat there motionless, my shades hiding my intensely gawping eyes, as she began stripping away her layers. It was like getting a free lapdance from someone who didn't look like a hollyoaks extra. She was amazing! As she slipped off her sarong I couldn't tear my gaze away, my book was shaking as she slipped off her flip-flops, and then her hands slid up her gorgeously toned midriff to the bottom of her crop top. Time seemed to pass in slow motion as she pulled it higher up her perfect body, my book almost dropped from my hands as she pulled it up to reveal her gorgeous charms...... and then it did drop from my hands as a nanosecond later, my eye was drawn from these magnificent norks to the hairiest ladypits I've ever clapped eyes on. It looked like she was smuggling two of Elton John's best wigs beneath har arms.

She looked at me briefly as I scrambled in the sand for my book, a little smile on her lips as she realised she'd had an audience. It was one of those moments where you catch yourself thinking something that reveals your innermost psyche. And what was I thinking? "I wish my missus looked like her"? "I think she caught me staring"? "I want to bone her senseless"?

No.

"She must be French."

Turns out I'm a bit racist.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:32, 5 replies)

Fookin' 'ang glidin'
A few years ago, my mate from the flaming balls of shit story was married to a very attractive, and - it must be said - generously norked Yorkshire lass. I shall spare her blushes, but her name began with an "E".

Their bedroom was on the top floor of a house in Selby, with a spiral staircase leading down to the ground floor, where the bathroom was. One morning, I was at their house and E's mother had come over. We were chatting in the kitchen when there was an almighty thud from the other room.

We rushed through to find that E, wet from the shower, had slipped on the spiral staircase. She'd shed her towel and was spreadeagled through the staircase. The capper for the incident came, though, when her mum, in broad Yorkshire, asked "'ave yer fell?".

"Nooo, I'm fookin' 'ang glidin' - what's it look like? Now 'elp us up, yer daft cow!"

Class. Still got a good eyeful though!
(lustfish, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 1:44, 1 reply)

I walked in on my flatmate
to find him looking like this.



I said 'for fuck's sake Ernie.'
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 31 May 2009, 22:40, 6 replies)

Footballs coming home - In the nudie
Unfortunately I seem to spend my life being that person, the one that's always in the wrong place at the wrong time, well, for surprise nudity that is. I seem to have a talent for seeing things I’d rather not see, whether its men pissing up the side of buildings outside night clubs, or women with their skirts tucked into their pants walking in front of me (I do chase them and tell them I promise) so yes, this probably won’t be the only post from me this week!

So yes nudies – Names have been changed to protect the innocent… well not so much innocent as just plain drunk and stupid.

This story takes place in the dodgy market town of March back in swingin’ 2004. After finishing up a night of too much booze coupled with bad Chinese food and a trip to the emergency room to have a glass ashtray removed from a friends head (that’s a whole other story) we finally made it back to my best friend Alison’s house for a cheeky drink and 3.00am South Park madness. Alison’s fiancée Tom had a bit of a rough time and was barley functioning on planet Earth when we tucked him into bed and closed the bedroom door allowing him time to sleep off the booze… or so we thought.

About 15 minutes after leaving Tom we heard an almighty bang (which I have still not worked out the whereabouts) coming from the bedroom. Alison got up and wandered out of the room muttering that Tom had probably fallen out of the bed (if only)… about 30 seconds later she came out of the room begging for help - Turns out Tom was still tucked up in bed but had vomited up his entire Chinese meal all over his face. Nice. As if this wasn’t enough of a horrible thing to deal with, Tom has also clearly felt constricted as he had taken off all his clothes and was completely starkers underneath the covers. It was at this point all the guys in the house ran away. Cheers.

Now I didn’t really want to see any part of Tom’s tackle so at first we tried to lift him out of the bed with the covers wrapped around him, the plan… erm… get him out of the bed and then into the bathroom. Problem was in his drunken state he thought we were trying to hurt him by pulling his arm so he kept thrashing around in the bed shouting that we were ‘evil doers’ and he was going to ‘stop all the games and eat pie’?? After 5 minutes of nonsense and whirling swirling bedcovers we decided this wasn’t the way forward, we needed him to get out of the bed of his own accord (not Honda Accord).

We left the bedroom and got one of the useless guys to shout out Tom’s name in the hope he would get up. We then ran back into the room and told Tom he had to get up as his friend Rob was hurt and needed his help, it was a lame plan but it only bloody worked, well… sort of. Tom fell out of the bed shouting ‘I’m coming Rob’. Managed to crawl half way across the bedroom floor before pulling a hoover on top of himself sobbing ‘It’s too far, its like the two towers’?

Eventually after much drama we managed to steer him into the bathroom and he crawled into the shower along with the duvet and cried while we turned on the water ‘why do you hate me, I’m so lovely, why do you hate me’. Once most of the vomit had left his face I abandoned Alison to deal with peeling off the wet vomit-soaked bedsheets.

I waited outside the door with the cowardly blokes and exclaimed ‘I can’t believe I just got through all that without being flashed by Tom’… cue Tom, bashing through the bathroom door, falling on top of me, bollock-naked and unnecessarily aroused. Cue me screaming, Tom singing ‘footballs coming home’ and Alison crying.

Ah Friday nights in March.
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Thu 28 May 2009, 17:12, 7 replies)

On a lighter note
I suppose this counts.

Back in the days when I was married, I remembered hatching a fiendish plan to seduce my lady wife as she arrived home from work. Utilising only a few household props, I managed to concoct a situation that would instantly make her knickers fly from her body as soon as she walked in the door. She would, quite simply, not know what had happened until an hour after it was all over.

You wouldn't think it possible to duct-tape yourself to a bed, but it is. I managed my ankles easily, it was my wrists that took a little skill, but after a mere ten minutes, I was securely(ish) fastened to the headboard. I waited. Like a sleek panther, I waited. My prey would come. Oh yes.

And she did. And she brought with her her sister and her sister's boyfriend. I began struggling when I first heard their voices in the hallway, and managed to get one hand free as my ex walked into the bedroom. Seeing me half strapped to the bed, rapidly deflating knob flapping around as I flailed wildly to free myself did not, oddly enough, turn her into a gibbering pile of juices, but instead reduced her to gales of laughter. She only snapped out of it when she realised her sister and her sister's boyfriend had also come upstairs and were about a nanosecond from entering the room. Obviously her sister had to be shielded from the vision of pure sex that lay flailing on the bed, lest she be overcome with lust, and so my wife managed to halt them in their tracks and take them back downstairs as I freed myself from my self-made bondage and hurriedly got dressed. Good girl. That would have been embarrassing, that would.

I suppose it would probably have been more embarrassing than the 3 hours of smirks and repressed giggles I endured that night as I sat there red faced. The bugger told them what I'd been up to.

Hmph. It was months before I tried a surprise seduction again. Youd be amazed at the many varied reactions springing from the understairs cupboard bollock naked can illicit.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Sun 31 May 2009, 22:23, 2 replies)

my cleaner experienced this
When I was at uni, the cleaners tended to knock, unlock and open your door at the same time.

I was wandering about my room bollock naked, when I heard the cleaner knocking on the doors heading towards mine. Bugger, I thought, so I jumped towards my door to hold it shut as she tried to get in. Unfortunately, it was at that moment she knocked on my door and came in. Thus she was confronted with me jumping towards her in my birthday suit. She screamed and ran out.

I didn't see her for the rest of the term.
(thrain, Fri 29 May 2009, 15:05, 5 replies)

Next time you use the unisex toilet at the Airport try locking the door.
There was me, waiting for our flight from Tenerife back to pissy Manchester when I felt the all too common symptoms of my all-too-small bladder and my all-too-large booze consumption a few hours earlier.

As the flight was minutes from boarding along with the distinct absence of anyone who looked remotely disabled I decided to take advantage. Sliding the door open I was greeted by a rather alarmed looking woman who'd clearly just finished replacing her tampon or pad and had her knickers round her knees.

After a brief consideration of her smooth as glass ladygarden I turned around and scuttled off so I would not have to share the embarrasment of any further contact with the unfortunate lady.

Sods law dictated that not only was she on the same flight as me but her boyfriend was sitting next to my wife so she had no choice but to sit opposite me.

We avoided eye contact after that and it was all I could do not to burst out to the wife,'I saw her rat!'
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:44, 7 replies)

Am Dram, Thank you Mam
Ah, amateur dramatics. Truly a delight, no?

Anyway, my Amdram group were doing a production of one of my favourite Shakespeare plays, A Midsummer Night's Dream. The director was fond of the local church (don't ask, he's quite pretentious and didn't understand the concept of acoustics) and we were billed for two nights and a matinee.

I was recovering from Mystery Illness #1 so I had requested a smaller part, and had managed to land myself the part of Francis Flute. Now, I had the interesting task of being a woman who was playing a man who in turn was playing a woman. I also had to, as my charming fellow actors put it, "do something about those massive tits of yours". So I bought a men's white shirt in size XL. It did the trick nicely; although it was obvious I did have breasts, it didn't look too silly.

Until the last night. My scene was to play Thisbe in the play-within-a-play, and find my beloved Pyramus, played by my dear friend Andy, lying dead. In rehearsal, we'd devised that I would sit astride Andy in a comical 'in-flagrante-delicto' pose and move up and down with my sobbing, thus giving the crowd a bit of a laugh. I was then supposed to rip open my WAISTCOAT and stab myself with a rubber sword.

Yep, you guessed it. Right in front of my Mum and Dad, my little brother, my grandparents, several old friends from school who brought their friends, the church warden, the staff, my boyfriend, my boyfriend's parents and (allegedly) a talent scout from another group, I snuck my fingers into the gap between the cloth and ripped not only the waistcoat and the shirt, but my (stupid cheap) bra. Clean in half.

Not realising what I'd done, and just taking the crowd's reaction as vague humour at the sight of a woman with drawn-on stubble sitting astride a 'dead' man, I continued my little speech, wondering why Andy was whispering: "Nectar....Nectar...Nectar!"

The piece de resistance of the act was for me to 'die' and deposit myself breast-first into Andy's face. And it was at that moment that I realised I was a bit colder than usual. Poor Andy - he might have had a fun night if it had been just him and me, but now the whole of Branksome was involved. Thank God someone had the sense to drop the lights so I could scramble off and re-assemble myself with a safety pin.

Believe it or not, I have outdone myself since, but I may save that story.

Apologies for length - it's about 38 round the ribcage.
(theneet began to cut her hair and long for balls, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 10:35, 4 replies)

Gallows humour
My 80 y.o. m.i.l. was in hospital, having being diagnosed with cancer - they'd just operated (large intestine) and removed a tumour, she was on post op morphine.

Rather bewildered as a consequence, she offered to show us her scar, forgetting that she was a) shaved b)commando.

"Ooh, that's a nasty gash!" I said, sympathetically.
(Countryslicker, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:03, 3 replies)

Ladybum
I may have mentioned before how I was a devout religious type, and therefore never really had much to do with girls. At university I averted my gaze if I saw a woman wearing anything remotely revealing. I didn't give it much thought, really, it was part of being religious. I avoided girls, they avoided me and everybody was happy.

Being at university in a river town, and being a small type of chap, meant that it was almost inevitable that I would get sucked into the world of rowing, particularly coxing (the cox is the little fellow sitting at the stern of the boat, steering and shouting instructions to the crew. By the way, this isn't going to be a pun about cox, don't worry.) It's pretty normal for women's crews to have a male cox, and as fate would have it I was made cox of a women's boat. No problems there- I would fulfil my duties as cox and then run away, never having to compromise my religion. All was peachy.

Our boat club went to Dublin for a regatta, and all of us (mens and womens teams) were booked into three rooms at a youth hostel. I was laying my towel and toothbrush on a bed in one of the men's dorms, chatting with my chums in one of the crews when the ladies trooped in.

"There's a spare bed in our dorm, and we don't want a stranger taking it. Who wants to sleep with us?"

All the men in my dorm looked beseechingly at Sally, the women's captain, and she, damn her, said "Right IGIM, we know you best and we know you aren't going to cop a feel while we're asleep. You're coming with us."

Gulp. She wouldn't take no for an answer. Not only was I running the gauntlet of accidentally seeing an ankle (or, god forbid, something even saucier), thus condemning myself to eternity in hell, I was also an object of utter hatred to all the men in the club. Splendid.

Sadly I took a bunk close to the door, so that I could escape quickly if needed. The ladies didn't share my prudery, and were happy picking through my clothes and commenting on my tiny waist size. I closed my eyes tightly at the first hint of imminent clothes removal.

I woke up one morning after a lovely dream about mosques and beards, stretched, yawned and open my eyes in one fluid motion.

And of course, ended up grabbing, inhaling and ogling a pert and quite naked rowers bottom. In one fluid motion.
(I grew it myself, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 13:20, 3 replies)

Security cameras are fun...
Back in the days before I had discovered the joys of mortgages , male pattern baldness and other random grown up worries, the young MattInaAHatt spent much of his free time exchanging bodily fluids with my first proper girlfriend, the former Mrs Hat. (The same former Mrs Hat as mentioned here: www.b3ta.com/questions/unexpectednudity/post434012 )

Back then, much of our spare time was spent exploring the various ways of pleasuring each other with a vigour that only a pair of adolescent rabbits could be expected to match. And when bumping uglies wasn't an option, various expressions, code words and blatant innuendos would be employed to remind the other of what the very near future would hold, once a quiet place and time could be found.

And so it came to pass that many an evening would be spent at the local spar where TFMIAH earned her beer tokens by serving assorted freaks their white lightening and tennents super, and I would skulk about for the last hour of her shift, keeping an eye open for shoplifters, all the time waiting for home time when I could get to try out the various rude things that I had read about in the readers stories in Razzle.

Pretty soon after I'd started hanging round said convenience store, my eye was drawn to the single security camera installed, keeping an eye on the alcohol that was out of sight of the checkout, and being displayed on a television only visible when standing behind the counter.

So a new pastime was born. One that basically consisted of me finding various ways of waggling my todger about in view of the camera and trying to distract TFMIAH as she busied herself serving the various dregs of the area. Obviously what started as a quick flash of junior soon progressed to me swaggering along the aisle, keks around my knees, flapping my danglies around in a vague tribal dance to whatever shit was playing on the radio.

One quiet afternoon I decided to up the ante somewhat. I was feeling particularly horny, helped by the fact that the object of my desires was wearing a tight fitting dress as well as the fact her parents were out which meant that that muchos sexytiem was on the cards. The plan was simple. Get her in the mood, take her home and see where things led.

She was busy serving a bit of a rush as I quietly stepped back to start my performance. Out came junior and sneaking a peek towards he counter could see a dirty smirk on my beloved's face as I proceeded to fluff up my special soldier. Pretty soon He was at full stonk and I decided to show my intentions through the medium of mime. Or basically wanking off enigmatically, while giving dirty looks to the camera. So stunning was my performance, so 'of the moment' that my concentration was only broken by a polite 'ahem.'

"Scuse me Hat, I want to get to the wine" said Joan, the next door neighbour and family friend who'd known my girlfriend since she was born.

And with a smirk and a sly wink,
"Pair of you staying in tonight then?"

Bugger
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Fri 29 May 2009, 23:11, 1 reply)

I suppose he couldn't help it...
Peteloaf reminds me of this. 1988, college, graphic design course - this also involved doing some fine art, because, as the head lecturer opined "It's no good being on the course if you can't actually fucking draw".

So once a week, we did various bits of fine art - fruit, self portaits, that sort of really dull stuff - and then a life class. Now, our reaction wasn't what most people may expect, i.e "Wahey, hope it's a really fit lass with massive norks".

No. We knew exactly what we were getting - a recently retired bloke, seeking to eke out his miserable pension by coming to the college every other day in order to whop out his 'pensioner's lunch' and sit for two hours in a slightly over-heated room whilst a bunch of students captured, using the medium of whatever they liked, the beauty and grace of the naked human form. Or something.

So, we knew what we were getting. That wasn't the unexpected part. The unexpected part came about twenty minutes into the session, when the object of our study suddenly started to get a bit of a lob on...

It's actually quite difficult to draw a moving object...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Fri 29 May 2009, 12:17, 5 replies)

Also
My mother in law who's a Doctor saw me naked in India. There were only 2 rooms in the house and she burst in.

I was ranting on about it later, saying she'd done it on purpose and my wife said "oh get over it, Browser. She's a paediatrician, its not like she's never seen a tiny bald cock before".
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:20, 1 reply)

Privates on Parade
I spent much of my youth as a member of Henley-on-Thames Air Cadets. The drill hall was the old police station, with genuine cells and a firing range for when the fools trusted us with guns.

On the long summer evenings we had the town at our mercy, and we’d get out to build rafts up by the river, march around the back streets and make a nuisance of ourselves having pitched battles with wooden guns, shouting "Na na na na na!" like demented Private Pikes. We’d always finish with a big parade outside the front of the building as the Union Flag was solemnly lowered at the end of the day.

This particularly balmy July evening saw us in formation on the parade ground at the front of the building. Neatly lined up in our flights, boots gleaming and trousers neatly pressed, the Commanding Officer inspected his troops. Some forty years previously he’d seen off the Bosch with my grandfather in the deserts of Africa, now he was in charge of the pride of Henley’s youth.

It was then that a couple of the lads noticed we had a spectator in one of the old houses, just twenty yards away over the road.

It was the lady of the house, standing at the window, towelling herself down after a bath, completely oblivious to the testosterone fuelled turmoil she was about to cause down below. Being a spotty teenager, you only notice two things in these circumstances and there they were, in all their glory.

Let me, dear reader, piece together my scant memories of what I witnessed. She was around forty, certainly no older, slim build that suggested that she worked out, definitely a bottle blonde and the biggest pair of top bollocks that any of us had seen on any woman, ever.

One by one, squadron members realised what was going on, and the parade became a sea of stupid grins and muffled laughter. From my position at the back, it appeared that the CO was saluting not the flag of our nation, so recently glorious in South Atlantic conflict against the Argie foe, rather a magnificent pair of 40DD bazongas in an upstairs window.

It was at that moment she took her towel and gave both mammaries a vigorous, circular rub, ending with her giving both nips a little tweak. They wobbled like Alan Sugar sitting on a jelly, and from the looks of things, she seemed to find this most satisfying. The entire squadron broke ranks, laughing, clapping and cheering.

She screamed. She dropped her towel, to reveal a bush that resembled a large, black fluffy poodle nestling in her lap and whipped the curtains shut. See? I told you she wasn’t a natural blonde.

The following week we turned up at the Drill Hall to find a “For Sale” sign on the house opposite. Can’t think why. Mystery naked woman, we never knew your name. But thanks for the mammaries.

Length? Bigger by the minute.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:09, 1 reply)

Victoria Beckham aka Posh Spice
has a shaved cunt. Here's a picture.


(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 20:54, Reply)

Possibly the Last Will and Testament of The Supreme Crow
or How Can One Man Produce So Much Crap?

The "on-topicness" of this post will be, at best, tenuous - my only link being that I've spent an unexpected amount of time this morning with my trousers round my ankles. However, I strongly suspect that I'm going to die very shortly, so I'd like to go out with a bang. So, here we go...

I believe it is normal and healthy for one's bowels to move once or twice a day. Either way, it is certainly not healthy that, as of 10.30am, I had had to run, buttocks clenched, to the nearest porcelain throne four times in as many hours.

Last night, a couple of friends and I went out for our customary Curry Night - that is, we pick a Wetherspoons pub, take advantage of their Thursday night curry+beer deal, and then go for a wander round some of the nearby pubs in search of fine ale. We may have overdone it slightly on the St Peter's Stout, as something possessed us to buy a pack of sausages on the way back and eat them. (For some reason, despite a load of curry, we had beer munchies...)

I didn't go straight to work this morning; I had to pick up a wedding present for this weekend, so I decided to go to the slightly eccentric Spirit & Liqueur Shop in Soho. I thought I'd got everything out of my system shortly after breakfast, so, despite feeling a little bilious, I thought that the walk might do me good.

It didn't. As I got to the Southern end of the Hungerford Bridge, I could feel something expanding, as if it were trying to escape. I had passed the Festival Hall and considered sneaking in there to use the toilets, but I decided against it. No, it's just wind, it will pass, I told myself.

Crossing the bridge, I started to reconsider that decision. With the sunshine beating down on my abdomen, all I could think of was the Ideal Gas Law. What was in my gut was certainly not an Ideal Gas - it was a distinctly undesirable one - but the principle still held that if the temperature kept rising, the gas inside me would keep trying to expand. I feared I would explode like a pigeon that has swallowed a tub of bicarb.

I headed into Charing Cross and breathed a sigh of relief as I saw a huge gents' toilets sign. This was quickly spoiled as I came close enough to read that I required 30p to use the khazi. I checked my pockets and found a handful of coppers which amounted to about 7p. Just my fucking luck, I thought - I dash in here with my guts straining and it's a bloody Poo-as-you-Go toilet.

For reasons best known to the parts of my brain that I wish I could switch off, I started to consider the consequences of just discreetly pissing myself. It's a hot day - it wouldn't take long to dry, although I'd stink to high fucking heaven for the rest of the day.

Fortunately, rational brain took over and propelled me into a shop so I could buy a bottle of water and get the right amount of change. There was no guarantee that I wouldn't crap myself as well, and it tends to give people the wrong impression if you walk into a spirit and liqueur shop at 9.30 in the morning smelling of urine.

The air-conditioning in the shop was blissful in comparison with the foetid air of the station concourse. So relaxing did I find it that I jettisoned a phenomenal cloud of gas, which was more than slightly embarrassing as one of the shop staff immediately turned up next to me to stock a shelf.

With a bottle of water and enough change to go for a civilised crap, I gleefully hopped into a cubicle and unclenched. It was the third time this morning, and it was starting to become painful.

But so relieved was I that as I strolled out of the station, I took a swig from my newly acquired bottle of water and discovered, to my horror, that it was sparkling. I felt my once settled stomach stirring again.

Fortunately I made it to the shop without incident, pausing only to smirk at the Chinese restaurant that had renamed itself, leading to a sign in the window which read "formerly Poon."

It was on the tube that things started to get tense. Oh, it's not many stops from Leicester Square to South Ken, but whilst I was grateful that the driver was going at a fair old pace, I was disconcerted greatly by the shaking of the train as it thundered down the tracks. Let's just say there's a reason why you shouldn't shake bottles of fizzy drinks before you open them.

I made it to my office, stashed the present and ran back down the stairs to unleash what fresh hell stirred within me. I think this might have been the last of it, as my already raw buttocks felt the familiar sting of the vindaloo that had tasted so good yesterday. If Giger's Alien had burst out of John Hurt's arse rather than his chest, then I think I'd know how he'd felt. How can one man produce so much crap in so little time?

I think that my guts have finally settled down, so I can hopefully keep my trousers up for the remainder of the day. If, however, things should start to stir again, it's been nice knowing you all.

And if I do, indeed, crap myself to death, I would appreciate if you'd all look up the minimalist command-line adventure game "Don't Shit Your Pants" and play it in my honour.
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 29 May 2009, 11:50, 4 replies)

Grey jogging bottoms!
My girlfriend hails from a seaside town in deepest darkest Devon. They do things differently down there.

When she was about 9 she was walking down the beach one morning with her younger sister. They were going past this bloke sat on a deckchair when she noticed that his trousers were round his ankles and he was doing something *ahem* vigorous with his right hand. Yes, rather than taking his morning wank in the comfort of your own bedroom/bathroom as is tradition this enterprising fellow had decided he fancied a change of scenery and would get a bit of a sea air at the same time.

The girls were a bit confused, but knew that they probably didn't want to get too close. Particularly since he then waved at them with his spare hand. So they both ran all the way home and told their Mum, who promptly called the police. A very nice policewoman told them that if they ever saw anything like that again they should just point and laugh (an instruction she's taken a little bit too much to heart in my opinion but that's another matter entirely).

Fast forward a few years and Liz was walking on the same stretch of beach with one of her mates when suddenly this scrawny bloke (not the same one) jumped out in front of them and dropped his trousers. Taking the copper's advice they both started pointing and laughing. The guy pulled up his trousers and ran off.



Slightly shocking you might think, but the weirdest thing about these episodes is something else entirely. Both of the flashers were wearing grey jogging bottoms. This has given Liz a psychopathic hatred/phobia of men in grey jogging bottoms. To the extent that she can't sit facing one on the bus/tube and has left pubs on occasion.

Being the loving boyfriend I am I find this absolutely fucking hilarious.

She's signed me up to do a half-marathon in September. Partly because she thinks I'm slightly unfit (possibly true) but also because training will give us something to do together.

I'm less fussed.

But to try and show my enthusiasm I've bought some new running trousers.

Guess what colour they are...
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 29 May 2009, 9:59, 3 replies)

While travelling a couple of years ago
Oh, what a question. I was in India with my friend Ted (great guy, even if we did get at each other's throats this particular trip. he had a highly interesting sense of politeness - the type of guy that tells people to say "please" and "thank you" no matter how much of a pompous ass it makes him sound, but will quite happily call you a cumguzzling piglicker when he's angry), jaunting round Mumbai in a hired rickshaw. We'd found some work with a local restaurant, basically trying to drum up business for them. I say "restaurant" I mean "KFC".

And of course what it meant was a fucking chicken suit.

Me and Ted frequently got into arguments about who was going to wear the chicken suit, especially on hot days (and it REALLY gets hot in Mumbai). It smelt fucking horrific after only a couple of hours of wearing it, and we were going to be doing it for at least two weeks. It was a hardship I was willing to put up with though, as it allowed us to indulge in the finer points of Mumbai's nightlife. Honestly, if you've never been, it's superb. Gorgeous, modern-thinking girls with old-fashioned manners, jazz, hip-hop and rock clubs, and no vomiting drunken twats in sight. Not sure how it's held up after the events of last year (which really got to me, for obvious reasons), but it was amazing when I was there.

But right at this moment, I was not in a sophisticated, air-conditioned bar drinking whisky and chatting to exotic beauties.

I was in a chicken suit. And it was burning.

We'd been driving round for a while trying to find a good patch, and Ted had gotten us hopelessly lost. We were far from the bustling centre of the city and it looked like we were heading further and further into the suburbs and slums. We just thought "fuck it" and decided to explore for the day. We came across rubbish tips and workhouses and markets and god knows what else in the next hour or so, and then, as we slowly moved down a side street in the middle of the most crowded districts, we saw her.

A stunning, perfect example of the subcontinent's beauty. Long black hair, beautiful skin, the deepest, brownest, gorgeous eyes. Dressed in the most ornate sari, covered in jewellery, surrounded by admirers, it was like a scene from a Bollywood musical. Except without the music and dancing. So, er, I guess, a scene from India. She was sitting in the middle of what was apparently a town square, seemingly holding audience with the people around her, serene and beautiful, an oasis of calm in an endless desert of madness. I was in love.

Anyway, I was still in this fucking chicken suit. Did I neglect to mention I was naked underneath? I think I did. Well, I was. It gets hot in Mumbai. So I couldn't take it off. Not me, anyway. Clearly some of the previous contributors would have no qualms about ditching the fucking thing and riding round Mumbai naked in a rickshaw, but I have some more class than that. So I still had my chicken suit on. I couldn't get out and confront this vision of goddess-like beauty wearing a sodding chicken suit. Oh no. I stayed in the bloody rickshaw out of sight.

Ted, though, unencumbered by the avian ensemble, could. So the fucker did. He walked enraptured, in a trance, through the middle of the bowed crowd, towards her. Serenely, she carried on talking, until he got to a couple of metres from her, at which she looked up, startled, and flew to her feet. Ted also looked startled at this sudden display of activity, as did the rest of the crowd, who abandoned their heads-down positions. She demanded of him, (in English, obviously noting his western appearance) "Who are you, intruder?"

Ted upgraded from startled to panicked as he realised he had obviously stumbled into some kind of voodoo ceremony.

"Erm, erm, I'm Ted, hi, so sorry, I didn't mea-"

"You have disturbed our sacred rites."

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it!"

I confess I was laughing my ass off at this point, although my laughing was tempered by the possibility of Ted being pulled apart by an angry mob. We argued, but I liked him, so of course I thought "Aw squawking hell, I'm going to have to go rescue the bugger."

But Ted was already being demonized by this priestess or whatever she was -

"I call on the Gods to curse you! Send us a messenger, O great deities!"

"No no, no need for that, I'm just going, alright, see, I'm leaving!"

At this point I leapt from the rickshaw, determined to rescue my buddy from a grisly end and earn his eternal gratitude, plus the right to laugh at him forever for his shit-yourself backtracking.

But the chicken suit had an unexpected effect.

I was cheered by the crowd as I emerged from between the buildings at a run. They crowed at me and whooped and bowed as their priestess, admittedly, looked rather shocked that her calls for a messenger from the Gods had apparently been answered. But she was a smart one. She quickly composed herself and shouted "A new deity! The gods have sent us a new deity!" And then she picked up on the form of the new deity, and she knew what she had to do.

She called for the very worst curse a chicken could ever enact on a human being.

"An hex! Peck Ted, new deity!"

....I am so very, very sorry.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:53, 7 replies)

My Mum got Fingered!
This is a memory that has haunted me about 18 years!!

One hot summer night I was woken up by a groaning noise coming from my mums bedroom, being only 8 years Old i thought it maybe a monster hurting my mum, so I got out of bed and went in to her room to find that there was no monster, it was something even more scary! There was my mum laying on the bed legs spread wide open with not a thing on with my step dad knuckle deep, i have learnt that the expression is FINGER BANGING, to this day i do not remember what happend next. I feel sick even remembering it!
(rambosilk Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs., Thu 28 May 2009, 16:48, 8 replies)

I walked in my flatmate
completely naked, watching a DVD of Battlefield Earth.

I said "Mate - nobody wants to see that."
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 15:56, 2 replies)

The first nudity I saw...
...on the night of my honeymoon was not that of my comely new wife, but her brother - cock tucked between legs, running up the corridor of the hotel screaming "Crying Game! Crying Game!"
(Mousy Tongue ...Generally bemused by life..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 5:01, 1 reply)

thanks but no thanks
Several years ago, when my girlfiend was visiting her mother, I went to a party with a very pretty female friend of mine (I'll call her Sarah, but it isn't her real name).
It was clear after a short time that she was being hassled by one of the guys there and wanted to leave, so I made our excuses and took her across the street to my (shared) flat to call a taxi (yes, this was before mobile phones and I am therefore ancient).

Before the afore-mentioned phone call, I made Sarah a coffee and took it into my room, where I'd left her sitting on the bed. She was still there, but now completely naked.
She explained that she didn't want a taxi and would prefer to stay with me. I gently explained in return that I loved my girlfriend and that hot as Sarah was, it wouldn't be right.

I suppose there are people who think I must have been mad to turn her down, but I value fidelity in a relationship and besides, she was my friend and I couldn't see her in that kind of way, not even sitting in my bedroom, on my bed, naked.

Anyway, Sarah burst into tears, got dressed and left. I never saw her again. Shortly afterwards, my girlfriend and I split up.

I've always wondered what might have happened if I'd made a different decision.
( finnbar has officially retired, Sat 30 May 2009, 11:08, 5 replies)

Keeping this one short
Was visiting the girlfriend. Her family is pretty relaxed about clothing, I've seen them all in various stages of undress (as they have me).

What I didn't expect though was to wake up bursting for a piss with a raging lob on, run to the toilet and burst in to find her 13 year old sister sitting on it doing her business while she touched herself.

