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» Lies that went on too long

Lottery win
About 6 or 7 years ago, my partner and I decided to pull the old lottery win April Fool on my step daughters. Not thinking for one minute that any of them would be daft enough to fall for it.

This basically involved Mrs Bort reading the numbers from our computer screen, whilst I call on all my Am dram experience to embellish the lie with some excitement along the way. Once all the numbers had been read out, we jigged around the house whooping with delight and watching in amusement as 3 of the 4 daughters saw straight through the ruse, and asked us to go back to bed. The one remaining daughter, the eldest ironically, believed every word of it.

As a bit of background to this I should say that the elder 2 girls lost their father when they were 6 and 7 respectively. His death had affected them both terribly at the time, but in the intervening ten years or so, careful work by their mum had put them back on track.

Maybe it was a lingering rawness that had made the eldest burst in to tears and exclaim aloud that at last things were going right for us for a change. Her sobs and the period spent hugging her mum made me feel like the biggest tool in the box, and although her mum had been a willing accomplice to the gag, i knew that it would be up to me to extinguish these flames.

Luckily she took it well, or at least she seemed to, but I will never do anything like it again.

Length - around 10 minutes all told, not traditionally long, but put into context, a fucking lifetime.
(Mon 12th Mar 2012, 12:06, More)

» School Naughtiness

First post from a disgusting little boy.
This is not classically naughty behaviour per se, but the incident was sufficiently shame filled enough to ruin my last year at Secondary School, so here goes.

The year is 1984. I am 15, and bumbling along at school, suitably aided by my best friend/shadow Dominic. We were both fairly intelligent kids, but quite breathtakingly unfocused, and so had made it to fourth year without anything remotely resembling an academic achievement between us.

By this time, most of the teachers had pegged us as a bad influence on each other, and had separated us in any classes we took together. Only one teacher, our student English teacher, had allowed us to remain seated together during her lessons. It was during this period that our creative naughtiness was allowed its oxygen.

I can’t remember who had thought of it first, but at some point during one of these lessons we had decided that what we really needed, what our lives would not be complete without, was a chart detailing every female teachers vagina, as imagined in our fevered adolescent minds. It was a silly throwaway idea that gathered momentum as soon as we started writing things down.

The basic idea was that we would compile a full list of female teachers. Alongside each name there would be a description of said fanny, what it might feel like, etc. Furthermore, there would be an accompanying drawing. This would provide visual evidence of neatness, and hair mass. The problem for me was that this was all being done in the back of an exercise book I had for rough work. In itself, this is not that much of an issue, the book was never handed in for marking, and we only ever work on it during that one lesson we’re together. A lesson being conducted by the only teacher who had never separated us, and who was far more tolerant of us being dicks in the classroom.

My downfall came during another lesson. Not any other lesson either, but the only lesson on my timetable whereby I was the only boy. Somehow, the book had managed to find it’s way out of my bag and onto the floor. It was subsequently picked up by one of the girls in the class who proceeded to flick through it. It was one of those exquisite moments whereby reality itself seems to be shattering into a billion pieces, right before your own disbelieving eyes.

We’ve all seen the textbook with the big spunking cock in it, but Dominic and I had elevated that into another dimension with our Encyclopaedia Flangica. Eventually the giggling started followed by the passing of the book from one girl to another. By this time my mind had almost snapped. The reality of the situation had to my mind long since slipped out of the back door and fucked off.

The book eventually found its way into the hands of my teacher. She looked at the offending pages and put the book back on my desk.
‘You really are a disgusting little boy’, she says, and walks back to her desk at the front. I’d have preferred a major league bollocking to be honest. This kind of withering dismissal was not what I’d wanted or expected. It had made me the laughing stock of the school, and due to Dominic moving away had made me endure the Fifth year entirely alone. Needless to say, the female teachers were a little reluctant to deal with me as well. Whether that was because I’d hit the nail on the head or not I’ll never know.
(Mon 12th Sep 2011, 15:43, More)

» Foot in Mouth Syndrome II

One of many
Embarrasing moments, but probably the most cringeworthy. I was 17, and working in a local decorating shop. Now I was spectacularly shy at that age, and I always seemed to get tongue tied around women. not women I fancied or girls my own age, but all women, with the possible exception of coffin dodgers.

