b3ta.com user Pat mustard
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» Sex Toys

Twas in the late 1990’s,

I worked on Merseyside and my boss lived in Manchester but commuted daily.

A top bloke – who played hard and got away with doing as little as possible in work and generally went easy on us..

Back in his locality, he used to frequent a local working mans club for darts and poker and came into work one day saying there was to be a ‘Mens Night’ in his local club and did we all want to go. It would be an evening of blue comedians and strippers. With nothing better to do on a Wednesday night and having the drinking invincibility of youth behind me – I (we all) agreed and purchased tickets for said event.

When we arrived we were quickly aware that we had to keep a low profile as we were in a rough Manchester working-mans Club with Merseyside accents, and a bit of eaves dropping over our first pint confirmed our suspicions that these people did indeed hate anything to do with Liverpool.

The Show started, and as expected, the comedian ripped into everything ‘Liverpool’ and the crowd lapped it up… we stayed close to the back of the room and enjoyed the banter. Then the Strippers came on and did their show… nothing over the top – a professional effort, a bit of audience participation and they got a worthy round of applause. When they finished, (some of you might know where this is going), the MC announced that he would be coming round with a bucket and that if enough money was collected – the strippers would put on a ‘show’. I went up to the bar and whilst all was quiet, I ended up talking to one of the strippers. She too was from Merseyside and upon finding out we had something in common, told me she would ‘sort me out’ when the show started (said with a wink).

I retired back to my table at the back of the room with my mates and kept my head down – she was now in the middle of inserting as many dildo’s as humanly possible into every orifice, much to the delight of the crowd. Then it happened…

“ Ok – I need a volunteer’ she said

All the blokes above the age of 40 had their hands in the air like kids at a party trying to win sweets. She looked around the room. I avoided eye contact.

“Lad at the back with the blue top on – you’ll do” she said

All the pervs looked at me with distain – I’d stolen their moment. I made my way to the stage (clearing on the floor) where I was greeted by the stark naked stripper who its worth mentioning at this point was a good 5’ 11” – not fat, but ‘big boned’. She told me to lie down on the floor on the towel that was laid out. I obliged. It was then she reached for what looked like Fred West’s leather tool bag, she rummaged around pulling out all manner of sex aids until she found what she was after. It must have been a good 17 inches long, Black, with veins and the girth of a standard black pudding.

Without even asking, she told me to open my mouth, she then placed the base of the dildo in my mouth and told me to bite hard. Terror was now sinking in as she straddled over me, she then lowered herself onto the cock and proceeded to sit on my face. Then she started to ride it. Up and down. I was watching this ample clunge move away then rapidly descend towards my face at an increasing rate and with each downstroke, I felt like my teeth were going to be knocked out. Cheers echoed from the audience, I could barely see as my eyes were watering so much. If I was to die, it would have made an interesting headline.

Finally – she dismounted, and pulled the dildo out of my mouth. I was dazed, confused yet a hero amongst the audience. I returned to my seat looking like I’d spent 3 weeks in solitary without food. My jaw ached and my bite had altered slightly. I failed to see how her doing this to me constituted any kind of favour but, ever the gentleman, I said thank you anyway.

She made no apologies about the length…
(Thu 17th May 2012, 14:52, More)

» The Great Outdoors

its great....
Camping is something I enjoy hugely. From Duke of Edinburgh trips to weekends on the lash in the mountains. You simply can’t beat a bit of camping.

I start my trips about a week before I go, getting bits out and ready for the day we go, I love getting all my gear together out of the shed, taking stuff I haven’t used In ages and carefully packing it into the car so it all fits properly. I love the drive, the stopping off at service stations . I love setting up camp to make it ‘my castle’ and ensure several nights of comfort,. I love putting up my tent and standing back admirably whilst challenging the elements to try and blow down my tent. I love sitting out after the sunsets with a cold beer and some AM radio, I love it when it rains at night and even a light shower sounds torrential – but I’m nice and wrapped up. I love the early morning cigarette with a mug of tea and the dew on the grass as the sun comes up. The smell of bacon being cooked in a frying pan with no non stick properties whatsoever. Clouds lifting to reveal stunning mountainscapes.

It is a true mental tonic for the man in a repetitive day job

All though the pros outweigh the cons – there are some tough cons…

If you are fortunate to camp when it’s a good English summer, the sun rises about 4:30am and within 20 mins – your tent is like a furnace.
If any neh do gooders are on site with you , chances are they have left food out and the chances are that seagulls (or other birds) have spotted it and proceed to eat every crumb around. Whilst making as much noise as possible.
Children. Nothing against kids camping, but when your being told to keep the noise down when having a beer at 10:30 so the kids can sleep, but they’ll happily wake at 5am to play football against your tent, they need to be brought down a peg or 2…(pun)
Sex. in 100 years of tent evolution, people should realise that nylon with the thickness of the average pube has no sound insulation properties what so ever.
Weather. I can put up with whatever the elements throw at me, but sometimes it will be that bad that you just have to admit defeat and lash the tent in the car and head for home.
Going home. Horrible. You know the car is full of crap and unclean stuff and your in work tomorrow. And the tent needs to be dried out. 3 weeks later and there is still stuff at the bottom of the stairs you will definitely put away this coming weekend….like you said you would 2 weeks ago.

Still I wouldn’t change it – I love the outdoors – its not about getting away like you would at a sandals resort, its about getting your head sorted, giving your eyes something good to look at. Sometimes its good to have muddy hands and shoes without resorting to hippy shit.
(Tue 3rd Apr 2012, 17:58, More)

» Clubs, gangs, and societies

The Homeguard.

