Profile for SqueakyG:
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Recent front page messages:
Best answers to questions:
[read all their answers]
- a member for 22 years, 2 months and 24 days
- has posted 355 messages on the main board
- (of which 22 have appeared on the front page)
- has posted 7 messages on the talk board
- has posted 9 messages on the links board
- (including 5 links)
- has posted 15 stories and 1 replies on question of the week
- They liked 47 pictures, 0 links, 0 talk posts, and 11 qotw answers.
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Recent front page messages:
This turned out creepier than I expected
Edit: Aww, if I knew this was going on the FP, I would have given him a jaunty kerchief around the neck. The poor old dear looks naked without it...
(Thu 2nd Oct 2008, 17:21, More)
Edit: Aww, if I knew this was going on the FP, I would have given him a jaunty kerchief around the neck. The poor old dear looks naked without it...
(Thu 2nd Oct 2008, 17:21, More)
Mock me, for I am lame
Fat Boab: "I've always hated the phrase "I hear congratulations are in order!" I don't know why. It just irritates the buggery out of me."
(Mon 8th Apr 2002, 17:08, More)
Fat Boab: "I've always hated the phrase "I hear congratulations are in order!" I don't know why. It just irritates the buggery out of me."
(Mon 8th Apr 2002, 17:08, More)
Look at this effort
Click on the pic for the full-sized version. This took me bloody ages. This is my "tribute" to B3ta, and all the hours of joy it has given me. See how much you can spot.
(Sun 10th Mar 2002, 22:56, More)
Click on the pic for the full-sized version. This took me bloody ages. This is my "tribute" to B3ta, and all the hours of joy it has given me. See how much you can spot.
(Sun 10th Mar 2002, 22:56, More)
Every time you masturbate, God kills a kitten
But it has become His full-time job!
And I'll prolly post this again tomorrow afternoon, since most of you are in bed now and might not see it.
(Fri 8th Mar 2002, 20:54, More)
But it has become His full-time job!
And I'll prolly post this again tomorrow afternoon, since most of you are in bed now and might not see it.
(Fri 8th Mar 2002, 20:54, More)
Sorry...
I haven't learned how to do animated gifs yet, that's why this looks so shite.
(Fri 15th Feb 2002, 21:15, More)
I haven't learned how to do animated gifs yet, that's why this looks so shite.
(Fri 15th Feb 2002, 21:15, More)
Best answers to questions:
» My first experience of porn
Operation: Buy Porn
Buying porn mags from newsagents was one of the scariest things a young man had to go through. You internet-generation kids will never understand. It had to be planned meticulously, and executed to perfection.
When I was about 16 I grew tired of waiting for the raggedy second-hand porn mag currently doing the rounds at school to finally reach me. It would cost about £6 by then, half the pages would be missing, and I didn't even want to think about all the spermy fingerprints. It wasn't acceptable. I wanted my own. I wanted a fresh copy. A virgin copy. And I didn't want to give it to anyone else afterwards. I needed to plan the operation. Here I will try to break down the process of buying porn from a newsagent:
CHANCE OF BEING SERVED:
I was a big lad and I looked 18, so there was a good chance of being served, but it was still a gamble. Should I try to act big and manly when I walk in? Do certain shopkeepers have a reputation for being tough about such matters? I had to plan my reaction if challenged about my age. These techniques apply equally well to the purchase of alcohol.
CHOICE OF NEWSAGENT:
Perhaps the biggest single choice in the operation. Large chain stores were out of the question for two main reasons: they were always occupied by customers, and had only a small selection of pornography. Small corner-shop newsagents were by far the better choice. They had a much wider selection of magazines and smaller customer traffic. So which shop to choose? You had to use a newsagent where you couldn't be recognised, but within walking distance. I compromised on this issue due to physical laziness. I chose a nearby newsagent where customers could have recognised me. It was a risk.
Secret Spies were a big problem. Often a complete stranger would stop me in the street to say, "Hey, you're [SqueakyG]! I know your mum! I can see the family resemblance." Then the next day my mum would say, "Oooh, so-and-so from work said she saw you in town..." As you can imagine, my paranoia over these Secret Spies threatened to destroy the entire operation. They could be anyone. They would know me and I would be completely unaware. Therefore, the newsagent would have to be completely empty of customers when I made my purchase, just to be safe.
RECONNAISSANCE AND TEST-RUNS:
I visited the newsagent several times to purchase other items, such as sweets and the NME. This was valuable for checking out the following factors: The layout of the shop; the placement of porn magazines on the top shelf (quick glances, no staring); the members of staff, their general shift patterns, and a quick assessment of their peronalities (likely to question my age? etc); customer traffic at different times of day, how often the shop is empty of customers.
