b3ta.com user BeardyMat
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I have a beard. Duvel is my life.

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» Cougars and Sugar Daddies

sexy secretary
A few years back when I was a budding 21 year old student / drunkard I arranged to meet up with a friend of mine in a Hoxton pub one Friday night. Amongst the various media-types accompanying him on this drinking frenzy was his new secretary who had started working that Monday. She was 34.

Being a young scamp I had eyes only for ladies my own age, until that night. I drank, she drank, I looked at her, she looked at me.. To cut a long story short it ended with us completely butt naked, disgracefully drunk, vodka bottle in hand, getting jiggy on my friend's kitchen table, in a shared apartment.

I woke up grinning from ear to ear. Quite remarkably she did too! Mainly because she viewed me as a kind of 'toyboy', but something I nevertheless quite enjoyed. She invited me to spend the day with her, telling me she had a spare ticket for Man UTD vs Arsenal who were playing that day. ACE I thought.

We got on the tube and, still being rather drunk, didn't actually click that we weren't heading anywhere near the Arsenal ground until we were on a train heading out of London! She said she had to go home first to get the tickets. 'oh.. ok', I thought. Seemed plausible enough.

We pull into the station, a small town about an hour west of London. As we get into her car and drive precariously through the lanes I look over and realised I knew absolutely nothing about this woman. Why was I in a car going to her house? The match ticket just seemed odd, as did the fact she was rushing home to meet her 'housekeeper'. It was only upon reaching her house that the truth became blindingly clear. This was a housekeeper that also doubled as a babysitter, because she has TWO fucking kids! And not little babies either. A six year old girl (present) and ten year old boy (not present).

Studying the strained look in my eyes, she begins to stammer out another twist to his unfolding saga.. The football match story she'd used to coax me back to this family home wasn't for Man UTD vs Arsenal - it was for an under 10s football match which her son was playing in! "Oh." was about the only words I could summon up in my confused, hungover state.

As luck would have it we'd missed the match but I still had to sit in the front room and build a lego hospital with her daughter while she had a shower. As I attempted awkward conversations ("So.. you're six then?") I just couldn't get the image of her mum out of my head, cavorting around the apartment naked before pinning me down on the kitchen table like some wild sex-hungry animal. It was making me feel incredibly uncomfortable.

After a short while she came downstairs and said we had to go pick her son up. Somewhat relieved I left her daughter with the babysitter, grabbed my jacket and accompanied her to the football ground. Still rather freaked out by this whole situation I smiled uncomfortably as he got in the car and we made our way to... a greetings card shop. "Oh, we need to buy a card for the birthday party." 'What?' I gulped. "Oh, don't worry. We just have to drop him off. We don't need to go inside."

Yet again, this didn't turn out to be the full truth as we walked inside a noisy, riotous kids birthday party surrounded by dozens of parents, balloons, excited kids.. the whole lot. I'm literally terrified, and as I look around the room at 'fellow' parents I notice a strange smirk on her face. She was actually enjoying this. Not only that but she seemed to be, well.. showing me off, as a kind of trophy to her 30-odd year old parent friends. An intensely bizarre cocktail of feelings I can assure you. Was I angry? Frustrated? Surely I should be flattered. Whatever it was, I wanted the hell out of there and fast! My sweating and nervous twitching ensured this and we went back to hers where we fell asleep for a few hours.

Despite swapping numbers we never met again. That was a window inside a world I never ever want to be a part of again and which, subsequently, meant all future conquests were to receive full police-style interrogation before anything further could possibly happen.
(Tue 9th Dec 2008, 0:16, More)

» My computer gave away my secrets

Google Image search
I'd been back from uni for about 6 months. Everyone was oh so proud of me for doing so well in my studies, marvelling with fond reflection at the well-presented gentleman in the graduation photo, and the hard work and sheer determination he'd put in to achieve the advanced level of academia so deserved of such a focussed, well behaved boy.

That is, until the vicar at my Mum's church decided - for reasons still unknown to me - to do a Google image search using my family name.

Up comes a website with a folder dedicated to a birthday party I'd had at my student house. Queue photos of me drunk to the point of collapse, snogging a variety of loosely dressed girls; photos of my friend slapping some passed out fool with his cock; and various items of parent-bought furniture being wrestled with in the garden.

