Christine. Oh Christ, oh Christine…

I was just 16 tender, inexperienced years old…and blessed with the inability to shed myself of the kind of ‘puppy fat’ that you’d only expect to see on someone who has spent well over a decade actually eating puppies.

I woefully tried to overcompensate for my lack of self-confidence with a brutish arrogance, and skilfully developed a personality akin to an awkward and unholy threesome chemical coupling of Timmy Mallett, Ruby Wax…and Bernard Manning.

I’m afraid to say that the only success I was managing to achieve that involved a ‘willy’…was the high score on my naff ZX Spectrum version of ‘Jet Set Willy’… and unfortunately nothing to do with the dormant dormouse that slumbered in my misery-grey Farah trollies.

My time in the sixth form was understandably difficult…and it was made even more frustrating by the school’s futile attempts to say ‘bollocks’ to political correctness whilst desperately trying to not offend anybody…and part of this policy included the re-introduction of ‘traditional seasonal’ activities.

Oh yes…this meant that they were going to dig up the goddam motherfucking dull-as-shit Nativity play.

Of course, we all thought this was a truly twattish idea…‘kids stuff’ – after all, we were tempestuous, bulging fireballs of flowering sexuality (except for me), and we didn’t want to waste our valuable ‘fucking about’ time by rehearsing lines just so we could get dressed like 70’s deck chairs and look ridiculous next to plastic farm animals.

But they insisted, and as they asked for volunteers, one voice spoke up through the silence and I was transfixed.

It was Christine, the new girl.

By Jingo’s jumping jizz beans she was something else. Perfectly formed and with a full set of curves, she had a confident, sexy swagger that belied her young years.

‘I’ll do it!” she said softly, with the kind of sensuous, husky voice that sounded like a combination of a Disney Princess and a 40-a-day coal miner, her every word was so gushingly sexy it made Marriella Frostrup’s drawl sound like runny hippo dung, mixed with gravel and vomit, then being forced to negotiate itself out of a skanky blocked waste disposal system.

I was totally unprepared for this.

In an instant, ‘Jet set’ Willy was forgotten about, replaced by a proud, ‘jet-propelled’ Willy that had woken with a jolt from it’s coiled snoozing, and sprang to full attention, sniffing around my grundies like a startled Meerkat…and as soon as my eyes could communicate what was happening to the to the relative ‘lower departmental manager’, so began the fateful trickle of a soon-to-be-familiar seepage, leaking out and forming a caked-on crustacean in my already painfully punished shreddies.

I signed up straight away for the Nativity, and fell instantly, dramatically and cataclysmically in love with Christine. This was, however, in no small part that on our first meeting, she walked boldly up towards me, looked me up and down, muttered ‘You’ll do’, then dragged me behind the science block where she proceeded to sublimely munch on my luncheon meat truncheon with an expertise I had only believed possible on the most specialist of skin flicks.

Over the next two weeks we were inseparable, and she took me on a voyage of discovery that started to give me a new found confidence (and friction burns)…my eyes were opened to the ‘ways of the woman’. I started shedding pounds in weight, but it might have just been due to the excess loss of bodily fluids and wotnot.

There were no Spectrum games to prepare me for this experience. So from then on, despite the dangers, I was smitten.

These ‘dangers’ I speak of, were specifically her love of ‘dangerous sex’. Harder, rougher and increasingly unspeakable, she wanted to break a different taboo with every dip of my shell-shocked semolina-spitting salami slide.

Anyway…back to the play…The drama teacher had cast us as ‘Mary and Joseph’, considering it ‘sweet’* that Christine and I were ‘courting’, and that it might add a ‘romantic panache’, ‘touch of chemistry’, and certain ‘je ne sais quoi’ into the proceedings. We were told to improvise as much as we thought appropriate.

*(Sweet? My hairy clackervalve! If only he knew of the downright deviant and perverted acts that permanently rummaged through our rampant and lustful tiny minds, he would’ve had a coronary right there and then!)

A few short days later and we’re at the dress rehearsal, and as we waited in our positions Christine approached me and whispered: ‘I want you…NOW!’’, opening her flimsy costume to show me in no uncertain terms that she was stark bollock starkers underneath.

(We had previously talked about ‘Al fresco’ sex, and even experimented with a dabble here and there in public places before, but had never gone the ‘whole hog’…and besides…this was something different…We were at the back of the stage, behind just one curtain with the crib, waiting for our cue to walk out after the first song...tres risqué!)

