I heard a good one about shambolic.
made me cackle like a loon.
(username failed moderation, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 11:50, 1 reply)

I'm not saying she was fat...
...but she didn't bat an eyelid at a bacon sandwich with six rashers of bacon in it.

It would have been three and I'd have had the other, but the combination of raging hangover and cooking bacon smell made me gag.

I made sure my flatmates were out before she left.

She's the reason I can't eat smoked bacon.
( gone, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 10:36, 16 replies)

Back in the 1980s...
We all make mistakes at university, my one definitely fits into this category as it resulted in me just scraping a Third class degree.

It was getting towards the end of my second year, and I had been sharing a house with a bunch of other girls – usual story, we got on OK most of the time, bickered and fought the rest of the time. One girl could be relied upon to bring a new bloke down for breakfast every Saturday afternoon. I’d had a couple of flings, but nothing serious. Then one Saturday, the other girls were all away, but Julie’s boyfriends (Phil) was still around, and a couple of his mates came round for the evening.

I knew them all, one was an ex of mine (Alex), nice lad but not ‘the one’, and their other friend was Lambros, a maths student. So after a couple of joints, we were all sitting round when someone suggested poker, this led to vodka shot penalties and this, eventually led to strip poker. So far so normal – a bunch of students acting like students. I was in my own house with people I knew reasonably well…

By the time I was down to underwear and tee-shirt, I was pretty drunk and stoned and the others were too, but they seemed to perk up a bit as my jeans came off. Two of them were down to their pants too, and were sporting very obvious bulges they were attempting to hide. When I lost the next round, I kept my tee-shirt on but took off my bra and their eyes were on stalks.

I tottered off to the loo and when I got back, I could tell they’d been talking. Alex was spokesman and he came out and suggested we turn the lights down low and all get naked. I have to admit that at this point I felt very relaxed; Alex was an ex of mine and I’d enjoyed sex with him, Phil had been mildly flirting with me since he’d been coming round to stay with my housemate, and I had fancied Lambros for ages but hadn’t had a chance to show it. What could possibly go wrong.

I beckoned Alex to me and pulled him into a kiss, dragging his boxers off. One of the others gently lifted my tee-shirt off while the other took off my pants. Suddenly we were all naked, hearts were racing and breathing was getting ragged. I was still in charge though and I led them to the big sofa.

‘Alex, you were always good with your tongue, get down there. You two, kneel either side of me.’

So as Alex licked me to orgasm, I held the other two’s cocks, turning my head from one to the other, taking them in my mouth, while they pawed my tits. I almost choked laughing as Phil came all over the Lambros in front of my face while Lambros shot his load in my mouth.

Things got a bit complicated then and I can’t remember it all, but when Julie came home unexpectedly and opened the living room door, I was on the floor, straddling her boyfriend Phil, had Alex in my mouth and Lambros had a finger up my arse.


Luckily our exams were over for the year. I went home the next morning.

Year three, I very nearly dropped out after a week. It seemed as if everyone on the whole campus knew what had happened; there were pictures on toilet doors, dirty looks from girls, horrible looks from boys…

I went to my personal tutor and arranged to defer a year. My life was never the same again, I felt dirty and cold. University life had been spoiled for me, I didn’t enjoy any of it, scraped a third and never went back to that city.

It’s only now, over 25 years later, that I can forgive myself. Reading the other posts here, I wasn’t so bad, I gave into circumstances, and things might have been fine if Julie hadn’t come back early. But I do regret the whole thing and the lost years of my early 20s when I was very wary of any boy and became a bit of a prude.
(K.W.A. Knickers With Attitude, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 10:18, 17 replies)

According to Simon Wiesenthal
absolutely no Egrets have been found to be in any way culpable for the atrocities of Hartley the Hare.
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 8:57, 5 replies)