It was one of those very long moments where we both looked at each other before I ran away to hide. She didn't seem to care at all though that a 6'2 englishman with a hardon you could hang a Honda off has just broken in on her playing sessions.
(Potty Jag har smör i min rumpspringa, Sat 30 May 2009, 7:07, 5 replies)

I can laugh now (twitch)
A while ago I was mistakenly kind to a woman who turned out to be a nutter and obsessed and actually got committed.

She had a works leaving do in a dodgy bit of south London and asked me along as protection for the journey home.
She got trolleyed on red wine.
I can lift 100kg, but not in 5f2 drunken wobbly package.
managed to get her back home, coat and shoes off, in the recovery position on the bed, bin ready for wine return.

I took one of the many stolen pint glasses down to the kitchen for a pint of water to leave before going.

When I got back up the light was off. I turned it on and there was a sight. She had stripped off all her clothes bar a pair of white ankle socks. (she had tiny feet, it made it worse by contrast)

She was flat on her back, boob under each armpit, knees in the air, bomb bay doors gaping, muttering vague imprecations to put something in somewhere THEN the icing on the cake.

A huge thunderous fart of the sort with that fleshy wet sound only really fat people can make. I could see ripples so I burst out laughing. Her flatmate woke up and I told her and we were in fits.

" so which page of the book of seduction did she get that one from?"

When I remembered this it was the white socks, it reminded me of those paper chefs hats decorations they put on roast turkeys and chickens in the gravy and paxo adverts way back when.

Don`t get me wrong I`m not a body fascist, a reubens-esque woman can be a source of warmth in winter and valuable shade in summer, but it is a matter of degree, there is a difference between scratching and tearing lumps!
(tootired Is searching for a funny sig, nothing good so far, Fri 29 May 2009, 23:12, 3 replies)

Naked ping pong
As I mentioned earlier and my long-suffering other half will attest, drunken nudity is a bit of a theme for me. However this time I was not the only cuplrit.

Picture the scene:

Late September, a huge converted farmhouse in Provence complete with pool, girlfriend's Dad's 60th birthday, accommodation food and drink all paid for - only expense about £30 on flights, the entire extended family present. Fan-fucking-tastic!

Liz has two sisters - one older and married, one younger with long-term boyfriend. I get on well with both partners which does occasionally get us into trouble at family gatherings.

It was near the end of our stay. I'd had an utterly brilliant week of wine, cheese, sun etc and had also been fairly well behaved for most of it. We'd had a few heavy ones so this one fateful night we decided to have a quiet one in and play a bit of Cranium.

Fun was had by all and eventually everyone else had headed off to bed. It was just me and the other two partners M and J. At that point someone suggested we play a proper man's game, so we got out the cards and started on the poker. We also found a litre bottle of Bells to go with it. Problem was none of us really wanted to play for money - that was the moment J suggested something much much worse.

"Tell you what boys, how about a bit of strip poker".

Now we were quite tiddly already by this point so this seemed a great idea. As whisky was consumed and hands were played it wasn't long until I was completely starkers mainly due to me being shit at poker even when sober.

I was a bit annoyed at being the only one reduced to this state. But then I lost the next hand.

I had nothing left to take off. Forfeit!

"Right Milo, you have to run outside and do 2 lengths of the pool and then come back". That was M, the married responsible one.

Now I've done the odd skinny dip in my time so this was nothing major. Did it, came back and then the greatest idea in the history of the world occurred to me.

"You know what, we should all go skinny dipping. It'll be hilarious!". Well we were 3 quarters of the way through the whisky now and with a box of wine on top of that they didn't need asking twice. Pretty soon we were all in the pool laughing like a bunch of drunken twats (funny that).

Then we noticed the table tennis table. "Who's up for a bit of naked ping pong?" Score!

Unfortunately noise does tend to travel a bit out in the Provence countryside at night. Especially if you're pissed off your tits and engaged in sporting activity.



Being told off by my potential future father-in-law for being too noisy, the day after his 60th birthday, at 3 in the morning, in France on a holiday he'd paid for, playing round the table with his son-in-law and other potential SiL, while absolutely stark bollock nekkid, was not the proudest moment of my life.

Regarding the extreme homoerotic elements of the situation nothing really needs to be said.


Still it's very likely that J will be going down the aisle before me so I can't wait for the father of the bride speech.
(Milo Minderbinder, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:04, 1 reply)

My mate Edward and the 'Alien'…

Where do I start with Eddie? shall we put it kindly and say he was a little ‘Eccentric’ and not describe him as my first instinct suggested and call him ‘batshit mental’?

Apart from his love of being in the buff in public, Ted's only other vices were a unswerving belief in Aliens, which we tolerated, and a harmless hankering for ‘Kinder Surprise’, which I couldn’t abide. His addictive capacity for quaffing these shite, overpriced eggy treats with the crap toys inside knew no bounds, and he constantly had a big store of them that he carried round with him inside one of those big industrial Tea container thingies.

Like I said…batshit insane.

One day, Ed came running into the pub and said he had found a ‘friend from another world’ and he was going to keep him as a pet. Being sensitive to his obvious mental disorder I tried to both show understanding, yet let him down gently…:

“Stop being such a fucking thicky mong and get the beers in, you mentalist twatty jizz splat” I bellowed derisively.

“You’ll all be sorry” said Ted before continuing: “Me and my Alien friend are going to go and get nekked in the parks where all the schoolgirls hang out!”

“For the sake of wobbly fuck, don’t be such a pile of cunt bristle” I retorted “You’ll get yourself fucking arrested”

But my impassioned pleas fell on deaf (and stupid) ears…The next day I was more than surprised however when I picked up a copy of the local newspaper and read this story:

‘A local nutjub was arrested yesterday after flashing in the town park with a naked alien creature. After hearing distressing reports from nearby school girls, police investigated and disturbed not only a barking mad fruitloop with his knob hanging out, but a genuine bollock naked life form from another planet. When startled, the offender, in his thirties, then dropped his industrial tea receptical containing Kinder Surprises and ran, managing to avoid the chasing police. However, they were both later apprehended and forensic evidence pinned the man to the scene by way of finger prints left on the item he abandoned’.

The headline was: ‘Urn eggs peg Ted, Nude E.T‘
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:29, 10 replies)

sorry for the irrelevance
but i have just got a new kitten
he's very lovely and very fluffy
now to make it relevant: he's not wearing any clothes
that count?
(Freddles, Sat 30 May 2009, 20:24, 12 replies)

Tenuous link to the topic warning
I’ve mentioned the ex third wheel in my relationship here before but never described her physically (at least I don’t think I have), she was (probably still is but I couldn’t care less whether or not she’s still alive TBH) quite short, about 5’3 or 5’4 to my 5’10 and MrKitty’s 6’2 with very pale skin, a fine boned face, a slim body and a predilection for complete hairlessness way before it was commonplace.

Then she started overdoing the drugs a bit and became very slim. You know the look, mosquito bite tits and all the curves lost. I didn’t complain as by this stage she was the responsibility of her bf, Josh, not me.

So one night we went out, as you do, and the next morning Bec (ex), Josh, MrKitty and I all accompanied our friends Belle and Neil back to their place to carry on the off faced fun throughout the day with all the blinds firmly shut before hitting the town again that night. This being back when youthful exuberance and drugs allow you to really make a weekend of it- Friday night, Saturday day and night awake and trashed, home on Sunday to sleep it of and back to work/ study on Monday.

We were physically comfortable with each other. Each member of the group either had fucked each other, wanted to fuck each other or had heard in graphic detail about how each other fucked. This was all supposed to be secret with only the participants knowing about each episode but that all fell apart when someone mentioned cats screaming and everyone looked at Bec and started laughing. Everyone was looking at each other and realisation dawned on us simultaneously that we’d all heard Bec coming. We’d all fucked her. Then the rest came streaming out. After that the girls of the group would quite happily be naked around each other and hang around in knickers with the boys and the boys would get around topless and we all shared each others clothes when required or wished.

Neil was dealing pills back then and as close friends of the dealer we regularly helped him eat any profit he may have hoped to make from the venture. By early Saturday evening we had consumed about a half weight of speed and 4 or so pills each.

Then Bec demands another. As she is clearly wasted already Belle only allows her a half and they split the pill. 10 mins later Bec decides she feels sick and wants a bath. But she cannot be left alone. So first Belle and I accompany her, then she decides she wants Belle to fetch MrKitty, then Josh and we’re all running around fetching ice cubes, juice, tea, any and everything she wants as we know she’s a drama queen and almost definitely doing this for attention so we may as well give her what she wants. After a bit she fells better and drys herself off and pulls on a fluffy bath robe.

All is good for about an hour and then she says she’s sick again, only this time her eyes are rolling back and she’s sweating so we take her seriously and call the ambos. They turn up and we open the door to the apartment. The look in their eyes causes us to look at the group of us from a slightly different perspective- theirs.

3 early to late 20’s boys, topless in skin tight pants and make up. 2 early 20’s girls in miniskirts, bras and heavy eye make up and 1 apparent preteen, naked beneath an open bathrobe stumbling around like she’s been rohypnoed up good and proper.

We looked like a freaky goth-y swingers club who’d dateraped someone’s kid.

Even though she was fine 10 minutes later, the ambo’s insisted on removing her from the premises until she showed her id, proving that she was 20.

I’ve been called a freak, a psycho and had many weird looks in my time but I’ll never forget the time the ambo’s thought I was a pedophile
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Sat 30 May 2009, 2:53, 4 replies)

It’ll put you off your dinner, I tell you.
Not too far North of Portland, Oregon, there is a nudist beach. My then girlfriend and I decided, purely for a laugh (ahem) that we should head off there.

Now, you may be thinking 'hang on', you actively chose to go to a nudist beach, how can this possibly involve unexpected nudity, and I would have to concede there would be some logic to that thought, but bear with me.

To get to the beach, you have to wander through some pretty extensive sand dunes, head height pampus grass and rushes either side of you with what amounts to a man made maze through the middle of them created by people finding their own way through.

After about 15 minutes of confused wandering we turned a corner and...well...let me tell you this...

Once you have seen a skinny Latino man taking one up the arse from a hairy backed apeman with a beard while a fat guy in shoes, socks and a hat but nothing else* sits in a striped deckchair happily fwapping like a deranged chimpanzee...you won't ever forget it.

We never did find the beach, and I still think that's probably for the best.




*Really, at what point do you imagine he thought ‘hmm…better put my shoes and socks back on before I start masturbating’?
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 29 May 2009, 17:02, 1 reply)

"I'm not wearing any knickers"
A phrase which almost always leads to wonderful happy sexy times.

Except when said phrase is loudly bellowed at you by a five year old.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:03, Reply)

Body Combat
This kind of thing has happened to many times I get confused between what is anxiety dreams and what has actually happened. I posted before about the sunbathing on the Costa Brava when the ice cream vendor refused to come over, and I didn't realise for hours that it was because my swimming shorts were ripped from front to back and I had been lying there with my burning cock on display, entire families scattering in fear and confusion. My friend understood Spanish and told me the ice cream man actually cursed me.

But I'll tell the story of the time I decided to try "Body Combat" at LA Fitness, Brighton branch.

Body Combat is an exercise class combining dynamic fighting techniques with all the fun of an aerobics class (or something). The truth is its just dancing about. Its for girls really, and little gay fellas. I'm somewhere between the two, so I loved it.

I was the only man in the class and I enjoyed the attention, but not this time - we were doing an exercise which involved loads of Karate Kid "crane" style high kicks. It was set to "The Final Countdown", and we were getting to the last chorus before I saw my red-faced, grinning reflection in the mirror, and realised that my shorts, along with that useless webbing stuff inside, had torn wide open and my genitals were flapping up and down in time with the music. The girls that had noticed were trying to look away and nobody said anything, but if elephants had cocks like mice, then I would be the elephant in that room.

As the next exercise (stretching to Prince's "Nothing Compares to You") involved bending over and grabbing my ankles, I excused myself before the teenage girl behind me was treated to a real-life ginger goatse.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:16, 2 replies)

Windmills in Sweden
Enjoying a weekend away in Stockholm my lady friend and I stayed in a nice hotel in Gamla Stan.

The streets are quite narrow. Our room had floor to ceiling windows on two sides. One side afforded us a view of the harbour. Very nice. The other was about 5 feet across an alley way into a dusty old attic room.

In the evening we were starting to mess about and I figured I'd spice things up a bit by chucking a windmill. Now windmills are comedy gold, everyone knows that, and I can chuck a good windmill. I expected a chuckle, but my ladfriend could hardly breathe, she was crying and suffering convulsions. I figured it was funny, but not that funny. Spidey senses tingling I looked to my right...

The dusty old attic room by day was in fact a rather posh restaurant by night. There was a table of about 15 people sat five feet away from me; some slackjawed, some equally as amused as the lady the show was for, one or two about to call the police.

I dove for the floor so quick I got carpet burn on my cock, while screaming for her to shut the curtains. Did she? not a chance. I was now commando crawling towards them arse in the air, suffering the indignity of one last close up look into their accusing eyes as I drew the curtains.


p.s. I can recommend the Hotel Reisen's sauna equipped rooms. Just don't go to the restaurant next door. The floor show is awful.
(bellboy last hit the tit on, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 4:29, 2 replies)

I remember my first mars bar
It was unexpectedly nougat-y.
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 10:28, 2 replies)

*strums banjo*
You'd think, having worked as a window cleaner for a year or so, I'd be full of tales of flashes of flesh through soapy panes. Unfortunately, that's not the case, but the one and only story I have does bear repeating.

It was a typical late-summer's Friday afternoon. I'd been hurtling around villages and up and down the ladders since the early morning and had a couple of jobs left before I could sup my celebratory weekend pint.

I pulled up at a new job - one of thirty new-builds in the small village I'd spent the last couple of hours in. My boss'd been out to price it up a couple of days before, and I'd been left with the unenviable job of the first clean.

I got my stuff together, gave the front door a knock to see if the customer was in and got the ladder ready while I waited. There was no movement at the door so I went on my customary nose-around the house and garden, checking for tricky spots and ladder footings.

I'll interrupt the story here to tell you why I think window cleaners don't see much unexpected nudity: aluminium ladders make a fucking racket when you set them up, giving residents plenty of warning that someone's about to check out their decor.

I set the ladder up at the first upstairs window, checked my gear and climbed up. As I approached the cill, I heard the strains of Christina Aguilera or Pink or some such forgettable pop drifting down from the upstairs of the house. I put my earphones in and drowned it out with some equally forgettable Incubus.

With the first window cleaned, I descended the ladder, moved it along to the next window and climbed up, preparing to wet the panes.

This is when I saw her. She was side-on to me, naked apart from some black ankle socks, her dark blonde hair flowing across her back and the pillows of her bed. Her position was such that she was turned away from me slightly, giving me a nice view of her bottom. No, no open-crotch views, no heaving breasts, just an attractively-shaped young lady obviously pleasuring herself in her room.

We all know that, given this situation, we should avert our eyes and respect the privacy of others, but I was completely hypnotised. The vision of this pretty body having a quick fiddle pressed all my buttons.

She seemed to be working up to the inevitable conclusion. She was working harder and starting to move around on the bed. I was captivated, and had to shift my jeans as the erotic nature of the scene took hold. She was rocking, side to side, working up, writhing, and she turned towards me and OH MY GOD WHAT THE FUCK'S WRONG WITH YOUR FACE?!

She looked like she'd lost a fight with a thousand angry wasps while tied in a hessian sack. She had acne to make Pizza the Hutt blush. She wore braces on her teeth that pushed her lips out so she looked like Leslie Ash after her collagen experience. I was actually frightened.

She gasped, open-eyed, and shot off into another room. I soaped the window, squeegied, wiped the cill and daydreamed about that pint.
( Noeli overtheshoulderboulderholderthingstraplatchboobs, Fri 29 May 2009, 8:48, 5 replies)

Stiff upper lips...
Nudity? If I could shower in a wetsuit so as not to have to look at the effect gravity has had on me over the years, I’d be happy. So tales of me accidentally (or deliberately) getting my muff out are rare. But there’s one occasion I can’t avoid it; one time that rolls around periodically that I have to expose myself to a complete stranger. This is not, as Rachelswipe would have you believe, after I’ve had two bottles of wine, gone to Club de Fromage and been last seen leaving draped over a 22 year old (though to be fair, she’d be right). No, it’s the smear test.

While I was in the US, my family doctor decided that 3-5 yearly minge examinations were an abomination brought about by socialized medicine and despite the fact that I’d been scraped not 18 months previously, she scheduled me for another one.

I turn up for my appointment, with a ladygarden so clean you could eat your dinner off it and proceeded to disrobe from the waist down, as is customary. I then waited to hear possibly the most unromantic words in the English language; “Just shuffle down to the end of the bed, slip your feet into the stirrups and pop your knees apart.” Note to any budding OB-GYNs, using the word “pop” as a euphemism for “spread ‘em, bitch” does not endear you to us.

Now my doctor in the States was a resident (devotees of ER will know what I mean) and thus was still very much in a learning phase; I discovered this when she informed me (whilst warming the speculum) that she’d only really observed pap smears before and had never done one unsupervised. Oh. Great.

Apparently, downstairs ladybits can come in a variety of shapes and well, textures and the like. It can take an experienced eye to be able to tell what’s normal (but just a little freaky looking) and what’s a potential problem. So our brave doctor goes in with the toolkit, has a poke around and I hear “hmmmm… that doesn’t look right.” These are not words I ever want to hear while I have my flange in someone’s face.

“I’m just going to get the attending” she says, and with this, departs. Leaving me, legs akimbo, with the fucking speculum still inserted. Minutes, uncomfortable minutes pass and she returns with her boss, who makes her way straight to the head of the bed, introduces herself and shakes my hand. I cannot describe how weird a sensation this was; to be lying, semi naked, with a large piece of metal hanging out of my chuff, making small talk with a total stranger. Both doctors then crouch at the foot of the bed and have a long discussion about my genitalia (don’t mind me, will you) before I hear the ever comforting words “some of them just look like that…” at which point the attending bids me farewell and leaves.

So far, no accidental nudity. However one of the other reasons I’d gone to the clinic that day is I’d been having an allergy to something and was wheezing quite badly. The resident was clearly relieved to be back on territory she was more familiar with and so, grabs a stethoscope and some kind of nebulizer thing and begins checking me out. Which would have been fine had she not just told me to take the gown off but neglected to give me chance to put my pants back on. And I’m British, goddamn it. I don’t like to make a fuss about these things. So I stood for a whole five minutes, clunge on view, while she made sure that I wasn’t about to go into anaphylactic shock. We discussed prescriptions, whether I needed a flu shot and made chit chat about the weather.

To be fair, doctors see far worse than my flaps (I hope) on a daily basis but for an old prude like me it has to rank as one of the most surreal experiences of my time over there.

I’ll refrain from a length joke as everything is well within normal range…
(Rakky (forgot her password) The muffin maverick, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:08, 11 replies)

If
You're six years old, you're at the swimming pool and you can't find your dad, for the love of God don't try to find him by bending down and squinting under all the changing room doors.

Scars you for life, that sort of thing.
( Hdjejjwsjdjjf LOOK, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:00, 2 replies)

Do animals count?
I was helping my Dad on his farm last week. Dad was checking the sheep for ticks and lice, and generally showing me what to look out for.

Suddenly and without warning, he started singing a catchy little tune to himself. I can't remember the exact lyrics, but it went something along the lines of:


"I'm done shearing all my sheep,
I've castrated the head ram,
So, the healthiest I'll keep,
for tonight’s roast dinner - lamb"

(Chorus - all)
"la la la la la"

'Well - THAT came from nowhere!' I commented.

'Yes' he said

... 'It was an "unexpected Ewe ditty" '
(fatboybubba, Sun 31 May 2009, 9:13, Reply)

My mum used to teach children with special needs.
She had an outing with one kid with down syndrome, just doing normal things, going around town and the like.

She was paying for some treats in a shop when she heard his voice behind her: 'I love you', and my mum, knowing that people with down syndrome have the tendency to be very affectionate, said 'Aww, I love you too'. He replied, 'no you don't understand, I REALLY love you' and my mum turned from the shop assistant to see him, wang in hand, smiling broadly at her.

From then on, whenever my dad wants to embarrass my mum he shuffles up to her, ginning and gurning, and says in the most simple voice he can 'I REALLY love you'.
( TFD is sporting this season's finest necropants, Sat 30 May 2009, 15:54, Reply)

The Babysitter
I was a tender, very immature ten-year-old boy. The babysitter was a large woman in a house-sized summer dress. She was sitting on a sofa with all the little kiddies gathered on the floor in front of her, watching TV. I was right between her legs, and I turned around to ask a question....

No panties.... Completely forgot the question....

I'm scarred to this day....
(Perv With A Dog had his eyes pecked out by scrub jays on, Sat 30 May 2009, 1:03, 1 reply)

Not me, but
a mate was in a band. Not a famous band, just a small-time affair but they did support another band whose members are now 'Never Mind the Buzzcocks' line-up fodder.

Anyway, so whilst on tour, but just being a support act, they used to end up in whatever accommodation they could find. On one occasion, they ended up in a family room of a B&B. A room with a double bed, a single bed and a sofa of sorts.

During a night out on the sauce, they managed to split up and made their own way back to the room and being one of the first back, my mate managed to claim one side of the double bed.

He woke up early next morning, opened his eyes and was greeted by a girl's arse not 18 inches from his face. Not one to miss out on an opportunity, he wet his finger and inserted it into her claypit.

There was a scream. Not from her, she couldn't scream as she had a mouthful of the drummer's cock at the time. He leaped out of bed, opened the curtains to let the light in and stood there in front of the window examining his todger. Luckily, it wasn't a school bus at the bus stop, so it was just a load of commuters whose workday would be ruined by the imagery of a fat hairy naked guy cradling his genitals.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 29 May 2009, 12:40, 1 reply)

I'm not sure why we did this....
...but I suppose it's just one of those japes that youngsters get up to.
There were four of us; my brother, his best friend, my cousin and I, and it happened to be the Summer Hoildays. Being aged 13-14 we had nothing better to do than expose ourselves to numerous passing cars from the safety of the local park, where we could run into the woods and hide if necessary.

However, the stakes were upped - it soon gets boring flashing your arse, even if you did feel the urge to spread ones cheeks a little. My cousin came up with a 'genius' way of exposing himself. Pulling his shorts down, so that both his arse and cock were free to the world, he then untucked his long T-shirt so that they were hidden from view. He then pressed the button on a pelican crossing and waited for the red light. What came next both shocked and tickled my young mind - he starjumped across the roadin front of the stationary traffic.

With every jump,his T-shirt lifted up, exposing his tiny penis as it flapped wildly, the movement it made reminded me of that a worm makes when it's cut in half. His tiny sack slapped around the top of his thighs and his scrawny arse shone, reflecting the sunlight. However, the thing I remember most vividly was just how happy he was with himself. Smiling, almost gurning, with delight.

Every pelican crossing I get to now, I always remember him doing this.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Fri 29 May 2009, 11:35, 1 reply)

I can never forget

It was a hot and humid day in August 2003. I was travelling to work without a care in the world. To get to work I had to walk along King Street in Hammersmith - a most unpleasant street frequented by drunks and chavs.

As I was strolling along, idly daydreaming, I became suddenly aware of a terrible odour. The smell was a combination of piss, shit and vomit with the unmistakable overtones of Tenants super strength.

Looking around me to discover the source of this most obnoxious smell, my eyes fell open a woman. She was probably in her 50s and has obviously been living on the street for around 49 years. She was dressed in rags that were caked in what was undoubtedly excrement.

Catching my eye she smiled, and then did something that will haunt my dreams the rest of my years. Still holding my gaze she crouched down and gathered her skirt in her hands.

She then let forth a torrent of piss - a gushing stream of urine like a horse on diuretics splashed on the pavement - all flowing from her vagina, her shit smeared vagina that resembled a dirty, badly plucked chicken that had been attacked by an axe. And all the time she held my eye and carried on smiling.

After what felt like an eternity I managed to drag my eyes away from this living nightmare and ran away.

When I got to work I had a wank in the toilets, obviously.
(MrHungry, Fri 29 May 2009, 10:09, 1 reply)

Afternoon delight
It happened every Friday. Between about half five and six in the evening. Just as we were finishing work.

The sales department was on the ground floor, studio's on the first. At the top of the stairs was a window overlooking the side of the house next door. Directly opposite their bathroom window.

The bathroom ritual of our gentleman neighbour went thus:

Open magazine at chosen centrefold and balance on window sill.
Stand in full view of office next door, whilst indulging in "fast washing"

The office ritual went thus:

When noticed, shriek to the entire office "HE'S WANKING AGAIN"
Be joined by approx 15 colleagues, all of whom would run upstairs. One of the sales girls would even get a chair.

Repeat weekly until one gobby northern lass attempted to make contact with the gentleman next door. By shouting through an open window:

"EITHER YOU HAVE FUCKING BIG HANDS OR A FUCKING TINY COCK"

Never saw him again.
(Basilbrush, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:06, Reply)

Hot Asian 4U
I was filming a very low budget advert for a clothes company in London and the client had put us up in a suitably low budget hotel for a couple of nights. Me and the crew all sharing one uncomfortably small room.

We dumped our bags off in our room and complained about how small it was before leaving for the days shoot. The staff didn't seem to care until the producer said we were shooting a film to raise money for dying children...(what!)

They seemed to change their tune for a moment.

After a 12 hour days filming we returned deep into the night after a quick beer. The rest of the crew stayed in reception to see if we could change rooms, whilst I went straight to the room to have a piss.

As i turned the key in the lock and opened the door, even in the dark i saw my bag wasn't where i left it. I turned the light on to look further....revealing the sight of a middle aged chinese man sat upright in bed having one of the most furious wanks i've ever seen. What made it worse was he didn't even stop when we made eye contact for a couple of seconds.

I backed out of the room. Locked the door and we never said a word.

Back in reception. "Good news, they've switched us to a new room"

"I know i found out"

"How?"

"I've just found Mr. Miyagi knockin one out on your bed"
( MrGomez and David Bellamy's big pubey beard, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:16, 2 replies)

Tits, bum, fanny, the lot.
It was at a party in 1988. I'd been out on the lash all day (well, as much as all day you could during the days when pubs closed between 3 and 6pm). My mate Stan had come down for the day and I bunked off college. Rebel, me. Stan had left the year before, but was still good mates with a few people from the halls of residence and kept in touch. One of whom was having a house party.

"Fancy it"? He asked.

Never one to shirk an open invitation like that, I agreed. Well, probably slurred by that point, but I was certainly up for it. And off we trooped to this house. I knew one of the housemates anyway as she'd been in the halls the year before, plus there were a few other familiar faces there (including one of my future housemates).

The evening wore on, everyone got progressively more trousered, and the other housemate decided to go to bed. Sarah, I think she was called.

Myself, and probably the rest of the room, were a bit taken aback when, an hour later, the door to the living room was flung open and a somewhat hefty pair of norks hoved into view, nicely backlit by the light in the hallway. Then my drunken haze realised that they were attached to Sarah. And that it wasn't just her norks on display, but the rest of her too.

"I can't get to sleep" said Sarah matter of factly "So I'm going to make myself some cocoa. Does anyone else want some"?

I don't know what was the most unexpected, to be honest. To be confronted by a frankly quite stunning woman in all her glory, or being asked if I wanted some cocoa at a party characterised by excessive alcohol and substance abuse.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 18:52, 2 replies)

Long time lurker, First time poster (Be gentle...)
This only happened yesterday, so while it's fresh in my head.

As none of you will know, I'm in the Royal Navy. This means I'm used to naked guys and whatnot, whether it was the communal showers, or just good ol' naked pranks.

Anyway, I was just relaxing on my laptop in my cabin, when I get a knock on my door. I open it and my mate Jack is standing there completely naked. At this point I say "Hey JaOhForFucksSake..." and we discuss our plans for the evening as normal. I shut the door and start getting ready.

I get in the en-suite shower, get my soapy soap on and towel off. I wrap the towel around my midriff and start ironing some kit, when I hear a knock on the door.

Thinking it's Jack, and I have a chance to get back at the cockbadger, I take off my towel and open the door expecting to see Jack...

Only to come face to face with Laura (The new girl in the office, who's actually with Jack)

Fucksocks.

She looked at my manhood, then at me and said: 'I've forgotten what I knocked for.' Then left!

Fair credit to her, she laughed about it the next day and kept it relatively hush-hush.

*Pop* Ew, it's everywhere! :D

Length? It did me proud! ;)
(chatsharris is making you Bellend brew on, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 19:54, 5 replies)

Toblerone art
Being bored youths in a sixth form college in rural Surrey is a difficult stage in life. Pre drinking but post puberty, means that testosterone and boredom lead to peculiar and amusingly immature behaviour such as indoor baseball with a snooker ball and cue and hours of causing each other deliberate pain....you get the idea.

On one particularly boring afternoon, a friend of mine, Alex, decided instead of the usual fighting and breaking things, he would turn his boredom and hormonal behaviour into a fine piece of art.

He chose the underside of a common room coffee table as his canvas.

His art?.... A fine and detailed picture of a grimacing and naked man with a full length toblerone eminating from his rear end.

7 Years later, it is still there; slightly faded but in its full glory. I recently heard that the picture has gone down in folklore at the school. Year 11 students are made aware that there is an amusing drawing somewhere in the common room and that their task is to find it.

Many students no doubt have signed up to GCS sixth form just to witness this piece of art and are still surprised when they see the nature and detail of the drawing.
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 17:25, 2 replies)

Not really a personal experience, but...
First a bit of background.

A few years ago I worked for a semiconductor manufacturer. The company made RAM for computers of all sorts, from cell phones to cars to the laptop you're probably using now. I was an engineer who worked the shift, on the manufacturing floor.

As you may have noticed, the price of RAM has dropped faster than a dress on prom night. This made for a very nervous company, and they did everything they could to stay competitive with the Koreans. One of the things they did was to build a second wing onto the plant for state-of-the-art, bleeding edge of technology equipment to make the RAM on 300mm wafers instead of 200mm. This enabled them to run it with fewer people, as it was all automated to a ridiculous degree, and to make 2.25 times as much RAM per wafer. A good business move on the face of it- but what to do with the ten year old 200mm machines?

One thought was to make flash memory instead of RAM with the older 200mm equipment, as flash was close to the same thing as RAM to make- there were two extra steps and a few different chemicals, but it could be done easily enough. This debate was raging as I worked there.

So now on to the nudity part.

One of the guys I worked with who was in another department was named Ricky, and was a bit loud and cocky at times. Basically a nice guy, but he often got dangerously close to being offensive with his banter at times, as he liked to make a lot of sex jokes and innuendo. When I heard him tell a woman there that he was hoping to find a partner to help him locate the anal g-spot I thought he'd get sacked- but the woman actually seemed to be considering it. (Bastard. If I had tried that line my ass would have been on the driveway within minutes.)

One night as I came in I heard a bit of muttering about something having just happened. I looked over someone's shoulder and saw the webpage for the local TV news up, and there was Ricky looking rather angry in a small photo. Apparently he'd been arrested for indecent exposure after walking through a parking lot with his cock out.

I copied off his photo and inserted it into a Word document and wrote a few words beneath, then printed it on cleanroom paper and stuck it up here and there on the manufacturing floor. Too bad Ricky never got to see the little posters I had made, naming him as the head of the new flash division...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 5:58, 1 reply)

The third choice
Back when we were sweet sixteen, I was wooing my soon to be girlfriend by paying her a visit (as friends of course. That I wanted to bury my face in her crotch was strictly between me, and my right hand). It was all very nice and civilised and when it came to bed time we retired to her room.

