b3ta.com user mango_charlie
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It's quite an unusual name, for a chap who is rather usual. Residing in the South East of England, Mango_Charlie has ties to the Welsh and the Irish..and them oop norf too. Not one to be offended, or wave the PC flag, you will often find him chuckling at QOTW answers munching on chocolate raisins. Milk and two sugar please.


Recent front page messages:


Best answers to questions:

» Helicopter Parents

More vulture than helicopter..
I've had my GF for 2 years now (practically lives with me) - small, petite thing, cooks for me, always been good to me.

I go away on holiday for a week, come back and something just doesn't seem right. I asked my Father if he had seen anything happen with my GF and he acts clueless.

So fast forward to 3 weeks later... I'm coming home from work when BAM clear as day, right in my Kitchen I catch my Father red handed with his meat in my GF. I was pissed off, told him to "get his meat out of GF and GTFO", needless to say my GF got turned off. I just couldn't get over it and that night kicked my GF to the curb.

Now it's been 2 weeks since the incident and that I've been without my GF and about 10 minutes ago my Father had the audacity to ask my how my GF has been, when he's the damn reason we ain't together no more.

Should I get off the computer and start swinging at him?


Pack my stuff and be on my way.

Here's a pic of my GF for you guys as I know you'll ask.
(Wed 16th Sep 2009, 17:17, More)

» Public Sex

Alfresco Copulation
By the light, of the silvery moon,
I want to spoon,
To my honey I'll croon love's tune.
Honey moon, keep a-shinin' in June.
Your silv'ry beams will bring love's dreams,
We'll be cuddlin' soon,
By the silvery moon.*

If only that was true to form, Sgt. Charlie may still be practising nocturnal drills outside. Regardless, unless you own one of the Thousand Islands or a similar sanctuary for shagging, sex in public places will rarely be romantic. Infact, I very much doubt any copulation where a gust of wind dances gently over one's behind is going to make the scrap book, unless of course you keep a scrap book detailing every sordid sexual encounter of your life to date.

I was in my final year of college, lusting after a beauty called Rachel. We were in the same Law class for the first year of college, and as some sort of cruel joke by The Man, fate, or maybe even the College Admin Staff, ended up taking Business Studies together for the second (and final) year.

Rachel was as deep as a puddle. There was an air of arrogance about her - her parents were well off, yet lived in the dark ages. There was no TV in the house, their internet connection was dial up and she owned a Ford KA. Right.. The bleached blonde hair, whiter than white teeth, firm bottom and pert breasts, squeezed into the tightest, most flattering tops and jeans you could imagine. Ok, not that tight - but you could count every curve with very little left for the imagination. Rachel was bloody gorgeous, but lived so far up her own arse you often wondered how she saw where she was going.

However, being a fully functioning male, I could overlook this issue of snobbery in an attempt to get my willy wet in The Holy Grail of our college.

In all this time, aside from the odd glance at one another, few words were exchanged. Rachel studied hard (atleast, that's what she pretended) and I barely studied. Or turned up for classes. Not even to gaze lovingly at her through my third eye. But then in another small miracle, I was ordered to sit with Rachel in the hopes that her good influence would rub off on me. I on the other hand, was hoping to rub something else. Perhaps the idea of my balls splashing about in His cup caused this act of kindness, or maybe someone, somewhere took pity on me. That or Satan wanted me to rub my bellend around His cup, and leave a few pubes too, just for the hell of it. Metaphorically speaking anyway.

Rachel and I actually got on like a house on fire. She had a devilish sense of humor, her big brown eyes would swallow me up when she looked at me, seeing just how far she could string me along before I cracked. She'd ask my opinion on underwear, tell me how she loved dressing up for her ex boyfriend, explain how everytime she applied fake tan her legs would tremble slightly each and every time she caressed her ample bosom. I was being seduced with words, shagged by sentences and filling up the wank bank with more knowledge than the Encyclopedia Britannica translated into several languages.

It also appeared that Rachel loved cock. Stories were swapped and I'm pretty sure that by the end of the year Rachel had dampened her panties whilst day dreaming of me several times. You know the way a woman looks at you, with the 'come to bed eyes' you only see in various top shelf movies? Well, I am positive I was on the receiving end of those eyes from Rachel and she was ready to receive something from me.

Alas, we parted ways without so much of a fumble. Fast forward a few months and I get a text from Rachel. She's coming back from Univeristy and wants to see me. Sgt. Charlie leaps into action so I take it upon myself to teach him a lesson. Minutes later I can think straight again. What could she want? Where would we go? Should I take flavoured, standard, ribbed or hop on the good foot and do the bad thing?!