I was really jealous when I was younger.
A consequence of my insecurities based on past experiences and the fact that I was about as trust-worthy as a horny chihuahua when it came to fidelity @ that point in my life.
I gave my girlfriend "Z" a fucking awful time cause I thought she was rooting the bloke that clearly wanted to fuck her in their graphic design course, let's call him "Tony". He had a stunning young, blonde thing as his girly who on more than 1 occasion had expressed her desire to go extra-curricular with myself. Despite my protestations.
1 night I was staggering home from a few (many) drinks with my besty. I strolled past Tony's house @ about 0100. Her car was out the front & I could see them sitting in a front room working on something (no euphemism) thru the front window.
I stormed up to the front door, banged a lot, shouted a lot & waited. One of his housemates answered complaining about the hour whilst Tony decided to call the cops (fucking idiot wuss). Z came out to placate me and the "D's" turned up - I told them that I was drunk, it was a "domestic" situation & I wasn't going to hurt anyone. So off they went. I explained to Tony (very politely) that calling the cops wasn't a good idea and Z and I went home.
Some mutual "friends" let me know that Tony was riddled with social diseases so Z and my sex-life very quickly dwindled to 0.
≈≈≈≈≈ A couple of months worth of wavy lines≈≈≈≈≈≈
Z & I broke up. It wasn't pretty or nice. She rang me up 1 night a couple of months after we broke up to tell me that she'd been banging Tony all the while. My response?
"Best get yourself to the clinic my dear & don't ever ring this number again"
Regret - (eventho there aren't enough frangers or enough spermicide in the world to cover me) that I didn't bone Tony's pretty lass when I had the chances.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Mon 12 Dec 2011, 8:05, 15 replies)

Missing Social Cues
Short of having a prospective sexual partner strip to their scanties, hand me an embossed card with "time for bed" stencilled across it and tickle my undercarriage with their tongue, I had a habit of being totally oblivious to conjugal invites.

Basically going "uh?" like some sort of sexual autist when it was pointed out after the event that "she was really into you" by a third party.

Luckily I work in IT and enjoy LRPing so it's no big deal.
(Ronnie Spleen MMMMNEURRGH I AM A GAY SPAZ AND I LOVE IT UP MY BU, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 0:26, 3 replies)

It's maybe a three part question
REGRET ONE:- I'm not, shall we say, classically featured. I have a face like a bashed crab and grew up in the 80's, when looks meant everything. I've learned, a lot later in life, that I can be quite a sweet, nice, caring geezer and that means a lot to people.

There were a few opportunities for hot lovin', invitations, blatant come-ons that I turned down in my younger years because I was so hung up on my lack-of-looks that I just thought they were taking the piss.

REGRET TWO:- Late 20's. I'd shaken off the stigma to an extent. Then the large lady happened. She worked for a client and is best described as a pile of rubble with a football on top. Drunken sex happened, and the large lady was not shy to announce this. To anyone who cared to listen. I'm not about to say that she put the mockers on my career but nods and winks followed me forever more.

REGRET THREE:- A simple, easy to follow tale. Never marry anyone with a roaming eye and a libido that you just can't match. If I was down to my last fiver I'd lend it to ex Mrs TD, because she's scrupulously honest with money, but she'd shag any bloke she fancied within half an hour of meeting him.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Mon 12 Dec 2011, 0:01, 4 replies)

No regrets really
But not being true to myself until I was thirty is probably the only one I have. So much time I wasted when I could have been shagging like a bunny on viagra!
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 23:14, Reply)

one of my mates said...
doing anal after a little too much of the Devil's Dandruff with her legs over her Gentleman Caller's shoulders.
Apparently it was a bit like Tubgirl.
( Sallyrsm, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 22:47, 2 replies)

I've seen
a grown lady/man naked :(
(InflammableHound may be recorded for training porpoises, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 21:07, 5 replies)

I oh-so-nearly had a threesome
until my girlfriend backed out of it at the last minute. Still, Richard and I had a great time regardless.
(StapMyVitals wouldn't mind a bit of that, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 20:43, 1 reply)

exercise in irony
i really hope whoever posted THIS online was being ironic. if not, it should be his biggest sexual regret:

I am middle aged, not in the best shape and a little thin on top. All I want is a girlfriend, not a prostitute. I also want someone beautiful, (plain chicks turn me off).
( rachelswipe with a fork, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 17:52, 15 replies)

Fat Birds
I love the description my brother gave me the day after he'd shagged his first fat bird.