Now, the thing is she was in a fairly small house and shared a room with her sister. As there wasn't enough room and we weren't an item at that point, I bedded down on the floor and all three of us lay down and watched some TV together. For whatever reason, both of them started playing with my hair which made me rather excited. I should point out at this point that up until then I was almost entirely sexually inexperienced so having my hair tussled sensuously was akin to being shagged by a dozen clones of Megan Fox at the same time.

Which one shall I go for, thought I, as Red Dwarf played on the TV in front of us. I wonder which of these two girls will be the first to show me her holiest of holies. Just then, their mum came in to say good night and stepped over the bedding arrangement to give her first-born a hug. The trouble was that she was wearing her dressing gown. With nothing underneath, giving me an astride view of her pudenda from less than a metre away, meaning that I saw my subsequent girlfriend's mum's minge before I saw hers (which, to my credit, I got in to not a few days later. Huzzah!).

*POP*, btw.
(MrSnoobs, Sun 31 May 2009, 23:12, 1 reply)

World Heritage cock...
Back in the 80's there was a bit of a storm, blew a few trees down and stuff like that, one tree in particular dropping a branch on a little old ladies wall in her back garden that just so happens to be next to that lovely tourist attraction the Royal Crescent in Bath. Fast forward a couple of years and a 16 year old me and my boss at the time are fixing said wall and making some alterations so she could get her mobility scooter in and out (she told me she used to be a rally driver, and judging by the way she tore up Vicky Park that day I'm inclined believe her).

Being a lovely day in summer, and being a scruffy teen labourer I wasn't too fussed about wearing my trousers where there was a bit of a hole in the crotch. It let a bit of air in and helped keep things cool, and really wasn't that big...

Come lunchtime, and I went out back to lean against the wall and soak up the sun which was ace, watch all the tourists stroll by and dream of how many records I could by with the cash. Strangely though, the tourists were all acting a bit weird, some looking slightly offended by my scruffy self and some even taking pictures; not as if I was lowering the tone that much, and they could still get a good picture of the crescent without me in it if they just went round the corner, moody gits.

Half an hour later, I'm thinking it's time to go back to work, bend down to pick up my rubbish and ! I'm presented with my cock quite contentedly enjoying the sunshine just as much as me! My favourite boxers at the time, yes, the ones with holes in that you should throw away but don't because you like them, had colluded with the larger-than-I-remembered-it hole in my jeans and were teaching me a lesson in why blokes favourite clothing shouldn't be held on to for too long.

Surprised the tourists, hell, it surprised me! Had to endure a very self conscious afternoon of work too, especially as mini me seemed to have developed a taste for the fresh air.

I now throw my clothes away when they have holes in...
( Jimbuktu See? Right here, Sun 31 May 2009, 15:30, Reply)

Unexpected. Nude. Eighty.
I am pearoasting this story purely for the fun I got out of making the pun above. And at least I got the pun out of the way at the start, so you have no 'New Ditties' to deal with later.




This is cut and paste from the old 'Housemates' QOTW:



"I was stuck for money, so moved out of my nice flat in Balham to go and become a lodger while I re-financed.

I knew her through work, so thought it wouldn't be too bad. And, in fairness, despite very quickly finding out that she was rather desparetely lonely, once I'd set some boundaries, (No, I will not watch soap operas or be having dinner with you every evening. Or any evening actually) it wasn't too painful.

Until her batty old Mum set fire to her kitchen and had to move in with us.

Suddenly the place became an asylum, the kicthen became a tip, the washing machine was never empty for me to use, there were clothes everywhere, I couldn't cope.

I'd hear strange noises and screams in the night. I'd get woken up at 4am and find all the lights on and the back door open.

I eventually decided that I had sorted out my finances enough to move on when I came home from the pub at closing time one night and found the insane old woman standing at the kitchen sink

with her knickers round her ankles.

Washing her old lady bits.

With the sponge we used for dishes"



Edit: It just dawned on me. Am I the first person on QOTW to ever get a pun and a true story at the same time?
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Sat 30 May 2009, 13:01, 2 replies)

I managed to expose myself to a street party - and there really was the whole street out that night - at a millenium eve party in South Woodford, having sex with my boyfriend at the time
Click this if you want to read the rest of the story.

don't bother as they'll probably just delete it again!
( fuck shit up the best you never had, Fri 29 May 2009, 18:52, 3 replies)

She was not amused
It had been a cold and wet evening. Undeterred by the elements we had made our way to a nearby park and huddled under the brightly coloured hut from which a garish slide protruded.

Bottles of budget vodka and cans of cheap pissy beer were brought forth and quaffed. Banter was brought into play and eloquent repartee sizzled through the dour evening air. At some point an individual's sexual preference may have been questioned, and assertations of masculinity and boob touching exploits may have been fired back by the accused.

All in all everyone had a great time and as the last of the booze ran out we stumbled off to our respective abodes. I was, to put it bluntly, completely wankered. Seen from above I'd imagine my perambulations would bear more resemblance to a sinusoidal waveform than a line. However, with the words of Tony Wright echoing in my inebriated skull, I persevered and made it back to my parent's home.

Handily my father was at work and my mother was already abed so I didn't have any explaining to do about my obvious state of intoxication. Not that they minded me getting drunk but I was DRUNK. Sniggering away to myself over inane thoughts I smoked a spliff in the kitchen, burned some toast to cover the smell and made my way to bed. A perfect night. And sleep...

...and wake to shouts of fury and disgust. "What's happening?" thinks I, "Why is my mother in my room shouting at me?" "Hang on this isn't my room" "Wait a minute I'm standing in my mother's room" "Holy shitting Christ I'm pissing all over my mother"

That's right. I'd had a moment of drunken somnambulation and, in my search for a toilet, wandered into my mother's boudoir and unloaded my booze distended bladder across her slumbering form.

I'd imagine my mother considered this a SURPRISE TODGER moment.

Once the realisation of what I was doing and the content of my mother's words filtered into my consciousness, my proud stream of urine cut off instantly. I turned, I ran, I dived back into bed with my face contorting into a gestalt expression of abject terror and uncontrollable mirth.

I hid under the covers like a brave responsible man while my mother barged in and shouted obscenities at me before leaving to deal with her piss soaked bed clothes. I managed to control my horror and hilarity and get myself back to sleep. In the morning my father could barely contain his grin as he gave me a half hearted scolding and told me I'd have to pay for a new duvet and bed sheets.

Luckily over the years my mother has come to view this as funny rather than rage inducing, which is handy as it gets brought up at nearly every family gathering.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:11, 4 replies)

I've been the purveyor of surprise nudity...
... although in my defense I was just as surprised to discover that I was naked.

It's a lovely Saturday morning and I've woken up with the pleasant ever-so-slightly hungover sensation only blemished by the accompanying extremely dry mouth due to the visitation of the red wine badgers in the night. I decide that the best course of action is to get up and go and get a drink, so that is exactly what I do. Straight out of bed and downstairs to the kitchen.

Now, at this point I should stress that I sleep in my underwear unless there are extenuating circumstances; I just feel much more comfortable with my underwear holding everything in place. There were no such circumstances that night, I'd gone to bed alone (AUDIENCE: awwwww).

So out of bed, down the steep set of stairs from my room in the converted loft and down the main stairs in to the kitchen. As I descended the stairs though my brain started to receive and process strange information. "Things are not as expected" the impulses said. "You should investigate what is occurring that is outside the norm." Somewhat perturbed by this, I conclude that the best course of action is to continue to the kitchen and make myself a refreshing glass of squash, and use my newly hydrated state to think further about what could be wrong.

I was literally confronted by what was wrong as I looked down towards the cupboard containing the squash only to see my pump action yogurt cannon in full on morning horn mode pointing towards the bottles of Robinson's like some sort of meat-based divination rod.

My first thought was quite literally "where are my pants?!"

After processing the situation further my brain switches to thinking "oh cock, I am stranded downstairs naked & hard, and I have visitors in the house this weekend" (hence the red wine). I decided to carry on with Operation: Squash, and took the moment to compose myself. "It's fine, it's 8am on a Saturday morning and everyone is still asleep, just go back up to bed and no-one will know". Great idea.

Except that my hungover staggering down two flights of stairs had roused my (straight, male) housemate who managed to time his exit from his bedroom at just the right moment to see me at the top of the stairs supporting myself on the bannister with one hand, holding a pint of apple and blackcurrant in the other but still managing to point at him.

His response: a look as though to say "I don't want you to explain this; just fix it" and the despairing comment "oh for fuck sake Joe put some clothes on!".

I mumbled an apology and carried on going back upstairs, but as slowly as I could to avoid any meatspin style effects.
(Joey[kins], Fri 29 May 2009, 15:00, 1 reply)

Can't help you with the un-erotic ones, So here's one from the other side.
Cast your minds back to the glorious heyday* of the Thatcher years, 1983, and a certain young Duke whose only real idea of what girls looked like came from the underwear sections of various catalogues.

Focus specifically on the summer, when a logistical error on the part of the local guide troupe saw the family playing host to a scandinavian exchange student for a week. A slender, blonde, 17 year old goddess with a shy smile and downcast eyes. Worse, a goddess who was always kept busy doing guide troupe things and steered very firmly away from even speaking to the young Duke.

All of which preamble leads up to a particular friday morning.
Breakfast cleared away, school bag needs "games" kit packed in for the usual friday afternoon running about.
So our hero trudges wearily upstairs to his room to fetch a pair of plimsoles. Barely registering the sound of the newly installed shower, until he reaches the top of the stairs and glances briefly to his left. To see the bathroom door wide open...

Pin sharp in my memory she stands under the falling water, sun streaming through the window behind her. Arms raised to rinse the last of the soap out of her hair displaying her firm pert breasts in glorious silouette.
Every droplet sparkling on her lightly tanned skin, every line of that lithe body etched itself into my mind as I stood watching her, brain racing, body frozen and entirely unable to move.
It could only have been a few seconds before she noticed me standing there. No way to disguise the fact I'd seen her, no way to hide my blushes. She however blushed not one bit, just smiled that sweet shy smile, waved a hand as though to say "hi, how're you doing..?" and went back to washing her hair, warm water running over her naked form in exactly the way my fingertips ached to follow.



Talk amongst yourselves for a while, I need a cup of tea and a lie down...

*May contain traces of sarcasm.
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Fri 29 May 2009, 14:33, 6 replies)

In 2001
I worked in a hotel abroad. The place was small (eight rooms), beautifully situated, under-staffed, and run by a pair of cokeheads.

Most of the time the guests were fairly normal - the American lesbian couple who got so bored with the incessant rain during their stay that they bought weed off the cook and spent most of their stay monged out in their room, the Norwegians who enthusiastically swum in the lake every morning, even the new age guru from London who insisted that our chi (or whatever) was all out of line and that we needed to feng shui our heads to realign our ley lines and get our karmic balance back in sync. That we were permanently pissed or high, as well as exhausted from 16-18 hour days, wasn't a factor apparently.

Anyway, nudity. As I said the owners were drugged up to the eyeballs, frequently taking all the petty cash so they could go buy ecstasy pipes to get smashed out of their trees. Every night they would hold court at the dinner table, regaling the guests with tales of god knows what as we prepared and brought out food.

One night dinner wound up later than expected. It was 10pm and pitch black outside, I was the last one up, mopping up the kitchen before heading back to my tent. I noticed that the lights in the dining room / bar were still on so I went in to turn them off.

The owner was almost at the vinegar strokes. His pasty white belly and chest were heaving as he pounded away at his wife's spongy backside, small dew drops of sweat hanging on to the sparse greying ginger chest hair, the roll of fat around her middle wobbling like the proverbial jelly on the plate. Her face was pressed hard down against the tiled floor by one of his scrawny hands, the other was desperately clawing around underneath her, like a blind man trying to find a plum in a barrel of pork fat. I stood there, mop in hand, for a few seconds... long enough to register the blood seeping from her nose as she requested that he 'do me harder'. I ran away, bile churning in my stomach, ran all the way to my tent where I hid until the next morning.

A few weeks later a group of German tourists on a marriage guidance week turned up. We had 16 Germans, all of who were experiencing marital difficulties, wandering naked and semi naked throughout the place. One guy of about 60 wandered around in a pair of leopard print speedos, looking to all intents and purposes like and elderly German paedophile.

A few days after they arrive the... arguments... were getting a bit hard to deal with (although to call them arguments is an understatement - we're talking knife throwing, plate smashing, so angry I'm going to kill you rages here). One evening a group of the Germans had dinner on the lower terrace. I'd been down to serve their food, brought them multiple bottles of wine and figured that everything was going well. When the time came to clear away the plates I return to the terrace and am treated to the sight of a tired pair of Germans shagging on the table. Discreetly manoeuvring myself away I found myself confronted with Mr. Leopardskin Speedos, only he was now wearing a purple erection and flip flops, and had been clearly fwaping off to the other couple. Where his wife was I have no idea.

I quit shortly afterwards.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:48, 4 replies)

Toilet trauma.
They're a close family: friendly and loving; caring and sharing. You can tell from the way they act around each other that there is much love among them, and it once warmed my heart to see it. I would dream of living in such an environment.

And then came the day when I walked out of my friend's room to be confronted by the sight of his naked Dad sat atop the throne; his unfettered, hairy arse cheeks engulfing the seat and his copious gut spilling onto his furry thighs.

I did my best to sneak past without being noticed but just as I thought I'd made it a booming voice yelled my name and I knew I'd have to speak to him. I slunk back into the doorway of my friend's room and did my best to avoid looking at this monstrous public poo-er, but it was no use; my embarrassment meant mumbling into the door frame and he beaconed me nearer so he could hear me clearer.

My responses to his persistent questions were brief and to the point, but each swiftly despatched answer was met with a fresh question. I tried on a few occasions to make good my escape, not only from this grotesque vision before me, but also from the foul odour that was terrorising my nostrils, but he wouldn't allow it.

Then he seemed to shift his weight in such a manner as to suggest his task was complete. "No fucking way" I thought, "he can't possibly..." but he did, he lifted himself from the toilet, unravelled a yard of paper and began to bend his hand arse-ways to cleanse himself.

I didn't wait to hear the rest of his question.

I. Just. Ran.

I didn't go back there for a while. At least not until I could close my eyes without the image of this man cocking a leg to cleanse his arse appearing on the inside of my eyelids.

Even now, sometimes as I relax into bed and give up the fight against the weight in my eyelids, a distinct silhouette will project itself onto my brain and I know that sleep won't be on the cards for another night.
( Moey, Fri 29 May 2009, 11:49, 1 reply)

February 1991
I'm a little baby soldier in Saudi Arabia (205 GenEvac Hospital RAMC - King Khalid International Airport, Riyadh) and have been on shift since about 1130am, working, sitting chilling in the sun, working some more, sitting chiling in the ... you get the picture.

My shift finishes at midnight so I've decided that, given that it's now 10pm, I'm going to nip down to the rest area and have a shower.

Operating with the expectation of immortality, I'd taken a gamble (damn! this should have gone into that QOTW. Ho hum.) that we weren't going to be getting SCUD-whipped at that time, especially given that most of our whippings happened between 1am and 4am.

Go into the changing area, put down my small-metal-gun, get into the buff and get my shower gear out from my sports bag (medics - cleanliness = godliness) to nip into the shower with.

Happily lathering myself away in this large (i.e., 20+ person) shower in which I'm the only one there when the attack alarm sounds (and yes, it does sound like the one at the start of Two Tribes by FGTH).

"Bollocks", thinketh I, and nip out of the shower to put on my respirator (gas mask). Realising what a warm and generally pleasant shower I'd been having, go straight back into the shower and, respirator on, continue to shower for another 10 minutes.

Where's the public element, you ask?

Unbeknowns to me, the changing area - in the basement of the building we'd set the hospital up in - was a shelter for the microbiology team (only two chaps - thankfully), one of whom took a picture of me in respirator stepping out of the shower which I'm led to believe had for a while a place on a noticeboard in a hospital in Birmingham.

/facepalms
(Eds Meds Mathskillz=1,Socialskillz=0, Fri 29 May 2009, 8:17, 1 reply)

Not mine
You may wish to hav emindbleach on standby for this one.

'im indoors suffered from a condition when he was younger called hypospadias. Basically, what this means is that instead of the opening of your urethra (or jap's eye for the uncouth amongst you) being on the top, it was on the bottom of his helmet towards the base. Now this meant that since birth, he's had to have a series of operations on his todger to repair this. I shall now relate his story in his own words:

When I was 14, I had to go back to the Freeman (hospital in Newc) for another operation on Frankencock. Now, part of these ops is that quite often after they've finished attacking your cock like a drunk rabbi after Passover, they have to pop in a catheter whilst you heal. 3 days after the op, they whip the catheter out (which is not a warm, comforting experience). They they expect you to have a piss, just to check that everything is still working.

Now, obviously having had my cock out in front of about 60% of the medical fraternity of North East England, I have not got much in the way of shame now, but this incident destroyed a little bit of my soul.

So, catheter out, and I am sent off to have a wee. I shuffle over like a newly-lobotomized zombie and go into one of the bogs (BTW, why are most hospital crappers about the same size as a 1 bed aparment in the West End?)

I'm wearing hospital pyjamas, and me poor old knob is quite tender (not in a good way) so I just pull the bottoms down. It takes a little while to get going, but eventually I start pissing like a Grand National winner. Suddenly, the door to the cubicle bangs open, exposing my arse to half the ward.

It's my mum

"Hello love" she says at embarassing mother volume "Just checking everything is alright. Ooh look...you've got hairs now!"

Mind...bleach....apply liberally.

So that was unexpected nudity for most of ward 4 at the Freeman.

But I can say this...the surgeons did a bloody good job.

No apologies for length or girth, just the line of stitchmarks.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Thu 28 May 2009, 21:37, 1 reply)

I'm a poet but I don't realise it. Wait, that's wrong...
Another week opens, a new question's started
A fresh chance to answer with last week's departed
But I'm racking and racking my memory banks
And can't recall times of interrupted wanks

Of accidental flashes, surprise parties gone wrong;
Of times when strangers mistakenly saw my schlong;
Of walking in on housemates shagging on the bog,
Or interrupting fun with their cunnilingual dog

Of that time I glimpsed my neighbour's beef curtains
Or how I know why my boss' arse is hurting.
Of walking in on family members covered in perspiration
Or times when my pork sword was revealed to the nation.

So I'm looking forward to reading the tales
Of changing room mishaps in the January sales
Or cocks revealed seemingly riddled with gout
Or maybe "that time that my nipples popped out"

And so to appease our officelol addiction
Stories are told of truth and of fiction
Of too-baggy pants and ill-fitting bras
In public parks or in dark, seedy bars

Yet among these tales -
Spectacular or shitty,
TheMagicDwarf regales
An unexpected new ditty

*proffers spanging pan*

Sorry
( TheMagicDwarf is back like ballroom dancing, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:12, 1 reply)

I have a fair few of these...
Lets us begin.

Second year at college – obligatory foreign trip is arranged. So off we pop to gay Paris, three coachloads of impressionable halfwits.

For the first week we were three blokes in a room (three beds mind you gay Paris or not). As is the way with most studenty affairs the hotel was tres shite. Our room looked straight out onto a brick wall of the equally garlic ridden fleapit next door.

On our last night we found one of those ‘rustic’ little places where they pass off clumps of condemned horsemeat as ‘steak’ to unsuspecting tourists while sneering at our lack of ability to detect the ‘all you could drink wine’ was being pumped from the same abattoir as the horse steaks were sourced.

Nevertheless we managed to get royally battered. We staggered home with our newly acquired ability to speak fluent French and were suddenly Europeans. As my mum often would say, “its all fun and games now but it wont be this in the morning” sage words indeed.

In the morning we were roused from our wanking chariots rudely. Rudely even by French standards. For some odd reason we had slept through the 7.30 deadline to get our gear on the bus.

I cannot recall such a hangover before or since, even my hair hurt – damn those Shergar Steaks – they had clearly ‘reacted’ with the sensible amount of wine I had sipped.

Staggering out of bed bollock naked with a morning lob on I immediately stubbed my toe (not with the lob on). "FirFuckSake! Can somebody switch a fucking light on in" here I rasped.

I flung the ‘quaint‘ wooden shutters open on the window and squinted out into the bright spring sunlight… something was amiss. Some fucker had moved the wall. All I could see was blinding light. A drumming sound and screeching voices filled my throbbing heed – fuck me this really was a bastard of a hangover.

It would seem I had forgotten we had been moved to another room a few days previous. So there I was in all my glory directly across from three coach loads of waiting students battering the windows and cheering wildly. Thank god I still had a semi lob on.

Naturally I got on the bus to a chorus of – “he’s not the messiah he’s a very naughty boy”

!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:20, 1 reply)

Eyebleach please
Walking through Waterloo station, I sauntered gently over to the screens that tell what trains are departing from Waterloo East. Having got my train time, I turn my head to the stairs that lead up from the concourse.

There, sat halfway up the stairs, was a gigantic filthy homeless woman who resembled nothing less than a recently dug-up potato in a skirt. Legs akimbo, she was cooling her fetid mimsy in the afternoon breeze.

I now take the escalator.
(SimianKid internet faffer, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:56, 5 replies)

Pee-roast
I told this in the Voyeurism QotW, but it seems to fit in here as well.

During my long, long postgrad years, I was a supervisor in student accommodation at Bunglingham university. One advantage of this was that, if we were doing the job for several years, we got accommodation free over the summer.

Now, between A-level results and freshers’ week, we used to get families coming along to the site to check out potential accommodation. One fine, late August afternoon, I was at my desk, writing and intermittently gazing out of the window, watching one such family: Mum, Dad and rather attractive blonde daughter.

The block of flats opposite my window, just across the lawn, was next to the bike sheds and laundry block, and there was a secluded alley between them. The family was clearly unaware that there was anyone living on the site at all: I’m sure of this because I happened to look up just in time to see the rather attractive daughter pulling down her jeans, leaning against the wall of the flats for support, and taking a pee.

Some people would pay money for that kind of show. It’s not my thing, though, and were the story to end there, I would probably feel a bit bad about having seen what I did.

But there was more: behind the daughter, the mother was doing the same thing. And behind the mother, the father.

I admire close families… but mass micturation?

*shudders*

Length? No idea. Blonde daughter’s head obscured the view.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 15:36, 2 replies)

my brother's cock dangling over a cute pussy
way back, before Dick and Dom were a mere twinkle in a producer's eye, me, my brother and sister used to be avid viewers of the Saturday morning extravaganza that was Going Live.

I forget the exact nature of the competition we entered, but it involved sending in a rather cute picture of our cat Smudge curled up in a ball of furry goodness and looking rather smug in me and my brother's bedroom.

We duly sent it in with our names and address written on the back, so we could get name-checked on TV.

They duly sent it back with a message of something along the lines of "we can't use photos that are required to be sent back".

On closer inspection, however, I rather think their reluctance to stick it on the airwaves was the sight of my brother hovering the in the background of said photo, in his pyjamas, with his six-year-old pecker clearly visible, poking out to say hello to the world betwixt the pee flaps on his PJ bottoms - something which, owing to the cuteness of the cat, our attention had not been previously brought to.
( nightbuffalo needs more duct tape, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 18:05, Reply)

Computers
For my last computer configuration I needed some very stable OS, so I decided to install UNIX. I had never used it before, but given all the word of mouth I had heard - what could go wrong?
Many things, as became clear shortly afterwards. First of all, it happened to be in the same period as I decided to try quitting (once again) my booze habit.
As the law goes (forgot which one...), if some things CAN go wrong, they WILL go wrong, and of course all at the same time. So that's exactly what happened:
As I was checking the new config, I found a physical error on the HDD. Damn! All the stuff that I needed had already been installed... Fighting the damn Delirium Tremens, having seizures every couple of hours... so much time for nothing. I really couldn't take my time once more for the same thing - I had spent nearly 3 hours installing everything, so I decided to try packing all the stuff on an external HDD and as I directed the system to do it, I had a new seizure.
As anybody who has ever had Delirium Tremens will understand, things can go bad real fast. And they did. I only had time to hit "enter" to start the procedure, as I lost my consciousness.
When I woke up, I called the ambulance, as I was all shaky and even some blood was coming out of my mouth.
One thing did go right - as I looked at the screen, I saw that all data had been transferred.
So the summary for me was, as I waited for the ambulance -
UNIX packed it, new DT.

Sorry, just wanted to try...
EDIT: You are too kind :)
( Zhmei HEY B3TA I WAS ON YOUR DINGY ISLAND AT LAST!1!, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 17:11, 7 replies)

Sea boobs?
"Why don't we all go for a swim in the sea?" Enquired one bright spark, only minutes after we'd finished shovelling food down our throats.

"Yay!" I exclaimed, "I'm just going to finish my pint and have a fag and I'll be there." Clever lad, me.

"Um..." Pipes up a brighter spark "...are you sure it's the best idea. I mean, we've just eaten, and you've all drunk quite a lot, and the sea does look rather rough."

"Fuck off." We chime in unison and there's a sudden charge seawards, leaving only me and the brighter spark behind.

Not wanting to be left out, the sensible one decides that a paddle wouldn't hurt, and trots down to the sea, gingerly stripping her t-shirt off as she reaches the water's edge like the shy, body-conscious teenager she clearly never left behind.

At first she only paddles in the shallows, but the calls from the group to venture further finally wear her down and she wades out, jumping the admittedly sizeable waves that are doing their utmost to push her back towards the beach.

From my vantage point I have a clear view of her deciding she doesn't fancy being in such deep water after all, and making her way back to the shallows. I also have a very clear view of the large wave that rises up behind her like a gang of vampires creeping up behind an unsuspecting victim, hands stretched out before them and ready to pounce.

And pounce is precisely what they do. The wave flattens her before I have a chance to shout "Um, there's a really big wave behind you that's going to flatten you if you're not careful and do something about it really quickly. Seriously, it's massive, its lurking like a gang of vampires creeping up behind an unsuspecting victim...".

Her feet suddenly appear where her head had been, then her head resumes its previous position, then both head and feet seem to occupy the exact same space for a few seconds before she rises up from the salty foam and stumbles about a bit, coughing and spluttering.

From my vantage point I have a perfect view of her unexpected tits that have made a bid for freedom from her swimming costume and are bouncing about rather un-erotically in time with her choking as she coughs half an ocean out of her lungs.
( Moey, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:16, Reply)

La-la-la-la-la
One of my friends, Brian, met his first girlfriend at university, married her the year after graduating and for some reason moved up to Northumberland for a lifetime of domestic bliss. This turned out a lot less nudey fun poke time that he was hoping for, and a lot more being told what to do and what not to do by somebody who’d morphed into some kind of proto-Hyacinth Bucket.

Fortunately for him, he found comfort in the fact that he shared the historic county town with a number of similarly under-the-thumb husbands, and an informal support group sprung up where the oppressed could indulge in shared interests. In order to camouflage their sneaky golfing afternoons, pub quiz evenings etc., the cover story of a male voice choir was concocted, however this “front” turned out to be a lot of fun in itself, and one enthusiastic member even decided the group should try coming up with its own material. They must have succeeded, as I had the briefest of text messages from Brian the other week – “Alnwick’s pecked did new ditty!”
(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 1 Jun 2009, 15:34, 4 replies)

Short and, apparently, not so sweet...
A colleague just informed me of half a conversation he just overheard not 2 minutes before. The young lady he inadvertently eavesdropped on was, apparently, discussing a matter of some delicacy on the telephone, although her tone didn't necessarily testify to this:

"Well, the fing is..." she recounted through the smacking lips of a perpetual gum chewer "... that's when 'e got 'is cock aaat, an' I jus' fort: naah fanks, an' I left, innit."

The nudity may not have been unexpected, but I'm sure the response was, at least for the poor fella involved.
( Moey, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 14:19, 8 replies)

Center Parcs
I am not sure this completely counts, as there was no accident about it. Although I certainly did not mean to be naked.

Between leaving school and going to university in 1992 I and a few friends went to Center Parcs for a break.

A lovely time was had, drinking more than you should at a family resort and splish splashing around in the water park.

Things were fine, as long as these activities were kept separate, but, boys being boys (or twats being twats in our case) we did not always keep them apart.

Drink and water slides and hyperactive 18 year olds do not a good mix make. We must have been a nightmare for the other people, and I am surprised we did not get kicked out. I do genuinely still feel bad for the people that had to put up with us. I would be livid if the shoe was on the other foot. But, nonetheless, we had what was our idea of fun, racing each other down the rapids, clambering over each other in what, with hindsight, I see as a slightly homoerotic manner, to see who could get to the bottom first.

One pleasantly sunny afternoon, after a mildly liquid lunch, off we went to the pool. The racing quickly started. After a few battles and some light-hearted horseplay (which was in no way gay, no sir, it couldn't possibly have been seen to be gay) I got myself ahead and suddenly felt a hand grab the back of my shorts only to realise far too late that I hadn’t done them up tightly enough. With a panicked twist and a failed grab I turned around to see my best mate laughing gleefully as my shorts disappeared down my calves, past my ankles and off the end of my feet.

And then looked skyward as he threw them over my head and way down the rapids in front of me.

I had no choice but to sit up, cover my rapidly shrivelling manhood with my hands and traverse the rest of the ride red face with my hands clasped firmly beneath my thighs until I reached the pool at the end. To be greeted by the hoots of laughter of my so called friends and the sight of a middle aged woman clutching my swim shorts looking at them with a mix of disgust, fury and confusion.

At which, I summoned all the dignity I could muster, walked up to her and said with excessive politeness ‘Excuse me, I think they may belong to me’, took them back and walked slowly away trying to keep my head held high.



(Although upon writing this, I wish with hindsight I had had the wit to look at them, then hand them back to her and say ‘No, sorry, my mistake, they are the wrong size’. )
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:39, 1 reply)

"You've sleep-gayed him haven't you?"
Personally I've never been one for public nudity. Little bro, on the other hand, is a different story.

Having spent many years using his powerful sleep-walking abilities to go for a slash in the middle of the night (always in the actual toilet, brilliantly, and not someone's cupboard like most sleepwalkers seem to claim...), the parents departed the country leaving us to fend for ourselves, with him the tender age of seventeen.

Now, at the second house he lived in, the bathroom was in a new location compared to his bedroom than in previous residents. Naturally we all expected him to end up fertilising the stairs while asleep but no, it got better.

Clearly feeling a little lonely one night, he got up and wandered directly to his male housemate's bedroom. Both starkers, in he got while the housemate slept, and - a direct quote - "spooned him ever so gently". It was a few minutes before said housemate realised he was being molested in his slumber and tipped him out.

Of course this event was unbeatable until housemate T moved out to be replaced by housemate B. He woke up one night to find little bro draining the lizard directly onto his bed. With him in it. Casually, with a smirk on his face and one foot up on the matress, hand on hip.

Twice. In two weeks.

He hasn't pissed on anyone recently but did wake up vertical and naked in his girlfriend's 17-year-old sister's bedroom recently at 2am. She appreciated it, apparently.

Length? Lucky for me i've never witnessed it. I'd have to burn my eyes
(MightyX5 living on a small island on, Fri 29 May 2009, 11:14, Reply)

Unexpected insofar as I plucked up the courage there and then to go topless on a beach.
I was on a beach in Tenerife a good few years ago alone and soaking up the sun. Around me where men and women and 90% of the women were topless, this included 100 year old German women with nips touching their knees. Now I'm not a confident person about my body and hate even flashing cleavage but seeing the multitude of bare breasted women around me I suddenly felt like I stood out more by sitting there in my swimming costume on the sand.

I took a deep breath and removed the straps from my costume, pulled the costume down to my waist and exhaled.

It was the most exhilerating thing I've ever done and with the sun bearing down on my boobs, I sat up and looked around. Of course no one was looking at me, I was just another pair of tits amongs many other pairs of tits. I lay there for a while happy as a pig in shit until some bloke walked past and winked at me.