MALE OR FEMALE STAFF?
This question went though my mind. Obviously I would ABORT if it was the young girl behind the counter. She would have had ties to my secondary school, perhaps even know my sister, and the whole concept was disturbing. So it was a choice between the middle-aged gentleman or the middle-aged lady. Would one or the other judge me badly? Was it better to let the man serve me, because he'd understand male needs and not judge me? Or perhaps it was more intimidating for the man to serve me? I decided that I could be served by either of them equally.
PLAN OF ACTION:
By analysing these things I devised my plan of action. I would go to the newsagent on a weekday daytime, my day off school (A-levels by then). 2pm was the sweet timeslot, when kids are back in school after their lunch break. I would walk around the block until a perfect time when the shop is empty and no other customers are approaching. I would walk in, grab a copy of Escort (the only mag I had familiarity with, no time to waste choosing another), pay for it swiftly, and leave. If any complications arise, ABORT. If it's the young girl behind the counter, ABORT. If another customer enters, ABORT.
TRANSPORTATION OF CARGO:
They always put it in a thin transparent plastic bag, don't they? That was no good for my needs. I chose instead to wear my big thick coat, despite the hot summertime weather, as it had a big inside pocket that could fit a rolled up magazine. The time of day had to correspond with my parents not being home, because if they were home they may ask questions like, "Why are you wearing your big coat?" or "Why are you taking your coat up to your room?"
CONQUERING MY FEAR:
Fear is the mind-killer. It threatened to destroy all my efforts. Fear was the cause of several aborted attempts. I had to convince myself that my fear was illogical. I presented myself with several logical arguments: "The newsagent *wants* to sell you porn. That's why they have it for sale. Why would they make you feel uncomfortable about buying it and risk losing your custom? These small self-owned businesses need to sell porn to stay afloat, they depend on it. And hey, everyone has sexual needs. Don't worry."
FIRST AND SECOND ATTEMPT: FAILURE.
Chickened out.
THIRD ATTEMPT: SUCCESS.
Scoped the place. In. Grab Escort. On the counter. Paid. Got change. In the coat pocket. Out. Home. Wank. Nice one!
EPILOGUE:
It got easier as time went on. I became bolder. I was able to look around the top shelf for a while, and naturally realised that Escort wasn't the bastion of pornography. I found Mayfair, Men Only and Club International. Later on I found the £3.99 American ones that did spread-open fanny flaps. Then the internet came along, and made this entire story obsolete.
This QOTW makes it way too easy to apologise about length.
(Fri 26th Jan 2007, 18:24, More)
Operation: Buy Porn
Buying porn mags from newsagents was one of the scariest things a young man had to go through. You internet-generation kids will never understand. It had to be planned meticulously, and executed to perfection.
When I was about 16 I grew tired of waiting for the raggedy second-hand porn mag currently doing the rounds at school to finally reach me. It would cost about £6 by then, half the pages would be missing, and I didn't even want to think about all the spermy fingerprints. It wasn't acceptable. I wanted my own. I wanted a fresh copy. A virgin copy. And I didn't want to give it to anyone else afterwards. I needed to plan the operation. Here I will try to break down the process of buying porn from a newsagent:
CHANCE OF BEING SERVED:
I was a big lad and I looked 18, so there was a good chance of being served, but it was still a gamble. Should I try to act big and manly when I walk in? Do certain shopkeepers have a reputation for being tough about such matters? I had to plan my reaction if challenged about my age. These techniques apply equally well to the purchase of alcohol.
CHOICE OF NEWSAGENT:
Perhaps the biggest single choice in the operation. Large chain stores were out of the question for two main reasons: they were always occupied by customers, and had only a small selection of pornography. Small corner-shop newsagents were by far the better choice. They had a much wider selection of magazines and smaller customer traffic. So which shop to choose? You had to use a newsagent where you couldn't be recognised, but within walking distance. I compromised on this issue due to physical laziness. I chose a nearby newsagent where customers could have recognised me. It was a risk.
Secret Spies were a big problem. Often a complete stranger would stop me in the street to say, "Hey, you're [SqueakyG]! I know your mum! I can see the family resemblance." Then the next day my mum would say, "Oooh, so-and-so from work said she saw you in town..." As you can imagine, my paranoia over these Secret Spies threatened to destroy the entire operation. They could be anyone. They would know me and I would be completely unaware. Therefore, the newsagent would have to be completely empty of customers when I made my purchase, just to be safe.
RECONNAISSANCE AND TEST-RUNS:
I visited the newsagent several times to purchase other items, such as sweets and the NME. This was valuable for checking out the following factors: The layout of the shop; the placement of porn magazines on the top shelf (quick glances, no staring); the members of staff, their general shift patterns, and a quick assessment of their peronalities (likely to question my age? etc); customer traffic at different times of day, how often the shop is empty of customers.
