Pub Cock Trauma
It was not long after I'd joined my current job and in the run-up to Christmas a Pub session was decided upon. Unusually for me, I went along.
And merriment there was aplenty until I happened to glance over to one of my more inebriated male colleagues and immediately picked up on the fact that something was ...odd. It took me a while to work out exactly what was off-kilter but eventually I homed in on the little white nugget of flesh poking out of his...
out of his...
(Welcome aboard my train of thought)
Holy nunfuck. He's got his cock out. He's sitting at a table full of colleagues, (many of whom were of the norkbearing type) and he's got his cock out.
Hmm. I really should stop gawping at his cock.
Oh look. Everybody else has noticed.
They don't seem too surprised.
Where on earth have I found myself?
Wow. He really does look pleased with himself.

At which point my Train of Thought got strafed by the rocket firing Typhoon of Dawning Horror and I headed for the bar at speed.

The End.
Waving about in the breeze.
(Big D, Thu 28 May 2009, 21:41, 4 replies)

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's my mum

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

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

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

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

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

Sorry
When I go mountain biking I quite often get changed into dry clothes in the car park. Anyone who's ridden Penmachno will understand how well exposed you are on that track overlooking the valley!

I'm sure a farmer or two has had an eyeful.
( thistle, Thu 28 May 2009, 21:27, Reply)

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

He hadnt been expecting that.

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

California uber alles
Just under a year ago I left England’s green and pleasant lands (grey and wet if truth be told) and headed to San Francisco. Let me tell you, they do nudity here a lot.

The Bay to Breakers race a fortnight ago for example. Several runners did the 10K race in nothing more than a pair of running shoes. Call me Mr Picky but running makes certain male and female attributes flop around in a way that looks painful to them and leaves the spectators needing brain bleach. Please god never let nude running become an Olympic sport.

Then there’s the Folsom Street Fair. Imagine Gay Pride, but for the kinkier end of the community. A stroll through the fair reveals flogging booths, communal golden showers and some of the scariest bears* I’ve ever seen wearing nipple clamps that looked like bulldog clips and surgical clamps had sneaked off for a quick shag and yielded mutant spawn out of Giger’s worst nightmares.

Not to mention the hot springs. California’s riddled with the things, due to sitting on a geological time bomb that could turn the state into Arizona Bay**. Most are described as ‘clothing optional,’ which means “wear clothes if you want to be gawped at like the Elephant Man doing the runway at London Fashion Week.” The memory of the girlfriend taking me to a nude yoga session at one such spring still has me shuddering, and not in a good way.

Then there’s the nude beaches. Baker Beach in the city has no delineation between the clothed and nude section, so one minute you’re ambling along admiring the families gambolling in the view of the Golden Gate Bridge and the next minute it’s rusty sheriff’s badges as far as the eye can see. Don’t get me wrong, nothing wrong with nudism, but some warning would have been nice.

I was persuaded to disrobe and some warnings about the sun would be useful. There are some parts of me that haven’t seen the sun in over 25 years and despite liberal and repeated applications of sunblock certain parts got sunburnt. The only plus side was the slight amusement value of having a dick that looked like a stripy barber’s pole when excited, even if it was too painful to do anything with.

Finally there’s the general public disrobing. Now, like 90 per cent of men and a fair few women I’ve been caught short on the way home from the pub. So you find a discrete corner, unzip, water the plants and move on. Not so here. My first day at work there’s a bloke pissing against the side of the building, 10am in bright sunshine. And not unzipping and doing his business. Trousers around the ankles, arm above his head on the wall supporting the body at 60 degrees and loud sighs of relief.

Nudity is a good thing, particularly in the right places, but I can’t help feeling that the San Franciscans have taken things a wee bit too far.

*Bears – large bearded gay chaps. They have conventions and everything. Nice to know there’s something for all sorts.
** © Bill Hicks
(paxvobiscum, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:50, 9 replies)

Little and Large get arrested
Whilst still a student, I scrimped and saved my pennies* so I could go on one of those 'sports' tours, as lovingly described here by our understanding and liberal tabloid press.

www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-563782/We-want--drunken-British-students-wreck-Spanish-resort.html

I put the inverted commas on sports, because no sport was actually played as we missed the bus due to drunkenness, but that is another story. This weeks request is for unexpected nudity, and unexpected nudity you shall have.

We arrived in Salou, Spain, early afternoon and immediately hit the beach armed with some liquid sustinance. Being the first day, there were lots of people going a bit mad. Students everywhere already pissed up, puking in gutters, and ritualistically shaving their passed out friends. By comparison, my chums and I were being quite sedate, a few bevies and a beach based kick around.