But as I weighed up the possibilities, I had to admit to myself that the thought of enthusiastically and pneumatically pumping away at her perspiring pouch of pubed perfection, knowing that there was only a thin layer of fabric between us and getting caught, was certainly arousing a stirring of lumpy loin liquid in my heaving 'nads…and as for Christine…well, she was positively frothing at the gash for it.

Besides…it was only the dress rehearsal…there couldn’t be that many people there…?

In the spirit of improvisation, we hadn’t even bothered to learn our lines. After all, we had better things to do with our time. We had decided to dress up and ‘wing it’ in the hope that the prompt would sort us out if we dried up. All we knew to do was to wait for a call.

So as the piano started, there we were, hidden away, waiting for our cue, when Christine bends seductively over the rickety manger which was strategically balanced on a bale of hay, and she slowly slides her smock to one side, revealing her pert behind…then in a moving homage to the red sea, she parted her cheeks ever-so-slightly for me.

Green light.

I didn’t need asking twice, my twitching cock was already at ‘Defcon 1’, and within T-minus 12 seconds my slacks were round my ankles and I was thundering away, pummelling her with a force so frenzied you’d think the end of my Ham Howitzer was attached to her internal organs by a massive and tightly wound industrial strength elastic band.

As the boinging intensified, Christine was no slouch either, bucking, writhing and breathlessly panting whilst biting down hard on the 'Tiny Tears' doll that was portraying the baby Jesus, as she busied herself putting the ‘Whore’ and ‘Moan’ into the word ‘hormonal’.

As we rutted like rampant rhinos, there was a faint ‘whirring’ sound that began to surround us. Totally focussed on the job at hand, we carried on oblivious. Nothing was going to stop me now.

Finally, as the whirring grew louder I raged full-throttle towards the 'Jester’s shoes' moment, and with a 'grunt' rivalling that of an Olympic shot-putter, I closed my eyes and went curl-lipped into the most contorted cum face imaginable this side of ‘Gurning weekly’ magazine, before I unleashed a stream of purest tadpole-encrusted rocket sauce, splooging forth into Christine’s capacious clammy crevice of copulation.

I then slouched forward over her back, as my legs starting to buckle under post orgasmic aftershocks. I had put so much gusto into my final, extra deep spunk-thrunge that I still suffer whiplash to this very day.

Amidst the blissful silence that followed, I then heard a single noise that changed my educational future forever...

“Ahem…”

We then glanced up to see that the ‘whirring’ sound that we had previously ignored…was in fact the electric motor that had opened the curtains, unveiling our frantic backscuttling action to the rest of the gobsmacked cast.

But not only the cast, but the teachers, the board of governors, and some specially invited guests, who were comprised of the ladies from the old folks’ home, and chosen representatives from the local parish council…led by the vicar himself…who had come to see our (un)dress rehearsal.

I must have missed that memo.

I pondered for a moment over my options…then decided there was only one thing I could do…

I promptly whipped my knob out from Christines’ Jitler-filled clopper, wiped it on the Baby Jesus’ blanket, then leaned back proudly, leaving my dribbling dongler dangling daintily as I announced to the audience:

“Oh, don’t look so shocked, you lot!” I declare whimsically before continuing: “You didn’t really believe it was an ‘immaculate’ conception did you?“

To their credit, some of the old ladies started applauding, explaining later that they thought it was a ‘gritty and modern interpretation on the nativity’, before the sweaty PE teacher grabbed me by the sack (my costume) and dragged me to the headmasters’ office…where it was spelled out to me in no uncertain terms: "...that ‘home instruction’ would be the most suitable option for my ‘special educational requirements’ from then on".

Good times.

Epilogue: I looked Christine up on Facebook recently. It seems that by day, she’s an assistant for the MP of Nuneaton Borough, and by night she enjoys taking it up the wrongun’ from random strangers in the horse enclosure at Ascot. Quite a queue forms at weekends apparently…bit of a tourist attraction.

And now, fondly looking back, I’d like to think that our 'nativity-related naughtiness' of that fateful day might be at least partly responsible for her now insatiable taste for ‘stable-related fun’…and spunk, of course.

I might give her a call.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 11:58, 28 replies)

Hang on...
I'll just grab a coffee and some lunch before I read this...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 11:59, closed)

I love you
do you know that?

I fucking love you!
( SpankyHanky, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:01, closed)

That was beautiful.
Especially the line "frothing at the gash". Oh yes.

