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» Wanking Disasters Part II

Filthy spunky time
The date is 2005 and I was in my final year of Uni. It was a warm autumn day in Bristol and i was alone in my room with sun light pouring through my open window. All was good in the world, and as a little personal treat, I decided to partake in a little bit of personal hand love.

Instead of a leisurely bed wank, instead I’d opt for the more professional desk wank, complete with swivel chair and pc. The event itself was none too remarkable; I coaxed one out to the lovely Brianna Banks, and given that it was a treat I decided to finish with a standing ovation, spurting my silky man fat onto the hard wooden floor under the desk. It felt good, and why wouldn't it?

About 30 seconds later there was knock at my bedroom door from one of my housemates and he immediately burst in. I had re assumed the sitting position at this point, and feeling relief that I hadn't been caught red handed and that there was no pron left on the computer screen, I instead focused on trying to cover the dying erection in my trousers, while at the same time trying to look nonchalant. I also partook in the obligatory eager and yet stilted conversation one does when trying to hide the fact that mere seconds ago i had been having an orgy of self love with nothing more that a fist and my trouser lizard.

"Mind if I grab a couple of the songs we downloaded last night?" he said while at the same time brandishing a USB stick.

Before i could properly respond he was already down on his knees, by the side of me. This in itself was unnerving; given that he was now eye level with the aforementioned, diminished, but never the less still dangerous trouser lizard. Worse still was that there were no USB sockets on the front of the pc free, and before I could protest he said:

"I’ll just stick this in one of the others round the back"

I tried to say something but nothing came out. That's when it happend, with his little face looking back at me waiting for my reply, he leant further forward under the desk, put his hand down to steady himself and immediately froze. He'd twigged. We were locked in the death stare for no more than 5 seconds but in those 5 seconds a lot was processed by both of us. He was hoping what he'd just put his hand in, wasn't what he thought it was, but it was. Each of use continued to stare deep into the others soul's. His soul crying out and trying to comprehend how this could have happened, me trying to think of a plausible excuse for my filthy act of floor spunkage.

Amazingly, he broke the silence first, the pained look on his face disappeared and he continued on his mission, inserting the USB and copying the music from my desktop, all the while acting as if nothing had happened. I guess it was a knee jerk reaction to the hideousness of knowing my potential babies were currently trying to swim into the pours of his hand. He was trying to pretend it hadn't happened while it was still happening!

He finished, got up and left, leaving us both to digest/vomit over what had just happened.

It was disgusting, an unnatural moment shared by two close friends, and despite this, i swear, just as he left the room, i saw him bring his glistening palm to his hand and take a sniff. filty cunt.

Length? a bit too much in this case.
(Thu 17th Feb 2011, 17:17, More)

» Trolls

Some real life friend trolling
I've got a mate who managed to make quite a bit of money when he sold his business. He took a portion of said money and invested in a lovely bit of period property in North London.

Lovely, except for this crappy old out house type building in the back garden, about 5 foot away from the back door. He decided he wanted to put funky glass conservatory on the back of the house. Now you don’t need planning permission from the council to put in a conservatory but you do need planning permission to alter the existing building in anyway. He was refused permission to pull down the crappy old our house standing in the way of his conservatory but though “piss off council minges” and decided to pull it down and go ahead anyway.

One day shortly after he’d moved in he was telling me all this while we were in the pub, before adding that the only way he thought he’d get caught is if the council had anyone drive by the house to check if building work was going on, following the planning permission refusal. He told how he had planned meticulously to make sure the window of getting caught (having a skip outside his house for the old rubble) was as short as possible, ½ a day and would make all the builders park two roads along at an all day carpark.

Realising how much effort he must have gone to and that he would undoubtedly be stressing out about being found out, I hatched a plan. Below is the outcome of said plan, which I mailed to him shortly after work commenced. To be fair I did include a few subtle references that it might not be quite what it appears on first glance.

Length? He called the number I included about 3 days later.
(Thu 19th May 2011, 16:26, More)

» What was I thinking?

what's in a name?
So... where to start?

I was a wee nipper, probably no more than 6 or 7 and had just learnt about pushing the bit of skin on your fingernail back, and how the best way to do it was once it had softened up in the bath or some other activity that involved warm water.
Now not quite the articulate and learn'd person that i am now.. i was just getting to grips with the name of different part's of the body.

Fast forward to one evening when my family had just been out for dinner with another family. At the end of the meal I had pleaded to get a lift home in my friends family car instead of mine... so we could carry on talking about the A Team / M.A.S.K or whatever it is that 6 and 7 yearolds chatted about in the 80s.

No problems there... however somehow the conversation got onto hurting yourself and, thinking i had a good one, i loudly piped up "oh yeah its like when you try and pull your foreskin back when its not wet and hasn't had a chance to get soft!"

I was immediately aware of a change of mood in the car and yet couldn't quite put my finger on what had happened.. Not until i had been dropped off at home and was expalining the strange events to my mum, did it become apparent exactly why there had been a long silence before a rapid chance of topic. I think it is my earliest memory of utter embarrasment.

Forskin and cuticles should never be confused.

Length... dosen't even cover the end
(Mon 27th Sep 2010, 14:13, More)

» Happy 10th Birthday B3ta

I have a 2.1 thanks to b3ta
At the University of West of England (UWE), there used to be a degree called culture and media studies. Being Lazy, I opted go here, rather than the accepting the other offer I had of PPE at Oxford. One module for this Media Studies degree was called Digital Media. Now given how intellectually difficult a media studies degree is, the Uni decided to limit the workshop for this module to one sitting of 60 minutes a week; to save our overworked brains from shrivelling under the pressure. Whilst this must sound pretty much how you would imagine a west country media degree to play out, you may be surprised to learn that for pretty much the full 60 mins each week, the Lecturer focused pretty much entirely around showing us movies, image challenges and of course the odd mandatory Goatsees on the B3ta site. I shit you not. Best 9 grand I ever spent.

I then lurked for about 5 years before getting an account and coming out with a story on qotw about foreskins.
(Tue 13th Sep 2011, 10:55, More)

» Waste of money

an E reg, Fiat UNO 949 cc
Or... a hidden camera spypen for your girlfriend, she'll see it as totally pointless, despite the cost but at least it will give the guys she works with an excuse to:

a) talk to her
b) use it (probably to spy on her/other women in the office pissing)
c) belittle you

both of them a massive waste of £200
(Thu 30th Sep 2010, 14:33, More)
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