"It was like trying to get an overloaded wheelbarrow to the end of the garden."
.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Sun 11 Dec 2011, 11:05, 19 replies)

It's better to regret something you have done than something you haven't done
But it's more comfortable to regret something while not experiencing the joys of a sexual disease.

Also,obligatory regret / egret joke.
(rampants, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 9:39, Reply)

It still eats me
up inside that I never got a shot of the dead guy's tattered hoop before Barrymore chucked him into the pool.

8-(
(Prince of Prance, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 8:38, 3 replies)

Like many people on this board, I too almost had a threesome.
Only two women off.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 7:28, Reply)

That 3some I didn't do with Scott & Charlene.
I still reckon Jason Donovan is lush and I would've seen Kylie's pre-cancer boobs!
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Sun 11 Dec 2011, 6:04, Reply)

Some silly bastard told me that Laura and Darryl were getting back together.
So I decided that jumping into bed with a mate's wife was not the right thing. They were divorced a few months later.
(Redemption blamed it on the Bossa Nova since, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 4:17, Reply)

Regret-me-not
I've never really been a fanny-hound. I was too naive for quite a while through and beyond my adolescence which meant that there were several opportunities that I didn't even realise were there until it was too late. This one's slightly different.

Many years ago, when I was a mere stripling of 19 or so, I trained to be a croupier in a casino in Manchester, where I lived. It seemed (at first) a glam world that had more than its fair share of good-looking women - most of whom, at that time, seemed completely unattainable to a council-estate refugee such as myself.

A new girl started work one evening, let's for veracity's sake give her the initial S. Gorgeous. Blonde, legs up to her armpits, figure to die for and as if that wasn't enough, she had the hots for me. While technically I wasn't a virgin you really wouldn't have called me experienced in anything but imagination and the five-knuckle shuffle, so this was just like dying and waking up in heaven.

The only trouble was that, like me, she lived with her parents and couldn't afford to move out, even to share a place. So we hung out for a couple of weeks, fiddled and fumbled here and there without having anywhere to really get down to business, much to a collective chagrin (she was so up for it, it was untrue). It was really never going anywhere, as was driven home to me in devastating fashion one night when she went off with my immediate superior, a worldly, ex-army loudmouth dickhead who made no bones about where she'd be better off (she obviously agreed) and took her back to his place, leaving me shrunken and humiliated in a corner (really - I couldn't wank for weeks). She left work shortly afterwards and I never saw her again.

But I never forgot S and, although he never knew it, I especially never ever forgave him. And while I had no real grudge against her for what happened (she was a bit rude for her part in it but I had to admit that if I'd have been her, I'd have been off elsewhere fairly sharpish too), I nurtured a hatred for this man that smouldered and, in the way that ineffectual people think makes them powerful, swore by all the demons I could summon in my vivid imagination that one day I'd have my revenge. Not because he'd whisked this woman away from me, but because he'd done it by deliberately making me look like a cunt in a roomful of people whose sympathy only really made me feel worse. I'm not usually a vindictive person, but everyone has things they really can't forgive - this apparently was one of mine.

Fast forward five years or so. He and I have both gone our separate ways. S is always somewhere in the background - strangely so, since our paths have never crossed to this day - and still the failure to bed her haunts me. I've travelled, changed jobs several times and am back in Manchester for a while. Women are, by now, a regular-enough fixture in my life and in my bed for me to think that things are kind of how I'd like them to be and, without being smug, I was fairly content. But still S was, in my mind, the one that got away. And I still, even then, harboured a deathly grudge against this cockwipe cunt in a way that I've rarely ever done before or since. It really festered, to the point of being the kind of memory that really torments you when you're having a down moment. Occasionally his name would creep up in conversation and while I was fine on the surface I would go all weirdly psychopathic inside my head.