Back up went the swimming costume and I was once again a repressed British women with body issues.

Never done it again and I doubt I ever will.
( girlinthehole, Fri 29 May 2009, 10:59, 5 replies)

Definitely unerotic but ultimately satisfying
Somewhere in the South West of England, late 80s, there is a cliff side littered with chalets, scrubby plants and faintly disturbing residents. My uncle, due to 'unforseen circumstances' ie. his Mrs had black-bagged him, ended up living here for a while. Spending his days drinking, fishing and hanging around with his pals in the sun agreed with him so he got to know the area quite well.

On one such sunny afternoon, he was looking after his two young daughters who were happily playing in the garden while he fished for dinner from the rocks a few hundred yards away, further down the slope. A friend of his who was fishing alongside suddenly grabbed his arm and pointed out a stark bollock naked gentleman steathily making his way through the scrub (no mean feat in his condition), towards said garden.

Dropping his fishing gear, uncle started up the slope. Realising that the naked chap would get to his garden before he could, he decided to match stealth with stealth and use his local knowledge of the cliff paths to ensure that at least he would have a chance of confronting him before he legged it.

Mr Naked approached the garden, his 'excitement' plain for all to see. Before he could utter a word he was interrupted by a raging bull of a man dropping in between him and the girls from the garden above.

Did I mention my uncle had been a boxer in a past life?

You can probably imagine the surprise and horror on the perv's face just before it was swiftly and permanently rearranged. Not sure what happened to him afterwards, but I imagine he might have been subject to a more rapid descent down the cliff path than is considered healthy before anyone called the emergency services.

My cousins, who were unharmed if slightly perplexed and a little more worldly wise than before, apparently spent the afternoon happily bankrupting the tooth fairy to the regular cry of "Daddy, I found another tooth!"
(DownhillGardener no-one does it like that anymore, Fri 29 May 2009, 9:27, 3 replies)

swimming baths
My friend's 5 year old daughter was in the changing rooms of the swimming bath when she shouted loudly ... "Daddy, I love your willy"

The thing that gets me is that he told us. Should we call social services?
(seedybee68 not involved in any rioting since 31 March 1990, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:07, Reply)

Crashing at yer Aunt's house and not telling her
Now then - when I were a mere 18 year old stripling we moved house to a small village, about 5 miles down the road from the town where I went to school. Now the journey was easily do-able by bus in the middle of the day, so still attending the same school was not a problem.

However: this was the era of the 18th birthday party: it seemed like 2 out of every 3 weekends would be someones 18th birthday party, and I was rapidly acquiring my life-long love of getting shitfaced. The problem always was that none of MY relatves would stay up until 3 in the morning to give pissed up 18 year olds a lift home - can't think why - and our new house was just too far away to cadge a lift back too off've someone else's folks.

The solution was brilliant in it's simplicity; I would just cadge a lift back to the housing estate where my Aunt lived, which as smack in the school's catchment area: in fact we had lived there ourselves until we moved out and I still had a key and in fact an entire room was ready for me to crash in at any time. It being in the middle of the school's area there was ALWAYS someone's elders I could scab a ride back with.

So that's what I did on the fine evening where this story unfolds: when out, got hideously rancid with alcohol and got a lift back to the Aunt's.

The one small flaw in my plan was that I had forgot to tell them I was crashing there that night.... - so picture the scene: me, too pissed to know what direction to fart in: I must've took half an hour to open the fecking door, with all the usual muttered "c'mon ya little bastid"... - then I finally owrk out the secrets of Mr Yale and fall into the house. Then I got the obligatory 30 second puke warning and staggered to the downstairs bog and proceeded to empty my stomach contents out with much piteous howling and wailing.

At which point the door to the bog is flung open by my aunt and uncle, stark bollock naked, holding a carving knife, saying something like "c'mon then ya puking burglaring wanker!!" And they were not a pretty sight: we looked each other up and down and made the silent pact that This Would Never Be Spoken Of Again and they left...

I then proceeded to laugh like a drain for about 3 days!
(brumguvnor www.twitter.com/brumguvnor, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 20:27, Reply)

Just a quick one- with a royal flavour
a story from a friend who worked on the queens flight (her maj's personal airline).

Apparently all of the toilets on the planes of the queens flight were suddenly fitted with a curtain in front of the door, after an incident during turbulence when all of the flight crew were treated to a view of the queen on her throne asthe door burst open.
(Symball, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 17:13, 1 reply)

Not many people know this
But I do a nice little sideline in writing greetings card messages for the European market. I specialise in cock-related gags, which seem to go down a storm over there with our smellier, greasier cousins.

Just yesterday my German agent rang me up and gave me a bollocking for going out and sitting in a beer garden all day instead of sitting on my arse at home, coming up with some new piece of crap to put in a card.

You see...

Hun expected new ditty.
( SpankyHanky, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:44, 3 replies)

Have a repost...
Ah, it was all a dream. Thank some god or other for that. I thought as I shook the sleep from my weary head and took in the strange room that surrounded me. Why am I sleeping on the floor with only a thin blanket to keep the cold off my bones? Why on earth am I not using the bed that, hold on… yep, the empty bed that’s only a foot away.

I couldn’t make myself comfortable so I clambered onto the empty bed, where I immediately sank into the middle of the mattress and disappeared into a world of softness that couldn’t have contrasted more with my previous spot.

Ah! My brain said again, the girlfriend’s grandparents house. The ridiculously soft bed that forced the pair of us to occupy the precise same part of the mattress. My endless complaining, which meant either a makeshift floor-bed or a needless and ultimately futile argument. Then the dream. It really was a dream, I’m sure. There’s no way I wandered, naked as nature intended, around her grandparent’s house in search of another bed. It must have been a dream. I couldn’t possibly have had a conversation with her Grandmother, while my tackle hung uselessly in the cold night air. Sure I’m naked now, but I didn’t, nay, couldn’t have wandered into their room and…

“Morning, Sleepy.” Ah, she’s back, and all chirpy too; well whoop-de-fucking-do for you.

“Hey baby, sleep well?” Is what she should be asking me.

“Yes, thank you. Need I even ask if you did?” That’s better. Kind of.

“No, you don’t need to ask, I slept very badly, thank you.”

“So I understand. Breakfast’s ready, if you’re hungry.” What did she mean by “So I understand”? I'll ask her...

“What do you mean by...”

“There’s a towel if you want a shower.” Don't interrupt me woman...

“Thank you sweetie, but what...”

And out the door she goes, without listening to a word I'm mumbling at her.

And then she puts her head back round the door and, with a huge piss-taking grin spread across her face, she delivers the very words I really didn't want to hear:

“Oh, and Gran says it would be nice if you'd put some clothes on before you come downstairs. We don't want you wandering about all naked again, if it's all the same.”

Fucksocks.
( Moey, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 12:53, Reply)

Back in the days when I had a student loan and could afford to go to festivals...
Now, I'd been pretty excited about this festival - my first ever one - because Green Day were playing (yes, I know - I blame my youthful poor taste) and I awoke bright and early, threw on my clothes and went to join the masses queueing to get in to the arena. In my haste, I was unable to find a pair of underpants in the fuggy depths of the tent, but I just thought 'Sod it. Who'll know?'

This was my first mistake.

Knowing I'd be in the front of the crowd for some time, I'd elected to wear a relatively sturdy pair of gig-going cord flares. They were a bit tatty, having been christened with the sweat and blood of several rock gigs, but they were very comfortable and I wasn't bothered if they got trashed. They were already a bit trashed in fact, having a repaired rip up one trouser leg.

This was my second mistake.

I got pretty close to the front, actually, and I'd been there several hours when 50 Cent came on - the act before Green Day. People were unimpressed. Bottles were thrown. There was shoving.
Now, I'm not tall. In fact, I'm really rather short. Some rather angsty punk elbowed me in the face and I fell down, but being so close to the front there was no room to pull me up for a good few minutes. So, I was lying on my back in a sea of muddy, sweaty legs and bottles and christ knows what else, until eventually a couple of big guys managed to drag me up.

However. People had been standing on me, and as I was pulled from the depths, my mended cords ripped and started to unravel up one seam. Back on my feet I figured there was no real harm done, and continued about my merry business of jeering the rapper on stage.
Then I got smacked in the face again. Then some crowd surfing jizzstain kicked me.
Fuck this, I thought - I've had enough. I yelled to the security to pull me out of the crowd, which bless them, they tried to do. Now, as well as being short, I'm kinda chubby. And heavy.
They pulled, and people in the crowd pushed, and eventually I managed to pop over the rows of people in front, get over the barrier and down. But someone was still standing on my trouser leg, and the whole thing peeled off like a strip of wrapping paper on Christmas day.

Big festivals have big screens so that people at the back of the field can see whats happening on stage. As the cameras panned the front row, they caught a shot of me floundering like a beached yet airborne whale, sans one trouser leg and alternately flashing an arsecheek or a winking minge. Laughter and jeers rippled round the site. Popping one's unexpected nudity cherry in front of several thousand -mostly drunk - people is not a pleasant experience.

Having been escorted out of the barrier area I was a bit stuck for what to do - I didn't have enough cash on me to get a replacement pair of trousers, and I didn't want to miss Green Day by going back to the tent for money or pants. What would MacGuyver do, I pondered.
I removed the remaining trouser leg, fashioned a sort of skimpy loincloth and happily watched the remainder of the gig from the back of the field with a few ciders.

So, if anyone was at Leeds 2004 and saw a mildly inebriated and lairy fat chick with green hair wearing a corduroy nappy and new rocks, I apologise.
(berk, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 11:59, 3 replies)

It was a party
I was on one end of a 3 person couch. My friend was in the middle. I guy I'd never met was on the other end. We were watching television. So obviously it was a pretty awesome party. But it was about to get awesomer. My friend goes "what the fuck" and whacks my arm. I turn to the left and the guy on the other end of the couch is sitting there. Beer in the left hand. Cigarette in the right hand. Limp penis hanging out his fly. Silently watching television.

So I figured he was on to something and that's how I always watch telly nowadays
(Demonic, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 11:58, 2 replies)

It was the 80s. I had a perm.
I had been out shopping for groceries and had returned home. I was struggling to get through the door what with holding too many bags so the kind yet pathetic guy from next door helped me out. He invited me to some sort of party but I wasn't really listening, I had a big orchestra rehearsal coming up, and besides he's a bit of a Moran so had no intention of going. I almost caught him naked actually when he was seducing my friend's secretary as opposed to baby-sitting my child. It actually lead to a blatantly homosexual museum worker kidnapping the little tyke, but that's a whole different story.

I bid good day to him and left to put my groceries away, there was a cheesy advert for exterminators on the telly, catchy song for the advert though.

I began to unpack and put the eggs on the side, I then began to faf around at the counter behind when I heard a peculiar noise, one of the eggs had somehow fell onto the counter and had began to solidify. It was a hot day so I didn't think much of it, best put them back in the refrigerator sharpish I thought. So I went over to put them and opened the refrigerator door only for smoke to come out, I panicked thinking it was going to be expensive but to my amazement I saw some horribly naked little monster at the back addressing me as Zool.

I'd apologise but I have wasted far more of my own time typing that than you have reading it.

Length? Well it wasn't long before he was inside of me.
(ste_mc_efc, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 1:29, 9 replies)

Walking down the street..
About ten years ago is a woman in front of me when God provides a gust and up went her skirt.
Beautiful arse, no knickers.
Thank you God
( difficultchild, Sun 31 May 2009, 13:22, 2 replies)

I'm the one naked in all my nudity stories.....
But here's a first. I was camping with friends, on bank holiday weekend, at a site behind a pub in Wiltshire. We stayed up late drinking, as did a wedding party at the pub we were behind. Once it got dark, I thought to myself "I bet you could walk naked to the toilet and back, and despite the fact it's as busy as Glastonbury at night, nobody would notice". Anyway, later we went to bed, and at about 2 am, I woke to hear the rain on our tent. I was naked in bed, and the combination of the faff of dressing in the dark in a small tent, coupled with my clothes then getting wet persuaded me to test my theory.

So, naked I emerged from my tent, and padded through the assembled camp toward the pub. I was threading my way between tents where people were still sitting out, and between people walking too and fro, and indeed, nobody noticed that I was undressed. Even as I walked fairly close past the two large tables of people still celebrating the wedding outside the pub, I seemed invisible. Then just as I approached the toilet door, disaster, or rather lightning, struck. The entire area was lit up like day as I was 3 steps from the loo. I struck out and got in there, feeling a mix of relief that I seemed to have made is safely, and concern that, of course, the loo was electric lit, and anyone in there would be in NO doubt of my nakedness. Luckily, nobody WAS there, so I used the loo and emerged, pleased with my lucky escape.

However, as I came out, the two tables of people (perhaps 30 in all) burst into rapturous applause, which only got bigger when another lightning strike lit me up like day! All I could do was wave splendidly, and continue on my way, enoying the applause.
(Sammyhaswoefullyneglectedyou, Sun 31 May 2009, 1:28, 1 reply)

My friend Edward found it tough being a school uniform designer, especially in the early days. He’s a household name now, but back when he was struggling, the only thing that cheered him up was his pet ferret, Onyx.

It was Dee Comprehensive that really put him on the road to success. The school was inviting aspiring designers to submit their proposals for a new school uniform; a big prize for the best.

Ed thought he’d give it a go. He asked me to call round, just before the deadline. Everything was done; everything except the tie, because he just couldn’t choose which one to go with. His designs were laid out all over the floor, and Ed was staring blankly into the middle distance. How was he to choose? His future career was about to be decided. Little did we know that within six months, he was going to be hailed as the greatest designer of school uniforms that there has ever been, winning awards and plaudits for every blazer. At that moment, he was stuck.

And this is when, somehow (no-one ever owned up to leaving the cage open), from somewhere, Onyx appeared. He ran up to Edward; he ran up to me. And then he ran around on the floor, back and forth, in a perfect frenzy. Then, just as suddenly as he had started, he skidded to a halt by one of the designs, and, difficult as it is to believe, he twisted his little ferrety tail around and pointed at the paper. There was no doubting what was in that little chap’s eyes. He could see victory.

So Ed followed the sound advice of his pet, and the rest is history. Strange as it seems, I suppose you could say that Onyx picked Ed’s new Dee tie.
( vladimir, Sat 30 May 2009, 17:52, 2 replies)

i was once having dinner
with my friend caro in the cafe rouge on shep bush road when this horrible old man shuffled up to the window. there's a fair few homeless, alcoholics and general mentals wandering around that sexy part of london. he grinned at us and started massaging his cock through his trousers. i didn't really notice, as i had seen him and looked away, but then caro suddenly said in tones of disgust and real disappointment, "oh lovely, and now he's WANKING."

so i looked. [out of instinct not desire.]

just at the precise moment that he slid his scrofulous penis out of his pants and waved it at us.

weightwatchers should use this diet plan. horny old tramp cock at every dinner table? you'd never ever eat again.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sat 30 May 2009, 11:43, 1 reply)

Odd lady in Oxford
Early noughties. Dunno if she's still about.

I used to see her wandering around town, mostly around the Cowley Road. Big lady, middle-aged, always wore tee shirt and skirt.

She was fairly aggressive and shouty, so I tended to steer clear if I saw her coming.

On one occasion, though, I didn't have enough forewarning. I walked around a corner to find her about 10 feet in front of me, walking towards me.

I stopped in my tracks, she looked me straight in the eye, then hitched up her skirts to reveal several rolls of fat over what looked like a blacksmith's apron, and took a piss on the pavement that was like a jet from a firehose. I was genuinely impressed that a woman's anatomy could expel urine with such force.

Unsure how else to react, I just said 'Hello' cheerily and walked round her.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:27, 9 replies)

there is an old man in our town who rides on of those weird recumbent bicycles
the donwside of this is he does it in those horriffic 1980's style running shorts- the VERY short ones with slits up the side.
he wears these whatever the weather.
this has the unfortunate complication that his baggy old man scrotum hangs out of the side like a turkey's neck with a couple of grapes in it.
on the up side, it is a good gauge as to the temperature outside by how low it dangles. like a human thermometer that man.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:29, Reply)

Repost, sorry
Not sure if this counts.

My missus read in one of her "wimmin's" mags about how some rough old slapper gets regular deep-dick action by advertising where she'll be on business and when she'll be available for a piping. I pointed out this would only work for a woman. The wife disagrees.

And so the experiment started. We placed adverts on Gumtree - one "woman seeks man"; one "man seeks woman" and one "couple seeks other", just for shits and giggles - each one stating "picture garuntees response". We then waited for the replies to roll in.

Though we didn't have to wait long. The "woman seeks man" advert got four responses within 20 minutes, which I thought was slightly strange considering we posted the advert a little before midnight on December 30th. By the morning, the inbox of the fake email address we used was stuffed with cocks, hundreds of the things. Plus some of the pictures of said love-lengths showed them being used in slightly unusual ways.

After a few minutes of checking out the weird replies, I felt more than a little sick. Not least by my wife looking at one picture and uttering the phrase "you wouldn't shag him, he's got crap wallpaper".

I was right, though. The "man seeking woman" only got "are you sure you're after a woman?" type replies. And more pictures of cocks.
(ScousersPet, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:44, Reply)

I once knew...
...a German gentleman who had served under Rommel in Northen Africa but was taken prisoner during one of the numerous tank battles. Anyway, as a prisoner of war he was used to finding new ways to hide things from his captors. One of his many tricks was to use an old surgical wound he had recieved to his chest as an extra 'compartment'. It apparently didn't cause him pain to do this or maybe he was just a lot tougher than I thought, I digress, one of the few luxuries he kept with him was a small amount of tea he had gotten during the early days of the war in a small French town called Neuvaux Dete or 'New Deet' as he insisted on calling it in his heavily accented voice. He would keep this tea in the recess off his chest away from the prying eyes off the British guards and gain a small amount of satisfaction whenever he could by boiling some water with it and drinking away or sharing it for extra rations and better treatment (apparently British POW guards could be bribed very easily then). Whenever he traded this with the guards they would always rermark that it was certainly Hun ex-pec/tit New Deet tea!

I thank you.
( Funkenschlag still likes dogs more than cats, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:44, 3 replies)

Big Hairy Bums on my wedding night,
30 years ago...

After I married the first Mr Quar we headed south down the motorway, to be overtaken by a coach, every passenger window of which was obscured by huge, fat, hairy, spotty male arses.

They kept this up until the bus went out of sight, and for all I know they're still going.

On my wedding night, ffs. They certainly set the tone for that marriage - looking back, I should've listened to the bums.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:18, 4 replies)

Oh well
*Streaks through QOTW*
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 10:16, 6 replies)

I was watching Doctor Who
It was the finale of the last series, and the Daleks had just sent the TARDIS to be destroyed with Donna inside it. Due to all the crashing about she collided with the Doctor's severed hand (which he'd put all his regeneration energy into at the start of the episode) and caused some technobabble to happen, thus causing another David Tennant to appear albeit in a state of undress.

Does this count as unexpected nude DT?
(thePontificator, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 9:22, 4 replies)

Lovely Jubblies!!
When I was 18 I worked in an Office for a well known Banking Group. At School i wasnt the best looking lad, i've been 6'3 since I was 13 and weighed about 10 stone, so it's safe to say the nearest I got to a shag was when the School bike said she's suck me off and let me shag her for a box of matches, no joke! I couldnt get a boner though : (.

Anyway, I bulked up a fair bit when I turned 18 and started finally getting female attention. Working in an office you are surrounded by WOMEN. Young temps and late 20's who are trying to claw their way back to the good days (thats my stage at the mo). One late 20's in my offce named Becky, she was fit as! Lovely 34E tits and an arse to die for. We use to flirt all the time together, she was married and i didnt think it would go further.

One staff night out we ended up at a house party, Becky disapeared off up stairs and text me asking to come up. I got up stairs and found a dark bedroom with her in bed, so I took my trousers off with a massive boner and climbed into bed too. At the time I thought I couldnt believe my luck, until I heard a blokes voice saying "err, fuckin hell!" It wasnt becky, it was the 14 year old son of the the bloke who's party it was! I'd gone into the wrong room! I jumped out of bed with my face as red as my boner, and left the room with my trousers in one hand and my pants in the other.

I found Becky in another room, she didnt want a shag she was pissed out of her face and needed a bucket to be sick in. I never did shag her...gutted!
(rambosilk Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 14:01, Reply)

pitching a tent
We were camping in Cornwall in the year of the solar eclipse, 1999 if memory serves me correctly. I awoke one morning in my dome tent with a MONUMENTAL hangover. My head was spinning, I felt sick, I was so dehydrated I thought I might just turn to dust and blow away in a light breeze, and the sun was beating down on the tent, super heating the air inside.

I desperately needed some fresh air, so I opened the zip of the tent door a little. This wasn’t enough, so I unzipped it a little more. Still not enough, so I ended up fully opening the door of the tent, and the inner mosquito netting too. Then I fell back to sleep.

I was awoken several hours later by the sound of my mates, pissing themselves laughing. In my slumber I had also managed to kick my duvet off. I was laying on my back, stark bollock naked, with the tent door completely open and I was, therefore, visible to anyone who happened to walk past.

And many people were walking past. As this was the eclipse year, the campsite was packed. We were pitched quite near the shower block, next to the main path. Everyone going to and from the showers walked straight past my tent, and were treated to the delightful view of my shriveled cock and hairy nut sack.

To all the nice families who had their holidays spoilt by the sight of my genitals that morning, I am truly, truly sorry.

At least I didn’t wake up with a stiffy.
(Lionel Tiger, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 20:15, Reply)

Yes Im A Big Rockstar
Yes im a big rockstar….

Well I was guitarist in a band in brighton who made music video’s and blah toured had a fucking great time.

NYE – Im offered the chance to play in a “supergroup” for New Years at the local club the Freebutt we decided to do a shit pub rock covers set ( I can only rember dance the night away by the mavericks and joleen being played though there must have been more)

Free booze makes fools of us all and I decided it would be a laff if I went in the nudie! How fun! Now let me point out at this juncture – the night before the night before I’d been hit around the face with a bottle of JD I have a cut lip eye a broken nose and some nice yellow and black bruising, im a pasty Mofo at the best of times and don’t have a Hot Bod! But it was friends going and it should have been alright if it wasn’t for ian.

F**KING IAN

He took a picture of me on stage next my friend rob.. rob has a giganta-cock and it makes my slightly frozen weiner look like a Chinese mouse in winter.

That was bad enough but Ian is a concert promoter.. so every gig for the next few months had this image of me.. the English GG allen
Peanut dick and all. This was about 2002 …. And he still uses it! It will NEVER go away.

I went on a date with a girl went back to her house and she had a FLYER – BLOWN UP to A4! I was looking at my penis on a girls wall.

I split up with my ex – moved in to a flat share and in the LIVING ROOM it was there HAUNTING ME

F**king IAN
(jordanchaos isn’t just any PeaRoast, this is a M&S PeaRoast, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 16:00, 7 replies)

More homoerotic capers
You know those kids toy water slide things? Basically a long, thin bit of shiny heavy duty plastic that you lay on a slope, turn a hose on and kids slide down?

Cover them with washing up liquid, get naked and slide away. Literally minutes of fun until you start to get angry because your friend has had more goes than you, so you give him a shove. And he shoves you back. So you leap on him.

Then see the look of horror on your friends Mum’s face when she looks out of the kitchen window and see’s two naked 10 year old boys covered in bubbles and wrestling on the grass.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 17:32, 1 reply)

My sodding neighbour Ty...
I shall call him Tyler for that is well and truly his name. Ty was a 20-something US Army wanker that lived 3 doors down from me. A reasonably attractive lad in a I've-had-a-few-pints-why-the-fuck-not sort of way, a knockout but jejune girlfriend, a very hairy body (this becomes important later on) and a world class "Betty Ford Center calling. The Chevy Chase Suite is ready for you dear" drinking problem. Up until that fateful day Ty's antics were, for the most part, harmless. Unfortunately this was to change...

On the day in question Chris (the current Mr. Cheese) and I had just finished a bit of count the legs and divide by two and as I lay there sucking on a fag* I heard a tremendous crash with an accompanying glass shatter chorus coming from the front room. At this point I should mention that we live in a rather posh neighbourhood and Godzilla eats Tokyo sound effects are not a common occurrence. It was Ty. Attacking his flatmates lorry with a large hunk of fallen tree branch. Stark, fucking naked. And drunk as a bishop. At 2 PM. In front of a park. With kids watching. And their horrified mothers.

After throwing on something suitable for the occasion (i.e. clothing) I went outside to convince the twat that being visibly drunk and most visibly starkers was not in his best interests. No matter, by this time Tyler had decided to have a bit of a liedown on the grass about 1 foot from the main road where he proceeded to immediately pass out. And piss on himself. I glanced across the street and saw about 20 people screaming into their cell phones, obviously alerting Norfolk's Finest to the pubic hair, penis and piss buffet spread out before them. As I headed back inside, convinced the situation was well and truly in hand, I heard a whimper not unlike that of a three year old who just sat on the Christmas kitten coming from Chris. Tyler had rolled over exposing his Robin Williams caliber hairy arse for the entire world to see.

"Cheese? Oh Christ on a bike, get a sheet. One you don't like..."

The dirty cunt had shat on himself in the recent past...

...and. let. it. dry.

Rivers of dried ass pudding had coated the back of his legs down to his knees, forming little modern art poo and pubes stalactites. This was too much, even for me. Norfolk PD showed up about 2 minutes later and they were most definitely not amused. Neither was the EMS team that by now were dressed in full bio-hazard kit and had to quite literally pour the drunken sod into the back of their vehicle.


Tyler no longer lives here.



Length? Not much from where I was standing. A bit lacking in the girth department as well.

*not Chris. A Kool menthol.


( venezuelan beaver cheese is mortally afraid of spoons, Sun 31 May 2009, 21:55, 2 replies)

Odd visitations
One night I pulled this Welsh bird called Judith. I'd recently started hanging out with a new bunch of people, and while one guy was always trying to act the alpha male, as soon as I got to know all of them, Judith and I totally had eyes for each other.

Problem was, I still lived at home with my mum, but we were quiet and fairly discreet after copping off for the first time. But when I pulled open my curtains the next morning, there was a massive crowd of people waiting for me outsides, gazing up at me standing there naked as the day as I was born, and cheering. Then they claimed I was the messiah! I don't think my cock was that impressive.
(McChinaman banned, Sat 30 May 2009, 11:17, 2 replies)

Short and to the point
One day while riding the tube, I got a rather unexpected and unwelcome chubby. I tried to make things more comfortable down their by rearranging everything and all was well. I went back to staring into space, slightly aware that the passenger opposite me was giving me a nasty look. I thought nothing of it, or maybe that he'd seen me rearrange. After about 15 minutes; my girlfriend let out a small scream and said 'What the Hell! You've got your cock out!!'. Unknown to me, in my rearranging I'd exposed myself almost entirely. I tried to hide it but the damage was done, I was half expecting to be on the evening news but no such luck
(SpookTheHamster, Sat 30 May 2009, 0:52, Reply)

Sleepwalking

I occasionaly suffer from sleepwalking but normally I just stumble around my own room or my own house. I rarely get into trouble. Note - I said "rarely" and not "never".

As a computer contractor, most of my work was away from home so, 4 nights a week I'd be living in some hotel somewhere. On my London jobs I normally styaed in a wee hotel in Finsbury Park.

It was a small hotel - about 20 rooms. And, rare in my experience, there was no staff on site after 9 pm. They all went home and came back in to open up about 7am.

So this one night I'd finished late at work and had a few beers and headed back to my hotel. I let myself in and crashed out in my room. Then I woke up. I woke up just in time to see my bedroom door swing shut and lock itslef with a *click*.

Fucksocks! I was stood in the corridor, bollock-naked, tackle out, looking like the last turkey in the shop. I had no idea what to do so I spent a few minutes quietly tring to push, force, my door open before giving it up as a bad job. I probably could have kicked the door down but I think the oweners would have taken exception to to that.

So for the next 30 minutes I nakedly stalked the corridors looking for either somewhere to crash or something to hide ny bits with. I eventually ended up in reception and discovered the Holy Grail. The linen cupboard! Breathing a sigh of relief I burrowed into the sheets and curled up for the night and went to sleep.

I woke to the sound of voices outside the door. The staff were back. So I wrapped a sheet around myself and stepped out inro the bright light.

They pissed themselves laughing and then let me into my room.

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Fri 29 May 2009, 11:21, 3 replies)

If this had happened recently I think would have been arrested
As I mentioned in an earlier post I have done accidental nudity a few times.
Back in the late 80s myself and a few male friends went wandering into a secluded Yorkshire Dale.
We were looking for mushrooms but found ourselves by a river with a small waterfall way off the beaten track.
It was a hot day so we decided to take a dip.
The water was very cold so the guys didnt stay in for very long.
Shrinkage seems to be an issue ;)
I love swimming naked in wild water so I was still submersed when they got out.
I wallowed for a while longer then got out.
Didnt want to put on my dry clothes over my wet self , so seeing as we were far away from any habitation I thought I would walk back to the car naked and drip dry.
On the last stretch we came face to face with 3 young teenage lads.
The guys smirked and I just held my head up and walked by with a cheery 'good afternoon'
I did look back before we rounded the corner to see the 3 boys still standing there with jaws dropped.
Once back at the car where I got dressed, the guys made funny comments about how those lads will not be believed if they tell the others at school what they saw.
Hey lads we saw a naked lady!
Is funny now, but back then OMFG I could have been done for being a perv
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 29 May 2009, 0:48, 1 reply)

Possible pearoast...
... but many years ago when I was scruffy recently-ex-student and on my way back from my then-girlfriend's halls of residence across a large park in Aberdeen, cheerfully striding through the warm, dark night my new tape of The Orb - Adventures Beyond The Ultraworld on my huge battery-hungry Walkman I found that the six pints of Alloa 80/- I'd drunk earlier were making a not-unexpected bid for freedom. So, off to a large rhodedendron bush, zzzzip aaaaah.... "Hmmm. Not heard this mix of the track, it's got what sounds like shouting voi... FUCK!"

A drunk Gordonjcp can out-accelerate an angry Aberdeen Uni student and his lady friend who are still trying to get their trousers on, by a pretty comfortable margin.

Distance? About 500m before I started to slow down...
(gordonjcp, Fri 29 May 2009, 0:01, Reply)

Care work numbs you to nudity...
I have worked with adults with learning disabilities for several years now, and have probably seen more tits, bums, willies and fannies than your average porn star, or indeed viewer.

There is, however, one incident that stands out. I was taking one of the residents on holiday with two other workers. We had hired a little cottage on the south coast of England and we were enjoying the freezing weather and lack of anything being open.
Now this particular gentleman spends a significant amount of time in the nude. He takes his clothes off at random and because he normally wears incontinence pads, once he has stripped everything off he just goes where he stands. He was also at the time suffering from a condition that caused swelling of the testicles. At this point he was on a waiting list for an operation and they were possibly at their biggest. I'm talking rugby ball sized.
Anyway, because we were in unfamiliar surroundings, in an unfamiliar place, this guy would just not settle. His clothes had come off and we were sitting round having a few beers, just like a normal evening, but with a naked man sitting in the corner. We decided we would sleep in shifs. I took the first shift awake. I sat up with him for a while, then he went to bed. I decided to take the bed next to him to relax, and I would read for a bit, before waking someone up to do the next shift.
I fell asleep.
Some kind of internal emergency alarm woke me a couple of hours later. I could hear giggling. I was disoriented as to where I was because I still had my clothes on, and I was not in my own bed. I turned my head, still lying down, just in time to see a cock and enormous balls, about 5cm from my face, with the man in question just getting ready to pee...

