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)

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)

Suprise Wedding, inevitable nudity
T'other week, my brother threw a huge birthday bash, on a melon-farming boat! in the middle of the Thames, in London. Then he and his fiancee tied the knot in the middle of the boat. To gasps, giggles and tears (from me, but I cried at Wall E fer fecks sake) it was lovely all round.

The party adjourned to a local football club where there was much dancing, singing and drinking to the sounds of a steel band, still all totally lovely. Then I spotted a sinister turn. A friend of my brothers appeared to be walking across the pitch, counting strides to himself, into the gathering darkness. At the time I thought no more of it, and went back indoors for more cakes and ale.

Then I noticed that a lot of the men there present, weren't present any more, they appeared to have gone outside the clubhouse "How odd?" I thought to myself at the same time as my pearl bracelet decided to break, sending a blizzard of beads bouncing to the ground.

It's very difficult to pick up beads when you're trying to see out of a window into the gloamin, so this task took ages, even with the help of my brother's new in laws, but I finally managed to shove the majority into my handbag and exited the clubhouse..

Outside on the veranda, a crowd of revelers had gathered, cameras poised looking onto the dark footy pitch... then, one by one... smallish, pale shapes seemed to distinguish themselves, until at least a dozen or so naked male humans, of varying stages of fitness hoved into view...

A voice at my side, belonging to the groom's best mate's Mum said "You must be very proud!" Just at the point when I recognised Sparklet Minor (aged 19) taking part in his first Grown up Streak...

It's not often I'm stuck for words...
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 12:43, 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)

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)

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)

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 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)

My Psycho Ex GF
Once told me this story of her infant school days.

There used to be this nice man that would hang around the fence to the playground. He really liked talking to the children and seemed very nice. She did have one worry about him though. He seemed to be a bit ill. He was always hunched over and he had "white wee"......
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 9:55, 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)

Does it count if mine was the unexpected nudity?
As you'll all have noticed, we've recently been host to a wonderful heatwave.

Given that my flat is like a chuffing oven as soon as sunlight hits it, we have to keep all the windows open, which also means every fly and his dog bombs in.

My friend, having recently read a top tip on this site, was trying to hoover up all the flies when another flatmate strolled in and asked what he was doing.

"The flies are back, it's the first sign of summer' he told him.

'Christ, not the flies again.'

'I know, it won't be long til we're walking about naked again.'

'No, I don't think you'll be doing that again this year.'

After over-hearing this conversation from my room, and given that I'd woke up stark bollock, I decided to time my stroll down the hall perfectly with his damning of fancy free nudity.

This resulted in my friend falling over laughing while the other fella turned round to see me, cock out and grinning like an idiot.

I don't think we'll be missed once we move.
(shinobiboabi, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 7:24, Reply)

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 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)

In front of God and everybody
Back when I was working evenings, hubby always went to bed well before I got home. I would walk through the pitch-black house and undress in the dark so as not to disturb his sleep. You think you know what's coming, don't you?

Well, you're wrong.
I actually walked a fair clip into a half open door and screamed in pain. It had caught me right in the eye and I could hardly see for the pain. Hubby flew down the stairs out of bed and flicked on the light to see how badly I was injured.

There we are: me sobbing and clutching my nose and him solicitously peering into my face, as we realize we are standing in front of a HUGE picture window.

With the shades up.

In our religious neighborhood, full of Word of God people.

He sleeps naked.
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 4:29, 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)

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)

When I was in my early teens.
I was in my mates playing a bit of pro evo (extra time and a 13-14 penalty shoot-out meant I was late home for my tea). After winning I left his bedroom, only to be confronted by his mother, completely bollocko walking along the landing towards the bathroom (at tea-time, of all things).

Logical thinking would suggest she'd cover her indignity/turn and run away. But no. Her first instinct was to be startled and as such her arms were thrust up and outwards in a reaction that wouldn't be that out of place in the video for thriller.