So imagine my dismay when one day he walks through the door of the place I'm working to be interviewed for a job. The second I see him the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, I'm grinding my teeth and I'm instantly transported back five years. In the meantime his career has in fact gone backwards and he's applying for a job that means I'll be his supervisor. It's the last thing I want but naturally he's hired and I have to deal with him on a daily basis.

Cue Mexican stand-off. I loathe him but I can't let him know why. We have to speak but I can't bear to be near the man. And then one day he says to me the very last thing I ever want to hear from his faeces-smeared lips. 'Hey, do you remember S?'

I freeze inside. I maintain a poker face and pause long enough for it to be a plausible period of consideration. 'S who?', I say - and then, before he can speak say 'Do you mean the blonde girl at the X club? What about her?'

There's a pause and then he says 'Did you ever shag her?'

Now this throws me slightly. He must know I didn't but this has now built up to such a pitch in my mind that it's all I can do to ungrit my teeth long enough to (hopefully nonchalently) say 'No, I never did. Why?'

'Just wondered', he says. Another pause. 'She gave me a dose, you know.'

It was a moment when for a split-second, I almost believed in God. My insides were turning cartwheels and I remember turning to face him and starting to laugh. 'Really?', I said. 'Lucky me...'

I've often wondered if it was his way of trying to apologise, although it still didn't stop him being a cunt. He left shortly afterwards and I've never seen or heard about him since. And nor have I obsessed about them since. I have peace, at last. Took a long fucking time, but it was worth it.

(Sorry it was a bit long. Think of it as closure.)
(zebideedoodah likes florence but prefers venice, Sun 11 Dec 2011, 2:17, 8 replies)

analogies
About 4 years ago, I had the good fortune of being severely drunk at a new year's do in some random stranger's house. I spent most of the evening chatting to two girls, who were also incredibly smashed. One was an amazing blonde bombshell, very clever, good conversation, beautiful body, the list goes on. The other... well, put it this way, she wouldn't be out of place in a certain novel involving a man called Ahab with a harpoon gun and a penchant for seafaring. After a while, I managed to convince the blonde goddess to join me in one of the bedrooms upstairs. The effects of spending all night drinking suddenly hit me, and I decided to pop to the toilet rather than accidentally introduce this lovely woman to watersports.

On returning to the room, however, I discovered that not only had the girl passed out due to alcohol abuse, but also that her friend had decided that the bed was the new place to be. I, of course, took the only chivalrous option, and switched my attention to the rather unattractive but surprisingly available new woman. Having managed to vaguely achieve my goal of bedding a lady, I made my excuses (namely I was too drunk to stand straight) and left.

A few days into the new year, I encountered the first woman, now sober, in a pub, without her voluminous friend. I went over to apologise, but rather than being upset she decided that the best way to make up for my less than stellar choice was to leave me with this analogy -

"It's like you walked into a restaurant, looked at the menu, and ordered the tastiest, most amazing, beautiful aperitif they had, then got served lukewarm kedgerie."

Tasty.
(DonMorte Cake is a made up drug, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 22:14, Reply)

I DUN A WOBBLE FUCK WITH A FATTY THEN MADE A CUM ON HER GUNT.

( mark morrisons prison shoes I love Willie, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 18:25, 13 replies)

How to reduce a man to jelly
...and not in a good way.

I left boarding school like most Catholic males did in the 70s: psychologically fucked up, no knowledge of the opposite sex bar nuns and porn (not together either) and with alternating uncontrollable lust and crushing unmerited guilt. Oh, and no social skills except persistence.

