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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, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, ... 1

This question is now closed.

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.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 10:27, 7 replies)
For public usage
A few years ago me and some friends went on a trip to Prague in between uni terms. It is an awesome city. Even though I got my jacket, phone and passport nicked (someone kindly left the door to the hostel open when they left that morning), I still had a great time and left with no uncertainty whatsoever as to my new favourite beer (Staropramen Dark).

This trip occurred during the middle of winter, making the loss of my jacket a major problem during the later days of the trip, so we ventured out into areas of the city where we hoped we could find a cheap jacket that I could afford with my remaining moneys.On a street with a cafe named 'The Dog's Bollocks', outside of which was a bright magenta Ford Escort, we saw a rising cloud of steam and a steady torrent of liquid rising into the air. We assumed a car engine had gone wrong.

Instead, we found a boy of primary school age was standing between two parked cars, trousers and pants round his ankles, leaning back and arcing a torrent of piss about seven feet into the air. His eyes shone with the reflection of the liquid (which was the colour of Lilt, indicating that he was reasonably well refreshed), as they followed the pee-path on its journey to the middle of the cobbled street. He looked at it in wonder, and idly used the hand that wasn't clenched around his cashew-nut resembling boyhood to scratch his chest, so that anyone coming up the street from the other end would have seen 5 aghast looking Scottish students staring at a hardy but almost completely naked child, stretching up his top and rubbing his chest.

Our response, naturally, was to walk away quickly. After we had pushed Steve towards it and yelled something about his 'Golden Shower from a toddler' experience.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 10:21, 2 replies)
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.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 10:19, Reply)
SNAKE?
Walking to my girlfriend's house at the other end of the Meadows I had reached the crossroads between Edinburgh Uni and Newington, and waited for the green man. At this point a policeman on a motorbike stopped in the road and said 'Sorry guys, you're going to have to wait to cross.' At this point I noticed that:

A. It was still a red man and I couldn't cross anyway.
B: There were more polis on motorbikes holding traffic at bay on two sides of the crossroads.

Sure enough, a small cavalcade was lead through by more police. In a fairly bulky looking rolls royce type car I saw none other than Camilla and possibly Charles on the other side (couldn't see him, but it was definitely her). The policeman thanked us for our patience, and the green man signalled across the road.

It was at this point I noticed that my flies were down, the zip splayed open like a denim vagina.

CAMILLA ALMOST SAW MY COCK, but then she probably just would've fired buckshot at it and set the hounds on me.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 10:08, 2 replies)
Just recently...
I had occasion to nip around to a colleague's place a couple of nights ago.

There was nudity. Unfortunately, it was her three-year-old son who got naked: he apparently has a habit of removing his clothes at random points. I had to decline when he offered my his pants.

What is the accepted etiquette for dealing with unexpectedly naked toddlers in a social situation? More importantly, how can you keep them away from you?
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 10:04, 6 replies)
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.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:51, 1 reply)
...And then all my clothes fell off.
But it was all done in the best possible taste.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:29, 1 reply)
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…
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:08, 11 replies)
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!"
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 9:04, 6 replies)
holiday
lads holiday to aiya napa.

delayed flight etc, got to the hotel at around 6 am,
3 of us in the room,get ready for bed and get into bed as theres a long day of turning into lobsters ahead of us.
one guy says "i might just lay on top of the sheets its too warm, just hope my cock doesnt fall out"

me and the other guy look at each other and say "too late"

one of them also paraded out of the bathroom sporting a mangina, neglecting the fact that as he turned around to get dressed again in the bathroom his meat and 2 veg would be sticking out the back.
whoops
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 8:54, Reply)
When you gotta go, you gotta go...
'Twas back many years ago, when I was around the age of 7. My parents' marriage was on the rocks, so dad was sleeping in the master bedroom, while mum occupied the guest room at the other end of the house. The way our house was laid out, the main bathroom was between my bedroom and the guest room, and there was a smaller bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom.

So one day, I'd come inside from riding my bike, and I was desperately needing to empty myself of the remains of my lunchtime Kool-Aid. I scrambled through the front door, through the living room, through my bedroom... and right into the closed bathroom door. Closed... and locked. Frantically I tried to get the door open, to which I received a rather curt "I'm IN here." from mum.

Panic began to set in. I couldn't use the bathroom, mum was in there. If I wet myself, or the carpet, I would be in big trouble. Going back outside to a shrub or something was not an option... Finally, a cartoonish lightbulb lit up over my head - THE PARENTS' BATHROOM!