Luckily, I got away.

This really needs a length joke...Not as long as it would have been without the giant balls.
(allthatglittersisglitter, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:43, 1 reply)

The first time the ex ever saw a topless beach
was in Torquay, about 1989.

As we strolled along the promenade he collided with every bit of street furniture - lamp posts, signs, concrete bins - for about 100 yards without once taking his eyes off the titties.

All I could do was trail along behind him, pretending I was on my own...
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:03, Reply)

Brighton beach
has a nudist bit just next to the cinema. A while ago i was walking along the promenade and my mate said "holy shit! There's a bloke over there with three legs!"

It wasn't a leg, which was probably why I've never seen a happier looking person since.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 14:32, Reply)

Nudey grandma
My step-mother's best friend's mother sadly suffers from dementia and lives in a nice care home in Glasgow. My step-mother and friend were visiting one day, waiting for her to meet them in the lobby, when she ambled down the stairs completely naked. This image was quite a shock to most of those present, but not to the seasoned professionals of the home. One of the male nurses remarked quick-as-a-flash "Whoops! Someone needs ironing!"
( imbatman, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 13:33, Reply)

Not un-erotic at all...
The background: I'm good mates with a young lass who works in our office. We're both bored at work, so spend a fair bit of the day emailing each other about everything and nothing. Since she lives round the corner from my house, we go out for a few drinks every once in a while. There's a little light flirting, but that's it - I'm married and she lives with her fella. Plus there's a 10-year age gap, which makes me feel like a dirty old man when I think of her in "that way". She's lovely though, in every sense of the word - she has a great personality and is as fit as a butchers dog.

The unexpected nudity: a couple of months back, there's just the two of us in our office and she says "Scouse, I'm trying to save this file to my pen drive and it says there no room. What's wrong?"
I then go for the obvious "there's probably no room left on your pen drive" To which she does her crap girlie impression and goes "ScooOOOooooouse! Can you come help?"
So I wander over to her PC to help. I point and she clicks. We go through her pen drive, deleting all the crap she doesn't need. There'sa folder called "Wednesday", so I get her to right click - properties and discover it's about 300 meg. So I say "what's that?"
"no idea", she says and opens the folder. Turns out it's full of jpg's, all called stuff like DCN0001.jpg so she double clicks on the first one.

And reveals an image of herself, naked, lying on a bed. She screams "OhMyGodMeAndMarkWereDrunkAndHeTookSomePicturesAndIPutThemOnHereToKeepThemSafe!" and slams her hands onto the screen, covering her ladygarden and 32E boobs (I asked). At which point, I say "you do know you're gonna have to move a hand away to close that picture, don't you?"

Yay. 21-year-old boobs!

I keep asking her for copies, but she's having none of it.

Length? Considerably longer after that...
(ScousersPet, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 12:56, 3 replies)

...And then all my clothes fell off.
But it was all done in the best possible taste.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:29, 1 reply)

Back when I was married I went to the pub with my wife, her friend (who I quite fancied) and her husband.
My wife and her friend's hubby went off to the bar to order some food and I and the friend were left making small talk.

She'd recently been on holiday so I asked her if she'd enjoyed it, and commented on the fact that she had a nice tan - to which she replied something about white bits and pulled down her top slightly to show me...

...except she didn't, she actually got one of her norks completely out.

I was absolutely gobsmacked, but nowhere near as much as she was - she totally didn't mean to do it and was mortified; she's about as far removed from a "Look at my tits!" ladette-type as you can imagine.

Later on when she was drunk though she thought it was hilarious :)
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 1:07, Reply)

Hey Mickey
Just remembered another one. I spent my underage drinking years in a pub full of Australians. This taught me a number of racist jokes, some creative swearing and how to hold my alcohol in the way only Australians can.

The pub was in Twickenham, so on any day rugby had ensued, it would be full of pissed-up Australians with a penchant for public nudity.

I was a "slow developer" and at the age of sixteen had never seen a naked man, until that fateful day. The stereo struck up the pop classic "Hey Mickey", and from around the corner burst a naked man, cock flapping in time to the song.

To this day I cannot hear this song without the image of bouncing, pale, hairy bollocks burned in front of my eyes.
( Queen of Cheesecake, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 17:48, 2 replies)