Off to Uni I go, where I find that the skills picked up at the 4 6th year mixed discos we'd been allowed (5 minute dance, lights off, frenzied mutual wank, nip out for fag while she wept quietly) didn't stand me in good stead.

And then I met Mary, who was a biology PhD student, and therefore a) older and b) used to gutting small furry animals. Bought her a drink, got face slapped, bought her another, got wry smile refusal, bought her another, got "You really don't give up, do you?". "Er, no"

"Right, Friday afternoon, Block x Room yyy. Wash, shave, clean teeth. Bring change of clothes and enough money for a decent restaurant. Tell no one."

On arrival, novel filth (to me) ensued. I was instructed on the location and proper use of the various ladybits, and how to make absolutely sure their owner had more fun than I ever would. Then there was Introductory Prostate Handling, a shower, Gentlemanly Weight Distribution 101, a cigarette, tooth brushing, Keeping the Ears Warm, and finally For God's Sake, Can't You Manage Another One?

The meal took most of my grant for the next month. We returned for more filth. She chucked me out at 2 am to face an 8 mile walk back to the 1st year residences.

After a week with no contact, I wandered into Bio and asked her dept head if I could talk to her. He gave me a long searching look, not without a smile, and handed me an envelope. Inside was a dissection protocol form, but instead of a description of eviscerated hamsters, there was a report headed "Investigation of Immature Male Hominid" with a mark out of 10 for every perversion we'd perpetrated. None of them was over 6.

What do I regret? Not the sex, not the meal, not the humiliation. I regret missing the Dungeons and Dragons meet that Friday, where my 43rd level cleric got lent out by the DM and killed by a spod from Social Sciences.

Told you I was fucked up.
(all my scars face forward possesses 2.5% of a hyperalloy combat chassis, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 18:08, 7 replies)

More Internet Lies
When I was about 20, my best friend in Uni was killed and I had an epiphany that rather than spend any more time in dull computer science lectures, I'd go and do something more 'valuable' with my life. So, I decided to move to Las Vegas, as you do.

Without even a place to live, I packed my suitcase and booked a flight and managed to make some amazing friends and 'get by' in Vegas for over 3 years.

During this time, one of my aforementioned friends was a Limo driver, and one night some of his clients had mentioned they were looking to do a website, so he kindly recommended my fledgling skills. They were having a party and I was welcome to attend the following day.

Still a bit shy of a house-party with strange septics, I roped in another friend, Aaron, and off we went to a party held simply by hosts that wanted a website. PORN STAR HOSTS.

We walked into a wet dream within a flash mansion in the LV suburbs, teeming full of silicon enhanced bodies, bulging biceps, and straining speedos.

Feeling instantly inadequate as I watched them parade in and out of the house to the jacuzzi, while quaffing champagne and snorting various massive drugs.

The hosts were very friendly and we began discussing what they wanted from their website, while Aaron wandered off like a kid in a candy store. I could scarcely believe what was happening (almost even less than you believe this story), but there I was stood in the middle of their lounge being shown a video of their latest film that they wanted to stream online - back then it was pretty 'new' to do such things.

Anyway, fast forward a couple hours and we'd agreed a fee and I was sat on the sofa with the female star, as in Brittney, puffing on a hookah while she talked to me about her various mini-dogs that were running about all over me. She seemed impressed that they 'liked me' as they 'don't like anyone usually'. We talked on a while longer and her husband disappeared off with his 'girlfriend' (I guess he had to have his perks since she spent all day getting fucked by other men).

When we were alone she asked me what I thought of her film, I said it was 'errr, good, yeah' and she joked about me being in one in future. I laughed again. Oh, she wasn't joking...

She said we could even have a 'practice run' and moved in close and gave me the fuck me eyes. A porn starlet giving me the come (or rather cum) on.

I wish I'd have gone for it, I really do, as I can't see that opportunity happening again, but thinking of the mammoth cocks she must have had in her time, and not having a plank of wood to tie to my arse with me, I think I veritably ran from the house.