A few yards down the beach from us were another group of students who seemed similarly restrained. That was until two of them decided it would be a good idea to strip bollock naked and take a stroll up and down the beach, not get naked run in the sea and get dressed again quickly, I mean a 10 minute stroll making polite conversation with all and sundry.

Now these events are usually pretty liberal in terms of policing. The vast amounts of money made, means the police generally leave people to it. However there is a line and when you cross it, you are fucked. These two fairly spectacularly crossed the line and were duly bent over a barrel and buggered by Spains finest. But its not the comical arrest I want to talk about, or even the hilarity of the tears from these macho chaps that followed. Oh no, I just want to know what possesses a short, fat, ginger bloke with an impressively small cock, to walk around a beach butt-naked with his taller, tanned, more sculpted, more handsome chum who just happens to have an ENOMOUS penis?

Length? At least 7 inches on the flop.

*extended my already massive overdraft and added to my already colossal debt.
(Bam Bam McPenis will change all this when he is fuhrer., Thu 28 May 2009, 20:49, Reply)

Care work numbs you to nudity...
I have worked with adults with learning disabilities for several years now, and have probably seen more tits, bums, willies and fannies than your average porn star, or indeed viewer.

There is, however, one incident that stands out. I was taking one of the residents on holiday with two other workers. We had hired a little cottage on the south coast of England and we were enjoying the freezing weather and lack of anything being open.
Now this particular gentleman spends a significant amount of time in the nude. He takes his clothes off at random and because he normally wears incontinence pads, once he has stripped everything off he just goes where he stands. He was also at the time suffering from a condition that caused swelling of the testicles. At this point he was on a waiting list for an operation and they were possibly at their biggest. I'm talking rugby ball sized.
Anyway, because we were in unfamiliar surroundings, in an unfamiliar place, this guy would just not settle. His clothes had come off and we were sitting round having a few beers, just like a normal evening, but with a naked man sitting in the corner. We decided we would sleep in shifs. I took the first shift awake. I sat up with him for a while, then he went to bed. I decided to take the bed next to him to relax, and I would read for a bit, before waking someone up to do the next shift.
I fell asleep.
Some kind of internal emergency alarm woke me a couple of hours later. I could hear giggling. I was disoriented as to where I was because I still had my clothes on, and I was not in my own bed. I turned my head, still lying down, just in time to see a cock and enormous balls, about 5cm from my face, with the man in question just getting ready to pee...

Luckily, I got away.

This really needs a length joke...Not as long as it would have been without the giant balls.
(allthatglittersisglitter, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:43, 1 reply)

A few years ago
I had been at a wedding reception getting happily then merrily then steamingly drunk, proper skull fucked on shitty lager drunk. Got a lift home at 2 in the morning and staggered to the back door (had just moved house, and the front door was broken) and tried the key. didn't fit. hmmm, tried another key, that didn't fit either, staring through the side window I could faintly see that someone had locked the back door and left the key in, spent ages knocking on the door, trying to reach through the cat flap to remove the key to no avail.

Eventually gave up and passed out in my car, cat napping and sleeping fitfully, waking up a few hours later feeling utterly shit, dog tired, stinking of stale alcohol, head pounding to find someone had unlocked the back door.

Grumbling I ambled through the house and up started up the stairs when the foulest stench of sewer and rot hit me enough to make me almost hurl, getting to the top of the stairs there it was, the source of the most vile pungent odour ever.

The bathroom door wide open, my rather obese sister, naked, half crouching, staring at me, hand full of toilet paper

toilet paper covered with gut churningly stinking shit
(Halfy By light alone, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:29, 2 replies)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bathroom ritual of our gentleman neighbour went thus:

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

The office ritual went thus:

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

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

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

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

Unexpected (almost) nudity
I used to have a job in a restaraunt that the Scottish contingency of B3ta may very well have heard of, which specialised in pancakes. I had to wear whites, and a lovely cap and stripy apron. The whites had poppers all down the front. Pay attention, that bit will be important later...
It was August, and for one weekend in that month, the main streets of St Andrews were taken over by the Lammas fair, which was basically your common or garden travelling fair but considered to be a bit more upmarket, pureley because it was in St Andrews.
It was my lunch break, and my friend and I decided that we would partake in the joys of the fair. I took off my stripy apron and as it was a hot day, I went out in just my whites. Due to my father and both uncles being engineers I have been well warned against the dangers of travelling fairground apparatus. For this reason, my friend and I decided that we would have a go on the fun house, which seemed safe enough.
A fun time was being had by all, and we were nearing the end of the walk round. The last part of the funhouse was a treadmill/travelator kind of thing. Friend went on it quite successfully, but me, being a clumsy bastard, wobbled a bit on the beginning. The helpful fairground attendant decided he would steady me by grabbing the back of my whites.

