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This is a question Unexpected Nudity

There you are minding your own business, looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when suddenly... SURPRISE TODGER!

Tell us just how un-erotic unexpected encounters with nudey people can be.

(suggested by wanderingjoe)

(, Thu 28 May 2009, 13:32)
Pages: Latest, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 9, ... 1

This question is now closed.

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)
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 17:00, 1 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.


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
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 16:00, 7 replies)
I walked in my flatmate
completely naked, watching a DVD of Battlefield Earth.

I said "Mate - nobody wants to see that."
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 15:56, 2 replies)
Other Half's Grandad / My Cock Interface
So another trip to see my other half’s somewhat engorged family (it must really be a birthday a week for some of the year- whilst my total family tree can be written on a postage stamp)

The younger brothers 18th, a relatively sedate affair with some 18th I have been to, none of his mates were there for a start just granddad, mum, dad, older brother sister and her other half (me) a couple of beers and a curry and a bit of present sharing everything was going well.

Until… earlier in the evening older brother and I were discussing why my trousers were so low 1. Im cool that’s what the cool kids do and 2. I forgot my belt because I was in a rush to get to this party….

Everyone is gathered in the living room and I walk in and older brother decides that’s the ideal time to pull my jeans down… so there I am with the family sitting on the sofa’s me standing jeans and pants round ankles with my pathetic penis pointing in their directions..

How can I ever look mum, granddad or older brothers girlfriend in the eye knowing they have seen my cock?

Revenge is needed…

Answers on the back of a postage stamp there’s enough room after my family tree is filled in..

P.S sorry this isn’t very funny.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 15:50, 6 replies)
"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...
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 15:04, 9 replies)
Surprises in the most unlikely places.
AS I'm sure none of you know, I play bass guitar. pretty badly, it must be said, but everyone has to start somewhere.

This leads to me keeping an eye open for chord charts, sheet music, and suchlike even when, for instance, at a loud, drunken, and raucous party held by an utterly ancient chum in the depths of the Gloucestershire countryside.

The chap was a club and event organiser and the party was essentially for his usual staff of bouncers, podium dancers, cloakroom girls, barstaff, and drug dealers to cut loose and enjoy themselves for once. I was there through a set of circumstances involving a malfunctioning laser, two paperclips and a pair of rubber gloves which is frankly too bizzare to explain here.

The party itself was constructed of 100% pure weapons grade win. people dancing, people drinking, people staring off into space with various levels of illegal smile. I myself was sprawled out on a sofa drinking Jamesons and talking bollocks with some no-name band when our host staggered in, arm around a giggling young thing and mentioned that he had a great music collection in the "library" which I was welcome to peruse.
So I followed him and the girl down a dim corridor, keeping a keen eye on her extraordinarily squeezable and barely concealed arse until we stepped into a room lined floor to ceiling with musical memerobilia, from blues through rock and roll, to the beginnings of punk, it was all here.
I turned my attention to the books for a little while, flicking through a first edition of an Elvis biography, checking out the history of the Fender guitar company, when I heard a low moan from behind me.
Hear noise, turn to look over shoulder, pure reflex no consideration for what might sear itself onto the back of my eyeballs, and there, bent over the arm of a chair as though it were the most common thing in the world was something I've never seen before or since.
"Unexpurgated Bo Diddley"
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 14:57, 1 reply)
Thatbloke reminds me
of my mate's front-room shenanigans.

She never used to close her curtains either, even when doing the deed in her front room.

This might sound quite run of the mill, except that she weighs about 23 stone and finds regular intercourse a little hard to manage.

So a few years ago at bonky time she would kneel naked in front of the sofa and lean over.
The boyfriend'd lie, also naked, underneath her, face up, feet away from the sofa (with me so far?) and give her a tongue-lashing, meantime polishing his helmet with a free hand.

I never saw this, but apparently assorted insurance salesmen, Betterware agents and council repairs officials did, and they were all kind enough to leave a card without knocking.

The same mate also bonked a policeman on the bonnet of his Rover in the middle of an office car park, potentially in full view of the CCTV cameras, if they were pointed that way.

