In which grandmasterfluffles' imagination runs away with her
When I was in Year 6, all of the pretty, popular girls at school kept diaries. Generally these were pink fluffy notebooks with padlocks attached, in which these mini Stepford wives in training would write with pink pencils with balls of fluff on the end in painfully neat handwriting.

I was not one of the pretty, popular girls. But boy, did I want to be! It was obvious that the only thing standing between me and popularity was owning one of these stupid things, and so I saved up my pocket money, went to WH Smith and purchased a pink hardback notebook with cute bunnies on the front and a padlock on the side, bearing the words My Secret Diary. I even splashed out on a fluffy pink pencil to go with it. I was all set.

When I started writing, however, I came across a snag. I was totally fucking boring. You see, because I still wasn't popular yet, I didn't have any friends. I didn't go to Take That concerts, or hold hands with boys, or have a whale of a time bullying losers, or any of the fun things the popular girls did. My life was DULL. And so one day, I found myself writing the words: I am so afraid that somebody will find out my terrible secret.

Ooooooh, now I was interesting! The only problem was, it was a total lie. I didn't actually have a terrible secret because I was too sodding dull for such things. But now that I'd written that I had a terrible secret, I was going to have to invent one. And this, dear readers, is where it all began to go horribly wrong.

Mr Thomas touched me when we were alone in the cloakroom, I began. He followed me in there and put his hand down my top. Oh yes, boy was I interesting now! All those girls who said I was so ugly - were any of them hot enough to get molested by the PE teacher? Ha! I think not. The problem was that now I was hooked on the drama of my imaginary trauma. I was compelled to write more and more salacious things every day.

I am so confused. You're supposed to do what teachers tell you, aren't you? I just want to be a good girl, but I wish Mr Thomas would stop telling me to suck his penis, even if he does give me 3 house points for it. Yes, that was a good one! House points for a blow job. People wouldn't think I was such a fucking boring bazillion house points goody two shoes when they found out HOW I EARNED THEM.

Today, Mr Thomas kept me behind after class. He made me get into the stationery cupboard with him and he took all my clothes off and we had sex. I feel so dirty.

On the plus side, I know for certain that my mum never ever breached my privacy by reading my diary, evidenced by the fact that Mr Thomas was never arrested. God, I was a horrible child.
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Wed 6 Mar 2013, 18:22, 12 replies)

50 shades of fluffy pink.
( Ken Oath, Wed 6 Mar 2013, 19:17, closed)

What was Mr Thomas's cock like?

( Dr Preference AjcuiVd289, Wed 6 Mar 2013, 19:22, closed)

If it's any consolation, chances are he was writing something very similar about you in his.

( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Wed 6 Mar 2013, 21:03, closed)

I certainly was.
Except for the lank stringy hair and a habit of breathing through her mouth, she wasn't all that homely. But god, she really was painfully dull.
(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Wed 6 Mar 2013, 23:42, closed)

Oddly similar to something I heard last night from my wife.
A Muslim woman was hosting a small get-together yesterday for her colleagues, most of whom are expatriates and non-Muslim. One of the men, an elderly fellow from South Africa, asked her, "So if you don't drink, how do you get in the mood?"

Everyone froze at the impertinence of the question.

Without missing a beat she replied, "I put on music and soft lighting, lie back, close my eyes- and think of you."

Best. Comeback. EVER.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 7 Mar 2013, 4:43, closed)

OMG like WTF?
"When I started writing, however, I came across a snag. I was totally fucking boring. You see, because I still wasn't popular yet, I didn't have any friends. I didn't go to Take That concerts, or hold hands with boys, or have a whale of a time bullying losers, or any of the fun things the popular girls did. My life was DULL. And so one day, I found myself writing the words: I am so afraid that somebody will find out my terrible secret."

It's like the secret diary of every QOTW bully!
( Infidel , shit and wrong, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 2:04, closed)

It's like she's reading our minds.

(the other guy not the one that gave you coochie warts, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 4:21, closed)

Those
padlocks?

Paper clip, 4.5 seconds tops.

My stepsister didn't give the PE teacher a blowjob, but she did get fingered by one of the groundsmen.
(username failed moderation, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 8:41, closed)

Albert?

( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 12:11, closed)

You've put your hair in pigtails and played this out with your other half haven't you?
(cs1ca, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 11:21, closed)

Ha!
Mr Fluffles says, "Um...no thanks...."
(grandmasterfluffles Come to my Armageddon party on, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 11:45, closed)

3 House Points obviously prices you out of the market.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Thu 7 Mar 2013, 11:55, closed)