It was down in Dorset...
~~~~~For Scarpe~~~~~
_{i.e., certain parts of this story are NOT TRUE}

Sherborne, to be precise. We'd arrived there late in the afternoon and my friend had insisted that we had to stop for a cream tea, which wittled away another couple of hours as we gorged ourselves on tea, cream cakes, scones and various other delightful items just perfect for clogging the arteries.

Bloated from this extended tea, we picked up a small map from the tourist office which depicted a nice walk through the fields outside the town, along various footpaths.

We set out upon this walk - about five or six miles in total - hoping we could be back in a couple of hours, assuming we navigated correctly.

Unfortunately this was the depths of winter, and the ground was not in perfect condition. Many of the footpaths had been waterlogged bog, and trying to traverse those was almost as tiring as trudging through the strips of land into which large, muddy furrows had been cut by the monstrous wheels of tractors.

Slowed by a combination of this and the vast amount of cream we had consumed, it became apparent that the daylight was quickly fading, and we had no torch.

Thinking we were on the right path, we came back to the B-road, as thr map said we would. Alas, there were now two ways we could go. With no torch by which to read the map, we had to make the best we could from the glimpses afforded by the headlights of passing cars.

In the end, we decided to try the gates to both paths, and take whichever opened most easily.

How I wish I had pushed the first gate a bit harder.

The second gate led into another field, this one relatively undisturbed compared to some of those across which we had struggled. There was a shed in the far corner, its door occasionally swinging in the dusk breeze. As we approached, we were sure we could hear noises.

Yes, there was definitely a noise coming from inside. Was somebody in there? Increasingly, these sounded like sounds of some sort of distress...pleading, almost.

No...what the hell? At this point, I was convinced I'd heard a mournful lowing. My friend and I looked at one another in the darkness and decided that whatever was going on, it was probably not good. If somebody was in trouble, we should probably investigate.

Oh, how I wish I had pushed the first gate a bit harder.

We crept over to the shed - unsure of what we might find, we felt it better not to disturb what might be going on, lest we do more harm than good.

I reached gingerly for the door of the shed. Both of us had our breath held in mute anticipation, when the breeze took the door and blew it wide open.

As our eyes struggled with the darkness, we made out the form of the Dorset farmer, sprawled face down on the floor, with nothing but his wellington boots to clothe his person, arse aloft and pointing it at a cow. The cow seemed uninterested, and probably would have wondered away, were it not for the fact the farmer had a rope around her neck, which he pulled on with his left hand to draw her closer to him.

In his other hand, his wrinkled, leathery garden hose stood to attention as it was massaged and caressed roughly in his callused, weather-beaten palm.

In his rectum, a strawberry. Clearly the farmer and the cow had differing ideas of how much fun it would be if the cow were to eat said strawberry from his tense, expectant ringpiece.

I was in the process of turning to my friend in sheer disbelief when he disappeared from my peripheral vision. As the shadows stopped shifting around, it became apparent that he was quite happy to take the place of the cow.

I couldn't look. It was too bad my eyes had adjusted to the light. I tried to ignore the surprised and very West-Country "Oo, 'ello there" from the farmer as my friend sank down between his hairy yokel legs.

I took the cow and led her back across the field. We went back to the fork in the path, and let me tell you I have never been quite so relieved as I was when that first gate opened after a little additional persuasion. The cow and I followed the path, lit only by what little of the stars and the waning crescent moon could shine through the clouds, back into the town. Both of us needed a stiff drink before I regurgitated my cream tea. I've never looked at strawberries, Dorset farmers, or indeed my friend in quite the same way since.
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 17:39, 2 replies)

I have an up skirt fetish’s dream job
I personally believe that people should dress appropriately for what they are doing that day. If you are going to an amusement park it might be a good idea to wear walking shoes. If you are going boating a pair of sunglasses is probably a good idea. If you are a woman, wearing a sundress while trying out mattresses is not a good idea.

Now for the most part I try to be professional. I walk behind the headboard, I avert my gaze when they are getting on and off of beds, and in case of mini skirts I offer a bed sheet, “for modesty purposes.”

The worst instance of this happened late on a Sunday. I was one bed away from hitting my sales goal and in walked what would probably be my last opportunity of the day. It was a family and they were looking for a full size mattress for their overgrown early developing 14 year old daughter, make up caked on with bright red lipstick, wearing a tube top with a bare midriff, and a criminally short denim mini skirt. As I looked at her I could feel her father glaring at me. She probably attracted a great deal of male attention much to his chagrin, but he’s the one who let her out of the house dressed like a mid priced hooker. I greet them and jump into my schtick. I ask the girl how she sleeps. The father snorts, “What’s it matter to you how she sleeps?” I explained that I was merely asking to help guide them to the mattress that would decide the best support to her. I invited her to lie down on one of our more economical pillow tops.

Due to her attire and the fact that she dragged her feet when she walked, I knew an up skirt shot was inevitable. As she lied down I walked to the head of the bed, counted 10 Mississippi, then sloooowly turned my head back around. I didn’t mean to but the first thing I saw when I turned around was her cheetah print panties, with her hairy left beef curtain hanging out. I immediately diverted my gaze and found my self looking at her furious father. They were out the door less than 30 seconds after that.
(anotherlogan and the whit he shites, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 3:38, 3 replies)

Tenuous story from my schooldays
Back when I was a yungun my formative years were spent being educated in a small comprehensive school in the deepest darkest valleys of south Wales (I'll call it Unpronounceable School for both the sake of anonymity and the fact it will be unpronounceable for most of you)

What started as quite a well respected school when I was in form one had descended to an underachieving cesspit of proto-chavs and thugs by the time sixth form was reached, due mainly to the school taking on all the rejects that the other schools in the area had expelled in a desperate attempt to keep numbers up.

This attempt to keep numbers up meant that the school open day was treated rather seriously by the staff, so in the days running up, many a teacher could be found running round like mongs on speed trying to make things at least look respectable.

This of course went completely over the heads of us senior pupils who spent all our time studying for our impending A levels. Otherwise known as pissing about in the common room, smoking special cigarettes on the playing fields and drawing crude pictures in MS Paint on the 6th form computer.



Apparently Head of Sixth Form, while showing a group of prospective parents and their loinfruit around the school was quite surprised to find that the desktop of the 6th form computer was no longer a crudely rendered version of the school crest.

Instead was a crudely rendered MS Paint image of a female student being made vigorously airtight by a group male students.

Any doubt as to what this was an artistic impression of were put to rest by the legend at the top of the screen...

"UNPRONOUNCEABLE SCHOOL SCRUBBERS FUCK TIL THEY BLEED!"
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 20:56, 2 replies)

Glastonbury
We decided to sell fags backy & rolling papers at Glasto one year. We bought a shed load from France and sold them cheaper than the festival stalls (ie Expensive not fucking expensive) we only did it in the mornings took all the stock back to the car so we didn't get robbed.

We just put a blanket down by our little camp and sold in the mornings befoe we all got to twisted to think ;) It was my turn to sell. I was sat down in the sunshine, I'd just sold some and was putting the money in the bumbag looking down to make sure it was all stowed away properly, then i looked up

There at face level were a surprisinly tanned, grey pubed, meat and two veg belonging to a 50 something naked hippy. For a second I was so shocked I just sat there looking at his tackle before I looked up.

He sort of chuckled at me sat down and he bought some backy and skins. I asked him where the money came from and the change went he told me he had an accomidating forskin. We ended up having quite a long chat and a doob (once again I think the forskin provided, this time a bud).

Nice bloke he got his backy @ cost
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:59, 2 replies)

Rude awakening...
When I was in high school back in 1996 there was this guy who everyone hated for some reason that I ignored. He wasn't a bully or anything, he was just disliked for being himself I guess. He was a skinny, pimply looking guy who pretty much just annoyed the hell out of a lot of people for making stupid comments and his insanely disturbing laugh. I will call him Mr. Pimple just for the sake of literary license.
Our school had recently opened a computer lab and pretty much everyone was hanging around that place to use this "incredible invention" called the internet.
Turns out that during finals my printer ran out of ink and the only solution to my problem was to wake up really early in the morning and get to the computer lab around 7 am to get it printed so I could turn it in by 8.
As I'm waiting for the guys form the lab to open, I saw that there were two people also waiting to get into the lab. One of them was this girl form my class, whom I barely spoke to who also happened to be the hottest girl from my school. Se had this beautiful round, perky pair of tits...Damn...those were the days. And also Mr. Pimple was there.
Finally the allowed us to get in and I quickly managed to secure a computer and started reading and editing stuff last minute. I didn't notice that to my right was Ms. Perfect Tits and to my left was Mr. Pimple. As I leaned to my left to try to reach under the desk for my prints I realize that the printer was a little off my reach so I decided to go all the way under the desk to get the damn print. Next thing I notice is Mr. Pimple fully erect cock. The guy was furiously jaking off.

Now, before i continue let me explain one thing. I've been kind of a sporty guy for most of my life, so I've spent my fair share of time in a locker room with cocks around me, so I really don't get shocked that easily.

But this really made me jump and I banged my head with the desk, causing Ms. Perfect Tits to peep under the desk to check if I was alright.

The shriek that came from her...it was so horrible that it could cause diarrhea to a priest.

Nevertheless, Mr. Pimple kept going at it and finished...right on my term paper...
(ajax1180, Sat 30 May 2009, 0:52, Reply)

The Empress
Driving to work one morning I passed a small shop. Two police cars were there and the cops had handcuffed a very tall black woman with a noble bearing and detatched demeanor. She looked to me like an African queen (not the movie boat.) I sat in traffic wondering what she might have done to deserve arrest. She appeared too regal to be a mere pilferer. It was only after about half a minute of staring that it finally dawned on me that she was stark nekkid. The Empress had no clothes. Still, she conducted herself with such dignity that it was ignoble and churlish of the police to take notice.
(thatguyjoe, Fri 29 May 2009, 22:51, Reply)

I am incredibly short-sighted. And female.
Anyway. One night I had my mate over to stay. He was crashing in my lounge (the door to which was faulty and couldn't be closed).

Bed-time comes, so I say goodnight to my mate, waltz off to the bathroom and take out my contact lenses. Then I remembered to tell my mate something, so wandered back into the lounge without bothering to put my glasses on. I really am short-sighted, so my mate is just a fuzzy blob.

I'm nattering away to my mate, but he's acting funny with me, not really replying, just acting strange. After a few minutes, I squinted a bit at my mate and realised that he wasn't just a fuzzy blob, he was an entirely pink fuzzy blob. Why would he be pink? Because he's not wearing any... ohhhhh....

So, as my mate sees it, he's getting changed for bed, completely starkers, and in I wander and strike up a conversation with him like nothing unusual's going on.

He never stayed again.
( biscuitbiscuit is in ur garden, watering ur plantz, Fri 29 May 2009, 21:41, Reply)

Man Balls
I work in a factory in the depths of essex. I dont live in essex i should point out, Im a northerner who moved south for the job. Essex really is a world all of its own. There are numerous pranks the factory boys play on each other, however, the most recent works thus-

Man A wants to slowly destroy Man B's self confidence and reputation.

When Man A and Man B are alone in a stock room etc Man A quietly releases his balls from his flies, leaving his cock tucked in his pants, and continues to work. When Man B notices Man A's balls, Man A tells Man B that he doesnt have his balls out and that Man B is gay pervert for thinking such things and shouldnt be imagining he can see Man A's balls.
This continues for a week or so untill Man B starts telling other people that Man A keeps showing him his balls. Man A, a far more trusted and liked individual, insists that man B is a bit weird and that he must want people to show him their balls and that he never got his balls out.
This prompts the more roudy factory workers to get their balls out when ever Man B enters the room to the point that now Man B cant go more than an hour with out being presented with balls.

-fail:safe-
(urso beard of destiny, Fri 29 May 2009, 20:37, 3 replies)

Jean
Was a 65 year old woman I met while on holiday in Malaga, Spain.

Her raspy laugh and smokers cough could be heard for miles around, rarely seen without a large vodka in one hand she spent all day, every day in the sun. I'm certain she'd actually spent all day every day in the sun for the last 20 years.

Her skin was wrinkled and sagging off her bones like tanned, beaten leather.

Hungover and sitting by the pool one afternoon I just wanted to read my book and die quietly.
"Oi girls." She yelled as she shuffled over, her drooping thighs flapping in an almost hypnotic way. "Take a look at how brown my tits are getting!"
And with that, she pulled down her bikini top to expose her limp, swarthy breasts.

I sicked in my mouth a little bit :(
( wanderlust, Fri 29 May 2009, 18:23, Reply)

Bad Doog's story
reminds me of one - I was living in a flat share, opposite another block of flats. The woman opposite used to get changed all the time with the curtains open, but my flatmate Josh always missed it.

The one time he was in and she was there I shouted "Josh! Quick! She's changing now!"

I heard this pattering of feet and "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH" as Josh came sprinting round the corner, and he knocked himself out cold on an open kitchen cupboard door.

The woman moved out a couple of days later.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:22, Reply)

I always expect nudity...
...however I'm frequently disappointed.
(Rotimer was micturating windward at, Fri 29 May 2009, 14:54, Reply)

The wittiest response
Unlike my previous post, I think this one is on-topic due to presence of unexpected todger.

There are times when one comes away from an awkward situation or an altercation and thinks, half an hour after the event, "Damn, I should have said that," where "that" is the supremely witty retort that would stop the other person in their tracks and allow you to turn coolly on your heel and walk away with all the dignity. (In my case, "that" usually amounts to "you...horse's arse!")

Years ago, I was told this story by a teacher who thought that, in this situation, he had managed to say "that" and walk off with his dignity intact.

He was in Germany, and in some place - a bar, I presume - using the toilets. It was one of those long trough urinals, where everyone pisses into the same pot, eyes focussed with a death grip on the wall in front, lest anyone else's manhandle should stray into one's peripheral vision.

He had the trough to himself, until this large German chap came in, stood quite close to him, and took a whizz. This German then cupped his knobbly nunchuk and dangly meat-beads and turned to face said teacher.

Confused - briefly stumped - said teacher looked down at the surprise package pointing at him. He put his own away, and in the calmest possible manner, said,

"Yes, and...?"

Then walked away, leaving the German with nothing but his crankshaft in his hands, and eternally grateful that the German hadn't immediately replied with, "Vell, look vat is in mine hands."
(LongJohnBaldry, Fri 29 May 2009, 14:17, Reply)

Not unintentional for me, but…
I used to have a bit of a health problem, namely that I suffered from Bradycardia – for the non-doctors, a slowed heartbeat. Now this isn’t a particularly pleasant condition and the basic treatment is to make your heart beat faster by giving you adrenalin. This comes in the form of an epi-pen.

My doctor was still trying to figure out what was wrong with me, but I wasn’t about to be confined to a hospital for a pretty minor problem – I wasn’t about to die from it! But my biggest problem with regards to this was having to go to the pharmacy all the time to stock up on medicine, I couldn’t be doing that all the time, and there’s only so much they’ll give you to stop junkies abusing the stuff.

So anyway, my (slightly non-PC) doctor gave me a list of things I could do to help instead. I took cocaine, drank Red Bull and ate energy pills like they were going out of fashion. I also robbed stores, held people up at gunpoint, and (making my way back to the topic) ended up shagging my girlfriend on a newspaper box right in the middle of a crowd of Asians. She wasn't having any of it to start with, but once we got into it she was just loving it. Did the trick for the old ticker too, I’ll tell you now. She wasn't best pleased when I answered my phone halfway through though!

There was the other time we did it in the middle of a racetrack, but that’s for another day…
( Rookie You'll have to speak up, I'm wearing a towel, Fri 29 May 2009, 12:34, 6 replies)

And suddenly there was an arse!
It was a Friday night and a group of us had gone out to our local pub, with nearly all of us being gay, our pub of choice was the gay pub in town. The biggest difference between gay pubs and straight pubs is that straight pubs don't have rather graphic posters everywhere telling guys to rubber up before a shag! It really can be quite revolting.

So we were sat at a table when John the Landlord came into the bar with his Boyfriend and both of them were dressed in leather shorts, a black mesh vest and black Dr Martens. They were off to a Bondage party in town and were suitably dressed. My friend Paul commented that John had a loose boot lace, so John bent over to tie the said lace.

The leather shorts were backless and as I turned to talk to another friend, I was faced by John's puckered arse! The bastard had done it deliberately and Paul was in fits.

Cheers John where ever you are, you were one on a million.
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Fri 29 May 2009, 11:50, Reply)

Willy Dance
I had successfully repressed this memory until reading some of these answers. Cheers b3ta.

During Year 6 the whole year was treated, and I use that term loosely, to a week-long trip to the Isle of Wight. “A whole week with my mates and no parents. This will be brilliant” thought a small 9-year old Martin. If only I’d known the horrors I’d be subject to on that small island.

The place we went to was an adventure holiday kind of place. Everyone stayed in log cabins and it was very cool to a bunch of young kids. I was rooming with 2 of my best mates, Tom and Jonathon, and 3 other kids we were stuck with, Jon, Daniel and Mark. Jon and Daniel were the “naughty kids” and I was a bit gutted but trying to make the most of it, we had tried to befriend them before the trip. As for Mark, no-one really liked him. He was a bit weird and always seemed to picking either his nose or his bum.

Kids being kids, we had all packed a ton of sweets for some epic midnight feasts. We’d even developed a code to be quiet when a teacher was coming. “Lie low!” I’d shout when I saw someone. No it wasn’t hard to understand what we were saying, but it could have also sounded like we were playing aquatic transport charades.

It was the first night and we began our feast. Smarties, Skittles, Chocolate, anything. If it had sugar in, we were eating it. It was late, but due to the fact we were all around 8 or 9, it was probably only about 10pm. We were all on a sugar high and running round the rooms and screaming our pre-pubescent heads off. This was fun. This was what I’d hoped it would be; a bunch of guys being awesome.

The night took a turn for the worse when Mark started having ideas with what to do with the night. We all ignored him and he retreated to his room. Minutes later, the door burst open, and he was standing there, fully naked, as God had intended. It was at this point, God realised he had made a huge fucking mistake. The rest of us were aghast, trying not to make eye contact with eachother, him or ‘Little Mark’. This effectively became impossible when he walked to mere feet in front of us, started bouncing around, and began singing. To give credit to Mark, his choice of song could not have been more apt. As I recall, the lyrics were something like, “Willy dance! Willy dance! I’m doing the willy dance!” Fuck me if I’ve never been so frightened in my life. We all scrambled as far back as we could, but even the wall still left us within what seemed range of a cock slap.

Eventually we managed to shout at him loud enough and long enough for him to stop. We sent him back to his room and made for God damn sure he didn’t come out for the rest of the night. This fun cabaret was then followed by me being sick. Whether it was through me being homesick, eating too much sugar, or physically trying to remove the memories of what I’d just witnessed I don’t know. What I do know is that this was never talked about afterwards by any of the parties involved. I’m not sure if it was an unsaid pact of silence, or us all just trying to convince ourselves that this horrific act had never happened.

Length? He was 8. It was small.
(Martin1337 was trying and failing to be funny at, Fri 29 May 2009, 0:06, Reply)

Holiday preparations
It all started out so innocuously, too.

A good few years back, myself and chap-at-the-time were one of the few people in our social group who had a place of their own, instead of living with the parents still. As a result, our house used to be the place to go to play games, watch footy or just hang out in general.

It was summer, and about five or so of the lads were off on a trip to the partyland of Ibiza. And very excited about it they were too. A few of them had popped over the day or so before they were due to leave, in order to catch up on what they planned to do (this included a list of chatup lines, with points awarded for the success of each, but that's another story).

Drinks are being drunk, bollocks is being talked... The usual. After a while, one of the fellas, let's call him John for the sake of argument, asks if he can use the bathroom. Not an unreasonable request, so we agree and off he goes.

After a good 15 minutes, it occurs to us that he must be having the mother of all pees, since he hasn't come down yet. Hmm, strange. After another 5, we're about to go launch a search party, when we hear footsteps coming down the stairs. About bloody time, I think, and turn round as he walks through the lounge door to berate him for his tardiness.

How I wish I hadn't done that.

He's standing there, stark bollock naked. And shaven. completely so, from head to toe, aside from that on his head. I have never seen a group of people shocked into silence quite like that before. Unperturbed he grins and says "What do you think then? Birds love a shaved man, seriously fucking LOVE it." And proceeds to give us a twirl. "Be great for pulling in Ibiza, won't it?"

It wouldn't have been quite so bad, if I hadn't gone up there myself at the end of the night to discover the bastard had used my LadyShave.
(Kitimariana, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:31, Reply)

'urrah pour les boobies!
In a French apartment complex in Paris where the rear balcony looks out on to a square surrounded by identical rear balconies...

Each apartment was tiny - maybe 30m2 and with the kitchen/dining space at the other end of the apartment, the bedroom area generally lay just before the rear balcony - most people had one of those bed up/couch down all-in-one set-ups or a fold away futon.

Whilst sipping red wine on the balcony, directly ahead of me, a delightful Gallic coquette is deciding which bra suits her outfit best.

Three bras she got through before registering my pleasure and her indignation.

rafter
baz
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:47, Reply)

Lightning flash
Not too long ago – oh, perhaps just two years I think – I was waiting for a taxi with a ladyfriend. We’d been out, had many a drink and were now waiting in the 50-50-50 office on George Street in Hull. In the queue ahead of us are the archetypal chavs, all trussed up in their small-checked shirts, roundneck Rockport sweaters, jeans and clumpy trainers/kickers, being all sweary and having a fun time – damn them.

A passer-by, clearly just an innocent chap who’d had a few himself, sees the chavs a-smoking.

“Scuse me,” says he, “can I borrow a ciggie?”

The lead chav seizes his opportunity. “If you wanna smoke something, smoke this!” and the speed with which he wapped his cock out was amazing. An exciting sight – not the pork sword, but the grace and fluidity of his movements. (That’s one of those sentences that you can’t predict, but are all the happier for hearing I think.) One swift action, and there it is dangling away. To his credit, it’s a cold night but that doesn’t seem to be affecting him. I stare at the ladyfriend awkwardly. The chav is still there, not five feet away, with his cock hanging out of his jeans and his fingers keeping the lob in tight control.

He was eating a burger while doing it to boot. True dexterity, élan and speed of thought – enough to make this correspondent jealous.

Obligatory length joke.
(Land of Green Ginger It's dreamy weather, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:39, Reply)

Working from home
Has benefits.

I just pasted this week's question to the other half, who subsequently walked in here naked, shook a bit to jiggle the manbits, then walked back out without comment.

I really should have chased after him with something cold...
(mmmm curry doesn't really understand this sig lark, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:24, Reply)

Repost
It was the first night of a trip to Germany and I arrive back at the hotel after downing a shed load of beers. I managed to get all my clothes off and climb into bed.

All was fine until a few hours later when I needed a piss, annoyed I stumble bleary eyed to the bathroom taking my normal at home route of out of the bed and take a right.

The only problem was that I wasn't at home.

I am in fact now standing in the corridor of a German hotel, naked with the door to my room locked behind me.

Bollocks, I thought two doors in my room and I pick the wrong one, and I still need to piss.

The only thing to do was to boldly walk down to reception and get them to let me back into my room.

I spent the rest of the weekend trying to avoid the girl on the front desk who had to deal with the pissed up naked Englishman.
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:45, 6 replies)

Here goes...
Did you hear that there's to be a remake of that comedy about priests on Craggy Island?
Apparently, the theme tune will be some "world music" crap played on sheep bones with Egyptian Ibis beaks!


Yep It'll be "ewe-necks peck ted new ditty"

Aithangew!
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:55, 8 replies)

In a restaurent
with some friends when they all (being local people) and after having a bottle or two too many of wine started belting out local folk songs, now i'd heard one or two of them but seeing me sit there silently they took it upon themselves to teach me one i'd never heard before.

That was my brief encounter with an unexpected new ditty
(Banjax, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:54, 1 reply)

Bike
Mrs Tupper and I were out cycling off road in a particularly remote part of the local hills. She was out in front on a winding bit of single track. When she came to an abrupt halt I assumed it was because she'd come to a technical section that she didn't have the confidence to attempt. Imagine my surprise when I caught up with her and found a naked couple in flagrante delicto in the middle of the path. What do you do in these circumstances ? Had to just apologise, avert our gaze and circumvent the suitably embarrassed protagonists.

If I'd have been alone though I'd have been going a lot faster and probably would have had to bunny hop them. That'd have been good.
( Ramsay Tupper, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:53, Reply)

Work Nudity..
Now,

There are a few people on here who know me, and know what I do for a living, so for them, this story may not be that bad...

I work for the government, in one of their highly furbished custodial centres.

On the day in question, I was working in the Education department, where the residents came to get their qualifications.

Sitting in the office, reading my book, I heard some commotion out in the corridor, but thought nothing of it, as it was smoke break time, and there would be people milling about as they went outside for a fag.

Shortly afterwards, I heard a tap on the office window (a full width window, that came down to about 3 foot off the floor), and a shout of "Oi, IPTCIS, look at this". Upon looking up, I was greeted with what could only be described as the most shocking thing I've seen since Goatse.

Two of the residents, successfully recreating the Arabian Goggles, both, stark bollock naked, but instead of lying down, one was sat on the other ones shoulders and had his bollocks pressed against the window.

I couldn't do anything except for laugh, and I couldn't even bring myself to tell them off, as I was laughing too hard at it.

Length? It must have been 5 inches long, bent to the right and slightly withered at the end.
(Code of Post lives at the moment in time that is..., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 19:14, 1 reply)

A good few years back, on holiday with my family
we were sat by the pool enjoying a bit of sun. The area was partially enclosed, and so overlooked by the villas, and whilst gazing around at one point I noticed a family sat out on their balcony, naked.

Now, age and experience has matured (pfft) me into an open-minded* individual who is firmly in favour of naturism; nudity rarely makes me uncomfortable (pretty much my own, and that's down to not being comfortable with my current appearance, not the nudity itself), plus I'm a care worker so it's not a big leap for me to seperate it from a sexual context.
However, back then I was a much younger Jess with little actual experience of actual people being actually naked and, curious creature that I am, I had the odd glance over after that just to catch up with whether nudists really were just normal people (and almost certainly to see a bit more nekkid). There was a woman, a man and a girl who didn't look that much younger than me, she seemed to be about 13/14, I assumed it was parents and their daughter.

Sure enough, normal people, getting on with enjoying their holiday, just with ever so slightly less covering than most people present so no tan lines while the majority happily got on with considering themselves 'decent' because they had their groin and nipples just about hidden.
But then one of the times I happened to look over I saw something that still puzzles me to this day- the 'father' putting suntan cream on the 'daughter', happily slathering it all over her developed but still barely pubescent breasts while she gazed bored out over the pool.

Here's a good reason for the '*', I like to consider myself open-minded (don't we all) but that I simply can't make fit in my head, no way I turn the facts makes it come out any less creepier to me. I simply could not imagine a man, even my dad, massaging my norks at that age and it not feel sexual/awkward but also

...she could reach perfectly well herself so it wasn't even necessary!!!
( Jessie © needs pirate name suggestions, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 16:25, 6 replies)

One over the Door-man
A few years ago whilst I was in the Police, my beat area was a well known hot spot for ladies of the night, whores basically. One evening whilst on patrol I came accross a blue MG sport, the poor mans Impreza with the windows slightly steaming up.

In the passenger seat was a well known hooker, in her late 40's with a bloke no older than 25 getting sucked off, who looked strangley familiar. The usual bullshit was conversed, "i didnt know she was a whore, I was just giving her a lift!". I never arrested the punters, the fear that the wife/girlfriend may find out was always enough. I never saw the same one twice.

About a month or two later I went out with the lads and we were turned away from a night club, there were 30 of us. Just as we were about to leave I saw the same bloke getting his dick sucked by the Granny crack head on the doors. I walked over to him and said "you drive a blue MG, dont you?" He didnt recognise me for a split second, but then it hit. Two mins later we were all in the VIP bar!

Even funnier about 4 months later, he moved in accross the road from me! Sad though because he was married with two kids. Still it was a cracking night
(rambosilk Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs., Wed 3 Jun 2009, 14:13, Reply)

That's not just an arse crack, that's an M&S arse crack
I was dragged shopping this morning by a bloke friend of mine who for some reason - perhaps impaired vision - decided I could be of assistance as some kind of personal stylist who could help him replenish his ailing wardrobe. Second port of call (having stared incredulously at the price tags on faux-distressed t-shirts in Topman) was Marks and Spencers where he was keen to purchase identical but much newer underwear to the stuff he already has. We located this and the frowning began. He couldn't remember what size to get.

"Check your label," sez I, thinking practically.
"If you could just read it for me..." sez he, fumbling round the back of his pants and lowering them enough to whip out the required label...

...at which point two auld birds - who precisely fitted the M&S elderly shopper demographic as evidenced by the blue rinse and the comfort-fit elastic waistband trousers - shuffled past arthritically enough to get a good long look at my mate exposing most of his arse to them.

Medium, as it happens.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 14:01, 3 replies)

One Todger, Two broken ankles
Had got back to my one bedroom ground floor flat late one night, we had been clubbing but I was the designated driver so hadnt been drinking. Was just drifting off about 2 am when I heard a knock. Semi-asleep went to the front door and there was no one there. I thought "bloody kids" and went back to bed but heard the knocking again. This time more awake I could tell it was coming from my kitchen. I turned on the light to see a hand on my window, which I opened, to find my upstairs neighbour sitting outside stark b*ll*cked naked.
He asked me to help as he thought he had broken his ankles and was cold. once I realised I wasnt dreaming I gave him an old dressing gown and a drink and awaited for the ambulance to arrive. Kept him talking and warm for about 10 minutes before he was taken off to hospital.
The bloke made a full recovery but what amazes everyone is how he had broken his ankles.

The chap lived above me in a two storey flat scheme. Apparently he had been a sleep in the buff but for some reason had been sleepwalking, out of his flat and woke up when the flat door had closed behind him leaving him with no protection and no money.

I am sure we can all think of what we might do in this situation but he had an ingenious idea. The block of flats was next door to a local convenience store, and one of his flat windows was slightly open. So he climbed on the roof of the shop and took a running jump across the alleyway and at his window. Which lead to him just about grabbing the windowsill for a couple of seconds before falling down like a shaved Wile E Coyote towards his doom. I am not sure what will have hurt more the fall or scrapping your testicles down a rough brick wall.

He moved out as soon as his lease expired.
(lordofallhesurveys How appropriate you fight like a cow, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 12:47, 2 replies)

Lefty
The title should tell all really. I was at the beach with my dear, sweet, ever ready for a laugh, friends. We were all 14. It was the 80s. My cozzie was cut up to here on the legs and down to there in the boob department. No, I didn't have cleavage - I never grew the boobs Barbie promised me with her plastic perfection. Bitch. But anyway. We're in the surf at Warriewood, the weather is perfect, the beach for once isn't crowded and all is right with the world. Until I noticed my friends have been laughing for too long since the last wave hit us. And I don't know why. And I've been standing up in knee-deep water thinking I look damn fine. Turns out more of me was out for admiration than expected. My cozzie had slipped over and my left boob was standing out for all to see. I nearly died, dropped under the water and fixed things up.

Tried to find dignity under there too, sadly, gone.

I still sometimes get called Lefty. We're all now 40. Fuckers.
(Dog Bum Cute, wiggly, has scary anal glands, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 6:47, 1 reply)

In the days when the Chav Chariot of Choice was a 2.0 DOHC Ford Sierra
a pint of Fosters was 1.50, and everyone smoked Rothmans, I turned 17.

At this time, my brother was 28, and being the mature older sibling, took me down the local with some of his mechanic mates for a proper lashing.

And lashing is what happened. I don't know at what point I'd passed out, or whether he'd slipped something in my pint or whether three Fosters really was enough to get me blotto back then, but having a throbbing 2.0 DOHC Ford Sierra underneath your buttocks as it hoons its way in the dark down country lanes is not a nice way to wake up. Especially when you've been gaffer-taped and ratchet-strapped in place, stark bollock naked, and you're at the mercy of a bunch of banger racers who also treat you to a slow victory cruise along Margate Seafront.
( Grrrmachine the indifference engine, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 22:28, 2 replies)

Doing a little computer work...


Migrating a kindly old gentleman's files from one computer to another... We'd got through his documents, his architectural drawings, his collection of writings of the Dalai Lama, a little music. Then we get to photos:

"Do you wish to import 5600 photos?"
I look up and he nods.
I click "yes"
"Do you wish to import the following duplicate?"

I am now presented with not one, but two stereo images of a young man with a cock that was longer and thicker than his forearm.

"Oh... you've found my porn collection"

was the quiet murmur from over my shoulder.
( gp_guineapig, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 21:56, 2 replies)

Did anybody expect this?

( GarbageFan didn't know what to have as a board sig on, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 20:58, 3 replies)

Caught on the throne
I wasn't there for this one, so please excuse the secondary source. Nevertheless, a group of my friends (not the imaginary ones this time...) had boarded a train to go somewhere than was not where they were originally.

In typical British public transport style, there were not many seats available in standard class, despite all the cunts in first-class each having space for a pair of seats to themselves, possibly with a table as well, and/or a complementary cup of tea and a blowjob from the woman with the buffet trolley. My friends were forced to sit, stand or lean in the end of one of the carriages with a toilet in it.

This was one of those cars where they'd attempted to make the whole experience a bit futuristic. You know, rather than just locking yourself into a small, square cubicle and trying to ignore the horror of unclenching your bowels in a dirty, wobbling train carriage, they'd provided one of those large, rounded spaces. The ones with the sliding door and electronic locking system. Why not be distracted from the foul and putrid state of this toilet by pretending you're taking a crap in the fucking Starship Enterprise?

So, after a little while, one of these gentlemen decided that he can definitely hear nature calling unto him, and, seeing as he'll be on this train for another hour or so, he may as well relieve himself in this conveniently placed SciFiCrapper^TM.

He entered the portal.

He pressed the button to close the door, and the door slid shut with a hissing noise akin to that of a Starfleet Turbolift.

He either failed to push the "lock" button, or the lock wasn't working, for no sooner had he lowered his trousers and sat gingerly upon this foul throne, than a passing Scotsman wandered past, jabbed the "Door Open" button and laughed.

And there he sat, as the door slid open to reveal him, sat upon the crapper, to all his friends.

All he could muster was an embarrassed "Bugger" as he realised there was nothing he could do about it.
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 16:41, 4 replies)

Morning flash
The other day I was racking my brains for my own tale of unexpected nudity but alas, my search was fruitless. Little did I know I was just 24 hours from delivering the ultimate morning flash to the upstairs neighbour.

It all happened so (vaguely) innocently. Lying in bed basking in my studenty long-lie in I heard the front door slam. Wondering who could be leaving the house this late besides me, the unemployed student loafer amongst three long-suffering professionals, I leapt out of bed, sans clothes, and rushed to the window.

Carefully concealing my free floating breasts with a jaunty arm I carefully inched open the curtain of our main window and peered out. Nobody. 'Weird', I thought, 'I definitely heard something...'

Throwing caution to the wind as my womanly desire to spy on my housemates took over, I turned to the side window and flung open the curtain with both hands, freeing my breasts in the process to cheerily greet my upstairs neighbour, standing outside his door which looks directly into my room. Thinking fast, I dropped to the floor and assumed the fetal position. I really don't know why I did this, but it seemed to give him quite a laugh.
Cowering with my knees tucked up beneath my chin I heard the neighbour open his door and guffaw this classy epithet into the hallway, "I've just seen that bird downstairs with her tits out!"

Not my proudest moment. But it certainly lends an edge to our brief encounters, taking the bins out...
(lowfigirl animating hamburgers, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:28, 2 replies)

Wax on, wax cock.
I said I would be back with more tales of nakedness…

Whilst prancing around on a group holiday in Cornwall I saw far too much of some of my friends rudie parts, lady gardens included! The one we all got an eyeful of occurred on the second night of our stay.

We were all laying around in the living room getting progressively inebriated on weird alcopop cocktails, (I think they were called Shrek’s or something equally strange which explained the dodgy luminous green colour of the liquid) when one of my friends, Alan, decided to pipe up and contribute that girls were losers when it came to pain. Now my friend Rebecca didn’t appreciate this comment so casually leaned over Alan and plucked a single hair out of his leg. He did the ‘big man’ thing and calmly reported ‘that didn’t hurt’. For whatever reason Rebecca didn’t believe him and leaned over a second time, grabbed a small clump of Al’s leg hair and yanked it out. Again, Al exclaimed ‘didn’t hurt’ although his watering eyes said otherwise.

Now I don’t really recall how we got to the next part of the story as I turned away to have an argument with another friend about who would win in a fight between Superman vs Spider-Man but when we had finished out discussion I noticed that Rebecca had left the room. I asked Al what he had said to piss her off and he explained where she had gone. Rebecca, as it transpired, had wandered off to get waxing strips. She had somehow convinced Alan to let her wax his legs in some sort of display of ruggedness. I couldn’t help think he wouldn’t have put himself forward if he was sober.

So anyway, Rebecca reappears, evil smile and wax strips a go-go. Al had taken off his jeans to allow easy access to his hairy legs and Rebecca was crouched down to apply the strips. At this point I noticed the sizable hole in Al’s briefs. ‘Erm Al, could you possibly change your pants before we do this or put some shorts on, just in case Little Al pops out that hole to say hello?’ Alan looked down and shrugged, ‘the holes far too high, you can’t see anything’…hmmm. Rebecca, clearly bored of all the talking, got a bit restless and grabbed hold of Al’s leg and ripped the strip up into the air… ‘Yeeeeoooooowwwwwwwwwwwfuuuuuuckkkkkkkkiiiiiinnnnneeeeeelllllllll’ he seemed to say. Al proceeded to launch himself a few metres in the air whilst simultaneously leaning down to grab his leg. In mid-flight he chinned himself with his kneecap and hit the ground with a thud.

Well you know what’s coming… the discarded strip had got stuck further up Al’s leg and managed to hook itself onto part of Al’s pants… this lowered the pants just enough to allow Little Al to poke fully through the hole, which in turn made everyone in the room scream and point and Big Al jump in the air and run out of the room squealing like a little girl.
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:17, 2 replies)

I just remembered my first penis sighting!
In my 'omg I want to be a starving artist' days when I was 17 years young I signed up for a Life Drawing night class. Eager to learn to draw "life" I got to class with my fellow classmates (of all who were over 20 and I was the youngest) and took my place at the front on a big easel ready to draw what I thought would be a bowl of fruit.

Out comes a mid 20s nice looking guy. I think to myself, score.. cute student teacher? but then realised he was wearing a robe.. to which he took off when he stopped in the middle of the group posing.. and low and behold HI I'M MR PENIS... DRAW ME!
I couldn't draw for a good 10 minutes from sheer shock of the sudden nakedness and also at the shock that I didn't realise what Life drawing would entail. I didn't draw his nudie bits let alone look at them again. I drew his face spectualarly well. Shading and all. Extra details on his eyes. I refused to draw anything below his waist.

So yes, I took this class for a year and refused to draw men's manly bits for 6 months until I got over my fear of looking too hard. After that, I drew men naked quite alot :D

Still. Not the first time I wanted to see a man naked. In a large group like that. You just can't spring that on a girl like that.
( Squishtastic is having bouts of insomnia.. beware b3ta, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 11:44, Reply)

I suppose the nudity might have been expected but not the opportunity
to deliver such a killer gag.

I was out in the folks house for the weekend.
They have a nice big gaf on a stretch of land in North county Dublin.
Many's the BBQ they host and this weekend was no exception.

So yester'morn, d'brudr (the brother) announced to the last of the post-hangover-cure fry-up stragglers that he was away for a shower.

The downstairs bathroom window opens onto the back garden where most of the stragglers where quietly basking in the early morning sun.

As said window was left open, all heard d'brudr enter the bathroom, lock the bathroom door, switch on the shower, the extractor fan and turn the dial to hot.

Nothing uncommon about that, you say?
Nothing unusual?
Nothing lewd?

True enough.

As the silence grew ever ominous, no-one failed to enter into the shuddering depths of mirth when as d'brudrs' showering approached its' ablutive climax, the words,

"Oi, Tols*, I think that spot is clean enough now" pierced the calm.

rafter
baz



*'Tols' is what I call d'brudr
(bazmorningstar efil4nat3b, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 9:18, 3 replies)

Midnight accident
I should initially say I wore no underwear this night.
I ventured out into Liverpool City Centre with some friends after having a load of ale in someone's recording studio.