Cue the sound of several poppers unpopping...

Cue me showing my grey bra, my tights and my pants to the whole of St Andrews in the next busiest weekend to the Open...

Cue me and my friend laughing so much that neither of us could do anything about it...

Cue getting a warning from work because both of us were useless for the rest of the day from giggling uncontrollably...
(allthatglittersisglitter, Thu 28 May 2009, 20:05, Reply)

I
used to know a chap from South Wales that lived in South Africa, and on his infrequent returns one of his pub tricks was to wait until you were distracted, stick his cock in your pint, and wait until you'd turned around.
( social hand grenade I was a lurker before you were a lurker, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:55, 1 reply)

I once got severely held up taking the train home from Doncaster.
Turned out the delay was because the train in front had derailed, as it had collided at high speed with a naked man who had committed suicide by throwing himself onto the long straight bit of track near Kinsley. It's fair to say none of the parties concerned bar the man himself were expecting that.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:55, Reply)

And whilst we're at it
Two quick stories, one that takes place yesterday and one from 2006.

Yesterday:

Was quite happily sat at my desk at work fucking around on B3ta, instead of putting in the stock into the database like I was supposed to, when suddenly, as if warned by some sort of sixth sense, my head snapped round to the right, looking straight out the window. There was a man stood in his bathroom in the house opposite us. Completely naked from the waist down.

This man had obviously not bothered with getting really frosted glass, but had instead opted for the slightly cheaper "glassblowers-had-hiccups-and-fucked-it-up" style glass. In essence, I could see EVERYTHING. And I could NOT stop staring at this poor bastard who probably thought I couldn't see him. He also had a tiny cock, I am happy to say. It was much smaller than mine. Eventually I tore my gaze away from his tiny penis and actually did my work and haven't dared look out of the window ever since.

The story from 2006:

I had just moved into my halls of residence at uni (Fisher house we love yoooooou!) and I had settled into student life remarkably quickly. This was fairly early on, and I had a lie-in one Saturday, got up, had a shower, walked out of the shower wrapped in a towel, dropped my towel and realised two things.

One was that it was a campus open day, so there were lots of people. And secondly was that my bedroom curtains were open and it was actually really easy to see into my room despite me being on the second floor out of three. I had a rather large audience to my impromptu striptease (which wasn't really a striptease, more like me dropping my towel and scratching my arse and bollocks whilst yawning).

Whoops.

Length? As it was accidental, not much.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:33, Reply)

Similar to Maladicta's post about blinds...
Back in September 2007 I moved into a house with a couple of mates from uni. Me being a man, and the two of them being female meant I got the downstairs bedroom in case we got burgled. I was still going out with my mad sex maniac girlfriend at this point, and life was good, given that I was back at uni. My room was fairly big, with only two problems.

One being that the windows were covered by really crappy wooden blinds, and the second being that because my room was so big (think converted living room), there was an area that I had essentially stashed all my bags and general carrying gear and then neglected, leaving it to become a spider-infested hellhole. This is not part of the story, but I just like to tell people I lived with a small colony of spiders at one point in my arachnophobic life.

Fast forward to about December 2007, and it's coming up to the time where everyone is getting into the Christmas spirit and everything festive. I had been festive as well, putting Christmas lights up and everything in my room and in the hallway, and was probably the most festive out of my household. My girlfriend was also coming over on the first weekend of December, so I was fairly happy at that point, probably because I was ignoring all the problems in the relationship.

Anyway, the missus comes over, and we trudge back from the train station together, with me teasing her constantly on the way back. Thus by the time we get back to my place, she is randy and ready to jump me, and probably would have done if we had found a secluded alleyway. We get down to sticky business, me shagging her over the desk, when we hear this almighty thumping on the window and a mixture of laughter, jeering and general hooting coming from outside. And mine and B's names being called.

Instantly the meltyman strikes, as I now recognize the voices as the rest of my uni friends who have come over for a night out on the tiles with my other housemates. Deflated, I tug on some boxers and jeans and answer the door.

"Alright Ghost, that was a fucking great performance man!"

One of my mates slurs. I can now smell the alcohol they've been drinking.

"What the fuck do you mean?"