MALE OR FEMALE STAFF?
This question went though my mind. Obviously I would ABORT if it was the young girl behind the counter. She would have had ties to my secondary school, perhaps even know my sister, and the whole concept was disturbing. So it was a choice between the middle-aged gentleman or the middle-aged lady. Would one or the other judge me badly? Was it better to let the man serve me, because he'd understand male needs and not judge me? Or perhaps it was more intimidating for the man to serve me? I decided that I could be served by either of them equally.
PLAN OF ACTION:
By analysing these things I devised my plan of action. I would go to the newsagent on a weekday daytime, my day off school (A-levels by then). 2pm was the sweet timeslot, when kids are back in school after their lunch break. I would walk around the block until a perfect time when the shop is empty and no other customers are approaching. I would walk in, grab a copy of Escort (the only mag I had familiarity with, no time to waste choosing another), pay for it swiftly, and leave. If any complications arise, ABORT. If it's the young girl behind the counter, ABORT. If another customer enters, ABORT.
TRANSPORTATION OF CARGO:
They always put it in a thin transparent plastic bag, don't they? That was no good for my needs. I chose instead to wear my big thick coat, despite the hot summertime weather, as it had a big inside pocket that could fit a rolled up magazine. The time of day had to correspond with my parents not being home, because if they were home they may ask questions like, "Why are you wearing your big coat?" or "Why are you taking your coat up to your room?"
CONQUERING MY FEAR:
Fear is the mind-killer. It threatened to destroy all my efforts. Fear was the cause of several aborted attempts. I had to convince myself that my fear was illogical. I presented myself with several logical arguments: "The newsagent *wants* to sell you porn. That's why they have it for sale. Why would they make you feel uncomfortable about buying it and risk losing your custom? These small self-owned businesses need to sell porn to stay afloat, they depend on it. And hey, everyone has sexual needs. Don't worry."
FIRST AND SECOND ATTEMPT: FAILURE.
Chickened out.
THIRD ATTEMPT: SUCCESS.
Scoped the place. In. Grab Escort. On the counter. Paid. Got change. In the coat pocket. Out. Home. Wank. Nice one!
EPILOGUE:
It got easier as time went on. I became bolder. I was able to look around the top shelf for a while, and naturally realised that Escort wasn't the bastion of pornography. I found Mayfair, Men Only and Club International. Later on I found the £3.99 American ones that did spread-open fanny flaps. Then the internet came along, and made this entire story obsolete.
This QOTW makes it way too easy to apologise about length.
(Fri 26th Jan 2007, 18:24, More)
» My first experience of porn
"So who are these people who throw porn away in the woods?"
You're all asking. It certainly seemed to be the way many of you first "came across" porn. It makes me feel a little guilty, because one time, back in the day when magazines were still the preferred format of depravity, I was a woodland porn-disposer.
My collection of porn mags was getting embarrassingly big (40 or so, which is *nothing* compared to what's on my hard-drive now, but innocent times, eh?). I selected the 20 "least favourite" ones for disposal. But of course I couldn't dispose of them in the dustbin in case my parents found out.
So I snuck the mags out of the house under my big coat, walked about a mile with them, and found a nice secluded footpath next to some woodland. I just had the throw the mags over the railing, where they would arc through the air and fall all the way into a gully, where nature would decompose them before human eyes could ever find them. Good plan.
Except I throw like a girl, so the magazines pathetically flopped onto the other side of the railing, all laid out with their pages open right next to the footpath. I couldn't be bothered climbing over the railing to gather them up again, so I legged it.
Walking home, I remembered that the footpath was one of the main pedestrian routes home for at least two local schools in the area.
(Fri 26th Jan 2007, 17:12, More)
"So who are these people who throw porn away in the woods?"
You're all asking. It certainly seemed to be the way many of you first "came across" porn. It makes me feel a little guilty, because one time, back in the day when magazines were still the preferred format of depravity, I was a woodland porn-disposer.
My collection of porn mags was getting embarrassingly big (40 or so, which is *nothing* compared to what's on my hard-drive now, but innocent times, eh?). I selected the 20 "least favourite" ones for disposal. But of course I couldn't dispose of them in the dustbin in case my parents found out.
So I snuck the mags out of the house under my big coat, walked about a mile with them, and found a nice secluded footpath next to some woodland. I just had the throw the mags over the railing, where they would arc through the air and fall all the way into a gully, where nature would decompose them before human eyes could ever find them. Good plan.