Entered the city centre, I celebrated by leaping over a bollard. I tore a complete line from the top of my zip to the top of my arse on my pants, allowing my genitalia to take full advantage of the accidental pant customisation and dropped out like a gutted whale's intestines.
I stuck a load of gaffer tape on the inside, but my cock and balls swung out through the night at least six times.
(Nibi, Sun 31 May 2009, 23:51, 2 replies)

More unexpected for him than everyone else.
Every year, my 6th form college holds a charity fashion show, organised and run by students, and it's great fun. This year, I was on the organising committee, as well as modelling.
As assistant director I was asked by the supervising teacher if I thought we (the shop models) would need any supervision on the nights in our dressing rooms - mainly for the lads. I assured them we could cope, and we were left to our own devices.

Everything went swimmingly apart from one little problem we had with the boys.
Now, bear in mind it takes a certain type of 17/18 year old boy to audition as a catwalk model. A type which is usually very confident, a type who loves himself more than a little bit.
Almost all our male models were just like this. And would they keep their clothes on? No they would not.
I'm not talking just wandering round topless here, that was happening too, but believe me, not a one of us girls was going to complain about that. I'm talking running round the dressing rooms more naked than a nudist in the bath.

During the interval, we were confined to the two adjoining classrooms we were using as changing room and all the models had congregated in the lads room to watch and laugh at the three worst offenders have a wail of a time.
On was on the teachers desk, with only a helium cannister to preserve his dignity.
Another was dancing on top on a filing cabinet, hand over his bits.
And the third, who we shall call Matt, was stood in the corner, a balloon covering his man parts.

Unfortunately I can't claim the idea behind this one. It was my friend Max who leaned over, pointed at Matt and whispered "Don't you just wish you had a pin right now?" And that, dear readers, is when the metaphorical light bulb above my head sparked into action.
There was a tin of dress pins in the girl's room for last minute adjustments. Everyone was too distracted by the flashers to notice me slip out to fetch one.

Pin in hand, I sidled up to Matt. I hadn't shown much interest in him before this, so he looked at he funny and asked me if I was sure I wanted to get that close.
"Oh yes" I replied. "Definately."
And in one fluid movement, I flicked out my pin and popped his balloon, fully exposing him to the entire room and giving him one hell of a shock. The look on his face was priceless.

Best part was, it was all being filmed by another model, who, in a moment of beautiful coincidence, just happened to zoom his phone in on Matt's crotch seconds before my arm flashed across screen, capturing everything.

Length? I couldn't say, but the balloon wasn't very big.
(Applebite Uh! A cow!, Sun 31 May 2009, 19:58, Reply)

"The Box" or, how I learned to stop worrying and love my penis
Thankfully, most of the nudity in my life has been pre-planned and, in some cases, as a joyous result of many months of hard work. Well, all apart from one year where any party, pub vist, barbeque or bored afternoon in front of the television seemed to end up with an episode of streaking but thats a much less interesting story than it sounds.

Anyway, The Box.

My encounter with the box, and its contents was a brief one, never to be repreated and never to be forgotten. I had spent the past 5 years of my life in an all boys school and was some months away from successfully negotiating the mine field of a mixed-sex sixth form to provide my peers with affirmation that I was not, by default, a raging gay. As a result, the source of many of my encounters with the opposite sex stemmed from joining an internet forum, much like this fine community, dedicated to the now sadly deceased easyworld. As a result of shit-awful record company backing, easyworld were perpetually touring and this provided a number of opportunities for meet-ups. So, on one tour, the Liverpool date comes up and me and my partner in crime are due to be meeting up with a couple of girls we'd met at easyworld gigs over the course of the summer during the day before heading off to the gig.

Being sixteen, skint and possessed with the social imagination of... well, skint sixteen year boys, we were at a bit of a loss for what to do on our way up to Lime Street Station to meet the girls off the train.

Then we saw the box.

The box was a large wooden frame, clad in sheets of perspex, set up in the courtyard of the Bluecoat Arts gallery (for anyone who knows Liverpool) and gave no clue as to its purpse other than a sign promising that it would play host to an episode of 'performance art' by two gentlemen of oriental extraction later on in the afternoon. With no other options, we added this to our non-existent itinerary and continued on our way to the train station.

Roll on a few hours and we've taken up front row seats in front of the box which is now beginning to look like some sort of self-service buffet. Bottles upon bottles of condiments, liquids and pretty much anything that could feasily come in a tube were being placed into the corners of the box.

Soon enough, the performers came along, all respectably turned out and looking more like a pair of businessmen than a pair of performance artists. A short bow to the audience and one another and we were away. Wielding sauces like shotguns and bottles like bazookas, these previously respectable gentlemen began covering themselves, the floor and the walls in all manner of condiment. Within minutes, they looked like a foodfight in the heinz factory and were proceeding to remove items of clothing. Off came jacket and tie, shirt and trousers until both were wearing just a vest and boxers. At this point, a slow realisation was dawning across the crowd (bear in mind that this was an saturday afternoon about a week before the end of the school holidays) that this was not the final state of undress to be attained by our entertainers. Sure enough, away were the boxers and vest and we were confronted, bollocks and all, by a pair of gentlemen engaging in about of nude sumo wrestling in what looked like the leftovers of a paintshop bukkake night.

Despite all this, the prevailing thought going through my head was not one of digust, nor horror at the fact that we now appeared to our guests to be afficionados of naked paint wrestling. No, my thoughts at the time

"Phew, thank god my cock is bigger than that"

Length? Ain't no mighty oaks growing from those acorns, lets put it that way...
(Deltasound, Sun 31 May 2009, 13:53, 1 reply)

New nickname
School trip up through central Australia, shorts in the heat, school video camera filming our climb up Ayers Rock.

After the parents and students were invited to see the video on our return, I gained the nickname "Lefty".
(ShowPony, Sat 30 May 2009, 17:42, Reply)

For me,
It's always unexpected when a woman pulls her pants down.
(KneelDiamond, Sat 30 May 2009, 0:03, 2 replies)

The Bounty
Anyone who's ever spent time in the South Pacific might be familiar with Bounty rum. Particularly nasty stuff, but about 58% abv, so it certainly did the job.

My last night in Fiji, myself and a few other decided to settle down to a few bottles of the stuff after dinner. At what we figured was about 4 am, we decided we'd head down to the pool for a spot of skinny dipping. After a very quick (and drunk) look around for late night lurkers, we all disrobed and headed in the pool. After a couple of minutes, the maitre'd from the restaurant headed out, and simply pointed to the restaurant.

Cue at least 15 horrified honeymoon couples staring at 6 pissheads frolicking about in the pool as they tucked into their steak.

The time? 9:15pm.

The length? A lot shorter on the way out than on the way in.
(kccat does NOT look like Joe 90, Fri 29 May 2009, 22:36, Reply)

Not quite unexpected nudity, but horrific - and this gives me a chance to unburden.
During my time working for a mobile telecomms company, I struck up a bit of a rapport with a lad named Chris. In fact, I struck up a bit of a rapport with a couple of lads named Chris. So, in the interests of disambiguation in case either of them ever read this, it's not the Frantic Pastie who regaled us with tales of the Angelsey Dangler. This was the Other Chris.

This Other Chris was into Runescape? Or Everquest? Or whatever proto-mumorepegger was doing the rounds before Warcrack. He also fancied himself a bit of a techie, but wasn't particularly committed.

Anyhoo, he bought this machine from a scambadger in North Tyneside. It was wonk - serious wonk. Kept falling over and so forth. In the end he asked me to take a look at it.

On opening the case I found one problem immediately. Apparently the geordie cretin had run out of those bug chunky screws you use to fix case fans to the back-vent of the machine. Displaying a misplaced ingenuity that in some parallel world may be indicated genius, he'd decided to mount it inside the case, parallel to the mainboard, by multitasking the screw used to fix the AGP graphics adaptor in its slot. Five out of ten for effort I guess. This was remedied, but the system was still wonky.

After trying a few diagnostics to no avail and not finding anything conclusive, I reseated memory - no joy. Thought what the hell, I'll reseat the processor (not as far fetched as it sounds - I've seen 939s held in place by the heatsink and fan but insufficient contacts made). I lifted the fan and found the reason.

Now you know on some of the older heatsinks you got a peel-off label that protected the thermal gurp? He'd neglected to peel it off. I took a couple of pics for posterity and remedied the situation.

After dropping it off (with my then-partner in tow) I was given the task of arranging internet access between the two. Cat 5 xover, Windows 98SE and Internet Connection Sharing. Over dial up. Urrrggh.

With the [impatient] partner downstairs trying to make the smallest of talk with his partner - who was horrific - I did what I could and left him to his orc-bashing. Tried to be a bit personable prior to leaving the house, as suddenly doing a runner after sorting out a machine is considered impolite.

After a couple of minuter some mental subprocess kicked in and I noticed that the Horror Head - who was no picture, weighed about half as much as a small car and had been eclipsed in conversational skills by experimental monkeys - had her legs wide apart and, with the long skirt she was wearing, meant I was being granted visual access to a somewhat stained-looking and unpleasant gusset.

I never knew whether the ex- was aware of this, but there must have been some perception that things were awry with the unseemly haste by which I gathered my belongings, made my excuses, and left for the pub to blot out the horror.

Booze didn't work, so I'm hoping the power of B3ta can exorcise the memory. Click "I like this" if, yada yada yada.

Peace and fucking, YS out.
(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_(_ =o.o=, Fri 29 May 2009, 22:13, 3 replies)

My two year old son.
Pissing on the carpet.

Did I tell you he's just learnt he can take his own nappy off?

At least I can blame the shit stains on the sheets on him, now.
( argyleblanket The man on the roof works for me, Fri 29 May 2009, 19:49, 2 replies)

Tits and Teabags
This is a tale of my own un-erotic nudity.

Having just touched down at Caister Soul Weekender, my very shy and deeply respectful to women friend (now housemate) and I settled down for a bit of a smoke and a bit of a drink. Exit housemate for a pee in the loo of our delightfully white trash static caravan. On exiting the bathroom his belt loop caught on a rogue lip of metal, he managed to simultaneously bend the frame from around the sink and wedgie himself. After I had finished laughing at him we decided to fix the frame with a makeshift hammer i.e, one of my shoes. Job's a good'un....Or so I thought.


Anyway, about 4pm we were, well, toasted and so as not to bring a premature end to the evenings festivities I decied to take a nice sobering shower. As the bedroom was literally a step away from the bathroon I decided to forgo donning my dressing gown and nip across the 'hall' in my towel. So I carefully wraped the towel around me, opened the door and stepped out shouting "It's all yours!". As I did this my towel became hooked on the same lip of metal and as I stepped into the hall/kitchen my housemate was faced with a very naked me. He was making me a cuppa as a surprise. I think I had the monopoly on surprise. For a split second we made eye contact then he went puce and covered his eyes with the teabags he was fishing out of the cups.

I started laughing uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of it all and out of the corner of my eye I saw, through the kitchen window a man, naked apart from a cowboy hat and a rather large...grin dancing around just as I clocked him he clocked me which set me off laughing even more. Housemate uttered the immortal line "For goodnessake go and put some bloody clothes on!".

I was quite upset that he found seeing me naked quite so traumatising! I'm not that bloody bad! HUMPH.
(GirlOfTheWorld, Fri 29 May 2009, 15:21, 2 replies)

how can life drawing possibly yield unexpected nudity?
well, in this case, the nudity was both expected and unexpected.
we were EXPECTING a nude model, probably female. what we got was Dorothy.
now for a start, it was a warm day. the room was small, and already smelt of sweaty unwashed art students. we were hung over to SHIT me and my mates, and about ready to die of dehydration. in walks dorothy. the dressing gown covered what looked to be a fairly average figure, a plain, uninteresting face.. not exactly tossbank worthy.
then the small fan heater was set up so she didn't get cold.
then the robe came off.

fuck me. it was the single most hideous pair of wrinkled, flaccid, spaniels ears i'd ever seen. like a couple of sandwich bags full of warm cottage cheese with a huge dark brown nipple tacked on the front.
then there was the gunt. imagine jabba the hut asleep, but waxy white. the armpit hairs were such that if anyone dared, they could have fashioned a rope and abseilied to safety.. OR they could have just lopped off the bush, chucked it out of the window and jumped onto it, either way. she looked like she's lost about 15 stone or something. as the session went on, the heat got worse, she started to sweat. and i mean sweat, like big droplets rolling down her back. then the SMELL made itself known. this woman smelt like sour milk. it was seriously disgusting, fuck knows where the college found her. it was in one way a masterstroke, a room full of hormone-laden, sex-obsessed teenagers and a naked woman, and not a lewd comment or stifled erection in sight. in fact, a room fo the fastest sketching, most concentraded effort you'll ever see on an art course.
when she got up off the white plinth to re-robe, there was a pool of sweat on it.. with a little..brown..mark.. RIGHT in the middle where her poopchute would be. *shudders*
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Fri 29 May 2009, 10:43, 2 replies)

Design flaw
Acquiring a disability is usually a shock and a bloody steep learning curve. But of course there are perks as well, one of which is the RADAR key.

It should be simple enough. Knowing that accessible loos are often abused by members of the public who are not yet disabled, many of these facilities are kept locked with a universal RADAR lock, and disabled people are encouraged to carry a universal RADAR key.

Unfortunately the thought process of the person designing an accessible loo goes like this:
The door must have a door handle on it that is easy to grip and manipulate for someone who may have trouble using their hands.
The door must have a lock on the inside, ditto.
We can't just use the cheap bolts we used on the regular loos.
Hey, we already have a RADAR lock to put on this door.
It will be okay to just put the RADAR lock on this door, and then the door will lock and everyone's happy.

And misses the bits that go:
But the point of a RADAR lock is that it can be unlocked from the outside.
By any one of the 10.8 million disabled people in the UK.
Or any one of the not-yet-disabled people who have got their hands on a key for whatever reason.
All of whom will be expecting the door to be locked when it is vacant.
The RADAR lock has no "vacant/engaged" indicator.

It's therefore good etiquette to knock on the door and wait a moment before unlocking an accessible loo with a RADAR key, but, when you've got to go, you don't want to sit outside for a full ten minutes "just in case" the loo is occupied.

Generally speaking, if someone needs to use the accessible loo, it takes them more than a few seconds for them to stand up and rearrange their clothing and as a result, in the last four years I have seen a disturbing number of grannies and grandads with their pants around their ankles and, on occasion, mid-stream...

*shudder* Scarred for life, I tell you. But that's not the worst bit. The worst bit is that you still need to go, and there's generally only one accessible loo within distance, so once you've slammed the door in horror, you have to wait. Wait in bladder-busting discomfort to come face-to-face with the person whose most private business you have just disturbed. Not nice. Not pleasant. It doesn't help that the seat's pre-warmed either - not when you've actually seen the arse that did it.
( Batsgirl, Fri 29 May 2009, 9:55, 6 replies)

If you'll allow me the pleasure of a pea roast which just about fits in here I think
There was a story in my local newspaper a few years ago about a bloke who was up in court on an indecency charge, because a lady who worked as a cleaner was on her way to work early one morning and said she saw him standing naked by his window, curtains fully drawn, fwapping away for all to see. Perhaps not that dangerous at 5am, perhaps he knew she was coming...who knows.

He got off (the charge...) by proving that he was right-handed whereas she said he'd been using his left...

The reason I remember this story is because the man is a genius. I'll explain:

First of all, I'm right-handed and I generally use my left for the old knuckle shuffle (that's all you need to know). But the genius part is that no lawyer/judge/person is ever going to stand up court and dispute his argument!! Seriously, how could they prove it? By admitting they can use both hands!? By asking him if it is at all possible that he could use his other hand to masturbate...and then ask for a demonstration!?

Lovely.
(Zutroy started without you, Fri 29 May 2009, 3:36, 2 replies)

Another sad one.
Be warned.

This is going back a few years, before I lost both Grandparents.

Both my Gran and Granda were feeble and in their late eighties. Unfortunately my Granda was also feeble of mind. It wasn’t Alzheimers, just simple senility. I often visited to make sure they had what they needed, were ok and to do what I could. At this stage Granda had forgotten how to walk. He was still physically strong enough but just couldn’t do it. This was a man who had been a strongman. He once carried a double mattress cover full of coal half a mile uphill. For a bet. Just because he could.

One afternoon I called in to check on them and while I was sitting chatting with Gran, my Granda started to shout for assistance. My Gran asked if I could go check him out and see what was wrong. I walked into the bedroom and there was Granda naked from the waist down with a beatific grin on his face. “Need a wee.” He said. So I helped him put his todger into the bedpan and waited till he was finished. I helped him shake the drops off. “That’s better .“ He said. And fell asleep. I made sure Gran was OK and went home.

Very unerotic.
(porkylips looks better as the sun goes down., Thu 28 May 2009, 23:57, 2 replies)

California uber alles
Just under a year ago I left England’s green and pleasant lands (grey and wet if truth be told) and headed to San Francisco. Let me tell you, they do nudity here a lot.

The Bay to Breakers race a fortnight ago for example. Several runners did the 10K race in nothing more than a pair of running shoes. Call me Mr Picky but running makes certain male and female attributes flop around in a way that looks painful to them and leaves the spectators needing brain bleach. Please god never let nude running become an Olympic sport.

Then there’s the Folsom Street Fair. Imagine Gay Pride, but for the kinkier end of the community. A stroll through the fair reveals flogging booths, communal golden showers and some of the scariest bears* I’ve ever seen wearing nipple clamps that looked like bulldog clips and surgical clamps had sneaked off for a quick shag and yielded mutant spawn out of Giger’s worst nightmares.

Not to mention the hot springs. California’s riddled with the things, due to sitting on a geological time bomb that could turn the state into Arizona Bay**. Most are described as ‘clothing optional,’ which means “wear clothes if you want to be gawped at like the Elephant Man doing the runway at London Fashion Week.” The memory of the girlfriend taking me to a nude yoga session at one such spring still has me shuddering, and not in a good way.

Then there’s the nude beaches. Baker Beach in the city has no delineation between the clothed and nude section, so one minute you’re ambling along admiring the families gambolling in the view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the next minute it’s rusty sheriff’s badges as far as the eye can see. Don’t get me wrong, nothing wrong with nudism, but some warning would have been nice.

I was persuaded to disrobe and some warnings about the sun would be useful. There are some parts of me that haven’t seen the sun in over 25 years and despite liberal and repeated applications of sunblock certain parts got sunburnt. The only plus side was the slight amusement value of having a dick that looked like a stripy barber’s pole when excited, even if it was too painful to do anything with.

Finally there’s the general public disrobing. Now, like 90 per cent of men and a fair few women I’ve been caught short on the way home from the pub. So you find a discrete corner, unzip, water the plants and move on. Not so here. My first day at work there’s a bloke pissing against the side of the building, 10am in bright sunshine. And not unzipping and doing his business. Trousers around the ankles, arm above his head on the wall supporting the body at 60 degrees and loud sighs of relief.

Nudity is a good thing, particularly in the right places, but I can’t help feeling that the San Franciscans have taken things a wee bit too far.

*Bears – large bearded gay chaps. They have conventions and everything. Nice to know there’s something for all sorts.
** © Bill Hicks
(paxvobiscum, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:50, 9 replies)

Walthamstow Market
in the early '80s... a fat middle-aged woman, totally naked, with her face and body painted completely blue (or at least I assume it was paint), staggering a few steps, then bellowing out some primeval animal howl, then staggering a few more steps, then the howl again, all the while with her eyes, exaggerated because of the contrast of the whites against the blue of her face, darting around randomly, empty of everything except utter, abject terror. The eyes of an animal about to be slaughtered.
My brother afterwards: "Fucking hell, that was brilliant! You could see her tits and everything!"
( mofaha ┐( ˘_˘)┌ ʅ(́◡◝)ʃ, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:08, 2 replies)

A friend
had the recent habit of getting naked frequently round the house. While his parents and brother are about doing their normal business. It wasn't unheard of for his family to find a cock placed on their hand, shoulder or head while they sat and read the paper or used the computer.

It seems to have stopped now he has a girlfriend.
(Grobie, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:10, Reply)

To walkers in the Brecon Beacons
Many apologies if you happened to be passing the day our friend decided we should make a video of a beautiful but experimental dance piece about a water fairy.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:05, Reply)

A wild horn appears!
When the artist formerly known as Mr Maladicta and I first moved into our flat, the first thing we did was to change the awful, stained, creased beige curtains, because they were a) vile and b) useless. Me being me had a certain artistic vision in mind and decided on all red for the lounge and blue for the bedroom, so I pop into the upholstery-and-pretty-things shop in Ashford and buy the nicest (and cheapest, incidentally) ones I can find.

When I get these curtains home, they turn out to be more or less completely transparent, gauzy things. Fuck it, says we, we've got them now and as we live on the ground floor, we rarely open the curtains since all the chavlings that walk by like to peer in (we have contemplated electrifying the window frames since they like to walk past and bang them, the little cunts).

A couple of months later, we are watching a DVD and, as things do when you first live together, one or other of us gets the horn and things progress. It was about 9.30 at night, in the middle of winter, and in the heat of the moment neither of us remember that the curtains are eversoslightly see-through, and that we live in a ground floor flat. Sofa-based sexytiem ensues, and continues for some time.

Beyond the obvious fluffy feelings the following day, I think nothing more of this until after work, when waiting for the bus home, whereupon the slightly odd (for Ashford this is nothing; you could remake Dawn of the Dead in our neck of the woods, there are that many mutants) lady who lives in the flats opposite gleefully informs me that she can see right into our living room, and cackles afterwards. Fucksocks.

I should add that this did not deter us from repeat performances, and that Mr Maladicta will not apologise for his length.
( Maladicta, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:49, Reply)

Drunken nudity is a bit of an unfortunate theme for me
To be honest this is my girlfriend's story rather than mine, although I do play the starring role.

Last year we spent a couple of months in South East Asia. We were doing most of it on our own but since public transport is basically non-existent in Cambodia we decided to do that bit with a tour (Intrepid Travel - very good if a little pricy)

We'd been in Siam Reap for a couple of nights and were drinking in a bar called Angkor What (tacky name, awesome place!). I was drinking some lethal Mekong Whiskey based cocktail whose name escapes me, but it did come in a bucket so WIN! My girlfriend managed half of hers and then went back to the Cosmopolitans but I perservered through several more (it was about £4 for half a litre of booze for fecks sake).

We got back to the hotel at about 3 in the morning and were let in by the nightwatchman who slept on a camp bed in the lobby. We then went to bed and I woke up in the morning with a stonking hangover.






At least that was how I perceived events. According to my girlfriend she woke up about an hour later when I got up to go to the loo. I was taking quite a long time but she just assumed that I'd fallen asleep in the bathroom as happens on occasion after a skinful. Suddenly the main door to the room burst open. I wandered in and stumbled into the bathroom, had a piss, got into bed and fell asleep.

As with many b3tans it seems, I sleep in the nuddy.

What actually happened to me during that half hour spell was pieced together over the next couple of days.

Two of the Aussie guys in our group had got back to the hotel even later than us. They arrived just to see "some white bloke's" pale naked arse running up the stairs from the main lobby. I think I'd gone to look at the nightwatchman asleep on his camp bed - I was strangely obsessed with him, I don't know why.

While waiting for the bus a Norwegian girl told my girlfriend in horror how somebody had tried to break into her and her boyfriend's room in the middle of night. They'd forgotten to lock the door but had put the chain on. With perfect comic timing her boyfriend then added "And you know what it looked like he was naked. I went over to the door and he ran off down the corridor."

I was keeping very quiet and needless to say my girlfriend was absolutely mortified. However it appeared no-one could make a positive identification...

Until that is the lovely little Korean girl who'd barely said a word all trip asked my girlfriend if I'd slept ok. Apparently I'd given up trying to find the right room and just lain down in the corridor. She'd been woken up by my naked scrabbling on the floor outside her door and somehow persuaded me to get up and then helped me back to my room.


It was a slightly awkward 4 hour bus trip to Phnom Penh that afternoon.

However it was nothing compared to that time in France with the in-laws...
(Milo Minderbinder, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:44, 3 replies)

heading home from a gig...
...at what was the carling academy (sticky floor shit beer) in Newcastle.

Walking past the city walls back the car and a couple are enjoying abit of 2245 delight. Gentleman he is, he is sitting on one of the ancient stones with his jeans undone and cock out she is naked from the waist down and sliding up and down.

I said 'evening...nice night for it' I think it may have put him off his stroke.
(twiceydrinker hmmm is it pint time?, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:42, Reply)

I cant help but read most of these posts as
"I am 14 and a virgin and have never seen a naked woman in the flesh"
( Goatworrier had your mum and she was shit, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:39, 12 replies)

19th Birthday's
It was a pleasantly warm and dry November evening. (I know, hard to believe)

Being without girl friend and In Liverpool with my flatmates (all male), we decided to do the traditional thing for a birthday, and get shit faced on a combination of Jack Daniels and Marijuana (Pleasant enough mix!)

We went to the local pub to take advantage of the local pool table (free if they recognised you, which they did, =D) and the comely young bar lady.

After quaffing too much, as is tradition.

I decided it was time to head for home...*Drink Addled Fug* ....I then woke up in my bed.

Thankfully my companions weren't so drink addled as to have forgotten what I did.

I excused myself politely from the pub, gathered my cronies and started walking home. I breached the front door as one does faced with that solid barrier of an entrance; and promptly started to undress in the living room as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I then proceeded into the kitchen, to take a PISS in the corner, not a small one either judging by the lake in the morning!

Upon my return to the front room, I sat down, rolled a few joints and then went to bed.

All of this entirely naked, while surrounded by my male flatmates, I'm completely heterosexual, so I don't know what the hell I was playing at, I must have been un-comfortable in all those clothes!

I was apparently, not aware of my naked state, and once they finally convinced me I was naked, I apparently said:

"Well, you've got one too so no worries!"

Of course, I don't remember any of this, but it sounds like something I would say and do.
(d347hm4n Fraggin your ass!, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:37, 2 replies)

Frosted (gl)ass
My office has been in turmoil of late. In a desperate bid to quell a growing sense of disillusionment among the workforce; management thought it a good idea to spunk loads of cash on faffing with the look of our office.

Given the current economic climate they could easily have told us to shut the fuck up, stop complaining and pray they don't start wielding the unemployment axe with wild abandon, but all credit to them for going the extra mile and slapping some paint on the walls instead.

As a cyclist I like to shower when I get to the office, and I imagine my colleagues prefer that I do so too. The refurbishment of our previously perfect shower room appears to have involved throwing all the old towels away, fucking up the shower head so it dribbles tepid water on you like a geriatric dog, and removing the covering from the glass panels in the door.

The shower room sits in a rather busy corridor that connects the where people sit bit with the where people eat and get coffee and stuff, bit. Those who use the shower made a bit of a fuss about our sudden loss of privacy, and those who don't use the shower made an equally pointed fuss about our sudden loss of privacy... it seems no one wants to see my sweaty balls of a morning, and why would they?

I arrived this morning after a particularly sweaty cycle and took myself shower-ways. Upon entry to the darkened room it appeared as though the glass panels had been covered, so I closed the door, peeled off my cycling gear and clambered into the cubicle. Only when I stepped out again did I realise that, rather than actually blacking out the panels, a sticky frosted effect had been pasted onto them instead, meaning that anyone passing and glancing sideways as I bent down to step into my pants would have witnessed a slightly blurred, highly un-erotic and very unexpected view of my rusty sheriff's badge glaring back at them through the frosted pane.

I fear there may be more complaints to follow.
( Moey, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:29, Reply)

Sunshine
Today. Devonshire Green. Sheffield.

Young lady I don't care what you say. If you're going to sunbathe topless in the City Centre, then I am sorry it does become a spectator sport.


Length a little longer and broader than before I left my flat.
(kickstandrich last had sex with your mum/sister/wife/daughter on, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:42, 7 replies)

Art installation
Tate Modern, first date, film of naked Jesus-type swinging his 14in probe to the sounds adagio for strings.

Date stands there for 20 minutes. We didn't marry.
(foxy01, Thu 4 Jun 2009, 5:38, 1 reply)

First full frontal
imbatman has just jolted my memory (you bastard) about my first encounter that I can remember, with a full frontal vision of a nudey woman.
A family friend's sister, originally from Jamaica, was over from Canada and visiting. She was staying at ours with her brother for a few days as we hadn't seen her in about 10 years.
She had a shower and exited the bathroom stark-bollock-naked just as I reached the top of the stairs to enter my room right next door.
She'd omitted to don a towel before opening the door and so I was presented with a vision of dark skin, darker nipples and a cunningly woven bush of shimmering black hair.
Just a shame she was well over 70. Still, GILFs eh? Phwoar.
(tweebianmonkey Should be known as Widget, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 13:50, Reply)

The Pants
Mrs Flatfrog is wardrobe mistress for a theatre and as such is well used to nude encounters of both the expected and the unexpected kind. A certain kind of young actor seems to get a sad thrill out of being manhandled by the wardrobe girls (although less so now that she's a thirty-something mother of two than when she was a twenty-something slip of a thing).

But the phrase 'wardrobe dragon' hasn't gained currency in the thespian world for nothing. Her tutor at college included actor management among her curriculum, and they had a special method for dealing with the pervs.

The scene was this: Actor arrives for a fitting, and casually remarks 'Oh, I'm really sorry, I forgot I had this and I'm not wearing any pants'. 'That's all right', they were trained to reply. 'Just slip these on'.

And the erstwhile flasher would be presented with The Pants. These were a special pair of large grandad-style Y-fronts which had been there for a decade or more. They were grey and grimy and slightly encrusted, as they'd never been washed. The actor's face would drop. 'Seriously?', he'd invariably ask. And a bright, pretty, professional face would say 'Sure, it's no problem'.

They only ever tried it on once.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:51, 1 reply)

an arse in the church window
my friend was training to be a pastor for his church, and shared a flat on the church premises with a couple of other blokes. One morning someone was taking ages in the shower, and he was waiting around in a towel, so naturally he lobbed a load of cold water over the shower door. Shower bloke came running out to get him back and he ran into the sitting room and hid behind the curtains, losing his towel in the process.

He looked around to see a full top floor of a bus outside staring in surprise at the arse that had just appeared in the church window.
(teasus likes tea, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 22:43, Reply)

Used to have a huge old camper van
which I'd fill with my kids and often assorted neighbours' kids and my kids' cousins and friends and go off for a day, weekend or week away. Great times.

I'd quickly change for the beach in the van and then the kids'd change, girls and boys separately, with the curtains closed, all safe from peedies and perfectly proper.

The cab rearview window had been taken out, so that anyone could see straight through into the camper area from in front of the vehicle. If, that is, you forgot to draw the front curtains.

This aperture was at precisely my arse level - handy when I forgot about those very curtains as I changed on Harlech seafront.

Think the shock of seeing my 'curtains' nearly killed the three old geezers parked on a bench opposite!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 13:39, Reply)

Oh god this has just reminded me of the poor bellhop in Las Vegas.
Due to various reasons, Mrs V and I found ourselves in a huge hotel room in Las Vegas enjoying VIP service, all underwritten by a multi-millionairre. We'd been told not to pay for anything, so, er ... we didn't.

We were having a jacuzzi in our en suite, drinking champagne, and smoking. I ran out of tabs so, using the phone next to the tub, ordered some to be delivered.

15 minutes later the bell hop dutifully arrived. I pulled on the complimentary dressing gown, and opened the door to him.

"Your cigarettes, Sir" he said politely. I took them, and the chit to sign off for the bill. I handed him back the bill, and the poor lad stared at the ceiling politely and said "Erm ... ah ... you have a nice day now, Sir!", and walked quickly away. Which is when I noticed I'd neglected to properly tie my dressing gown, and became very aware of how Mrs V's prettiness often affects me.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:37, 2 replies)

SURPRISE TODGER!
I'm a graphic designer. A few years back I was working in a printers and one of my customers came in to pick up some work he had printed.

He sidled over and, in low tones, asked if I could scan a picture for him. No problem said I.

He showed me the picture. It was clipped from a local newspaper a few years before, but he'd never got round to scanning it in and emailing it to all his mates.

It showed a local football team, who had won a trophy, posing for a team photo. The front row were kneeling down, the back standing. The guy in the middle had a big grin on his face and his mate next to him...

...had flopped his cock out of his football shorts, and there it was dangling for all to see.

Except obviously, the photographer and the newspaper editor who remained blissfully unaware and allowed the photo to go in the paper, and for it to be distributed to most of Berkshire.

I wish I'd kept that scan as I'd post it. But I didn't, so you'll have to take my word for it.

EDIT:
Tried my customer's old number last night but it doesn't work any more, so I can't get hold of the pic.
(Strangechap I look normal on the outside..., Mon 1 Jun 2009, 15:22, 7 replies)

oh the shame....
Picture the scene. Second floor flat. Kitchen window facing out onto communal gardens but with huge tree in front of window. No chance of neighbourly overlookage. Early morning, ironing blouse for work. Topless. I'm not particularly large in the thrupenny department but they're pert, nothing wrong with them...
Suddenly a head pops up at the kitchen window.
Window cleaner. I shrieked, he winked. I made sure I knew his schedule after that.
( Sallyrsm, Sat 30 May 2009, 16:11, Reply)

Bums and buses.
My girlfriend's bedroom is at the very top of her house, with a small wooden spiral staircase leading up to it from the first floor. The steps wind past a window which looks directly out onto the main road.

To those who travel on the top deck of a particular bus in Edinburgh: I'm so, so sorry if you had to witness my bare, pale arse flash you all as I dashed down the stairs last week to relieve my bursting bladder.

I should also apologise to the old lady who looked up in horror as my morning semi bobbed up and down like a languid drinking bird while I nonchalantly climbed the stairs again a few minutes later.

I promise to wear boxers to bed from now on.
(BaronBiscuits, Sat 30 May 2009, 15:57, Reply)

naked arab!!1!
I used to live in North London -Finsbury Park, to be exact. From there I had to walk from there to my place of employment in Tuffnel Park.

It's a bit of a trek, especially early on a cold December morning. Nothing really catches your eye at 7am on a monday, so you keep your hands in your pockets and ramble on.

On this specific morning, a "thing" really did catch my eye. And we all know that some things seen, can never be unseen.

I was about 5 minutes from work, walking through a quiet, pretty terraced street when, in the distance, I see a figure walking towards me.

It was a bit misty that morning, so I dismissed the notion that the figure I was seeing was in fact a man dressed only in an unbuttoned leather jacket, talking to himself in Arabic (or Urdu, Persian or any other dialect from the mid-east. I couldn't tell) and periodically stopping to bend down and spit on his shriveled cock.

My first instinct was wrong.
(snordfjord Cranky...like a crank!, Sat 30 May 2009, 1:01, Reply)

Half a summer with Monique.
Back when I was but a missykitten the place where I live still deserved the term village. We had 1 set of traffic lights, no trendy boutiques or cafes, everyone knew everyone else on the street and dogs ran loose everywhere leaving white turds falling apart on the pavements. We even had a neighbourhood centre that ran classes for bored housewives, afterschool care and over the holidays arranged fun cheap entertainmenet and trips for the kiddies.

Normally I wouldn't have gone anywhere near it. There were a bunch of kids on my street and we were perfectly capable of making our own fun doing the usual kid things that involve lots of skin loss and blood but are somehow looked back on fondly. But this summer (I would have been 10 or 11-ish) there was an added attraction.

Monique. Early 20's, french and possibly my first ever crush. The accent alone made me tingle.

So over the summer we did various things in a big group with the beautiful Monique overseeing it all. Trips to a theme park, horse riding, bush walks, I made sure I was there for every one to gaze loving at her.

Then the fateful day came about half way through the summer. We were going to the beach. We were told to expect a bit of a hike first as this beach was pretty out of the way. So we go, we do the 2km hike down to the beach, I'm talking to her about swimming and beaches in France and then we step out from the fairly dense bush onto the sand and I look up.

15 or so 11 year old kids simultaneously start screaming in horror.

"Nudist beach! Ewwww!"

That day at the beach I got my first glimpse of a naked man's body apart from my fathers. 20 or so octogenerian men (no women for some reason) jogging, swimming and sunbaking. Hairy chests, backs, ballsacks and buttcracks on full proud display, shrivelled penises bouncing timidly against their legs.

It's amazing that the hill that had taken us an hour to hike down could be run back up in 45 minutes but the thought of what we were leaving behind fuelled our legs.

Monique was fired after that and left to see more of Australia. So that day cost me dearly. Since then I've never even begun to think of going to a nudist beach and to this day the term makes me shiver.
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Fri 29 May 2009, 23:56, 2 replies)

Dancing boobies
I play in a traditional Scottish band, and one night at a wedding we were playing for a dance called the Dashing White Sergeant. Part of this involves 6 people dancing round and back in a circle, holding hands. It's quite a vigorous dance, and a lot of wedding garb for women is not designed for such activity, so their boobage tends to pop out on occasion.

Anyway, on this night, a woman up near the stage had on a strapless dress, and while dancing in the circle her tits made a break for freedom. Seeing her predicament, the two men on either side held her hands tightly to prevent her from rescuing the situation, so she was dancing with everything on full display and wobbling energetically for a full 8 bars of music. Nice dark nipples they were too, I seem to remember.

Of course we in the band had all spotted this, and the fact that she saw the four of us chuckling lecherously made it all the sweeter!
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 29 May 2009, 20:29, 1 reply)

My sister and I once bought rather fetching, expensive yellow swimsuits
and went swimming in them, thinking we were the bees' knees.

Unfortunately, our new cossies turned transparent at the slightest splash of water, advertising our non-natural blonde status to the world. We were like the girl in the itsy bitsy teeny weeny yellow polka dot bikini - y'know, afraid to come out of the water!

This easily trumped our previous week's humiliation, when we'd gracefully dived into a pool together, dislodging our bikini tops and floundered around, pretending not to notice the lifeguards pointing and laughing at us.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Fri 29 May 2009, 17:17, 2 replies)

Caught with my pants down
I have no problem with nudity in general. I find showering naked after swimming to be quite a normal thing. I wander round the house naked on occasion, when it's warm enough. But as a rule, I don't expose myself in public, or in inappropriate situations. Rules are made to be broken though.

I have good friends in midwest USA whom I visit at least once a year. Last year, we all went out to an Italian restaurant for an evening. The meal was excellent, but halfway through my sweet course, I felt a disturbance in my alimentary canal which conveyed to me a certain urgency.

I had a sudden and very painful stomach cramp. Not a 'wait until I'm home and then have a relaxing read of the paper while allowing peristalsis to occur' kind of feeling, more the 'run to the bog right now and allow explosive decompression to occur or else I'll die in thirty seconds' type.

So I quickly excused myself, asked a passing waiter to direct me to the men's room, and entered the sanctuary.

Only to find myself in a bizarrely over-furnished room, with comfy chairs, fake potplants, bric a brac ornaments strewn everywhere and no obvious place to safely release the gargantuan pressure in my innards. I could see a very ornate, floor-standing porcelain urinal but no toilet. Then my eyes locked onto a wall at the end of the room.

A wall which extended part way over the width of the 1936 Ideal Homes exhibition which I appeared to have landed in. Behind it - aha, I saw my porcelain saviour.

So I pulled down my kecks, and I swear my arse hadn't hit the seat before the main feature was all over. I sat for a minute to recover, then stood up to wipe the virtually liquid residue from my quivering towel holder.

Just at that moment, a boy of about 10 came in to the room, and proceeded rather quickly towards me, despite my throat-clearing attempts to let him know I was there. Remember that wall which extended part way over the room? It extended just far enough to hide me. Until of course the lad appeared round the end of it, to be confronted by me, trousers around ankles, slightly bent over with toilet paper in hand, and cock and balls hanging unfettered.

He left quickly with a look of shock on his face*. I really hope I've not scarred him for life. But if I ever hear of a schoolboy going apeshit with a gun in a public toilet in Indiana, I'll have my suspicions as to who it might be.

*Of course, this may have been the result of the stink I'd created rather than the sight of my cock.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:44, Reply)

I have been trying to think of a story when I remembered this, it all happened a long time ago.
I was with a large group mixed of n’er do wells and militants a right mixed bunch, I even think one was even royalty in some place that didn’t even exist anymore, thing was we had a job to decommission some generator. Now this generator for some reason was in the back end of beyond in this huge forest. I can’t quite remember the details but me and my mate had somehow become separated from the rest of the group.
I wasn’t too bothered as my mate was a technological and computer genius and could no doubt do the job alone, despite the fact he had been shot in the head a few months back. This did make him somewhat rude and we did have a kind of love/hate relationship, but somehow we just always ended up together.
Anyways there we were lost in this forest when we stumbled upon some of the natives who lived in these parts, they took pity on us and took us back to their village. They seemed to be in somewhat awe of my modern look and we hung around for a bit to see if they could help us find the rest of our group.
By some coincidence it appears that the rest of the group had got captured by our native friends and had been brought back to the village. It was around this stage I found out that, with my cunning linguistic talents, I could do some rudimentary communication with our little native pals and I discovered they thought it would be a good idea to cook up the rest of the group for a feast in our honour.