I testily replied, as I was stood in a freezing cold hallway, barefoot on tiles (classy students we were), topless, with the crisp December air chilling my body further. About 7 of my mates wander inside but the 8th hangs around to talk to me.

"You and B, at it, on the desk, like rabbits."

My mate slurs, thrusting his hips in time to every word.

"You saw everything? It's those fucking lights, I'm gonna take them down."

I shouted, at this point slightly shocked and amused, and still fucking cold.

"Don't bother man, it's the blinds that do it, not the fucking Christmas lights."

My mate grins, and I hear a sudden slam and click. From my bedroom door being closed and locked by my darling girlfriend. I try banging on the door and the only response I get from her is a short, clipped shout of "CUNT! FUCK OFF!"

"Still, she does have a cracking arse she does."

My mate mused at this point. Apparently loud enough for B to hear and start swearing again. I also go paler than normal as I remember something.

I would like to take this time to point out one additional detail that I have carefully neglected to tell. As my bedroom is at the front of the house, and we used to live in a fairly good place, i.e. there were proper families there and not just students, all the schoolkids in the mornings used to go past my house.

So, essentially, every time I had my girlfriend over during September 2007 to December 2007 and had the wonderful sexytiem in the morning during the school run, I was inadvertently shagging in front of an audience of a lot of small children. I love morning sex a lot. This was what I had just remembered.

Length? Not allowed to play with it any more unless we were safely bundled away from the prying eyes of schoolkids and other friends. Also quite small due to coldness.
(Ghost Atreides enjoying incontestable health benefits on, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:22, 1 reply)

A pearoast from the nativity plays question.
I was cast for some reason as one of several red indians. An odd choice for a Christmas play, but being about eight, I really didn't have a huge amount of say in the matter.
This particular tale takes place during the dress rehearsal which was performed in front of the rest of the school during a special assembly.
Picture a skinny, milk bottle white runt of a child with a feather taped to his head and clad in an item of apparel consisting of what can only be described as a pair of flaps (you know the kind of thing I am referring to i'm sure) lovingly decorated with meticulously researched hunting scenes using a purple crayola, but alas very poorly constructed. (not by me I might add) This will be a factor later, but for the moment I was happy enough with the arrangement.
Of course genuine native americans did not have Y-fronts visible in the gap up the side of their flap based garments, and so neither did our protagonist in this little tale. No keks for this kid. No, I was taking method acting to its limits for this one. You think Sitting Bull wore Marks and Spencer underpants with Ewoks on them? I couldn't have improved my authenticity quotient if I had scalped the kid playing the christmas tree and set up a casino. I was Geronimo, I was Hiawatha, I was Tonto, I was naked in front of the entire school. Fucksocks.


The odd thing is that only about a quarter of the audience noticed, I put this down to my super rapid re-hoisting of my flaps. This speed came in handy during my teenage years when it was channelled into a finely honed 'wanker's reflex'.


Length? Well, I was only 8...
(Prof. Moriarty put his foot in it on, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:17, Reply)

My boss
is in the habit of using the training rooms next door to our office, or the fire escape*, to get changed on to go out after work, usually on a Friday evening. We are all well aware of this and know to not follow him to ask him anything if we sense it is nekkid boss time.

One sunny Friday afternoon, one of my colleagues follows him out of the room, for reasons best known to herself, onto the fire escape, which he has chosen to be today's changing room. We know nothing of this until we hear "Oh! No! So sorry!" and a startled B comes running back into the room, red as Gordon Brown's face was after it was discovered his MPs are putting grot on expenses, sits down at her desk and carries on like nothing happened.

The boss got a round of applause when he returned.

* The fire escape is an internal staircase, not one of those rickety metal things that's open to the elements. Somehow I doubt that would be as appealing to him.
( Maladicta, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:12, Reply)

Walthamstow Market
in the early '80s... a fat middle-aged woman, totally naked, with her face and body painted completely blue (or at least I assume it was paint), staggering a few steps, then bellowing out some primeval animal howl, then staggering a few more steps, then the howl again, all the while with her eyes, exaggerated because of the contrast of the whites against the blue of her face, darting around randomly, empty of everything except utter, abject terror. The eyes of an animal about to be slaughtered.
My brother afterwards: "Fucking hell, that was brilliant! You could see her tits and everything!"
( mofaha ┐( ˘_˘)┌ ʅ(́◡◝)ʃ, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:08, 2 replies)

swimming baths
My friend's 5 year old daughter was in the changing rooms of the swimming bath when she shouted loudly ... "Daddy, I love your willy"

The thing that gets me is that he told us. Should we call social services?
(seedybee68 not involved in any rioting since 31 March 1990, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:07, Reply)

skinny dipping
On a boys adventure last summer, six of us took a van around Europe (approx 10 contries, 5000 miles, 20 days). Anyway, one evening we parked and set up camp near a scenic, yet deserted French beach, and as the sun had just set over the horizon we decided to go for a spot of swimming by moonlight (In a totally non-gay way!) Splashing around and freshening up from a long day travelling was just what was needed.