Fast forward a few days - several dates, giggles and kisses later Rachel wants to take me for a ride. At that point, I wasn't aware of how literal she was being.

It was a humid evening, the sun was setting and as she drove I realised the KA wasn't so bad we were heading into the middle of nowhere. She gave me a wicked smile, and ran one hand over my thigh and gave it a light squeeze. Sgt. Charlie was at the battle station instantly. I'm sure she sensed this and Rachel giggled.

We pulled into a small road, parking infront of a gate leading into some woodland. Rachel had her eye on this place with her ex, but the sap decided to stick it elsewhere. I can understand why, as she was very high maintenance. But it was like trading in your Xbox 360 Elite for a Gamegear, or a Ferrari for a Skoda.

She pounced on me, and my hands gripped her waist firmly. Nibbling on my earlobe and whispering how she'd wanted me since she saw me made me dig my nails in slightly and squeeze tighter. Rachel moaned a little, and then a little more as I gently licked and kissed her neck and shoulders. She fumbled for the door, it swung open with a loud clicking sound no man ever wants to hear his car door make. The one where someone throws it, causing it to swing to far and clip the arches or whatever it is. Rachel grabbed my hand, slide off my lap and into the great outdoors. I followed, hungry for more.

Birds chatted away in the trees, possibly answering our impressions of Tarzan and Jane over the bonnet of her little KA. Her tight ass gripped the bonnet and her toned legs were thrown over my shoulders. Sgt. Charlie was deep undercover. Balls deep infact. And.it.was.fantastic.

A rustle from the trees, the wind dancing over my arse and the odd car in the distance turned my Man of Steel into the Man of Steel on Kryptonite. A big softie. It was our first time alfresco and as much as I was concentrating on beating blue hell out of my bollox on her beautifully toned bottom, I couldn't help but hear every little noise possible, incase we were rumbled. Then again, our Tarzan and Jane noises were a big give away.

My palms were sweaty and slipping slightly on the bonnet of the car, her cries for a religious experience turned to swearing like a sailor and back again. It was time for my best cum face. Here, on the other end of my dick, was the beauty from my dreams. She deserved more than a grunt and a nap. If we were in a bed, I'd have cuddled afterwards. Regardless, I too made my peace with Him before unloading everything I had. My balls felt lighter, and I could almost hear them thanking me for giving them a break. Rachel moaned as she felt my member pulsate inside of her, running her nails down my back, before letting her legs collapse either side of me. I was breathing heavily, exhausted. She smiled at me, again her eyes swallowed me whole. I could hear an applause. I felt I deserved it. Rachel could hear it too.

Our eyes widened in terror as the ripple of applause was growing louder into an ocean of accolade. There was cheering. We hurried to hide our shame, eyes peering into the darkness trying to work out what the noise was.

A bright light descended on us. Perhaps our cries to the Lord were being answered, after all he had put us together and somewhat asked me to do the deed with Rachel. Hadn't He? Perhaps Satan had tricked me and now God was going to deliver the KO - Eve picked the Apple from the Tree, my imitation of a beast with two backs surely didn't deserve this?!

Alas, the closest either of us got to any real religious experience was feeling very embarrassed and almost dirty as if we had committed a cardinal sin. You see, the applause and bright light belonged to the MoD. Hearing a car pull up right next to a training facility certainly earned some interest. Rachel and I then proceeded to give Her Magesty's finest front row seats to our little romp. We could still hear them cheering us on as we dove into the car and pulled away sharpish, to make our escape.

Rachel was a shade of red most of the journey home. We sat in silence for a very uncomfortable ride. She dropped me home and left, just as easily as she came. We're still facebook friends, and I see she's back with her ex boyfriend. Apart from the odd perv over her picture, we're back to how it was in the first year of college - knowing each other exists, but that's about it.

So there we go ladies and gentlemen, a little bit of blushing really helps you get to know a person. Still, it was a mighty good romp and my faith in the British Army remains at a relative high - if those bastards could sneak up on us the damn Taliban don't stand a chance.

*Edward Madden

Apologies for length, though I think it's more about the girth.
(Wed 29th Apr 2009, 16:07, More)

» Food sex

Earlier today
..when I was at work, I put my willy in the gherkin slicer.

We were both fired.

