» Helicopter Parents

New Girlfriend
When I was 19, I started dating a girl named Rachel who I met down my local. We’d been seeing each other for about 3 weeks when I sensed there was a problem ‘between the sheets’. Rachel didn’t say as much, but I could sense it and there was an underlying doubt in my mind that she was not impressed with my sexual performance, so to speak. No matter what I tried, she didn’t seem satisfied, and I could tell that she was blatantly faking her moans and groans of pleasure. It hit me hard; I was only 19, my girlfriend thought I was useless in bed, and as the relationship progressed a few weeks further, I found it more of a chore to put in the effort when having sex as I knew that she wasn’t enjoying it. ‘If only she’d tell me or show me what she likes’ I thought to myself time and time again, ‘then this relationship would be perfect’.
I was in a position that I hadn’t found myself in before. I couldn’t go to my mates and ask for their advice; I had far too much male pride to do that, and I knew that if my suspicions should come out then they would rip the piss out of me non-stop. Knowing them, they would have offered to have a go on her themselves. I also couldn’t ask Rachel’s friends because, well, that would just be strange. Sitting in my room one night after I’d got back from Rachel’s house, I decided to go and talk to the only person that I thought would be able to give me advice; my Dad.
Now, this in itself was a big thing for me. We’d never had ‘the chat’, and we didn’t really talk about things like this with each other, apart from the odd ‘Don’t get many of them to the pound’ comment my Dad would make in the car when we drove past a busty female pedestrian. I inhaled deeply and went to the front room, where my Dad was watching the TV.

“Dad”, I said quietly. “I...erm...Can I talk to you about something?”

My Dad, eyes remaining transfixed on the TV, muttered “Yes” and so I began explaining to him in great detail about my fears; about how I didn’t think I was satisfying Rachel, about my constant worry that she’d leave me for someone else if I couldn’t please her in the bedroom and that I didn’t know what to do to make things better. It was a long outpouring of my feelings, and I had to check twice that my Dad was actually listening to me as he remained focused on the TV. After I’d finished, he finally looked at me,

“Son, you don’t need to worry about things like that”. He took a sip of his coffee before he continued, “What you need is a pillow.”

“A pillow?”, I was confused.

“Yes son, a pillow. When you’re doing the dirty, slip a pillow underneath her bum. Works all the time, you can’t fail to hit the spot, she’ll love it. Trust me, when I first started dating your mu..”

“THANKS DAD!” I cut him off before he could go any further and retired to bed optimistic about my future with Rachel. The following day was Friday, and we were going out for drinks before staying the night at my house.

Friday came and drinks were enjoyed. We had a good laugh and my sexual fears and frustrations temporarily disappeared. It wasn’t until the walk home that I started to get a bit nervous about doing the deed again, but my Dad’s words of advice the night before were still ringing in my ears. We eventually got home and I checked the front room to see if my parents were still up. There was no sign of them, so I assumed that they were in bed. Rachel and I headed upstairs, and being quite merry, it wasn’t long before we were kissing passionately, and undressing each other, whilst trying to keep quiet so that we didn’t wake my parents, who were asleep in the next room. Before I knew it, I was on top of Rachel’s perfect, naked body and thrusting away. As usual, I was getting nothing in response, so heeding my Dad’s advice, I reached for pillow. I withdrew temporarily, and lifted Rachel’s legs and pert bum off the bed, sliding the pillow under her. Within seconds I was back inside her sponge cavern and was starting to build up a nice rhythm. I then saw something that will stay with me to the day I die.

My Dad stealthly rolled out from under my bloody bed, gave me a quick thumbs up and crept, on all fours, out of my room. The thing that perplexed me the most was his grin – he looked so pleased that I’d done what he told me to do. It was enough to end my night’s action. I feigned a headache to Rachel (who fortunately didn’t witness any of this) and we went to sleep. All I could think of whilst I lay in bed was my Dad’s big, cheesy grin; like a Cheshire cat.

