b3ta.com user Labia Majora
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I'm a nice bloke with a mohawk and a filthy mind to go along with my foul sense of humour.

I work in delightful Stratford-upon-Avon, and am quite annoyed that I'm nearly 30...

"Labs aims to please, and always strikes true. 5/5 - Applebite"

The home of my comics

This is me (according to al)

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» Turning into your parents

Back seat driving
A few months back it was my Dad's birthday, and as my folks love Thailand, we decided to go to a local Thai restaurant that had recently opened in a neighboring town. Being the dutiful son, I offered to drive so that both ma, pa and sis could have a drink or two.

I've only had my license for 9 months, but I like to think that I'm a confident-but-safe driver (don't we all?). My mother is, to put it mildly, the Platonic Form of back-seat drivers, alongside which all other BSDs are shown to be flawed, intangible wisps of mere annoyance. She has reduced my normally-stoic father to tears, and has caused my sister to categorically ban my mum from ever riding in any vehicle she may be controlling.

Knowing all this, I was understandably nervous, however I had come up with a plan to help take the edge off things. The plan had two stages, the first being to turn up to their house early with a bottle of wine for my sister and mum to start on. Then, when my lightweight mother was nicely tipsy, stage two came into play. From careful conversation manipulation (well, outright asking) I got her talking about her favourite subject: work.

Sure enough, this topic kept her occupied from the moment of her being bundled into the back seat of my little Ka until we were barely a minute from the destination. Unfortunately the wine goggles were not enough to keep her from spotting a car in the distance braking.

"And then you'll never guess what Deidre said t-WATCH OUT FOR THAT CAR, IT'S BRAKING!!"

"Yes Mum, at the precise moment you shouted at me, I was already slowing down. Now, what did Deidre say?"

My dad and sister burst into loud laughter, while my mum mumbles something incoherent while drunkenly giggling to herself. We get to the restaurant without any further incident, Dad shows off by ordering everything in Thai, and we proceed to have a bloody nice meal. Father and sis drink some Singhas, my mum has another large glass of the house white, and I drink water while we laugh, reminisce about our holiday in Thailand, and wish my Dad a happy birthday. All in all, perfect.

Mother requires more assistance to get back to the car, and then proceeds to sit giggling in the back, occasionally repeating her catchphrase of "isn't this lovely, all the family together". I look to my Dad in the passenger seat, and he smiles at me with pride. I was half expecting him to clap me on the shoulder and say "Well done, son, she won't bother us on this journey!", but he settled for the contented grin.

I match his smile, slip the car into 1st, and pull smoothly out of the car park. My sister starts babbling on about what's happening in her life, and I summarily start to rib her about her new boyfriend (as all brothers are required to do). The atmosphere in the car was full of love, warmth and happiness. If anybody was watching us, they would have been compelled to say "aww, bless, there goes the perfect family!". We could have been in a Bisto advert.

It wasn't meant to last.

"So sis, when are we going to meet this new fella of yours?"

Complete and utter bedlam broke out within the confines of my Ka. Dad had tears of laughter streaming down his face, clutching his sides as if a Giger creation were about to burst out. My sister was alternating between laughing and wailing uncontrollably. Mother, rudely awoken from her slumber, joins in the raucous merriment, before asking why we were all laughing.

Me? I nearly ploughed the car off the road.

There is always a master and an apprentice.
(Thu 30th Apr 2009, 15:13, More)

» Workplace Boredom

Tantric Wanking
Occasionally I have to travel from the Midlands where I'm based down to big ol' London Town for work. On every single occasion this will mean that I spend a great deal of time waiting, either for the train to get into London, or hanging around in small siderooms while clients potter around ignoring me.

I've subsequently learned to always take a book and my phone charger, but for the first few occasions I had nothing but my own imagination to keep me entertained.

As a result, I attempted to teach myself how to masturbate without touching or rubbing. Thus, the mythical goal of Tantric Wanking was set.

I tried thinking of hot ladies i'd like to donate my throbbing gristle to, and pictured them on their knees begging for me. Oh, what's that Eliza Dushku? You want to join in? Hop on love!

Sadly, despite an uncomfortable and potentially embarrassing trouser tent, after half an hour I still hadn't progressed to the hallowed ignition sequence. I tried breathing techniques, I ran through the entire catalogue of lovelies who are forever trapped inside my spankbank, but I couldn't get the spice to flow. By now the mental harem were getting angry, demanding their sticky gift, and I had to admit defeat.

Deflated, I tried to work out why the goal seemed just out of reach, but then thought I'd been lucky to escape spluffing in my pants while at work.