Not really knowing what to do in these circumstances one of my mates told me to tell them to tell them I was divine. His other mate thought this would be a good idea and was anxious to see what would happen.

So really you could say...

Han expected a new diety

Luca luca luca yub yub!

Very very sorry, but come on Star Wars and a pun, do I win a prize?
(TheEarl used his power to freeze time at, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:14, 4 replies)

Cuba Libre...
Strolling through the sun-kissed streets of Old Havana, one of my group stops and excitedly pulls his camera from his pocket. I was a few paces up the street before I noticed and turned to see him doing battle with the lens cap, as a childlike joy spread across his face.

I traced the line of vision from the camera's eye to its subject and witnessed a shock of wild, untameable hair reminiscent of Sideshow Bob of Simpsons fame. A suitably Caribbean looking, sun-drenched body provided the shoulders to support this mop like Barnet, and a tatty pair of bright orange shorts reluctantly, but sufficiently denied gravity enough to maintain a degree of dignity for this stumbling, bin searching drunk.

Curious as to why this particular Cuban excited my friend so, I retraced my last few steps and sidled up to the budding David Bailey. Before I'd even uttered a semblance of sound I was hushed and an outstretched finger directed my attention back toward the object of his camera's desire.

And it all became soberingly clear, for there, staring back at me were the most unexpected and unpleasant looking sun-dried breasts I've ever seen in my life. Each miniature mound of wrinkled flesh was punctuated by tiny, deep brown, pointy raisins, circled by oven baked cornflakes that looked ready to peel off. Breasts rarely fail to provide at least a mild trouser tingle, but these were like a powerful dose of visual bromide that rendered me softer than Santa's sack for the follow few days.
( Moey, Fri 29 May 2009, 15:14, Reply)

Another story from the scabby nightclub.
Hello hello.
A long time ago in a nightclub far, far away, I collected glasses to eke out an existance.
One night I was wandering around mopping up spillages with blue roll (it's like giant fuck-off toilet roll. And it's blue) when I heard a yell from a table in the window.
"Oi! Mate! Can my mate have some of that?"
"No worries" I say, reeling some off. "What's he spilt?"
"He ain't spilt nothing, he's havin' a wank, is all."
I look up and sure enough there's a gurning little jock half-sat half-stood, pumping furiously away with his trousers round his ankles, his proud little soldier turning red with stage fright (I assume it was stage fright. It probably wasn't used to all the attention) while several guys and girls cheer him on and film him on their phones. Not only was he in full view of the whole room, he was sat in the center of a floor-to-ceiling window, and it was only about half ten so there were still families wandering about outside.
He left. They all left. Very quickly. Backwards, in his case.
What a wanker.
(Paolo Nutini's Bikini Better than Frederick Fleet's optometrist, Fri 29 May 2009, 13:37, Reply)

Another tale from my mate Earl* the same chap from the dumb waiter story
*name changed slightly to protect guilty

Lamentably I wasn't at the party in question as it sounded like a blinder, but Earl himself has related the story to me....

This party was at the large and fancy house of (convoluted bit) the boyfriend of the mum of a mutual friend of ours. This guy was a session musician I believe, pretty good on a bunch of instruments and had some hanging around the place. One of these was a special edition Gibson Les Paul guitar which was hung with pride in the living room. "Don't touch my guitar" was about the only warning delivered to the merry revellers at the outset of the party. This becomes important later.

Now Earl is commonly referred to (in a pirate voice) by saying "Yarr, tis an inhuman drinking machine!" and this occasion was no break from form. Well and truly plastered and with the party still going on around him, Earl passes out in the living room. This more than likely took a very very large amount of booze.

I've heard the following not only from Earl, who had to be told about it the next day, but from actual eye-witnesses to the event: During his booze-enhanced slumber Earl staggered to his feet, dragged himself over to the wall where the guitar hung betwixt two chairs occupied by nubile young ladies, whipped out his womb-weasel and urinated all over the one item that the house owner had warned them not to meddle with; the guitar.

Naturally the audience was aghast, but Earl who was fully in the grasp of St.Ella (Patron saint of wife-beating) was oblivious and finshing up, merely passed out again until the morning when the previous nights events were recounted.

Is it accidental when you whip it out when drunk? Who knows, but I imagine it was certainly unexpected, particularly for the poor girls who had the close-up side view.
( Vipros. clever got me this far, then tricky got me in, Fri 29 May 2009, 11:46, 2 replies)

This one time before I knocked out Mr. T I walked in on him as he was getting changed in to his boxing outfit ahead of our 3 round exhibition matchup at Maddison Square Garden.
Thankfully I didn't see his Mr. T-Bar as I was too busy making out with Angelina Jolie when she was really good looking.
( Jam Master Geordie Hero of B3ta., Thu 28 May 2009, 23:47, 2 replies)

My mate Trev...
One of my best friends was having a sleepover for his 12th birthday, and after watching some shit movie, his mum told us all that it was very late (10pm) and that we should go to bed. Reluctantly, we strolled downstairs to my mates living room, which would be serving as our bedroom for the night. His mum was kind of alright though; she said we could talk until 11, but we'd have to go to bed then.

There was four of us in total, and we were pretty good friends too. But you know how it is; there's always the bitch of the group. His name was Trev. Trev was a nice kid, but we would constantly poke fun at the fact that he had an extremely distinctive lisp. Anyway, we were all getting changed into our nighties, and making sure that we never even glanced at each others bodies for fear of being called a homo.

When all of a sudden, Trev took off his shorts and t-shirt, so he was left wearing only his boxers and his socks, and jumped onto the sofa, repeatedly shouting "Look at me! Look at me! I can play cricket with my willy!" with a huge grin plastered on his face, as he jumped up and down.

All four of us burst out laughing, and Trev, believing that he could actually make us laugh without being the butt of our jokes, started to pretend that he could use his cock as a cricket bat, and hit an imaginary ball for six. That was pretty funny for us as kids and we were all doubled over with laughter. We did laugh at some silly things.

But then, he did something REALLY odd. I can still remember his exact words. He stopped jumping around, removed his boxers, revealing his cock and said, with a real look of excitement on his face, in a cheesy American accent "Oh yeah baby, put that ball up ma butt 'cause I'm up for some lovin' tonight". He then started mooning us. Trev cracked up and couldn't stop chuckling. However, the three of us, who had enjoyed his show until this point, fell silent.

After around 30 seconds of Trev rofling, he calmed down, and saw the look on our faces. He then got down off of the sofa and put his clothes back on as if nothing had happened. The three of us were in awe.

"TREV'S A HOMO! TREV'S A HOMO! TREV IS A HOMO!" My mate Adam started screaming.
"No I'm not, I'm not a homo!" He screeched in his defence.
"You are!" Adam said.
We then began to chant "HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO! HOMO!" until Trev started crying.

But, instead of showing pity on the poor kid, we circled around him, and beat him up. And that was just the starter for the night. We really were asshats.
(MrDouche, Thu 28 May 2009, 23:39, 5 replies)

A hotel somewhere in England
It was 3am. I was drunk, exhausted, nauseaous and pissed off. I had just walked up eight flights of stairs to get to the hotel room of a comedian. He took the lift, whereas I let claustrophobia get in the way. I was young and naive and very much admired this man who should have known better.
I knocked on the door. I twiddled my thumbs. I expected a cuddle and a kiss. He opened the door and I got an eyeful of cock.
"Oh." I said. "You're naked, then."
"...yes." came the reply.
There was a pause. I'm not one for romance at the best of times, but I think even I surpassed myself with what I said next:
"I'm wearing very inappropriate underwear."

I was as well.

(Tenuous link, but I like the story).
(skrinklelada, Thu 28 May 2009, 23:09, Reply)

window cleaner
i was reading one of the earlier answers when i saw a pun coming from the first line. so i started singing a little song in my head.
it was my pun-expected new ditty,

oh and then the window cleaner rubbed his cock against the window.
(suboftheday, Thu 28 May 2009, 23:00, Reply)

So the other day
I was cooking dinner and thought that things felt a little odd. It was then I noticed that one of my boobies had fallen out. Fortunately I still pass the pencil test so it didn't drop in the soup.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 28 May 2009, 18:21, 1 reply)

Years ago, visiting the 'Toblerones' student accommodation on Manchester's Oxford Road,
another silly bint and I decided to see where the kitchen's internal fire door led to.

We gave it a shove and fell into the next flat's shower, joining a young male student. Oops!
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:32, 3 replies)

Actually, I am probably one of the potential subjects of this week's QOTW, if it were in Germany
A couple of years ago I was visiting a local lake resort with a friend, where they have a section of the lakeside beach reserved for nudists. After stripping off and lying in the sun for a while, we decided to go for a walk around in a lovely wooded area nearby (ants are bloody bitey when you're naked). Coming out of the woods, was a path, so we continued to walk, assuming that this was still part of the nudist area.

It wasn't.

It took 3 fully dressed couples on bicycles accompanied by 2 children and a dog coming in the opposite direction with a look of "don't look Maude" on their faces for the penny to drop.

I did get a "good afternoon" from one of them though, which was nice.
( Dixipoos Bye Bye Blackbird, Thu 28 May 2009, 16:17, Reply)

Showers
At home, my bedroom is opposite the bathroom, with a corridor separating the two. The boiler is also outside the shower. Normally, I leave my towel hanging up in the bathroom, and make a naked danger dash across the corridor: the chances of there being someone there are very slim, and if there is it's only family right?

WRONG.

One day, I woke up with a steaming hangover. Staggered into the shower, turn the temperature all the way down (it was summer, and boiling, and cold shower + hangover = feeling a *little* better), and commence washing. I finish up, get dry, and hang my towel up as normal. I then fling the bathroom door open, to find a very bemused looking plumber, in the midst of a boiler repair. A quick cry of "fuck", and I dissapear back inside to get my towel, making a more appropriate exit the second time round.

You'd think I might have learned my lesson, but no. A few scant weeks later, I once again find myself able to relax, memories of the aforementioned incident having faded. Indeed, I've taken to walking over the corridor, rather than running. One happy morning, I find myself half way across, bollock naked as always when a strange man in a suit rounds the corner - and immediately freezes. Given my position, there was no other option. I gave him a cheery wave, wished him a good morning, and continued my slow and naked stroll back to the bedroom.

Poor man.
(Merrep, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:37, 1 reply)

Dead men tell no tales (but file them under 'gas bills')
Dear Uncle Foxy(Mummy Foxy's side of the family) gave up the oxygen habit earlier on this year. 40 fags a day since he was 12, but pulled himself to a ripe old age even with lukemia on top of that. Did us all proud.

Now, as executive of the will, Mummy Foxy was in charge of going through all the paperwork, their respective duplicates and triplicates, and ensuring that all wealth was distributed smoothly. Being the administrative sort, I offered my services for said piles of bills. Gas orders, food stamps, winning tickets for lotteries he never entered, it had the lot.

Nearing the light at the end of the tunnel, I shuffle into the next brown envelope, expecting another demand for film services cancelled decades ago. Of all things, out pops what can only be carbon dated as 1940's amateur porn. Hairy muffs and flowery wallpaper aplenty.

And many pictures of a young Mummy Foxy in swimwear.

We didn't go to the funeral.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 28 May 2009, 15:35, Reply)

You know you're a student when...
a fit blonde that you've been shagging at night and completely ignoring during non drinking hours see's you in a club and whispers sweet nothings in your ear to the tune of
'take me home and fuck me'
To which you reply
'here are my house keys, go back to mine now and I expect you to be naked, wet as a Wham-O slip 'n' slide and waiting for me when I can be bothered to finish talking bollocks and drinking cheap alcohol with the lads'

So as it turned out; my housemate Jon, who was back at home, completing a 3 day (without sleep) coursework marathon heard what he thought was me coming back from a night out. The sleep depraved idiot, burst into my bedroom and cops an eyeful of my bit-on-the-side preparing herself for my return and a post piss-up poke.

Clearly caught in the act, fiddling with her whimsy, breasts a-pert and legs a-kimber, she stops, looks him straight in the eye and says..'i've got nothing to hide'.

Whether it was Jons lack of sleep, his lack of way with women or sheer surprise, apparently he replied with an aplogetic whimper and scuttled back off to his room to finish colouring in his new car design coursework.

When I actually returned, Jon was only to quick to declare what he had seen and kind of ruined the surprise for me. Nevertheless...

length?...about 2 and a half minutes then straight to sleep.
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Thu 28 May 2009, 15:34, 45 replies)

At the end of year 13
The head boy and girl dreamed up various awards. The students then voted which people these awards should be given to. I got "most likely to take over the world". J got "most likely to get naked at an inappropriate time". Later in the day, we were on the meadows drinking with about a hundred people of various ages all around.

He sees the river about seventy metres away.

I don't think I have to draw you a picture.
( Hdjejjwsjdjjf LOOK, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:10, Reply)

It wasn't what I was looking for
I honestly can't remember what I was looking for, but it wasn't this.

Like many or most adults, I don't didn't bother with the prudery filter on Google. On this occasion, though, all I wanted was a picture of something innocent. I typed in some hopeful looking words, and got some interesting results.

I clicked through a couple to see if the sites were useful.

One result was so spectacularly misjudged that I still feel a bit ill thinking about it.

Because, you see, though I can't remember my sister-in-law's mother's name, I do now have an image of her genitalia that I can't forget.

I turned the safe search on.
(Gravity's Raincoat, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:42, 5 replies)

My mate
used to have a penchant for nakedness, but always when least expected.

I was sat there on his sofa, minding my own business watching TV while he got ready to go out that night.

I felt something brush my ear.

He had decided to shove his cock
in.
my.
ear.

I wasn't amused. Or aroused.
(Ethelred is watching cheese grow, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:26, 6 replies)

Last monday
It was a lovely warm evening and I was walking down my road. I heard some singing but I couldn't see anybody about. Looking up I found the source. One of the houses had a loft conversion with a shower room in it, with a velux window in the roof. Turns out, on a warm evening when you might want to have a shower and sing loudly to yourself and you open the velux window there is a perfect reflection of your naked body to rest of the road in the window. I stood for a couple of minutes admiring this guys perfect buttocks and trundled off to my house with a smile on my face :-)
(bryo, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:16, Reply)

Here we go
I was walking down the street and I heard the golden tones of a lady singing on the street corner, with a bucket full of coins donated by well-wishers equally impressed with her singing prowess. As I got closer I saw that she was in fact a lady who had given her life over to the service of God, and was wearing a full habit.

I got chatting to her and found out that the money she raised was going to help lepers or spackers (I forget which) in an orphanage in Micronesia. I felt heartwarmed to know there was someone so dedicated to helping out those less fortunate than myself and asked if there was anything I could do to help.

I asked the young lady if she would like to have a cup of coffee with me while she discussed the latest improvement to the home for the 'tards and said that I would gladly help raise money if there was anything I could do to help. I explained that I was in the songwriting business and if she would like I could help her record a charity single to raise funds. She replied that that was an excellent idea but she would need a catchy new tune.

That was the day that the Nun expected new ditty.


_{I apologise for shitness.}
( M3rx likes the Asian ladies, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:59, 1 reply)

.
3rd

My worst and vile moment came whilst going through christmas photos of my family.

All the snaps were of happy and jolly times of kids playing and being merry. until my dad took pictures of my mum in a santa's hat.....

....and only a santa's hat


*Rerepress Memory*
(NuffMuff fucks shrubbery, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:36, 2 replies)

Those were the days....
Many years ago, going on a narrow-boat holiday on the River Avon, I slept on the roof of the boat. It was probably common consent - six young men existing on a diet of junk food and beer does not lead to a pleasant night-time aroma, and I snore dreadfully too.

Anyway, one morning I wake up in the brightness of a new day to discover that (a) my blanket has ridden down in the night, and (b) my little soldier is proudly standing to attention as I lie on my back and has escaped the confines of my pants.

These days I can only weep at the lost diamond-cutter hardness and long-lasting turgidity that I could achieve then, but at the time I was mortified.

So, apologies to anyone in Stratford who had their early-morning stroll by the river marred back in July, 1987. I hope you've got over it now.
(uncle whippity, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 18:00, Reply)

Snigger...smirk...giggle
I tell you what...I once saw another man's willy!

*snigger*

_{Sorry, I'm really just trying to avoid work now...}
(LongJohnBaldry, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 14:12, 1 reply)

Young Naturist
I was about 12 or so and playing on the swings and roundabout at the local park.

My brother and I got the roundabout whizzing around at high speed and then jumped on and leaned out, our backs and bums really close to tarmac (no soft safety surface or speed limited roundabouts here!)

A man approached with his daughter in tow and asked if we could slow the roundabout down so that his daughter could get on. His daughter was about my age and quite pretty, but utterly naked!!

My jaw dropped to the ground and I think my brother did likewise. Neither of had seen much of female private parts! We slowed the roundabout down to a halt and the man introduced his daughter to us.

I wanted to stare at her rude bits but couldn't as her Dad was there!

So back do the spinning roundabout and occasional (but fascinating!) glimpses of young lady bits!

The man and his daughter were completely unfazed by her nudity - something that really puzzled me!

I told my Mum when we got back and she said it was disgusting (I thought it was nice though!)
( Vambo, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 11:09, 1 reply)

Brain pain
I used to date a German guy. Typically European, he was far more comfortable with un-clothedness than us stuffy brits. As we're both quite outdoorsy types this led to plenty of al-fresco shinanigans.
Anyway, we were out on the lash in Bremen (North Germany) and had sampled plenty of the famous local beer. Liberally fuelled by the pure, crisp Pilsner my ex decided he wanted to do some Karaoke. As he got up on stage I could see a mischievous smile on his face. He selected a track by Sean Combs. I believe it was his latest single.

that was my Hun-ex Becks did new Diddy.
(ComplexStuff Was confused by life on, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 10:19, Reply)

My new brother inlaw and his junk
My Sister was to be married the next day. The pre-wedding party of 30 was all drinking. A lot. The entire refrigerator in the suite looked like the video for "Ain't nuttin' but a G thang". We were doing shots of everything. Guys were tackling each other and going through walls and doors. It was a sloppy mess. I was going back to my room to cry and masturbate with my tears when I hear a girl screaming.

My soon to be brother-and-law's lady friend was running down the hallway opposite to mine screaming. The good kind of screaming. She was being chased by Greg, who had his pants around his ankles and was doing the Frankenstein arms and the grab ass hands. I guess she was screaming pretty loud, because someone opened the door as she was running by.

The girl opening the door was buck nekked. She opened the door just in time to see Greg and his dick. Greg stopped to look to see who had opened the door and turned to give her a full frontal shot. She screamed. Greg pulled up his pants and kept running. It's a good thing he did because a naked roided out Marine with a semi leap out from behind his new nude bride. He catches up with Greg and screams;

"Hey fucker, I have been waiting 5 years to see my wife naked! (stupid Christians) You just ruined my wedding night. I am going to kick your ass!" Greg was in no mood to fight a naked marine and runs into the party suite. The Marine guy is adamant about kicking somebody's ass and chooses mine.

I says, "Hey, you have a beautiful wife up there who is waiting for you. The last thing I would be doing right now is messing around with a bunch of dudes."

"No he saw my wife naked." The Marine insisted. "I have to kick somebody's ass."

"Well, OK. But would you mind making it someone who isn't taking pictures tomorrow?" I inquired.

Eventually the Marine's mother came out, his semi disappeared, and he went back to his room to finally experience the carnal delight of his wife.

I drove drunk to Taco Bell and got a crunch wrap then went to bed.

The next day while lining up to walked down the isle I asked him how she looked.

"Oh dude, she was smoking!"
(anotherlogan and the whit he shites, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:04, 6 replies)

Student porn
Now marking student work is fairly dull when it's computer based stuff and the dozy cnuts don't understand much about file management so more often than not they'll just submit a memory stick with everything from music to films on (saves downloading them myself).

Anyway in an effort to find something, anything, no matter how trivial a good root around is required.

Now this particular student was a rather fine second year who should have known better. Having bridge open so that photoshop files could be seen and the preview filling half the screen I happily open one folder to find her little porn stash, sadly it appeared to be over 50's fat old men tossing each other off.

Second hand nudity but really something I'd rather have remained ignorant of, still once I've aged a bit and put on some weight...
(bluehamster, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 20:30, Reply)

night club nudity.
this one never occured to me a few weeks ago when the subject was nightclubs.


42nd street in manchester, cant remember which night.
mike had just come back from the bar with his usual order (4 double vodka redbulls in 2 pint glasses one in each hand)
and before taking his seat at our table he stopped just infront of it to talk to a pair of girls, the girls were friends of ours so he wasnt trying to chat them up or anything.
anyway behind his back we were all daring and double daring each other to pull his jeans down, once the conductor of said task had been chosen we all sat back to look fro reactions etc.

can you tell what it is yet?

we didnt expect his boxers to come down too, neither did the girls,

but rather than flapping and rushing to get his pants back on he turned to one of the girls and said "here would you hold these a minute" then bent down to retrieve his jeans as if he were tying his shoelace.
(suboftheday, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 19:00, 2 replies)

So, last night, I went for a quick drink after work.
It turned into a few more than a quick drink.

Which may explain why I started to sober up at midnight to find myself fist deep in a unfeasibly hairy, hygienically challenged, gap toothed, saggy titted, obese, welsh biker with a spotty back and severe fungal problems.

That was unexpected.

Because I can’t fucking stand the Welsh.



(That was for you, crow)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 17:00, 1 reply)

*shudder*
One fine wet day in a town called Loughrea in Ireland my sister decided to walk into my room when I was getting changed for bed. Naturally I was naked. That isn't when the story is about. No, the unexpected nudity came when my dad got annoyed with the fight that ensued and threw me out into the middle of the street in the buff. Cue people staring oddly at the little naked kid under a car to hide his todger. I still have bad dreams.
(Daemonseed has your baby in a blender, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 12:42, 1 reply)

"Pringles?" "Errr, no thanks"
I have vivid recollections of a party my friend Mavis (real name Thom) threw in his house when his parents were away.

I seem to remember that a rather dull party was temporarily enlivened when Mave, having been out of the room for some time, re-entered the room wearing nothing but a Pringles tube. If memory serves we all just stopped what we were doing and stared at him, with open-mouthed incredulity. Mave, clearly having unanticipated this lack of reaction stood there awkwardly for a few moments then quietly left the room, at which point we carried on our conversations as if nothing had happened.

I believe Mavis is now a police constable.
(MrC. Having the most boring username on b3ta since 2004, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 11:02, Reply)

forks in my eyes!!!!
a friend at the office hands me a stack of photos - "check these out - my vacation pics from last month"

great ... there he is at some random locales ... big deal ...

wonderful ... he's swimming at some ordinary pool ...

OMFG he's lounging in the pool on an inflatable raft, and he's F'ING NAKED

i did not need to know that his groinal thatch was redder than that on his dome

i'm sticking forks in my eyes so that i will never again see anything like that
(spiderplex, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 19:38, Reply)

This happened yesterday
Me and my walking buddy went a-walking in Malham yesterday. Our planned route was Malham village to Gordale Scar and climb up the waterfall to the tops that would take us to Malham Tarn.

Gordale Scar has a little camping spot nearby so there were a lot of chavvy kids dicking around and getting in the way of us proper rambling old gits.

There was one girl, slightly heavyset and probably not quite jailbait, that decided that she was going to climb the waterfall. Being English, we all queued at the foot of the waterfall and waited for our turn. This girl was a couple of places in front of me.

Now most people were dressed in the usual walking attire of waterproof walking trousers or shorts, sturdy walking boots and socks. This girl was wearing a miniskirt and flip-flops. Now I'm not a girl but I guess that when climbing up a steep bit of rock, a short skirt that only just covers your ladybits is not the most suitable attire. Sure enough, as she ascended, we were all treated to a gratutitous upskirt shot of an ample-thighed girlie climbing up one of Yorkshire's prettiest beauty spots, her growler only just covered by the slightest piece of white material.

When she got to the top of the waterfall she hitched the skirt back down. A moot gesture really as she had already left most of her dignity twenty or thirty feet below...

(I felt a bit dirty for looking....)
(Ghostlight, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 12:04, 2 replies)

I may get arrested
But this QOTW has given me an excuse to sit in the park all weekend while its sunny and breezy and hope that the women in the short skirts give me something that I can tell you about this week.

Oh well, on your behalf I will keep trying.

Wish me luck.


(Actually, I don't need QOTW to give me an excuse do this on a breezy day)
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Sat 30 May 2009, 16:04, Reply)

Disgust and envy
A bit like Rachelswipe's story downthread, I was sitting in a Cafe Uno or somesuch place of food averageness. Seated by the window I could survey the world as it walked past while I ate.

Then some nastly old scrote outside stopped, stared in, got his cock out and pissed all over the window. Thing was, he was fucking *huge* so while I was disgusted there was definitely a bit of envy too.
(Wascally Weasel now with 100% fewer jokes., Sat 30 May 2009, 14:01, Reply)

Girl in cubical
At university waiting in the department to go on a field trip, I decided to go to the loo before we left. Now as with all public toilets the cubicals never have working locks, but the average person puts their hand or foot against the door. I gave the door a gentle push to see if it was occupied, and it swung open to reveal one of my cohort having a tinkle. This isn't so amazing, but what was really weird is that she had her top off and appeared to be fondling her breasts.

Weird, why do that there? In a dingy loo with a broken lock?
(MsZuzu, Fri 29 May 2009, 16:36, 2 replies)

Playground rape and violation
A few years ago at the age of 16, a few of my friends and I were sitting in a playgroud late at night, guzzling cheap cider.

My mate Craig was sitting on a swing (the type with the chains)spinning himself round as you do, winding the chains round each other and getting higher and higher. He let go, so the swing started spinning the other way.

What happened next will make me laugh forever. His combat trousers caught in the links of the chain, as the spinning increased in speed, so did the rate at which his trousers were demolished, wound up and torn from his body. He lost his balance and was flailing horizontally to the swing. As the spinning stopped, he was thrown clear, with his todger on full display to a crowd of about 15 girls and boys.

Length? The boy was well endowed, let's put it that way.
(Sir General ***WoW***, Fri 29 May 2009, 9:41, Reply)

>: memory sucessfully erased
Back when I was in my early 20's (well 20 actually) I had the misfortune of being simultaneously hornier then a horny thing having what could only be described as a particularly horny day, (it had been sometime u see) while sunbathing on a beach in the Costa Brava with me mates surrounded by bikini clad ladies 30% of which were topless…. This was not good, and that was just the start of the day

Returning from the beach bar with the first beers was when I had my first flash of something more then the breasts id been comparing in a sort of mental page 3 competition. Walking along the beach looking down to avoid those nasty areas of shingle that hurt like hell, a pair of feet came into my vision, followed by a pair of very lovely legs, this was enough to tell me I was looking at the bottom end of a rather nice female laying on her front, and then with perfect timing she choose the moment that her very bright bikini bottoms came into my view to roll over and cook her front side a bit, I should have looked away as soon as I saw the few stragglers poking about the seams but I didn’t and as she rolled it became necessary for her to re-arrange said bikini briefs and I was treated to a rather nice view of… well the most un-kept playing field ever I could ever imagine oh the bikini line had been sorted… but inside there was more tightly coiled springs then u could find in a mattress factory store room and well lets just say each to there own but for my taste…. this eliminated my problems for a while.

Morning became afternoon some of the girls had disappeared or covered up and it had got a bit boring. A thud on the ground near by and the slightest spray of fine sand roused me from a deep trance laying on my towel, turning my head slightly I noticed the new arrival of 3 of the hottest females I had seen on the entire trip, super slim, 2 blondes and a Red head, I guessed them at around 19 – 21 years old, the fantastic invention we now call “sun glasses” meant that I was free to scan this image at my leisure while pretending to be out cold, I thought oh to be a fly on the wall in the female changing area over the next few minutes, but it soon became apparent that they either were not aware of its existence or could not be arsed to walk over to it for no sooner had they dropped their bags, they were wrapping towels about their waists and pulling down shorts and thongs in plain view of the rest of the beach. After this, the girls experience in changing in this manner started to show, one of the blondes had wrapped her towel and tucked it in to one side at the back so that if it were to slip, the worst she would show is maybe a bit of arse and that’s it and she was changed in seconds, the other two had tucked it around the front to one side a bit and predictably as the red head went to step into her bottoms, the towel split right to the top giving a full on view of her neatly trimmed red bush… a sterling effort I remember thinking, then lo and behold just as she got them up and around her hips the other blond beside her stepped into hers and gave a wonderful view of her fun area which looked like it had been perfectly waxed and smoothed mere minutes before they arrived, they then arranged the towels… and then eventually off came the tops, and then bra’s and they sat down and started to oil up while discussing their bodies and helping each other.

Well as u can probably imagine the previously mentioned horniness returned with a sound similar to the big bang, but this time several fuel tankers turned up and poured on several thousand gallons of more horniness and I was having problems and they were becoming obvious, so inevitably I had no choice but to turn onto my front and think of dear old Mrs Thatcher, naked, on a cold day and store my newly acquired memories in the back of my mind for a more private time. I rolled over, took a sip of what ever I was drinking by then and looked forward, up the beach, and straight at the ball sack of a middle aged guy sitting no more then 2 meters away!! I should say the ball sack was 2 meters away so I could have almost touched his foot.. Taking even more of a risk then the girls this guy had decided to just change right there with no attempt at a cover up from anyone, he was short, looked pregnant, had a disturbing amount of gray hair growing around his navel and was very red and sweating profusely and considering how hot it was, he had an issue that he could not explain away as shrinkage due to cold, the car crash scenario came into effect and I couldn’t take my eyes off him as he pulled his Speedo’s off his feet, reached into his bag pulled out a pair of bright yellow men’s briefs and started to put them on… as he pulled them up and finally covered himself up he met my gaze and then sort of… grinned (shudder). Mrs Thatcher’s services were no longer required by this point, and in fact I kind of prayed for her to turn up and try it on so I could check everything was still working, but the memories of those girls were gone forever, now all I remember is him and those yellow pants

Damn him to hull
(maxumus HEY!.... diddly dee, de de de de de de, Fri 29 May 2009, 3:06, Reply)

When I was 19 I went to a work party straight after work (finished shift at 9:30 so got there at 10:00)
My mum and her mates, were also there as they worked at the same hospital. I went into a bedroom to get changed out of my work clothes - five 40 - 50 yr old very pissed women burst in when i was putting on my shorts. My penis was the topic of conversation at morning tea for months. My mother was disgusted in me for exposing myself to her friends.
(wallynothere rnot without protection, Fri 29 May 2009, 2:12, Reply)

One afternoon at work a long long time ago
Back in the early nineties in a well known South Coast seaside resort on a particularly warm afternoon I was at work in a shop that fronted onto the main North / South road which was busy with cars and buses travelling to and fro. My colleague and I were discussing the finer intricacies of Champ Man (the Amiga version, if you're wondering) when we both happened to look up at the same time.

We looked in disbelief as a middle aged man walked past the double fronted windows of the shop wearing nothing but sandals and carrying a white Sainsburys plastic carrier bag. He walked from left to right across the front of the shop. The bag was in his left hand. Why I remember that detail I'm not entirely sure.

I'm also unsure as to why I remember the flapping of his cock flapping up and down with each jaunty, springing step that he took but I do. With disturbing clarity.

My un-erotic unexpected encounter with nudity lasted for about 4 seconds and 17 years later I'm still scarred by it.


Length? Fortunately it wasn't close enough for an accurate assessment.
(manwiddicombe is thinking of something witty to add here, Fri 29 May 2009, 0:11, Reply)

A friend
introduced me to one of his friends, who was generally known as 'Moonie' as he liked to expose his arse to everybody. Back in 1981 we're doing "way out" things like staying at each others houses without telling our parents (RockNRoll man!) and Moonie stays at mine, in the front room. We're playing cards and my sister a year younger, so about 15 comes in to watch. Moonie pronounces, 'i'm feeling warm' and slips out of his sleeping bag, where he'd been lying naked. When i say slipped out, the phrase sliiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiped out would have been more appropriate, as he pulled the bag down, his waist was exposed then his groin with the base of his cock, then his thighs with the mid section of his cock and finally his knees with the tip of his cock. Edward Trunk would've been a more appropriate name, it was horrific on so many levels; somebody elses penis; my sister; the enormity of it; knowing i'd never be able to wreck vaginas like he could.
Since then i've met friends who knew him and there's only me that remembers the length of cable he called a penis, i don't think it ruined my life but i still feel kind of inadequate.
Unexpected? No chance, he'll be in his 40s now and i bet it still flops out at every opportunity.
Length? 9.75 inches but as he was 16 at the time and was hoping to gain the extra quarter by the time he'd stopped growing.
(Discreditor wants the dream to come true, Fri 29 May 2009, 0:02, Reply)

A few years ago
I had been at a wedding reception getting happily then merrily then steamingly drunk, proper skull fucked on shitty lager drunk. Got a lift home at 2 in the morning and staggered to the back door (had just moved house, and the front door was broken) and tried the key. didn't fit. hmmm, tried another key, that didn't fit either, staring through the side window I could faintly see that someone had locked the back door and left the key in, spent ages knocking on the door, trying to reach through the cat flap to remove the key to no avail.

Eventually gave up and passed out in my car, cat napping and sleeping fitfully, waking up a few hours later feeling utterly shit, dog tired, stinking of stale alcohol, head pounding to find someone had unlocked the back door.

Grumbling I ambled through the house and up started up the stairs when the foulest stench of sewer and rot hit me enough to make me almost hurl, getting to the top of the stairs there it was, the source of the most vile pungent odour ever.

The bathroom door wide open, my rather obese sister, naked, half crouching, staring at me, hand full of toilet paper

toilet paper covered with gut churningly stinking shit
(Halfy By light alone, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:29, 2 replies)

Similar to Maladicta's post about blinds...
Back in September 2007 I moved into a house with a couple of mates from uni. Me being a man, and the two of them being female meant I got the downstairs bedroom in case we got burgled. I was still going out with my mad sex maniac girlfriend at this point, and life was good, given that I was back at uni. My room was fairly big, with only two problems.

One being that the windows were covered by really crappy wooden blinds, and the second being that because my room was so big (think converted living room), there was an area that I had essentially stashed all my bags and general carrying gear and then neglected, leaving it to become a spider-infested hellhole. This is not part of the story, but I just like to tell people I lived with a small colony of spiders at one point in my arachnophobic life.

Fast forward to about December 2007, and it's coming up to the time where everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit and everything festive. I had been festive as well, putting Christmas lights up and everything in my room and in the hallway, and was probably the most festive out of my household. My girlfriend was also coming over on the first weekend of December, so I was fairly happy at that point, probably because I was ignoring all the problems in the relationship.

Anyway, the missus comes over, and we trudge back from the train station together, with me teasing her constantly on the way back. Thus by the time we get back to my place, she is randy and ready to jump me, and probably would have done if we had found a secluded alleyway. We get down to sticky business, me shagging her over the desk, when we hear this almighty thumping on the window and a mixture of laughter, jeering and general hooting coming from outside. And mine and B's names being called.

Instantly the meltyman strikes, as I now recognize the voices as the rest of my uni friends who have come over for a night out on the tiles with my other housemates. Deflated, I tug on some boxers and jeans and answer the door.

"Alright Ghost, that was a fucking great performance man!"

One of my mates slurs. I can now smell the alcohol they've been drinking.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

I testily replied, as I was stood in a freezing cold hallway, barefoot on tiles (classy students we were), topless, with the crisp December air chilling my body further. About 7 of my mates wander inside but the 8th hangs around to talk to me.

"You and B, at it, on the desk, like rabbits."

My mate slurs, thrusting his hips in time to every word.

"You saw everything? It's those fucking lights, I'm gonna take them down."

I shouted, at this point slightly shocked and amused, and still fucking cold.

"Don't bother man, it's the blinds that do it, not the fucking Christmas lights."

My mate grins, and I hear a sudden slam and click. From my bedroom door being closed and locked by my darling girlfriend. I try banging on the door and the only response I get from her is a short, clipped shout of "CUNT! FUCK OFF!"

"Still, she does have a cracking arse she does."

My mate mused at this point. Apparently loud enough for B to hear and start swearing again. I also go paler than normal as I remember something.

I would like to take this time to point out one additional detail that I have carefully neglected to tell. As my bedroom is at the front of the house, and we used to live in a fairly good place, i.e. there were proper families there and not just students, all the schoolkids in the mornings used to go past my house.

So, essentially, every time I had my girlfriend over during September 2007 to December 2007 and had the wonderful sexytiem in the morning during the school run, I was inadvertently shagging in front of an audience of a lot of small children. I love morning sex a lot. This was what I had just remembered.

Length? Not allowed to play with it any more unless we were safely bundled away from the prying eyes of schoolkids and other friends. Also quite small due to coldness.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:22, 1 reply)

A pearoast from the nativity plays question.
I was cast for some reason as one of several red indians. An odd choice for a Christmas play, but being about eight, I really didn't have a huge amount of say in the matter.
This particular tale takes place during the dress rehearsal which was performed in front of the rest of the school during a special assembly.
Picture a skinny, milk bottle white runt of a child with a feather taped to his head and clad in an item of apparel consisting of what can only be described as a pair of flaps (you know the kind of thing I am referring to i'm sure) lovingly decorated with meticulously researched hunting scenes using a purple crayola, but alas very poorly constructed. (not by me I might add) This will be a factor later, but for the moment I was happy enough with the arrangement.
Of course genuine native americans did not have Y-fronts visible in the gap up the side of their flap based garments, and so neither did our protagonist in this little tale. No keks for this kid. No, I was taking method acting to its limits for this one. You think Sitting Bull wore Marks and Spencer underpants with Ewoks on them? I couldn't have improved my authenticity quotient if I had scalped the kid playing the christmas tree and set up a casino. I was Geronimo, I was Hiawatha, I was Tonto, I was naked in front of the entire school. Fucksocks.


The odd thing is that only about a quarter of the audience noticed, I put this down to my super rapid re-hoisting of my flaps. This speed came in handy during my teenage years when it was channelled into a finely honed 'wanker's reflex'.


Length? Well, I was only 8...
(Prof. Moriarty put his foot in it on, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:17, Reply)

my ex neighbour was a bit of a menace
apart form the endless broken cars sprawled across the driveway, his gaggle of scumbag chav offspring dealing/fighting/thieving their way through the cul-de-sac, and the noise, was his trophy wife and her dogs.
i'd often hear her screaming blue bloody murder at him for letting wuffles, or whatever the fuck her bug-eyed barking rat was called, out into the garden alone.
so one day as i was leaving for work, it was a not-entirely-unexpected, but nevertheless traumatic experience to see this short, fat, dirty, middle aged man running about the close in his slippers, dressing gown flapping majestically behind him like a wizards cloak, shriveled cock flapping and balls swinging round like a couple of pickled onions in an old stocking, chasing a yapping chihuahua round in circles swearing like a sailor.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Thu 28 May 2009, 15:22, Reply)

mind bleach indeed
Anyone ever been flashed at?

Location: Nottingham, the salubrious Forest Recreation ground.
Time of day: Saturday afternoon
Activity: Gentle mild afternoon amble
Perpetrator: A young man of the ginger persuasion frantically fwapping away in my general direction whilst smirking at me with his tongue out.

Post-traumatic stress anyone?
( rofl harris, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:21, 4 replies)

Terrifying...
I remember it well. I've always had an unusual sleep cycle. I wake up at like, 7am every morning. Even on Weekends. Anyway, one fateful morning, when I was about 9, I woke up even earlier than usual. I decided to go downstairs, and watch TV. I was awake, I might as well. I heard some shuffling downstairs. I initially thought it was the dog, so I didn't give it a second thought. Anyway, I went downstairs, and opened the living room door. There it was. My Dad, completely nude, completely passed out on the couch, after a long night out on the tiles. I simultaneously sympathized for him, witnessed the death of my childhood, and felt a little bit ill.
(almightyjoey is most likely listening to Electric Wizard on, Thu 28 May 2009, 14:10, Reply)

6th? Meh
Went camping with some mates, went out one night and got mullered.

Got back to the tents and got in, crashed immediately. Then got woken up by me mate who told me to sit up and look at the thing on the fly sheet of the tent (basically a fine piece of see-through mesh that separated the inside of the tent from the outside). Sat bolt upright, and found that the 'thing' in question was another mate's hairy arse crack, bulging inward through the sheet, literally inches from my horrified eyes.

Why horrified? Because now I know why they call them 'bum grapes' (shiver)...
(Apathyman Prepare to be underwhelmed..., Thu 28 May 2009, 13:38, Reply)