Except I throw like a girl, so the magazines pathetically flopped onto the other side of the railing, all laid out with their pages open right next to the footpath. I couldn't be bothered climbing over the railing to gather them up again, so I legged it.
Walking home, I remembered that the footpath was one of the main pedestrian routes home for at least two local schools in the area.
(Fri 26th Jan 2007, 17:12, More)
» First rude thing I ever saw
Strange tingly feelings about grown up things -- a potted history
I remember being in the primary school playground one day when a lad found a used condom near the railings. Naturally, he picked it up by jabbing it onto the end of a stick, then waved the stick around and chased people with it. I had no idea why the teachers were so concerned, but I learned the word "condom" that day, and that there was something dirty and grown-up about them.
Then it was half a Page 3 found in the primary school playground. Only half... thankfully the top half. I just remember the sudden mood change as everyone started saying, "Ommm, boobies" and flocked to see it.
By age 12 my friend was keeping a scrapbook of Page 3 clippings.
My first sight of the ladyflower would have been in a copy of Escort that was doing the rounds at school. It was so... bushy. And wicked. And wrong. And amazing. I think the many many gigabytes of pornography I have watched over the years has been all about chasing that feeling of seeing it for the very first time. But it's a feeling you'll only ever have once.
I'll finish with the first hardcore film I saw aged 16. It was a VHS tape that had been copied so many times it was barely viewable, and it was full of old 70s loops. The proper 70s stuff with the proper 70s music. There was a scene with a white girl, then two men (one white, one black) come in to service her. I will remember what the black guy said for the rest of my life:
"THE HONKY CAN HAVE YO' BEAVER, BUT I WANT YO' LITTLE BROWN HOLE, MOMMA!"
(Thu 11th Aug 2011, 19:24, More)
Strange tingly feelings about grown up things -- a potted history
I remember being in the primary school playground one day when a lad found a used condom near the railings. Naturally, he picked it up by jabbing it onto the end of a stick, then waved the stick around and chased people with it. I had no idea why the teachers were so concerned, but I learned the word "condom" that day, and that there was something dirty and grown-up about them.
Then it was half a Page 3 found in the primary school playground. Only half... thankfully the top half. I just remember the sudden mood change as everyone started saying, "Ommm, boobies" and flocked to see it.
By age 12 my friend was keeping a scrapbook of Page 3 clippings.
My first sight of the ladyflower would have been in a copy of Escort that was doing the rounds at school. It was so... bushy. And wicked. And wrong. And amazing. I think the many many gigabytes of pornography I have watched over the years has been all about chasing that feeling of seeing it for the very first time. But it's a feeling you'll only ever have once.
I'll finish with the first hardcore film I saw aged 16. It was a VHS tape that had been copied so many times it was barely viewable, and it was full of old 70s loops. The proper 70s stuff with the proper 70s music. There was a scene with a white girl, then two men (one white, one black) come in to service her. I will remember what the black guy said for the rest of my life:
"THE HONKY CAN HAVE YO' BEAVER, BUT I WANT YO' LITTLE BROWN HOLE, MOMMA!"
(Thu 11th Aug 2011, 19:24, More)
» My Collection
This is gross, don't bother reading.
Quite a few years ago my feet went a bit manky for a while, with hard skin constatnly peeling off the soles, new skin growing, getting hard, cracking, and peeling off again.
Guess what I collected in a jar? Go on, guess.
(Wed 17th Jan 2007, 19:24, More)
This is gross, don't bother reading.
Quite a few years ago my feet went a bit manky for a while, with hard skin constatnly peeling off the soles, new skin growing, getting hard, cracking, and peeling off again.
Guess what I collected in a jar? Go on, guess.
(Wed 17th Jan 2007, 19:24, More)
» I just don't get it
Oh, and:
Sex: It's squelchy and smelly; you can't pleasure each other as fast or easily as you could pleasure yourselves; you both hate oral but you give it so you can receive it; then it gets to the embarrassing moment where you realise you've been trying to get her off for half an hour, and the more you both realise it, the less turned on she gets, and it turns into this desperate race for both of you, because you can't quit now, and in that moment you realise just how ugly the human body really is and why sex is rubbish. Then the next day you're desperate to get shagged again.
(Fri 1st Apr 2005, 0:44, More)
Oh, and:
Sex: It's squelchy and smelly; you can't pleasure each other as fast or easily as you could pleasure yourselves; you both hate oral but you give it so you can receive it; then it gets to the embarrassing moment where you realise you've been trying to get her off for half an hour, and the more you both realise it, the less turned on she gets, and it turns into this desperate race for both of you, because you can't quit now, and in that moment you realise just how ugly the human body really is and why sex is rubbish. Then the next day you're desperate to get shagged again.
(Fri 1st Apr 2005, 0:44, More)