Then Adam spoiled it all.


one word.


BACKSTROKE!

"Dammit man!", "remember your company!", and other comments of dispair were made, no straight guys enjoy dick-by-moonlight...

well actually...
(Mr Alexander si rsdawkcab, Thu 28 May 2009, 19:02, 1 reply)

I was a student in Bournemouth

Lansdowne is pretty much on the edge of the town centre, lots of pubs and take aways as you'd expect.
I'm at the cashpoint and I see someone slumped in the doorway. A tramp? No, too young and ever so slightly too clean; but sure as hell drunk enough. In fact he was passed out, sat up in the doorway with his flies undone and cock hanging hanging out for all to see. I don't think he was going for a piss as he wasn't sat in it.
So off I go to the shops, and half an hour later he's still there. No-one (including myself) had done anything about it.
( Turquoise Hexagon Sun has just dropped acid on, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:36, Reply)

Odd lady in Oxford
Early noughties. Dunno if she's still about.

I used to see her wandering around town, mostly around the Cowley Road. Big lady, middle-aged, always wore tee shirt and skirt.

She was fairly aggressive and shouty, so I tended to steer clear if I saw her coming.

On one occasion, though, I didn't have enough forewarning. I walked around a corner to find her about 10 feet in front of me, walking towards me.

I stopped in my tracks, she looked me straight in the eye, then hitched up her skirts to reveal several rolls of fat over what looked like a blacksmith's apron, and took a piss on the pavement that was like a jet from a firehose. I was genuinely impressed that a woman's anatomy could expel urine with such force.

Unsure how else to react, I just said 'Hello' cheerily and walked round her.
(SnowyTheWereRabbit the Leporid from Hell, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:27, 9 replies)

So the other day
I was cooking dinner and thought that things felt a little odd. It was then I noticed that one of my boobies had fallen out. Fortunately I still pass the pencil test so it didn't drop in the soup.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 28 May 2009, 18:21, 1 reply)

A friend
had the recent habit of getting naked frequently round the house. While his parents and brother are about doing their normal business. It wasn't unheard of for his family to find a cock placed on their hand, shoulder or head while they sat and read the paper or used the computer.

It seems to have stopped now he has a girlfriend.
(Grobie, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:10, Reply)

To walkers in the Brecon Beacons
Many apologies if you happened to be passing the day our friend decided we should make a video of a beautiful but experimental dance piece about a water fairy.
( flatfrog Staring vacantly into space, Thu 28 May 2009, 18:05, Reply)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A wild horn appears!
When the artist formerly known as Mr Maladicta and I first moved into our flat, the first thing we did was to change the awful, stained, creased beige curtains, because they were a) vile and b) useless. Me being me had a certain artistic vision in mind and decided on all red for the lounge and blue for the bedroom, so I pop into the upholstery-and-pretty-things shop in Ashford and buy the nicest (and cheapest, incidentally) ones I can find.

When I get these curtains home, they turn out to be more or less completely transparent, gauzy things. Fuck it, says we, we've got them now and as we live on the ground floor, we rarely open the curtains since all the chavlings that walk by like to peer in (we have contemplated electrifying the window frames since they like to walk past and bang them, the little cunts).

A couple of months later, we are watching a DVD and, as things do when you first live together, one or other of us gets the horn and things progress. It was about 9.30 at night, in the middle of winter, and in the heat of the moment neither of us remember that the curtains are eversoslightly see-through, and that we live in a ground floor flat. Sofa-based sexytiem ensues, and continues for some time.

Beyond the obvious fluffy feelings the following day, I think nothing more of this until after work, when waiting for the bus home, whereupon the slightly odd (for Ashford this is nothing; you could remake Dawn of the Dead in our neck of the woods, there are that many mutants) lady who lives in the flats opposite gleefully informs me that she can see right into our living room, and cackles afterwards. Fucksocks.

I should add that this did not deter us from repeat performances, and that Mr Maladicta will not apologise for his length.
( Maladicta, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:49, Reply)

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

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

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

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