About 10 years ago – being in my early 20’s and fancying a change from the pub, I joined some friends who were already members of the Homeguard. It was a Mens club, cost about £13 a year for membership and had the best snooker tables for miles around, fruit machines that were 10p a go and paid out up to £100 and a handy rule that states that ‘the last person to leave, locks up’ so that will be 6 pints at last orders please and I’ll stay till 2am playing snooker and lock the door behind me when I’m done.

It was a good/bad place. Mainly occupied by pensioners who drank more whiskey than most, but it also had some diverse characters:

The bloke who repeats his stories daily
The reformed alcoholic
The heaviest smoker in the world
The bloke who clearly had a job but never attended i
The Porn dealer
The lorry driver/tobacco seller
The bloke who you could barely understand – you would just nod and agree with

And my favourite – the bloke who lived a few doors away – so would turn up in his slippers.

One bloke was a compulsive fruit machine addict. He would put at least £50-£60 in it a night and play it until it was switched off. If he didn’t win the jackpot or get his money back – he would be outside the bar at 10:45 the next morning waiting for it to open so he could continue playing and get his money back.

One of its rules was ‘No Women Allowed’ – this ensured that its patrons were protected from their wives. I remember being there one day when a woman came in to the bar. It was just like a black guy walking into a Ku Klux Clan meeting. The blokes were dumb struck – The enemy had blatantly encroached on sacred soil. The collective sigh of relief when she walked up to the bar, left a yellow pages on the bar and walked out was like a zeppelin being deflated.

Which leads me onto the next one – I imagine some of the people left alive that drink there still talk about the day ‘the black man’ came in for a drink. He’d been signed in as a guest to play a game of snooker – some of the old blokes faces were frankly brilliant – like they were witnessing a miracle.

Everyday – the same faces at different times, ordering the same drinks. Some blokes would always come after a row with their wives and park their cars out of sight so they wouldn’t be spotted. Others parked their cars at 6pm and promptly got back in them at 11:30 after 10 pints and a few whiskeys. Drink driving was more common place than anywhere I’d ever been – yet they all seemed to get away with it.

It was great while it lasted, not sure what its like there now…

I imagine there’s probably still some heated debate about the smoking ban at the committee meetings and a definitive continuing ban on the presence of women who are still only allowed in on the following days: Xmas Eve, New Years Eve and a funeral wake.
(Fri 22nd Jun 2012, 12:39, More)

» Home Science

Where to Start…

My dad always said I would end up in smoke… he hasn’t been proved right yet but he’s been close.

All the below happened to me up to the age of 14 and are the result of curiosity and lack of knowledge – not so much ‘experiments’.

I fondly remember my mum and dad walking in on me in the garage whilst holding a lit candle in one hand and a can of air freshener in the other. The best response I could muster was ‘Its not what it looks like’…

Drying the dishes with the hair dryer. (because it’s a genius idea – towels are for muppets) - Dryer overheats, I remove plug cover to inspect - I electrocute myself.

Cutting the grass with my dad’s petrol lawn mower. The only way to turn it off was by pressing a strip of metal onto an exposed spark plug which cuts the engine out. But you HAD to do this with your feet. I didn’t know why I had to use my feet, so I tried using my hand. The resulting shock knocked me about 10 ft down the garden.

Wanting to see what happens when you put the back of one tea spoon in a standard 240v plug socket . One in the Earth socket and another in the Neatral (making sure they touched). Result = Nothing. Unless you touch them – this resulted in a massive shower of sparks and the spoons becoming spot-welded together.

Working as a Dishwasher in a restaurant – had to get some stuff out of the big chest freezer upstairs. Opened the lid and saw a small hole, not sure what this hole was for, I inserted my finger. When I picked myself off the floor several feet away from the freezer, I concluded that the hole was indeed a light bulb socket.

Following a slight knock to my ankle, going home and sitting in the sun with my foot in a bowl of cold water. After 20 mins, I’m bored and get my acoustic guitar out. After 10 mins, I’m bored and get my electric guitar out…. And plug it in….then play, sat on a chair on the patio with my feet in a bowl of water. How I got away with that one I’ll never know… the look of panic and shame on my dads face was awesome.
(Fri 10th Aug 2012, 9:16, More)

» Shops and Supermarkets

I’ve posted stuff here about my time as a sales person for the 2nd rate store…

Here’s another…

Having been re-hired for the xmas rush after leaving 3 months earlier to go to uni – the store had a new manager who said I came highly recommended but she was aware that I had a tendancy to ‘dick around’ and not take the job seriously (harmless stuff really – but it never looked professional). Basically, I would start straight away but there would be no probation period. I was on her radar and she was ready to pounce if I was up to no good.

I was on the 12-6 shift and was having a productive day. It came to 5:55 and I was in the storeroom by the office when I spotted it in all its glory. A huge cylinder of helium used for promotional balloons. Then I spotted the tannoy microphone in the office. I really couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity.

Several gulps of helium later and I hit the tannoy button.

“Staff announcement, Staff announcement”
(Now imagine a combination of Frankie Howard and Kenneth Williams with chipmonk voices)

I looked on the CCTV to see most of the staff falling over laughing and then spotted there was at least 10 customers still in the shop, then I spotted the manager storming towards the back office.

I was royally bollocked!!

It took me just under 6 hours at my ‘new job’ to get my first written warning
(Fri 11th May 2012, 11:55, More)
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