I was laughing so hard that it took about 45 minutes to walk the 5 houses down back to mine. Meaning that my tea was completely cold when I got back. It was fish fingers and potato smiley faces too. I am still a bit peeved about it.
(ste_mc_efc, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 1:13, 2 replies)

Brighton Beach yesterday
Some guy in overaly tight swimming trunks bent down in front of me to get something from his bag.....

Grape smuggler.
( Crap Little Monkey Deathstar, so good they built it twice, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 0:10, Reply)

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)

Boobs
I was once at some ceremony and giving out an award with my wife, when she had "wardrobe malfunction" and showed her jumbo norks to everyone. Then I did an Ali G impression.
(McChinaman banned, Sun 31 May 2009, 23:43, 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)

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)

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)

I have a friend
who likes to eat curry naked.
Maybe three, four times I've walked in on him enjoying a skyclad faal.
( Captain Tripps is your taxloss lover from Liverpool, Sun 31 May 2009, 22:14, 1 reply)

Unexpected nudity, you say?
I thought I had gotten my one and only relevant story for the week over and done with already, but fate, it seems, has decided to smite me with memories the strongest mindbleach will have trouble shifting. Unexpected nudity can come at any time, in any form, and blast your retinas from any angle, and the upshot is you may end up going to any lengths to escape from it.

So. Cast your minds back to friday night. Did you enjoy yourself? I certainly did for a while, it was a lovely warm day, the beer was flowing and we had unexpected female company at the pub. Now..... I'm not too good with the ladies, and my mates all seem to have sexual powers that would make Terry Thomas look like an amateur, so I realised quickly that if any bonking was going to happen, the pinnacle of my involvement in it would be being kept awake by the noise, but I accepted this state of affairs long ago and settled in for an amusing evening. The scenery soon changed from the pub to one of the ladies' houses, where the party, as always, gravitated to the kitchen. We're having a right old laugh, the beer is flowing and bugger me if I'm not even talking to one of the girls! Similar college courses and my trademark weird drunken tomfoolery seemed to be pressing the correct buttons, at least enough to keep a friendly chat from turning into a disgusted look (I've learned a lot these past few years). As we stand there in the kitchen, laughing like idiots and drinking like nutters, the talk turns to cock sizes. My friends, for they are idiots, begin to discuss the relative merits of their whopping great ladykilling sausages, and I sort of got bored listening and zoned out of the conversation. A few minutes later, we hear emanating from the hall some insane sounding laughter. I recognise it immediately as my mate, who barrels through the kitchen door wearing only a pair of socks and some boxers. Oh wait, correction, he's taken off the boxers. My other mate also begins an impromtu striptease, but stops short of revealing his todger and quickly redresses, and we all laugh heartilly and make amusing wise cracks.

It was very funny. For about 2 minutes. But it sort of lost it's appeal when my mate then decided he liked being in the nuddy and began holding a conversation with me with his cock-and-ball ensemble flapping around not four feet from my face. Several attempts to make him get dressed failed, and soon enough, he was standing at the top of the stairs, naked as the day he was born apart from a rather fetching pair of black socks, talking to the girls while the rest of us stood in the kitchen slightly pissed off.

I got fed up with the whole situation after about ten minutes and decided to walk the three and a half MILES along a dark country road at THREE IN THE MORNING to get home, rather than listen to conversation, which was becoming gradually more seedy, drifting down the stairs.

I'm not an old prude, but surely I'm not alone in thinking the whole situation a bit strange?

And I know I'm not exactly Brad Pitt, but if one of my mates prancing about in the scud making a complete tool of himself is more appealing than having a chat with me in the kitchen, then I'm thoroughly fucking depressed. I could understand it if I'd been in the buff too, mind.

Women. I'm onto you! You're just as shallow as we are, aren't you?

I made it home in just under an hour. It's the most excersise I've had in years, so I suppose that's something.
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Sun 31 May 2009, 22:04, 7 replies)

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)

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)

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)