I still had time to kill, so I began to wonder how my life would change if I had been successful. I dreamed of one day mastering the art, and through repetition and focusing (and maybe a Karate Kid montage), I could learn to project this power upon other people. I could, theortically, develop the awesome superpower to give orgasms to people purely on a whim!

I pictured myself making beautiful ladies experience soul-flaring orgasms simply by winking at them. How popular would I be?!

As is par for the course, I then wondered how I could use this fantastic gift to rob banks. In the end I settled on the idea of causing all the staff and security to be paralysed by the crashing waves of multiple orgasms, while I raid the safe. I could even be creative, and set off a mexican wave of ejaculation, or head to Wembley Stadium on match day and see if I can recreate a Las Vegas fountain display.

The possibilities were endless! If only I could crest that wave in myself, I could be a God.
(Wed 14th Jan 2009, 10:29, More)

» Personal Ads

TV Text dating
You all know those dating channels on Sky? The ones where you text in with messages, like a ridiculously expensive chatroom?

Well, a few friends and I, late one night, decided to try to get some of history's greatest bastards a date. Unfortunately all the messages are monitored/filtered, so Adolf Hitler was shot down in flames before his pining for love could be requited.

However, we struck great interest in the following ad: "Mature, refined gentleman, doctor, seeks older woman to look after for the rest of her days. Harry."

We were inundated with three whole responses wanting more information from Harry, including "what are you a doctor of?"

"Elderly care" was our response.

In case you're wondering, it is entirely possible to be banned from a text dating channel.
(Thu 13th Sep 2007, 15:50, More)

» The worst sex I ever had

Not me, but a friend
A friend of mine once told me of how, one Saturday night, he was enjoying an evening out in the local rock club. He'd been steadily drinking whilst chatting with friends, but was thankfully sober enough to notice a (by all accounts) stunning goth girl giving him the sexy eye. This friend thanks his lucky stars, and walks over to her. Small talk is exchanged, and the two spend the rest of the night drinking and dancing and eventually kissing, whilst his mates look on in envy.

At the end of the night, she asks him if he'd like to come home with her, to which he agrees (his speedy response possibly underlying how eager for a shag he was). So, the two leave together, and soon arrive at her flat. It was about 3am when they get in, and her place was as black as the devil's heart. She'd outfitted her room in (stereo)typical goth fashion, black velvet and netting everywhere, Bauhaus posters etc.

My friend looks around, is relaxed by the lack of handcuffs or sharp cutlery near the bed, and is even further relaxed by the naughty act that this goth chick then performs on him. To the bed they head, pulling clothes off each other as they go. She lies on her back... spreads her legs slightly... and that's all.

Thinking he must take the initiative, our plucky hero equips a condom, and gets on top. Bumping and grinding and penetrative dancing commences, but he can't help but notice that she's simply lying still, her eyes unblinkingly staring up at the ceiling. Her pulse is obvious, she's not fitting ("thank fuck" thinks our hero), and so my friend soldiers on.

After a few minutes he starts getting bored, so mid-coitus he takes a look around the room (his eyes having now accustomed to the dark). He notices a couple of dolls on the shelves. Quite a lot really. Something's odd about them, but he can't qui- they have no eyes! Every single doll, over 30 at least, had had their eyes removed!

He looks down at the girl, still staring up at the ceiling with those blank eyes. Suddenly she starts snoring lightly, so our hero reasons she must be asleep, albeit with her eyes open in a scary horror movie way. Understandably feeling quite uncomfortable, he pulls out, gets up, and quietly starts getting dressed. Whilst getting his shoes on, he looks up at the ceiling above her bed.

Staring down at him were approximately 60 doll eyes.

He tells this tale every now and again, seemingly proud of having had shit scary-sex, but I think that's a quirk of the healing process.
(Tue 19th Jun 2007, 13:42, More)

» Will you go out with me?

Possibly a lengthy one
I've never been a brave lad, and could never bring myself to ask a girl out. Throughout my teenage and early uni years, I'd be able to talk to girls who I took a shine to, but i'd always be the "pillar to cry on" rather than the "guy to have hot, sweaty primal sex with". I had no confidence with girls at all.

In my final year of uni, I spot a girl at a gig who literally makes me stop in my tracks. I've had a couple of drinks, and finally pluck up the courage to just chat with her. In short, she's beautiful, witty and charming. Her and a couple of friends come back to the B&B that myself and a few friends are staying in, and we chat some more.

Things seemed to go well, but I just couldn't kill my fear of rejection enough to ask her for her number, or a kiss. Her and her friends eventually leave, and I'm summarily (and quite rightly) mocked by my friends for my inaction.