I got a lock on my room after that.
(Thu 10th Sep 2009, 16:11, More)

» The most childish thing you've done as an adult

Don't fall asleep in my car....
My ex girlfriend, Emily, and I were travelling home from Brighton on a beautiful Sunday afternoon two years ago. The journey itself was about an hour and a half long, so I thought it very rude of her when she fell asleep about 20 minutes from home, rather than keep me company. Afterall, she was meant to be navigating.

The childish part comes next and may go some of the way to explaining why we are no longer together. I pulled the car over at an angle down a country lane and up slowly in front of a tree so that the bumper of the car was just touching it. Then, I put my head down on the steering wheel, closed my eyes, stuck my tongue out the side of my mouth and sounded the horn.

"Shhiiiiiit! Wake up, wake up!" a rather startled Emily screamed, shaking my shoulders. "We've crashed!"

A broad grin formed across my face and Emily realised what I had done. She didn't speak to me for the rest of the journey.
(Thu 17th Sep 2009, 16:27, More)

» School Projects

Cool Runnings
It was 1994 and the Winter Olympics were in full swing in Lillehammer, Norway. Being only 10, I didn’t really have much interest in it and neither did the rest of my class; we were more concerned about playing Cops and Robbers, putting upturned drawing pins onto each other’s chairs and singing the wrong words to hymns in assembly. Playtimes were spent swapping Panini Football Stickers (a shiny was worth at least 2 normal stickers), trying to push one another into the thorn bush and or sticking ‘itching powder berries’ down the back of someone’s shirt. Life was good; I had no worries in the world and not a great deal of homework to contend with at that age – as long as I went home with a new sticker for my album, I was happy.

My teacher at the time was Mr.Marsh; feared by many, he was the only male teacher at my primary school. His booming voice would stop a misbehaving child in his or her track. Some were known to have wet themselves after being shouted at. Now, Mr. Marsh was not an ordinary teacher. He made learning fun; we listened to every word as he spoke, such was the enthusiasm of the man. We’d already completed a class project earlier in the year where we had various airports dotted around the classroom, complete with toy planes. Daily timetables were drawn up and it was up to the ‘Air traffic Controller’ and ‘Pilot’ (specified daily) to move the correct planes, at the correct time, to the correct airport. It was not unusual to see children wandering about in the middle of a maths lesson, to move a toy plane to its next destination. This taught us geography and time management skills apparently. I didn’t care – it was fun.

Mr. Marsh also loved sport. Not only did he teach us in year 5, but he doubled as the PE teacher for the whole of the school. He was sport mad, so to him, the Winter Olympics were a big deal. I remember the beaming smile on his face as he broke the news to us about our next class project one morning.

“Class”, he started, his deep voice bouncing off the walls of the classroom, “for our next class project, we will be holding a bobsleigh tournament. You will work on your own and will compete against each other”

Our ears pricked up. Even the cool kids at the back of the class stopped whispering and passing notes.

“We will build a bobsleigh track in the classroom. Not a full size one for you to race down, but one that will fit a matchbox car. The only rule is, your matchbox car will have to look like a bobsleigh. You will have to use card to make the correct shape, decorate it in the colours of any nation you choose, and attach it to your car. We will then hold time trials to see who is the bobsleigh champion. We will build the course this week and time trials will be Monday and Tuesday of next week”. It was Mr. Marsh’s own little way of getting a class of 10 year olds interested in the Winter Olympics.

We couldn’t believe our luck – we were going to be coming to school to race our cars! Even the girls in the class didn’t seem fussed by this. I was over the moon; a keen collector of matchbox cars, I was sure I had the perfect car to beat all the opposition.
The course was built over the next few days. Mr. Marsh provided a plastic track from some sort of toy car race track (Hotwheels or something similar). This was attached to wall at the side of the classroom, running down at quite a steep angle so that the cars could pick up speed. It was about 7-8 metres long, then doubled back on itself sharply, and ran along some desks that were pushed together alongside the wall. The first part of our project was to decorate the wall with a winter Olympic theme, complete with spectators. I think Neil drew a yeti somewhere in the background. This was the boring part on the project. On the Friday, we all had to bring in the car that we wanted to use in the bobsleigh tournament. Mr.Marsh supplied those who hadn’t got one (mainly the girls) with a car from his collection. I carefully cut out two shapes that vaguely represented the side profile of bobsleigh, and blu-tacked them to the side of my car, which was a black Porche if I recall correctly. I had chosen this because the wheels seemed to go the best out of all of my collection. I gave my bobsleigh the number 12, and coloured it in black, green and yellow; the colours of Jamaica. We were even allowed to oil up the wheels of our cars - It was one of the best days of school ever. I actually wanted the weekend to go quickly, as Monday was the day for testing our cars on the track and making any modifications if required, ready for the time trials on Tuesday. Most of the class couldn’t wait either and a friendly rivalry had already sprung up amongst classmates.