At this point I feel I should pause and make note of the fact that my parents were fairly serious about keeping their personal business... well, personal. It was sort of an unspoken rule in the house that I was not allowed in there without permission. Being the well-behaved child I was, I saw no real need to break that unspoken rule.

Until today, that is. As I flew back through my bedroom, into the living room, through the kitchen, the laundry room - I could feel that the dam was about to explode, no holds barred, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I was already unzipping as I flew through the parents' bedroom, threw the bathroom door open, and... stopped dead in front of my father, sitting on the loo, dirty mag in one hand, one-eyed monster in the other. My need to pee completely forgotten, I stood staring in complete and utter shock, as my father scowled at me and said, "I don't NEED your help." and shut the door in my face.

To this day, some quarter of a century later, I still can't remember where or even if I relieved my weary bladder.

Length, girth? Now I know who to thank for it.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 8:28, 3 replies)
On holiday
A few years back I took the family on a long haul holiday destination. This being the first time we encountered an 11 hour flight plus then a 2 hour transfer to the resort we were all shattered but aware that going to bed at 7pm meant we probably would all be up about 5 in the morning.

I thought it maybe a good idea to have a few drinks and a/ prolong going to bed and b/ comatose a sleep hoping to wake up at a sensible hour. The rest of the family decided they would be able to sleep on anyway.

I took myself down to the pool bar. I'd already noticed there was a large population of German and Russian guests so when I heard someone talk in English I made it known it was my mother tongue.

As it turned out the couple were American. We chatted for a while and a passed comment on a tattoo the femail was sporting. I explained my best friend was very much into body art and occasionally attended conventions.

The lady then showed me some other works that were outside my line of vision. Again I complimented her. Spurred on by my words, and probably some of the bar cocktails she raised her vest to show me her pierced nipples (her partner completely unfazed by this - bizarre!!). By now I'm starting to think maybe this is going too far.

The final party piece though was when she pulled down her bikini bottoms - this is early evening remember at a hotel pool bar with other guests - to show me her pierced bean on her clam.

By this time I thought the travel and drink had got to me and decided to make my apologies and go to bed.

I explained the episode to my wife whose view on Americans has subsequently become quite dim.