Damn you internet. DAMN YOU!
(Sat 11th Feb 2006, 19:13, More)

» Bastard Colleagues

My first manager
This guy was called Steve. He was a complete caricature of your typical sit-com office manager. Mid-30s, balding, in the despairing throws of a mid-life crisis and thriving on his position of OPS manager. When he got promoted to area manager - responsible for SIX (count em) stores - you could literally FEEL the aura of self-importance when he breezed past.

The way he spoke and the things he came out with are now legendary amongst staff, contracters and delivery drivers. And you knew he was about to speak as he would always, without fail, lean against the nearest leanable object, give a short, sharp SNIFF, breathe in, and then bless us with his inimitable wisdom.

He was a bit OCD when it came to store rules. One time a couple of contracters from Leeds (3 hours north) had been in the stock room all morning drilling into walls and replacing pipes. Steve comes in that afternoon, after they'd gone and notices they'd left a bit of plasterboard dust on the floor next to the wall.

STEVE: *SNIFF* "What's this?"
ME: "Oh, a couple of contracters were in this morning. Must've forgotten to clear it up. I'll just fetch the brush."
STEVE: *SNIFF* "Oh no you won't. Call them back."
ME: "What?"
STEVE: (looking straight into my eyes) "Call. Them. Back."
ME: "But Steve, they've come all the way from Leeds! You want them to drive back down just to sweep this up?!"
STEVE: "They made the mess, they'll sweep it up"

And so, the poor workmen drove another 3 hours back from Leeds to spend 4 seconds sweeping up some dust.

Another time he noticed a delivery driver hadn't loaded two empty trollies back on his truck.

STEVE: *SNIFF* "Why haven't you loaded these on?"
DRIVER: "What do you mean?"
STEVE: *SNIFF* "They must go back. We need a clear stockroom"
DRIVER: "But it's just 2 small trollies. Can you not wait til we have a full load? It'll take me at least half an hour at the end of my shift to reverse and unload those!"
STEVE: *SNIFF* "They MUST, go back."

And so the poor chap patiently loaded them up whilst secretly wishing death upon the skinny twat in his midst.

But Steve was always at best when he was talking about himself. He made me stop what I was doing once so he could take me into the loading bay to look at his white Honda Civic Type R (old style). *SNIFF* "When I stop at the lights EVERYONE looks. Only 2 in the area. I'VE got one. Keep working hard Matty and you might have one of these," he says giving me a wink, a smug grin and a patronising pat on the back.

Or the time one of the newer lads said he spotted him in a curry house the night before. *SNIFF* "Ah yes the Ramna. They KNOW me in there. 'Seat by the fire Mr Glover? Pint of the usual?' *SNIFF* They KNOW me." All completely serious.

I last saw him a couple of years ago stood in an ultra hip bar, on the edge of the dance floor, Friday night, looking painfully like Mr Smithers in skin-tight white shirt, clutching a bottle of WKD, his head bopping meaninglessly to music he secretly hates. Tragic really.
(Thu 24th Jan 2008, 16:24, More)

» Awesome teachers

The post below this reminded me of this
We had a French, French teacher student teaching in our school for a while. I'm sure she used to wonder why we needed so much paper in our class.

"Please Miss, can I have another shit of paper"
"Miss, can I take a shit as well?"
"Miss, I need a shit really bad"
"Miss, can I take a shit on your desk?"

Each reply was 'Yes, yes of course!"
(Mon 21st Mar 2011, 23:28, More)

» The thing I've been most ashamed of doing with a penis

Errol Brown's piano
A few years ago, myself and a friend found ourselves at a BBQ party held at a certain Errol Brown's UK residence, a country pile just outside london. The legendary Hot Chocolate singer wasn't there and thankfully so, because as the afternoon wore on, with free booze flowing in addition to the sumptuous feast displayed alongside the outdoor pool so too did our common sense, our mischievous side coupling with sheer giddiness at being at such an exclusive place.So much so that later on when we'd ventured inside and found his immaculate white piano; a piano used by Brown to write some of his best-loved hits, my friend gave me the nod to move away from the piano. He couldn't play, I was sure of that, so I knew that some bright idea had clicked in that twisted brain of his.

Cue the somewhat ridiculous scene of him playing 'Happy Birthday' (badly, and out-of-key) with his cock on Errol Brown's priceless white piano whilst simultaneously looking with genuine interest at photos on the top of said piano, of Brown shaking hands with the likes of Nelson Mandella.

Errol Brown, if you're reading this, we are very very sorry.
(Mon 16th Mar 2009, 2:54, More)
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