Hm
A few years ago in the first term of my first year of undergrad I was dating a rather delectable young lady who very much enjoyed smoking pot, drinking, and late night food.

We'd been out to the Leadmill nightclub in Sheffield, all I really remember is that I'd drank enough to feel like someone was inflating a balloon full of urine inside me (and not in a good way), and that the then girlfriend wasn't making matters better by mauling my crotch with her hands in the taxi ride home. Suffice to say I was busting to micturate. Fortunately, the girlfriend decided that late night greasy food was needed, so when we got out of the taxi she staggered over to the nearest take away whilst I darted into a garden to take a much needed piss.

Staggering back towards the kebab shop I could see that she was having problems - being only 5ft tall she couldn't see over the counter very well and was having trouble deciding what she wanted. I joined her and together we got a large kebab to share, liberally smothered with the finest chili sauce, and with large green chilis sprinkled throughout like glass sheards in a toddlers rusk. We started walking back, deciding (despite the appalling messiness of her room) to go back to hers for the night. The kebab did not sit well with me. I could feel its powerful rat- and pigeon-grease reacting volcanically with the nebuchanezzar of oily vodka I'd drunk earlier. I couldn't decide if I was going to puke, or shit myself.

The girlfriend let me into her room, and started rolling a joint. I was dispatched to fetch something to drink, and returned to my own room, where the only thing I had left was a bottle of white wine which I had injudiciously left open on the window sill for three weeks. I had a swig, it was vinegary but I figured it didn't matter. Returning with the Chateau Neuf de Sarsons, I was soon tucked up nicely in bed with a now naked girlfriend, smoking pot and drinking vinegary wine.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this new element in the churning bile-hole that was my stomach produced an admixture of bitterly pukegasmic liquid that was straining to escape either by top or bottom orifice. I was in a dilemma, should I attempt to relieve the pressure with a release of gas but then also risk either puking or shitting myself? Or should I excuse myself from her room, go to the bathroom at the end of the corridor and possibly do both. I lay in a cheap meat, vodka, and pot haze, trying to decide which route was the best.

Unfortunately at this moment my hands were tied as the girlfriend decided to start smoking something other than the joint. This put me in rather a bind - need to relieve pressure, with the need to relieve, other, pressure. Things, as they do, progressed, but all the while I felt a boiling fury inside my stomach as various liquids and semi-digested solids fought a vicious, no-geneva-convention, civil war. And then it happened. The effort I was putting in to, erm, things caused a spasm in my gut. I could feel a tide of hot violently painful gas swarming up my oesphagus. I clench my teeth and turned my head away from my girlfriends, lying directly below mine in sweaty appreciation upon the pillow. The gas passed through my teeth, small chunks of matter were caught by them and, in a pseudo-manly fashion I swallowed them back down, all the while attempting to not break my stride. I was elated, I thought I would be able to finish was I was doing, and then deal with the rotteness inside.

I was wrong. Like some form of evil trampoline, the vomity burp I had sent back down below rebounded off my stomach lining like a cheap wrestler bouncing off the ropes, gathered up its friends and spurting in hot volcanic vileness up my throat. I barely had time to react and, unfortunately for her, my girlfriend had chosen that exact moment to open her mouth to emit a low moan. With unerring aim, I threw up in her mouth, and on her face. She stared at me in horrified disbelief, her head tilted forward and then she puked all over her breasts. The combined smell made me puke again, this time into her hair. For a few seconds we were entwined in some sort of horrifying puke smeared love embrace before we managed to disengage.

We broke up shortly afterwards.
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Thu 7 Jan 2010, 22:14, 9 replies)

Awesome!
*click*
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Thu 7 Jan 2010, 22:25, closed)

I *love* this
I had a dream like this once

Is a 'pictures or it didn't happen' appropriate?
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Thu 7 Jan 2010, 23:23, closed)

I
sincerely hope not...
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 19:11, closed)

hope not - the dream, or the pictures?
Re dream, it was only the last bit of your story, and was 2 lesbians, spewing in each others mouths and getting off on this, so only a very tenuous link, but still reminded me
(maggotriddendirtbox fast, feral and sharp as a tack since, Sun 10 Jan 2010, 1:50, closed)

hahaha
"Chateau Neuf de Sarsons"

I know this vintage all too well
(PassTheKhat, Fri 8 Jan 2010, 4:20, closed)

Two New Zealanders agree:
The British know how to puke!

(My house guests, on hearing my laugh hysterically at this, wanted to know what the hell I was reading.)
(TDub Nunc id vides, nunc ne vides on, Sat 9 Jan 2010, 20:04, closed)

We broke up shortly afterwards.
deserves a click all on its own
(whiskas loved by 8 out of 10 cats, Sun 10 Jan 2010, 20:38, closed)