She gets loads of action. Don't write off fat bints!
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 14:08, 4 replies)
My across-the-road neighbours...
...never close thier fucking curtains. These days they're just nosey bastards* but when I moved in five years ago things were a little different.

When I first moved in to my second-floor rented flat, the pair of them seemd to enjoy giving me an eyeful. I wouldn't mind if either of them looked good in the altogether but they really, really don't. Y'see, my living room and kitchen windows overlook both thier living-room and bedroom windows and many was the time when I would turn around from getting something out of the fridge and BAM! Badly-maintained merkin, soggy waistline and fried-egg nips a-go-go in the bedroom. A few of my mates were also treated to a similar show, and were similarly unappreciative.

A few times too, the man of the house was inadvertently observed partaking of a hand-shandy whilst watching porn on his living room sofa. FFS, you'd think he'd close the curtains for that at least, especially considering the apparently modest proportions of his meatstick. He clocked me clocking him one time and instead of CLOSING THE FUCKING CURTAINS for his future episodes of groinal fiddlage, he instead adopted the practice of putting a blankie on his lap and having a tug under that instead. Didn't mask it so much as you couldn't tell what he was doing, but less need for eyebleach at least.

These days, they've been gifted with a Little Princess**, complete with those fucking annoying banners in the back of thier car so they don't appear to have quite so much freedom for thier exhibitionist antics. I for one am not sorry at this turn of events.

It could be said that I shouldn't have been looking, but what can you do? A moving object in one's field of view causes the observer to focus on it. I couldn't help glancing and by then it was too late. It was like a car crash. And as I've mentioned, it could also have been averted more than adequately by them CLOSING THE FUCKING CURTAINS if they plan to get thier bits out.

* I've rewarded this 'attention-to-detail' more than once by snogging the BF in full view of the window and once I was leaning on the windowsill with my back to the window whilst the BF played my pink oboe for awhile. The window is waist-high so there wasn't any public indecency involved which is more than they did for me, but I made sure the gentle rocking motion and the placement of my hands/arms left the observer (i.e. those two nosy twats) in no doubt as to what I was doing. A little cruel considering that they obviously get no action of thier own these days but after all the unwanted eyefuls they've treated me to it was the least I could do.
** Read: Shrill, spoilt little twat who appears to rule the house and every aspect of their lives these days.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 13:45, 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!
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 13:39, Reply)
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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 12:42, 1 reply)
Swanfield Street E2
Across the gardens from my house are two houses that were gutted and renovated over last winter for new residents. One has had a family move into it but the other was a bit stranger, people only seem to be there on Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights.

Just after they were finished I was going to bed one night and noticed that there was a semi naked woman in one of the bedrooms opposite, had a quick look and went to sleep. Over the next few weeks this woman would appear on the noted nights around 6pm and spend the next 5 hours walking around the room semi or fully naked in full view with the room lights on and curtains wide open. This went on for about 2 months or so. There was one weekend evening when My other half was over and with one of my house mates we watched this woman for about 2 hours flash her wares to all the neighbours. Certainly seemed that she knew we were there as she often seemed to be looking back at us. The peep show finally stopped as the woman seemed to learn how to close her curtains but now there doesn't seem to be anyone left in the house. Makes me wonder if someone was paying to watch her do it or if she just got off on it.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 11:53, Reply)
I just flashed my neighbours
by wandering into the kitchen to get a yoghurt in my night wear. Oh well, I guess I can sunbathe topless now without worrying if they can see me.

(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 11:31, 14 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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 11:03, 17 replies)
"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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 11:02, Reply)
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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 10:35, 4 replies)
Father Ted, the lost tales...

Craggy Island, location of the much-loved television series, 'Father Ted' has been many things in

the history of this fair green isle of ours, including a seat of ancient monastic learning where

tonsured young men would come to improve their education.

Some exceptional young men indeed, including a number of the Papal Castrati Choir who had grown

tired of singing or were favoured by high-ranking clergy.

It is also the sight of Irelands' most frequent UFO sightings.

