b3ta.com user Piper Alpha
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Natural born skiver.

Recent front page messages:

Fixed. The viewing public won't notice

(Thu 22nd Mar 2018, 20:04, More)

To late for a Mints Pie?

(Thu 21st Jan 2010, 9:50, More)

Best answers to questions:

» Breasts

Army Tits
My favourite tit tale is when Sgt Major Wobbly-Gob came to attend a "Camouflage and Concealment" session to a group of new recruits. So, the recruits have buddied up, applied the camouflage cream, and done their best to break up shape and outline as best they could. They were preparing to start there first exercise in woodland and meadow.

Sgt Maj Wobbly-God was doing the bit were you emphasise noise, and that anything excessive in your pockets was to be removed. Wobbly (for that is what we called him) was very assertively going down the line and getting them to jump so he could hear noise.

When he gets to this recruit who a had very lumpy combat jacket indeed, in such a way that something was sticking the breast pockets way out in front of the rest of the recruit.

Wobbly was incensed! "What the fuck are those?" he shouts as he outstretches both palms of his hands and gives the breast pockets a very firm squeeze.

And the recruit, in her best I'm-a-girl-trying-to-sound-like-a-soldier voice shouted back "Tits Sir".

Wobbly went redder than a red thing and soon had something more urgent to attend to, and the rest of the training staff took some time to calm down.

In retrospect, I'd have groped them too. I love tits me.
(Sun 9th May 2010, 6:30, More)

» Siblings

My twin
I was, in fact, born with a terrible affliction that marred my early live. I was a conjoined twin. Myself and my brother were joined at the hip. At first it was great, my brother always there, and I was frightened of loneliness the eventual separation would bring. But soon our joined lives became terrible, not just because of the lack of mobility, but also because my brother was a damn freak... we shared certain parts, but we both had our own *essential* parts. However, he found it hilarious to mess with me, and used to tell me it wasn't really me etc. Every day was abuse time.

Eventually, it was time for separation, and the whole series of operations and procedures went well, well enough so that we both learned to live full but very separate lives.

My brother eventually went on to become very big in the physics field, whilst I went into IT. He excelled, so much so that he went on to work on a Nasa programme that allowed him to make a flight on the shuttle.

However, he did come back to the UK every now and then, and when he did, he would make his way back to my parents (where I was living at the time) and he would start again, taunting me about the former abuse.

My therapist said that maybe I should write some of my feelings down, and an attempt to get them out in the air. So I did, and I came up with this poem:

First I was afraid
I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live
without you by my side
But I spent so many nights
thinking how you did me wrong
I grew strong
I learned how to carry on
and so you're back
from outer space
I just walked in to find you here
with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed my stupid lock
I should have made you leave your key
If I had known for just one second
you'd be back to bother me

Apparently, it had already bindun.
(Wed 31st Dec 2008, 14:14, More)

» Sexual fetishes

I'm really into
getting off as quickly as possible with someone who then shuts the fuck up and lets me sleep. Washing and ironing is a nice to have.
(Thu 22nd Oct 2009, 14:13, More)

» Tightwads

I knew a guy who...
instead of putting the heating on in his flat, he would make up sandwiches and a flask and go and sit all, and I mean all, day in the greenhouse at the local Royal Horticultural Society gardens. To save even more money, he used to buy an annual pass for said gardens.

Imagine his guttedness when he found out after 3 years of doing this that his work's ID pass gained him free entry into the gardens.
(Fri 24th Oct 2008, 7:50, More)

» Spoilt Brats

My dad told me a tale....
of his past.

My Dad was about 8 or 9 at the time, and rationing was still in full swing - this must be about 1947-1948. His friend's parents owned some kind of local shop (as many did) that had access to cakes and confectionery.

This one lad was sat on the local wall, showing off with his newly acquired Chocolate Eclair cream cake. He was teasing my dad and the other kids with its creamy chocolatey goodliness.

He was slowly and gently licking the cream from the choux pastry, with an extended tongue. He then turned it 90 degrees and started the lick the gooey chocolate on top... and the other kids looked on, all with watering mouths, wanting that eclair, but this kid was not for sharing.

My dad, who had never had even a taste of a chocolate eclair, said he could stand it no more. He grabbed the kids wrist, forcing the lad's hand upwards.. He then made him press that eclair in his own face, and rubbed it around until it was destroyed beyond repair. Letting go of the kid's hand, my dad clocked him with a single punch that bust his nose, his face a mix of pastry, cream, chocolate and claret.

The kid ran home. The other kids cheered. When my granddad found out, my dad got the beating of his life.

I eat chocolate eclairs in a single bite when my dad's around.
(Mon 13th Oct 2008, 11:17, More)
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