Thankfully I didn't see them again for the entire fortnight we were there
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 8:13, Reply)
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.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 4:29, 2 replies)
Boobs
Not completely unexpected, but strangely enjoyable.

~~~~~~~~~Back Story~~~~~~~~~~

A friend of mine, T, had befriend a girl i shall call A. She was a lovely girl, still is although not seen her in years, who liked to drink and was a bit silly when drunk. She also recently, when i had meet her, had her nipple pierced.

I also found out later that same month, that another friend, M, had one, and for well over a year by then.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I asked both of em if i could see em as a) i was interested and b) i am, apparently, a perv.

I was told not now, later.

So one night we are all out on the lash, as one does. There are about 8 of us in the group, including M & A. We were sat in the corner of scrubways, edinburgh, when everyone in the group bar M and myself, had either go to dance/get drink/piss, when she turned to me and said something, i am not sure what for the next sec she had her tit out. My first thoughts were, veiny. And from there it went down hill.

Outside the club/meat market, M flashed again, A flashed, M flashed A, i may have helpled at one point. We walked up the road to a take away place for some early morning food, where M flashed some random bloke sat a car.

I ventured forth to get some pizza and asked the guy if i could get a discount for some female nudity, he said a pound. So M Flashed him. Discounted pizza, result. His mate asked if he could touch em for a fiver, to which the answer was no, i was informed as we exited the building that "as a friend she didn't mind me touching em, coz i trust you".

On a different occasion, A, T and I booked a trip to the flatlands, on the flight over A & T discovered you could have seconds on the drinks, so T and I got some wine in. Which we then used to bribe A into flashing us at altitude, vague mile high club.

Then one quite drunk night in my local, a small pub, A flashed for free beer, and pictures were taken. Weirdly enough A informed us those pics never came out.

So Yeah, Uni was fun.
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 2:52, Reply)
Native Muff
Back in '98 family holiday to Oz.

Doing the sights, now if you have been to Sydney you might know about the ferry terminal thingy by the opera house. Also has lots of touristy type shops. If you haven't been reword the above into a description, and possible correct English.

So there were walking along looking at the tourist tat and wonder what to buy. When a skinny white bloke, carrying shopping, and his missus, an Aboriginal, started to have a loud argument. Well she was shouting at lot at him and he was looking scared. In one hand she held an empty glass and looked a little on the drunk side of life.

I followed there shouty progress, hiding behind the tat stands. Some more shouting, she places the glass on the floor, drop trousers and flashes her bush to the world, shouting something like "have a good look". Returned her trousers to the up position, picks up her glass and carries on walking.

I must admit i felt sorry for that poor bloke.

StyX
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 2:33, 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 :)
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 1:07, Reply)
Only this weekend...
Staying at riverghost's place after the London bash, and headed off to the shower room.

"Right, so I'll put my jeans and yesterday's boxers on and hang them in the corner while I shower, then put clean boxers on, all in the comfort of a blacked out shower cubicle" I thought.

Wrong.

The cubicles aren't big enough to take anything in that you want to keep dry, and thus my Sunday morning shower took the form of saying a polite "Morning!" to a rather pretty (fully dressed) blonde who I didn't recognise, then quickly dropping my trousers and hanging them (and my boxers) on a nearby hook, and stepping into a cubicle for a shower.

Then when I opened the door and leant out of the shower to get the shower gel from my jeans pocket I got the chance to say hello to her again, along with her friend who had arrived while I was waiting for the water to warm up.

Hurrah!
(, Wed 3 Jun 2009, 0:59, Reply)
Saturday morming swimming
Spending a weekend with friends, M & J I went with them when they took their ankle biters swimming. The pool we went to had traditional changing rooms. While M & J separated their bag into male and female requirements they asked me to go on ahead so I could be ready to deal with 3 yr old George while his father got changed. I checked and double checked the sign on the door and walked in expecting hairy arses and as it was Saturday some teenage lads flicking towels at eachother. Now I didn't know Saturday morning swimming was dad's job so I was not expecting a changing room that seemed to be full of naked little girls mainly stood on the benches which, as I was lacking a child made me rather uncomfortable trying to find a corner where I was not likely to be decked by an overprotective father. Eventually my friend and the brat appeared and I enjoyed paddling in a couple of inches of water with George yummy mummy spotting. (me not him). Getting George dressed afterwards I knew there was a girl behing me also getting changed and as I was blocking his view he kept moving to the side. I did discover why the girls stood on the benches. I was at George's height and had M's cock swinging away a few inches to the side of my face.
Length? More than me. The Bastard!
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 23:32, Reply)
Do they show everyone, or just me?
There's something about me that attracts strange people...

Anyway, to date I have seen 2 random todgers in the pub (mainly showing off piercings and tattoos), numerous festival-bush-dwelling willies and 2 old ladies' mimsies. One mimsy belonged to a strange lady who liked to sit on a park bench and flash at people, and the other was hanging from a lovely old dear at my Grandad's rest home (she likes to walk around naked).

I suppose that's not a lot, really - but there's still time.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 23:18, 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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 22:43, Reply)
it was both nudity and the most horrific thing I've ever seen....
back in the days when I commuted to Victoria from Sarf London I got to the station at the usual time one morning and as usual got held up behind the Tube barriers.
Finally getting down onto the concourse I was first aware of a most foul odour, and when I say foul I mean gaggingly, boakingly foul. The source of the aroma appeared to be a tramp about 20 feet away with a tramp friend of his. Tramp 1 with his back to me, suddenly dropped his trousers exposing a hairy tramp arse that was utterly covered in shit, some of which was spilling out of the bottom of his trouser legs and onto his shoes.
Bleeurgh. I just thank God I never got to see his cock. I'd have gouged out my own eyes I think.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 21:34, 1 reply)
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...
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 20:30, 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!
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 20:27, 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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 20:15, 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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 19:00, 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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 18:57, 1 reply)
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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 18:05, 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.
(, 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.
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 17:39, 2 replies)
Not quite proper nudity but...
It was freshers week and i had been on a bender the night before. It was about 5pm and i had just woken up and was having a my first cig of the morning in bed. Theres a knock at my door. I was thinking it would be one of my cretinous mates wanting something so i open it in my boxers with a rollie hanging out my gob with a 'what the fuck do you want' look. What it actually was was a nice looking girl. She looked very stunned then held out a leaflet and said "do you want to join our church?"
(, Tue 2 Jun 2009, 17:17, Reply)

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