I regret that.
(Galahad is out of his gourd on yellow bentines, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 16:34, 2 replies)

Shagging someone who went "Whee! I'm the winner!" every time she came
and who also hit me quite a lot. Remember, kids: An expert fuck is not worth any number of punches in the face.
( Bingowings 2011 Businessman of the Year (Watford Branch), Sat 10 Dec 2011, 13:58, 4 replies)

Did we?
In my second year of uni I somehow ended up seeing a girl called Alex, way out of my league, amazing girl, and to this day I regret acting like a drunken twat during our few months together. Anyway, after the standard all day/all night drinking session in the pub, I awoke in the morning, and to my surprise she was with me. I was genuinly happy to see her, and she told me despite the state I was in, i'd behaved all night. I've always suffered memory loss when boozing, so as I remembered nothing of night, this came as a great surprise.
As you do, we started getting down to some good old hangover sex, but for some reason I'll never know, I asked her 'Did we have sex last night then?' Her face dropped, and she replied 'Look on the floor'. I turned over and beside the bed were two used condoms...
Needless to say she was not very impressed, and when she binned me a few weeks later, one of her parting shots was something slong the lines of 'We only ever have sex when you are drunk'.
(Hoaxy The only living boy in new cross, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 13:25, 1 reply)

only having two fingers and no thumb on my right hand

( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 11:07, 3 replies)

buggering about with a video camera
tore my banjo string. unable to perform without pain for weeks. withdrawal of great sex threw into sharp relief that it was the ONLY good thing about our relationship.

Months of bitter recrimination. Lifelong hatred.

Dont film yourself kids, it isnt worth it.
(court escaper, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 10:26, 6 replies)

Now it all makes sense, now it's far too late
Many of the posts from men on this QoTW are saying "WHY didn't that woman tell me she was up for it ?". Looking back, most men are going to regret the one or two or twenty that got away - but here's why they did.

It's all Darwinian, innit ? Survival of the genes and fittest etc requiring male behaviour of bravery and daring-do. You see, the blokes are required to show their alpha male behaviour by metaphorically and literally sweeping the woman / women off their feet. The man must assume that they will be getting the shag, rather than hanging around waiting for it to be thrown at them.

Like (from the sounds of it) a lot of you on here, I didn't have the guts / courage to walk up to a woman in a club or bar because well, that would be harassing the poor woman and, well, that's not The Done Thing. Hence, 'V' plates till I was 19.

So, the sad moral of the story is that basically in acting in those ways you think women would despise - being the cocky fucker who jumps in there and gives out the spiel and plays it large - you are more likely to get shagged. Which is a grim thought given that surely women would want to shag men of intelligence, retiring types with pipes who build things in sheds that save the world.

Nope.

So, my biggest sexual regret is the discovery that if you want to shag shedloads of women, you have to act like Lord Flashheart. Oh, and the older woman with huge norks who I worked with and didn't shag despite it being thrown at me. She would have been FILTH, I tell you...
(TheImmortalJenkins, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 9:00, 7 replies)

All those stories guys tell about how they got really drunk
and ended up with this HORRIBLE looking girl...

Do women tell the same stories about the same nights?
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 8:14, 7 replies)

Well, looking back
I'd have to say genetic variation coupled with the elimination of the unfit is all well and good, but since having been handed a set of instructions in year 2 class b concerning the continuation of the species, I'd have to say that this whole 'sex' thing seems like one big cosmic joke. Don't get me wrong - I love to get messy sometimes, splash about and whatnot - but it's the (a) hmm, what was all that about? feeling afterwards, alongside the (b) cleaning up that kindles almost imperceptible feelings of regret regarding certain evolutionary paths we seemed to have haphazardly wandered down as a species.

Cloning ftw.
(roysin, Sat 10 Dec 2011, 7:17, 4 replies)