Now, as is common in many countries polluted with religion, there is often a recidivist element.

The Catholic scourge of Craggy Island is no exception and Teds' own church choir is made up of

local paritioners and a number of volunteer castrati.

Some of these volunteers, as a result of either their condition or conviction experience a type

of manic delirium.

They have been known to have been seen wandering like sleepwalkers entranced in whichever

delusion they have succumbed to.

One such delusion is that of becoming birds.

Father Ted is a keen esotericist when not practicing his particular brand of half-arsed

Catholicism and could often be seen slumped in his deck chair at night with his binoculars

trawling the sky for alien arrivals.

Ted would have you believe he has been visited by naked little green men and proudly tells the

story of the night the sleepwalking volunteer castratis' paths in full avian delirium crossed

with his unearthly visitors leading to his journalistic submission the next day to 'The Craggy

Island Examiner' newspaper under the heading,

"Eunuchs peck Ted, nude ET."

(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 9:45, Reply)
Hospital nudity
I have several for this week, but this is just a quick one and a partial pea.

I have documented my stay in hospital and the ordeal with huge catheters a couple of years ago. As if that wasn't traumatic enough I was told I could go into the operating theatre with my boxer shorts and socks on to preserve some of my meagre dignity.

Upon waking in the recovery room and subsequently being rushed to the intensive care unit, I had a moment of clarity. It must have been the morphine kicking in or something. I turned to the nurse who was pushing the gurney I was lying on, with a face full of tubes and wires and said 'I haven't got any pants on have I?'.

She giggled a little and confirmed I was commando. But I want to know where they had gone. They were my favorite pair of boxers too, some bastard doctor had probably stolen them.

To this day I don't know where those boxers went or how they were removed without me knowing!
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 8:49, 5 replies)
in the pot
For those of us into diving, "the pot" is an affectionate name given to the decompression chamber where - if a diver has survived an uncontrolled ascent from depth with bursting a lung they might find themselves placed to avoid further pain, injury etc.

A friend and buddy of mine Jack and I were diving with Adam. Jack was test-diving a new dry suit and low profile dump valve.

Everything went fine until we got to 28m where we'd been for around 25 minutes.

Adam who was leading the dive indicated that we should head for the surface. Adam leads, Jack follows, I'm the back marker.

Suddenly Jack can't dump air necessary for a controlled ascent and I reach for his boots whilst Adam grabs his shoulders.

All three of us get a ride to the surface courtesy of the Jack missile and hit the surface around a second after we leave depth.

Jacks mask is full of blood and he's coughing. Adams got a nosebleed and I've got a headache like someones shoved my head into a vice and is squeezing.

One of our number who by good fortune was out with us that day was an RN doctor who got on the phone to the local pot, as luck would have it, all of 8 miles from our location, where Jack, Adam and I were ensconced for a few hours.

Naturally, the first priority was to get is all into the pot, Jack particularly. We then got out of our gear and my unexpected nudity came when I took off my dry suit to realise that I'd lost control of my bowel (ahem) and thus had to ditch my skidded smalls too.


Strangely enough, I don't dive any more. -
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 7:12, 5 replies)
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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 6:47, 1 reply)
Just today actually
I was in Washington DC in the cafe of a museum with my mom, little sister and brother, on what could be liberally called a vacation. Went to the bathroom, I walk in and there some guy with his pants around his ankles staring down at his junk. luckily he was wearing a long button down shirt and I didn't see anything, but he quickly pulled up his pants as if nothing was out of the ordinary and proceeded to wash his hands while I relieved myself. Walked out of the restroom just as he left the cafe with who looked to be his girlfriend.
guess he was just making sure it was still attached before the date progressed any further. Ah well.

Length? not much apparently, the shirt wasn't that long...
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 5:07, Reply)

moo ditty.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 4:44, 5 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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 3:38, 3 replies)
Springtime Surprise
Ah, the awful Boston winter is at long last over. Time for cruising to places unknown and enjoying the first beautiful day of spring in my car with my buxom beauty by my side. While driving through exotic places (the next town over) we discover a state park empty of cars and decide to take a stroll. The posted notice stated that this park overlooks the ocean on three sides with just "a short walk then climb the hillside". Off we go down the trail enjoying the wooded forest, wow, how have we never discovered this place?

