» Out of my depth

Am I not merciful?
I had arrived at Glasgow airport at about 10am on New Years Eve 1997. 36 hourse and no sleep earlier, I had started in Adelaide. My sister picked me up, laughed at my goatee, then took me home.
Having made the journey several times before, I knew not to sleep or jetlag would last days. Hence tea and an introduction to 'Shooting Stars' and 'The Fast Show' on video which did not help my sanity.
Come 8 o'clock I was seeing double with tiredness. Nonetheless off we went to a hogmanay bash. At said party I drank a lot of whisky, perved at the oft revealed suspender adorned thighs of a woman there and finally ended up in a conversation with a rather interesting chap.
Alcohol and sleeplessness turned me into my unpleasant alter-ego of not-listening-but-Ill-tell-you-all-I-know man. The subject - late Roman empire general, Count Belisarius. My knowledge - gleaned from 'Count Belisarius' the book by R. Graves which I had read on the plane. The chap I was talking to had the temerity to contradict my learned opinions on a couple of occasions.
After a while I asked him what he did - University history lecturer, his period - late Roman, his speciality (by this stage I was in full rabbit in headlights mode)- PhD on the effect of the relationship between Justinian and Belisarius on the collapse of the Western Roman Empire or some such. Arse.
And oh, while my face was red and my tongue swollen with shame, he also introduced me to his stocking clad vixen of a wife over whom I had drooled throughout our conversation. Damn.

I had neither length nor girth after that intellectual drubbing.
(Thu 14th Oct 2004, 17:53, More)

» My Wanking Disasters

So many, So very Many.
a) Ex girlfriend who wore away the forehead of her teddy as good catholic girls dont touch themselves 'there'. Got her mum to replace it with a mismatching but pleasant feeling fake furry stuff.
b) Mate in army who was watched wanking by paratroop training staff whilst supposedly doing stag at night. They 'killed' him in up close and personal stylee as he chucked the yoghurt.
c) Walking in on my father seducing himself to 'big breasted action vol II' just after the long overdue collapse of his marriage. We dont speak much.
d) Voicing my concern about a strange smell in the cheap bedsit I moved into when I first arrived in the UK, the landlord said his previous tennant had done a runner a couple of weeks earlier in the summer, leaving bills etc. He had also left a customised calves liver in a hole in the mattress that he had been helping himself get to sleep with.
e) I discovered this wonderful hobby after watching older kids mime the action at each other in the playground. I went home and though 'what a waste of time' for quite a while, but persevered. Protestant work ethic soon paid off, again and again and again. The next two days were awful. My radishlike wang sat sorely in my pants and I cried when I weed.
f) It was not strictly wanking. My (catholic in a) gf was doing the deed whilst I was reading a book in bed on a hot day. She was not putting much effort in, it was more of a curiousity thing. Without warning, I am in agony. Bolting out of bed, I saw a bobby pin protruding from the japs eye of my rapidly shrinking ladyprong. She had wondered 'how deep the hole went'.

apols for length
(Wed 2nd Jun 2004, 15:48, More)

» Losing Your Virginity

Pretty much perfect
I never even kissed a girl till I was 18 due to terminal shyness, anorexic weediness and being hideously pizza faced. Roaccutane (that stuff is a godsend) and joining the army meant that 6 months later I was six foot, six packed, 200lb and baby smooth skinned. This improved the odds a bit as when I was home on leave I felt a tap on my shoulder 'I've never seen you in here before' and all of a sudden its snog central. Three hours later its off home with a smile to go back to base where opportunities for further shennanigans were severely curtailed. The result was a full blown infatuation. Given that I had not seen a boob I was not related to, the promise that when we next saw each other could mean racing through years of teenage groping and get right up to the main event - all in the course of days, hours or even minutes - became a bit of an obsession.
I had a formal do coming up and I needed a date. So I booked a plane ticket and a room in the finest hotel Canberra had to offer. She came, looked lovely and the night went swimmingly.

Only one problem.

I was not allowed off base on Friday night. So with a bulge in my pants I sent her off to the king sized bed in the five star room all alone. Rats.

Morning and that was me out of there like greased lightning with a twelve pack of condoms and my heart in my mouth. I knocked on the room door to be greeted with her wearing one of those wispy bits of nothing. No kiss, nothing just those wonderful words 'Come to bed' and the sight of the almost nothing turning to totally, wonderfully naked before my eyes.
I knew exactly what to do, and exactly where to find every single bit of a woman. I had wanted to make sure that when the opportunity turned up I was ready. I had nicked and read all my sisters magazines, I had paid very close attention in sex ed, the location of the clitoris was burned in my mind, I knew three sure fire ways to find the g-spot. I was theory up to the eyeballs. Here was practice!
Shaking like a leaf started at the foot of the bed and worked my way quite quickly up the bed till I found what I was looking for (yes, I went down on a woman before I ever felt a boobie). Turns out she had other ideas, and two minutes later we were down to 11 condoms and I had a massive grin on my face.
26 hours later, we had to stop. We were out of condoms. We were both in physical pain, and we had christened the shower, the bath, the floor, the sofa, the balcony, the lawn looking down over lake Burley Griffin and done it in every position we could think of. And every last minute of it was utterly fantastic.

I put her on the plane home and never saw her again.......
(Fri 4th Mar 2005, 17:31, More)

» Job Interviews

Not me, a friend
Interviewer: 'So, I see you speak good conversational German'

Friend: (Pause)ummm, Si!

Go Trudge! I know I will have to change my login again cause you'll find it, but who gives a hoot?
(Thu 20th Jan 2005, 14:08, More)

» Shoddy Presents

Smelly Old Chicken Lady
My grandparents lived in Stornoway, I grew up in Oz. Trips to see them therefore lasted longer than an afternoon. When I was 11, my mum, my sister and I stayed with them for about 5 months. During this time, I was often dispatched over the road to help Bessie. Bessie was a smelly, slightly mad, very hairy and initially scary old lady. She kept chickens, loads of them. The road outside her house was literally covered in guano and the smell was staggering. Not being as sprightly as she used to be, it was my job to rummage through the byre and the gorse bushes to find the eggs. This was pretty laborious, and Bessie, who I quickly realised was not a mad old witch, but was actually quite sweet, was very grateful. Her gratitude manifested itself in mars bars by the tonne. Brilliant. If I'd had forceps I would have been extracting eggs for chocolate as soon as I could.
Anyway, my birthday loomed, and Bessie wanted to get me a present to repay my hard work. Ever the practical Scot, she opted for vests and y-fronts. So what? I hear you ask. The problem was the size. Being unsure, she bought me (11, 4.5 feet tall, perhaps 6 stone) the same size my grandfather (70, 6 foot 4, 19 stone) wore. My mum, for her own amusement, had me try them on. The vest came to my knees and the pants would not stay up. I had to keep them nonetheless.
I wish the story ended there....
A few months later, mum had been busy and the washing had not been done. I kicked up a fuss about not having clean pants. Mum's turbo memory kicked in....
I spent the whole day at school getting no end of stick for wearing y fronts that simultaneously hung over the waistband and dangled out the legs of my shorts.

No amount of length or girth would have filled them.
(Fri 24th Sep 2004, 14:37, More)