*gets coat*
(Thu 6th Aug 2009, 16:39, More)

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

Up Down Left Right ABC Start
I'm still useless without it, and I'm 22. The shame!
(Fri 18th Sep 2009, 11:42, More)

» The Dark

Honestly, I'm no fan of the dark when it comes to being inside..
At a young age I was relocated from the safety of a bedroom next to my parents' room, to a converted bedroom downstairs. These were the days when I slept in Aladdin pyjamas - long sleeve top and bottoms. Being born in '87 and Aladdin hitting the cinema in '92..it is safe to say my age was still only a single digit.

Everyone remembers having a nightmare when they were little - and running into their parents' bed and spending the night curled up between Ma and Pa where it was safe and monsters couldn't get you, right? Well, imagine a pitch black staircase and hallway between you and your parents. Imagine having a nightmare, softly padding out of your room and freezing a few paces into the hall, gazing into the oblivion of the stairs. Imagine nightmares about monsters in your room, scary noises and shifty shadows - I spent many nights in purgatory between the staircase and my room, depending on what the nightmare featured.

Eventually I was entrusted with a lamp - so as I got older and my nightmares were deeper, darker and generally more realistic - I started sleeping with the lamp on all night long. Not long after this was discovered Ma and Pa fitted a light outside my room which gently illuminated the hallway to the stairs..and that's about it. That light stayed on every night for the best part of 10 years as I slept with my bedroom door ajar. Eventually a light cast into my room became annoying, as did the standby light on the TV and a digital clock so I started closing the door and turning the TV off at the mains. I was finally getting over my fear of the dark - bar the odd moment of panic as other b3tans have described (short noises which are unfamiliar and hard to locate, a flickering shadow perhaps).

Or so I thought! You see, the current Mrs. Mango lives in one of those older, town-house style houses whereby the bathroom (and thus, the toilet) are situated downstairs often at the back of the house. If I wake up in the middle of the night, I smuggle my phone out with me and use the soft-light from the keypad and screen to guide my way down the stairs and into the living room as not to wake her dear old Ma. The floors are as thin as paper so I try not to switch the light on in the living room. Entering the kitchen, my first obstacle, the light switch is on the other side of the room. Now if anyone was awake, due to the cardboard floors, they may think I was practising coal-walking. I gently walk down the stairs and into the living room, where by pace speeds up a little. In the kitchen it goes a bit pear shaped - plod, plod, plod, plod-plod-plod-plod-plod, plod. I have a door, small hall and another door before hitting the bathroom where there is glorious light and Glen - my new found friend - the room heater. Glen sits high on the wall and wags his pull-cord tail when I'm around - or so I like to think. Their house is freezing in winter, so I sneak a moment or two with Glen to ensure I don't give Mango Jr. frostbite if you know what I mean.

Anyway! Cue going to see I Am Legend at the cinema. Reasonable film by the way, but the scene where Will Smith chases his dog into that bank and finds those zombie things huddled in the corner of the dark room..eep! Yes, dear reader, those images stayed in my mind. The stairway, the living room and the kitchen were still taken at my usual pace, but this time I would freeze at the door leading into the hallway. It was blacker than black in there, with about 4' of space to the left of the door where anything could have been lurking. I had to spend what felt like forever psyching myself up to open the door and hurl myself into the bathroom. And then do it all again when heading back to bed - even though I'd just gone through the hallway where nothing was, I couldn't shake those images or the deep-seeded fear of the dark.

I may have practised coal-walking to the bathroom, but the way back was a 100m sprint against Olympic champions. As soon as I opened the bathroom door to head back upstairs, I was off like a rocket. Thud-thud, slam, thud-slam, thud-thud-thud-thud-thud, slam, thud-thus-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-thud-slam-boing. As soon as the bedroom door was closed behind me I dived into bed, often causing Mrs. Mango to sit bolt-up right semi-shrieking 'what was that' to which I would downplay my sheer horror, apologise for my less than gentlemanly bed-entering approach and cuddle up to her (I believe it is more accurately described as 'cling on to dear life') until I fell asleep again.

I definitely get more paranoid and on edge if I'm stressed, or feeling down and out. I guess it's regression. Mrs. Mango is petrified of thunder storms. Day or night - she hates them. I hold her close all night long, even after she falls asleep, because it makes her feel safe. But I'm a horrible, horrible man sometimes - and tease her about it. Ironic with my own childish fears. She got revenge one day by following me to the bathroom and hiding in that hallway. Had I not just emptied my bladder I would have surely emptied it on the spot as she jumped forwards shouting 'boo.' I saw the funny side after a couple of days. She's learned well, she has :)
(Mon 27th Jul 2009, 15:48, More)
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