A few weeks later, we meet again, and she remembers me! We spend all of the night chatting, sat on the stairs of a club, but despite her closeness causing all the synapses in my brain to shoot big "kiss her!" messages, I once again bottle it, and we eventually go our separate ways. We had managed to exchange numbers though.

Well, I've never been one to do the cool thing, so I didn't maintain the 'wait at least three days before texting' discipline. Seemingly not put off by my impatience, she responds, and for a few weeks we communicate through texts and then emails. Then, one beautiful day, she says that she's coming over to my city (she lives an hour or so away) as she has to visit a friend, and would I like to meet up?

Of course, having picked my jaw up off the floor, slowed my heartbeat down to a non life-threatening level, and performed a joyous victory dance, I reply back that I'd love to see her.

We meet up a few days later, and spend the whole time chatting. I invite her back to mine for a bit, and we talk and laugh and listen to music until she notices the time. She's missed her last train home. I was a bit shocked, the heart rate climbed again, but I offered her my bed for the night. She accepts, we chat more, get closer, and then the planets align and we kiss.

That was the beautiful first day of my first proper relationship.

Unfortunately, I'm a complete dickhead. We saw each other every now and again (long distance...), and I realised that she was falling for me. I had managed to convince myself that I was incapable of loving anyone, and whilst there were butterflies in my stomach whenever I was with her, I was sure that I wasn't falling for her. So I called it off, and we agreed to stay friends.

The next year I spent finishing university, and meeting new people, but it's only now that I can look back and see that I had become a total cunt. I cared only for myself, I became easily lead by my genitalia, and I was blissfully unaware of any consequences to my actions.

I don't want to go into details, but I ended up hurting the same beautiful, kind girl who i have been talking about. I hurt her in a way that I thought incapable of doing, and to this day I'm utterly disgusted in myself. I was shocked to my core with realisation of what i'd done, and we arranged to meet up, possibly for the last time.

It must have taken her all the will in the world to meet me, but meet me she did. We talked, cried, and I apologised endlessly. This was a woman who had been nothing but kind and considerate to me, and i caused her unimaginable pain and anguish. We talked until our last trains were about to go, but neither of us wanted to leave. I invited her back to mine, so that we could continue talking. She agreed, and we spent the whole night talking, crying, and occasionally laughing.

She returned home the next day, but we both agreed that we'd keep in contact. Over the next few weeks, thoughts of her occupied every waking thought. I remembered how happy we both had been before, how happy we made each other. I also remembered the look of pain on her face that day, how it was all my doing. True to our promise, we stayed in contact, and thoughts of her were never far from my mind. I was always questioning my feelings for her, whether I just felt incredibly guilty, or whether there was more there.

As much as I hate the term 'soul-searching', I analysed everything I thought I felt, because I had begun to think that maybe there was the possibility that I loved her. I could never be sure, but every time we'd talk and laugh with each other I would feel elated. I felt that she still had feelings for me, but I didn't want to mention any possible feelings I might have for her until I was certain that they were true. She did not deserve to be messed around by anyone ever again, least of all me, so I had to be sure.

We met up again some time later, and any doubts for my true feelings for her were gone. I was in love with her. I tried to be diplomatic in broaching the subject of us getting back together. I promised that I would, and indeed could never be the person I had become before. I always knew that it was asking far more than I was 'entitled' to, I'd abused her trust and hurt her, and here I was asking for a second chance.

I'm glad to say that she took her time to consider things, and spoke to friends about it. Then one day she said we could try again. The next two and a half years were, quite honestly, the best years of my life. I traveled 6 hours most weekends to see her, the other times she'd come to visit me. We had two wonderful holidays together, and I was looking in to moving to her city so that I could be with her. We'd often talked about marriage and kids, and I never once felt the urge to run. I was the happiest I've ever been, and I know that she was as well.

Sadly, there was always the memory of how I hurt her. There always will be. We tried to make things work, we both devoted ourselves to each other, but unfortunately it seems there are some wrongs that no amount of will and effort can right.

We broke up (mutually agreed) before Christmas, and see each other only every few months. We still talk most days, and both of us have had more than our fair share of breakdowns, but we're both adamant that we'd hate to lose the friendship we have. She's the most wonderful person I have ever known, but despite our feelings for each other, we both accept that things just won't work out between us.

It's nine months since we broke up. Not long ago I thought I was beginning to move on, but recently i've come to the crushing realisation that I haven't even started.

The one time I get the courage to approach a girl, and all of this spirals out from it. I've had the best and worst times of my life to date, and if I could live that moment again, I'd still approach her. I just wish I hadn't been such a cunt. She deserves only happiness.
(Mon 1st Sep 2008, 15:58, More)
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