Monday came, and one by one, we were allowed to take our car to the top of the track and release it, seeing how well it performed. Giving the car a push was not permitted. I waited with great anticipation for my turn; my surname begins with ‘W’ so I was one of the last as we were going in alphabetical order. I was sure that the other kids would be so jealous when they saw how fast my car went. Finally my time came and I stepped up, make-shift bobsleigh in hand. I let go and it whizzed down the track at some speed, much faster than most. When it came to the curved bend, the bobsleigh almost shot over the top. ‘Ah, skills’ I thought to myself, ‘I can win this’. My main competitor, from what I could tell, would be a girl named Sarah Bow, who’s bobsleigh had also nearly left the track, such was the speed of it. I hadn’t noticed anyone other bobsleigh do this. I went home Monday a happy child, brimming with confidence about the following days competition.

Tuesday came and it was the final day of our Winter Olympic project, the day that we’d all been waiting for – the race competition. Excited voices filled the classroom that morning, every child was confident that their bobsleigh would win. I kept quiet; I knew that it was a two horse race between myself and Sarah Bow. After class registration, we had an opening ceremony. Every competitor had to go to the front of the classroom, say an interesting fact about the country they were representing and place their bobsleigh on the desk before returning to their seats. Mr. Marsh waited until the 25 or so small bobsleighs were lined up, and declared that we would be starting the day with a history lesson; competition would commence after break. What a tease.

We came into class after break time and the competition started. All did not go according to plan. The first couple of bobsleighs seemed to ‘stick’ to the track and wouldn’t go down it. Closer examination revealed that there was a cheat amidst us; the wheels of the toy cars had been stuffed with blu-tac. Picking up my car I noticed the same thing had been done to mine and the wheels were slightly bent. I was quite distraught – my hopes of winning the competition had been dashed. Mr. Marsh hit the fucking roof!
“Who has decided to cheat and ruin this for everyone?”. The walls shook such was the ferocity in his voice. No-one owned up, no-one daren’t look up; every child in the class had their eyes fixated on their desk. Mr. Marsh was clearly disappointed that someone would do such a thing. He explained that he would ‘come down like a ton of bricks’ on the person responsible for cheating, should he find out who had done it. Fortunately, such was his love for this project, he let us have until lunch time to fix our bobsleighs and competition would restart in the afternoon.

Rumours circulated during lunch break about who the phantom tamperer could be. One name kept springing up; Sarah Bow. Rat-Catcher Simon told me that he had seen her go back into the class during break time and a couple of other kids confirmed this. For me, that was enough evidence. She was a competitive little cow – it was widely known that her mum had completed her Mozart project earlier in the year and she had taken all the plaudits, as well as the book token first prize. I was fuming. My bobsleigh had no chance of winning, the bent wheels meant that it was now one of the slowest. If I couldn’t win, I was going to make sure that Sarah Bow couldn’t either.

I scoffed my lunch down faster than usual and left the canteen. I made my way towards our classroom, pausing only briefly for a quick sip from the water fountain – my throat was dry; I was going to do something devious, but I didn’t know what. The classroom door was open slightly, and peeking through I saw that the room was empty. Outside, I could see other members of my class playing ‘Tag around the bush’ and Mr. Marsh watching over the playground, wearing really tiny PE shorts. I entered the room and pushed the door shut behind me. On the desk in front of me were all the bobsleighs. My eyes scanned the desk quickly, looking for Sarah Bow’s, all the while I was listening intently for any sounds of someone coming. If I got caught it would ruin me, my reputation would be in tatters as I would surely have been prime suspect as the phantom tamperer.