This particular day I had been left on my own in the afternoon, and due to it not being busy, I buried myself in a copy of the local evening paper to pass the time. Iwas reading the story of a local man who had stabbed his wife to death and must have been engrossed because I was only dimly aware that a customer had walked into the shop and was browsing the paint aisle.

As was the custom, I would immediately ask them if they needed assistance. The trouble, on this occasion, was that I still had the story from the paper clearly in my head, and once I saw the customer was a youngish woman, the combination of shyness and an inability to shake the story led to the following line from me..

"good afternoon, can I hurt you at all?"

She stood there looking at me for what felt like a lunar year before laughing and saying that she was ok thanks. I was probably giving off the same heat from my face as that Olympic torch by this point and simply walked back to the counter to see if It were possible to physically tear out my own tongue. She left the shop without saying another word.
(Thu 16th Aug 2012, 20:42, More)

» Surprise!

Halloween again
I'm sure there will be a raft of Halloween based shenanigans, so let me add mine.

Our two daughters decided they wanted a Halloween party between them, and asked if they could invite a few friends each. One was 13 at the time, and had invited a couple of boys, who looked more like they were 18, and were obviously a little bit uncomfortable with the whole wearing masks, and apple bobbing planned for the evening.
In a effort to provide something a little different, I spoke to my son in law who was at the party as well. He is well known for making prank calls whereby he pretends the line is breaking up. It's all immature rubbish but the kids always find it funny.
On this occasion, I asked him to actually phone me. He would pretend to phone Dominoes or whatever, and I would answer and say he had the wrong number. It was all a little bit impromptu, and by the end of the initial call, I had pretended that I thought he was the man my cheating wife had an affair with. After he hung up, I rang him back (the kids are all listening to this still on loud speaker) and said that I didn't appreciate him cutting me off, and that because of that It was his fault that she had died! He had made me kill her.
Obviously my son in law was a little taken aback, since this wasn't planned at all, but he gamely carried on in front of his now slightly agitated audience (I was outside the house, so couldn't see them). He tried to placate me and said that it was all a mistake, he had been making a prank call. I refused to believe him, and told him that I was going to use GPS to track him down or some other bullshit that the kids might fall for.
I waited about 30 seconds before storming in through my front door.
The ensuing scene was far more than I had bargained for. A crowd of kids all trying to get out of my lounge to the safety of the kitchen door, and the garden outside. One of the older boys my daughter had invited was actually pushing younger ones behind him in his rush to the exit. Needless to say it was all quickly discovered to be a prank and everyone had a good laugh about it.
Except for my younger daughter, who spent the next hour crying, and one of her friends who had to be taken home after having an anxiety attack, but hey, you can't have a good Halloween prank without a little collateral damage right?
(Thu 11th Apr 2013, 11:20, More)

» Home Science

Lucky to be alive.
this goes back a few years. It must have been 1986 or 87. My mate had been doing private experiments with sugar and fertilizer, presumably after having read about its effects somewhere. The experiments hadn't amounted to much really, just igniting piles of the mixture on the floor, or maybe filling coke cans and cutting off one end so as to make a cheap and cheerful spinning firework. It was when he told our small group about it that the situation escalated.

After a couple of attempts at using aluminium tubing to make fireworks (believe me, the realisation that we were bomb making had not entered our dimwitted brains) another mate managed to get hold of an old motorbike exhaust pipe. After filling it with the mixture and using a sparkler as a fuse, we set out into the New Forest to admire our ingenuity. After half burying it in the ground and lighting the fuse, we retreated to a safe distance (approx 10ft) and awaited the pyrotechnic display we ad lovingly crafted.

Looking back now, I suppose it wasn't that long a time before we got bored and left it, although at the time it seemed we had waited an eternity. We never attempted to get closer and inspect it, as we had at least been born with a single brain cell between us, but we were bitterly disappointed as we walked away. We had only walked about 30 seconds when it went. I can honestly say that I had to completely redefine my understanding of terror. Not just the blast, but the sound of small pieces of molten death whistling past our ears on their way into the distant trees. Quite how anybody avoided having to explain the tattered corpse to their friends mum is still a mystery to me now.

After all that though, it was only the next morning speaking to my parents that the magnitude of our stupidity slammed home. My mum said in conversation that she had heard a bang the night before. The horrifying part is that we lived about 7 miles from the blast site.
(Thu 9th Aug 2012, 20:24, More)
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