We find that the "short walk" is actually more than a mile...no matter we are young and the day is grand. Rounding a corner we see the "hill", or rather, the mini-mountain covered in grass with a few trees at the distant top. Undaunted, we scale this monolith and arrive at the most breathtaking experience we have ever had of an open grass expanse, blue blue ocean, the city of Boston, sailing ships, birds chirping, the perfect temperature, ahh what a day!

Suffice to say we threw our clothes off and right there on the very top on the open grass field we started to do the "Wild Thing".
Girl selected a position more suited to dogs and howling much louder than they ever could, I open my eyes briefly and notice but 20 feet away, ten or twelve (Oh My God!), OLD PEOPLE, well over the age of 60 discreetly observing our youth.

My first thoughts in quick succession were "Where The Hell Did They Come From?" "How The Hell Did They Climb That Mountain", and of course "Should I Tell my Girlfiend" and "Should I Stop". I never did answer the first two questions (I surmise transported space aliens, -may not be entirely true) but the last two answers were a decided "Screw That". Ahh the joys of manhood and being the decision-maker...
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 1:36, Reply)
I wish I had the chutzpah to take a photo
Of the drunken couple having sex outside opposite mine right now.
I did cough through the open window but I guess it wasnt enough to break the momentum.
Poor lass, that gravel must really hurt her knees.
Sort of unexpected nudity apart from the fact from the little I saw ( and I'm not looking any further honest! ) his shirt is covering most of his exposed behind.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 1:28, 1 reply)
Bikini fail
Long story hacked, I ended up on a beach in Rhode Island on a day nobody else in America felt much like it. Apart from me and my friend, the only others out were parents walking their kids who presumably were going stir crazy from all-channel-24-hr-coverage.

Now, I didn't used to wear bikinis (self concious about a scar, over it now), but as I didn't have a swimming costume, my friend lent me her bikini. I was a 6-8. She was a size 12. Things could have been... snugger.

I love the sea. I will jump in it whenever possible, even though I have a genuine phobia of putting my head under water. So after sitting on the golden sand reading for much too long, and watching the tempting blue of the Atlantic swell continuously, I figured I would be bitter if I didn't have a swim. I told my mate, and after a cautious couple of minutes burying the flat key, we went in.

We pissed about for a good half hour, and it was brilliant. It was actually warm, and the swells were light, and I forgot all about the head-under-the-water issue.

Until a freak one smacked me in the face.

It took me a good few seconds of 'breathe, relax, you lived' before I realised I was a little bit colder, and my friend was laughing just a little bit harder.

Floating about 5ft from me was my bikini top.
10ft away were the bottoms.

Fortunately, my friend grabbed the furthest, I the nearest, but in the haste to get me decent in shallower water where I could get stuff on feet-on-sand, we'd forgotten about that gentle swell that first beckoned us in. Which, on every low wave, revealed to those lovely families a naked english bird in the shallows, flashing her tits and other lady delicates, struggling with damp swimwear three sizes too big. I swear, it was like that school swimming pyjama test.

The dads didn't seem to mind.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 0:44, 1 reply)
Leeds Festival 08
Last year at the Leeds Festival (absolute mudpit but a fucking ace time!)
I was at the main stage toilets waiting for the next free cubicle... A few blocks down the door bangs open and a guy stumbles out absolutly wasted, he is so drunk he has to pause and hold the door frame just to stay upright.
He takes another stumbling step and pauses as if contemplating something deep. But no, he was mostly likely contemplating "why are my bollocks chilly..." yes, he had not put his meat and two veg away. He took a confused look down, then turns around (which again took effort) into the cubicle to sort himself out.
Thankfully when he next emerged everything was safely packed away.
(, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 23:46, Reply)
"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.


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:


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...
(, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 22:35, 10 replies)
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.
(, Mon 1 Jun 2009, 22:28, 2 replies)

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