I saw Sarah Bow’s bobsleigh, (a red and white one, I think it was Canada) and I grabbed it in my hand. I examined it –not a trace of any damage to the wheels; she must have tampered with everyone else’s, I was sure of it. What I did next still confuses me to this day. Not really knowing what to do with the bobsleigh, I dropped my trousers and inserted it into my anus. Now, this was the first time I’d ever put anything up there, and I was surprised by how quickly it slipped up once I’d got the nose of the car in. ‘Wow, it’s like it’s actually driving up me’ I remember thinking. At the time I was worried that our pockets or bags would be searched once Sarah discovered her bobsleigh was missing, so my arsehole was the only place where I could safely hide it. Once composed, I went into the playground and joined my friends, my bum pulsating slightly.

An upbeat vibe filled the classroom upon our return after lunch. Even Mr. Marsh seemed to have calmed down and was eager to start the competition. I stayed calm, I was perspiring slightly but I kept my cheeks clenched tightly, my stolen prize stayed put. I knew that Sarah Bow would go mental when she discovered her bobsleigh was missing.

To cut a long story short, she broke down in tears when it came to her go and she couldn’t compete. I think Mr. Marsh may have had his suspicions about her already, he just shrugged and said, “You must have misplaced it”. My heart swelled with pride and my buttocks ached with pain – I had stopped Sarah Bow winning and it was just what she deserved. I think Andrew ‘Carrot Nose’ Littlejohn won the competition in the end. I came in the bottom 3, but I wasn’t fussed. The highlight of the whole project for me was seeing Sarah Bow’s devious little plan all come unhinged. I waddled home that afternoon content with the world and had the most refreshing poo of my life to date. The Canadian bobsleigh slid slowly out of me and I picked it from the toilet bowl with some tissue paper and buried it in the garden.
(Fri 14th Aug 2009, 10:47, More)

» The B3TA Confessional

Gary the Electrician
Gary, do you remember when we were 19 and were helping with my uncle's loft conversion? Do you remember me and Spud going into the loft to feed down a cable that you'd installed?
We couldn't find the hole you'd made so we asked you to stick your finger up through the it so we could find it easier. Do you remember Spud saying, "hold on Gary, we still can't see it"?

Then we asked you to put your finger back up through the hole, and you did, then recoiled slightly because you didn't like the feel of what was on the other side. That's because Spud had dropped his trousers and pants and had squatted over the hole, with his sphincter hovering ever so close to it. You touched his ring that day and you never knew. It's the harderst I've ever had to try to stop myself howling with laughter.

Sorry, Gary.
(Fri 27th Aug 2010, 19:46, More)

» Food sex

Almost food sex..
I met a gorgeous girl on a night out and my luck was in; at closing time she invited me back to her flat. Much kissing and groping occured in the taxi on the way home and we literally fell through the front door, such was our desire to make the beast with two backs. Pushing me onto the sofa, she told me to wait whilst she went and powdered her nose.

Now, I'd been dancing a fair bit and I was a bit clammy around the crimson-topped truncheon to say the least - my balls were starting to stick to the inside of my thighs. I darted into the kitchen and gave myself a quick rinse at the kitchen sink with a dishcloth. 'Better than sweat' I thought.

I made in back to the sofa before she returned and got comfortable, trying to look composed. Said lady returned and passionately kissed me before dropping to her knees, head between my legs. She unzipped my jeans and slipped them off like a pro, my erect member pointed skywards and throbbed with anticipation. I watched as her head moved closer and closer, her lips started to part and she licked her lips in anticipation, keeping eye contact with me.

This was almost too much for me, I was gagging for her to take me in her mouth. I closed my eyes as I felt her warm breathe on my shaft and braced myself.

"Ewwww. Why is there a baked bean in your pubes?", she exclaimed.

That kind of ruined it for me.
(Fri 7th Aug 2009, 16:39, More)