*clicks*
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:05, closed)

A fantastic line indeed
Although stolen from the Fat Slags in Viz, I believe.
( K2k6 has a proper job these days, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 14:07, closed)

Yup
Ham sandwich successfully deployed over screen...
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:13, closed)

Oh Mr Lake
For long has thou entertained my thoughts, drinks and keyboard. Finally, I get signed up, and to you I give this *click*!
(Flairy Kate, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:17, closed)

Ah, Newbie Tuesday...
How long before you're as bitter and twisted as the rest of us?

EDIT: Ah, and you got the name right. Good stuff.
Most of 'em think it's Poo-Flake. Stupid people.
( Cawl, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:22, closed)

@Flairy Kate...

The thought that I may have popped your clicking cherry makes me feel all moist in the groin area...

Please get posting, and allow me to return the compliment!
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 14:44, closed)

Fucking superb!
This rocks, this absolutely rocks...

*spazzily clicks*
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:22, closed)

A little bit of wee
came out.
Thank you.
(w4I4q1O1 was hard at work on, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:32, closed)

Aces as ever mr flake
"I closed my eyes and went curl-lipped into the most contorted cum face imaginable this side of ‘Gurning weekly’ magazine, before I unleashed a stream of purest tadpole-encrusted rocket sauce, splooging forth into Christine’s capacious clammy crevice of copulation."

Has to be one of the best & funniest things I've read on a QOTW answer
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:37, closed)

You sir, are an utter genius !
written exquisitely.. you should copyright the phrase "frothing at the gash" !

*clicks hard like a mother fucker*
(TheRiddler Hmmmmm... I concur., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:38, closed)

Ah...
The rare bouquet of a fine vintage port, overlaid with the faint but unmistakable sharp cut strawberry scent of a freshly waxed snatch.

What piquancy, what delicious decadence...
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:48, closed)

Pooflake,
you have, yet again, singlehandedly made this QOTW worthwhile!

*Clickage*
( Anthropos Was making beer on, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 12:50, closed)

:-) Hooray!
for the "Immaculate conception" line!
Honestly...
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 13:17, closed)

<Click>
For every line.

Ever thought of writing a whole book in this style?
(Kliper Filllets Getting noticed by twats on the internet since, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 13:22, closed)

It would be in the pound shops in no time

( Malaka omdz, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 18:17, closed)

If someone made a Carry-on style porno film.
You should write the script : )
( girlinthehole, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 13:58, closed)

I've just got back...
From a works piss up lunch to 'celebrate' the fact that I'm being palmed off like a used wanksock to another company. I posted before I left.

I was hoping that there might be a couple of replies by the time I got back. Lorks.

As for a 'Carry On Porno'...If that wonderful genre is ever reignited again, there can be only one man to fill the fabled scripting shoes.

And that name be Spanky.
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 14:38, closed)

*click*
But it took a while to stop shaking with barely concealed mirth...I hate sharing an office
( snee held his breath since, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 14:06, closed)

Brilliant as ever
You've single-handedly saved another shitty QOTW.
(Reverend Fister "a disciplined fuckwit", Tue 31 Mar 2009, 14:51, closed)

What utter bollocks

( Malaka omdz, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 17:51, closed)

D'ya think...?

Right, well THAT'S IT!

Just for that, I'm not going to write my post about the time when I was part of the intergalactic Nativity troupe from Gyno 4.

During that performance my erection, sexual prowess and subsequent exploding ringpiece could be seen from Gyno 3, I can tell you.

Your loss.

*Storms off in a huff*
( Pooflake braces for an onslaught..., Tue 31 Mar 2009, 18:00, closed)

ha
result
(googlebot, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 18:20, closed)

If this is true
then you have just been promoted to my all time top 3 heroes. I only have one question - do you read the daily sport?
(gentleman mongoose the Lion, the Witch & the Robot, Wed 1 Apr 2009, 16:25, closed)

Nice one...
Mind you, you were lucky not to have any theologians in the audience or the 'immaculate conception' line would have fallen a little flat.

Unless of course Christine's mum could have been persuaded....
(silene, Tue 31 Mar 2009, 20:48, closed)

This is
Divine. Absolutely, purely, simply fucking divine.

*clllick*
(judeski walked on water and ran through fire, Wed 1 Apr 2009, 0:26, closed)

I will be surprised...
If this isn't number one. Hilarious!
(mariam67, Wed 1 Apr 2009, 0:37, closed)