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Profile for SpankyHanky:
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Apparently when I was born the first thing I did was piss all over the nurse. She promptly dropped me on my head. It took thirty-odd years to recover from the trauma but may go some way to explain the weird shit that seems to happen to me. That and the fact I'm from an Italian-Irish Catholic family... I am, technically, fucked...

Originally from the glorious shithole Coventry, I now live in the even bigger shithole, North London, where I can be found in various pubs in various states of undress, on street corners yelling at motorists, tourists and stray cats, or proping up the counter in kebab shops chatting up the wallpaper.




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» Things we do to fit in

The day I became A MAN !!!

Twenty - odd years later this is still excruciatingly embarrassing to recall.

And I still haven't, and probably never will live it down.

Its the reason why I still to this day try and make excuses to wriggle out of family reunions.

At my sisters wedding last year I still received 'that look' from certain relatives, and for one awful moment I sat with my head in my hands as my old man went through the wedding speech, praying to the almighty that he didn't mention what I did twenty-odd years previously at a family reunion in my fucked up way to try and fit in...

So, lets go back twenty-odd years...

I'm part of a large Coventry-based Italian family. Family get togethers were HUGE on account of the Catholic aversion to knob socks and the contraceptive pill. Picture the wedding scene from the Godfather and that's pretty much where we are. Lots of tables with flowers, lots and lots of food and drink, and lots of Italians doing all the ciao bella shit and hugging each other. (Please note: to the best of my knowledge no member of my family is a member of the Mafia... though I do have my doubts about my uncle Primo).

So, young Spanky's hanging out with the older boys. Trying desperately to be accepted and failing miserably. Following them round like a lost puppy and trying to involve himself in their grown-up conversations.

Now, these boys were a couple of years older than me, basically a group of bored fourteen and fifteen year old boys, so inevitably their grown-up conversations involved women and, more to the point, how many women they'd 'done it' with.

I think I must've been really pissing them off by now, as one of them turned to me and asked: 'Spanky, how many women have you had?'

I think my answer of: 'I've lost count, maybe a hundred!' Was a little over the top. I mean, I was only twelve.

They started laughing at me.

'Spanky,' said another. 'Have you ever fingered a girl?'

And I was stumped...

Fingered a girl???

What the fuck did THAT mean???

So I charged forward: 'Yeah, only about five hundred girls!' I remember thinking that my cousin meant to ask have you ever actually touched a girl, and I had - I had pushed plenty over in the playground and run off giggling like a loon, and I had had a few girlfriends by this time and had done some low level hand holding and no tongues kissing.

The older boys started laughing.

Then one of them, sensing that I was getting flustered and was in over my head said: 'Spanky... Have you ever cum? I bet you haven't even cum yet, have you?'

'OH YES I BLOODY WELL HAVE!!!' Says I.

They cackle like a witches coven and start chucking stuff at me.

And I sulk off to sit with my mum for a bit.

Then, PING, I hit upon a brilliant idea. I'll show these fuckers how much of a fucking man I am, thinks I. So I slink off to the toilets, a knapkin in my pocket, in this strange hotel lobby full of Italians who look a bit like me, and...

Here it comes. The source of my eternal shame and the reason why my mum refused to speak to me for a few months after...

I slink into the toilets, find a cubicle, and quickly and very professionally knock one out all over the knapkin, making sure its as well and truly covered with my cock snot as my twelve year old balls could muster.

I then returned to the main lobby, found the group of boys, tapped one on the shoulder and as he turned I held my mighty spunky knapkin aloft and shouted:

'THERE YOU GO YOU FUCKER! LOOK WHAT I JUST DID!!!'

And time stopped. And I was suddenly in an awful lot of trouble...

Don't try and fit in.

Its bad for you.

But if you must try and fit in, make sure it doesn't involve showing off your manfat to your relatives.
(Thu 15th Jan 2009, 13:39, More)

» Darwin Awards

Big Jake
This was the most scared I've ever been in my life.

I really did think I was going to die, and worse still, I thought I was going to be on the front of every tabloid newspaper the length and breadth of the land, possibly abroad too. During my ordeal all I could think about was my poor parents and how they would cope with the swarms of reporters asking probing questions. I imagined my distraught mother having a nervous breakdown...

And all because of Big Jake.

A few years back I used to knock boots with a girl named Emma. Nice girl, scouser, bit erratic but incredibly kinky. Nice arse too.

One fateful day I was off work with a busted foot. Had the fucker in plaster and could only hobble about. Emma had gone to work and I was seriously bored by eleven o'clock.

Seriously...

After a bit of Richard & Judy, I remember limping to the bedroom. I thought about lying on the bed for a marathon wank session (watching Judy on the TV had that weird sexy effect on me), but I just didn't feel up to it. I was too bored to wank, this was fucking serious!

Eventually I settled in front of Emma's dresser. I hit on an idea - basically I figured I could while away a bit of time thumbing through her sexy undies drawer, just sort of feeling the fabric, perhaps having a bit of a smell, reminiscing about the times I'd seen Emma wear the frilly, flimsy, lacy erection inducing gear.

And that's what I did. For about a minute.

And then I found Big Jake.

Now, I knew of Big Jake already - I'd been lucky enough to see Emma ram him up her vertical smile on several occasions. Big Jake reminded me of happy, loving, and downright squelchy times.

Ahh, Big Jake! I thought, as I got him out the draw and felt the weight of him in my hands. Nice. Felt a bit like I imagine a good heavy club would feel. Only Big Jake was jet black, veiny, and had a motor your average 125cc motorcycle would be proud of. Emma had picked Big Jake up in Amsterdam. He was, quite frankly, fucking HUGE and FAT, fat like an American fat.

And that's when the thought went through my head...

God, how I wish I could turn back time, put Big Jake back in the draw, and go back to a bit more Richard and Judy before a lunchtime ham sandwich.

But no, not me.

I thought: I wonder what it feels like to have a cock up your arse? I mean, several million gay fellas can't be wrong, can they?

And the thought stuck in my head and crystalised.

I considered having a go on Big Jake in the bedroom, but thought: what if I shit myself? So decided somewhere easier to clean would be more practical.

Moments later, I'd hobbled over to the bathroom, stark bollock naked except for my foot cast, my clothes tossed about the flat in *ahem* gay abandon. I found myself squatting in the empty bath, using the sides for support, with Big Jake greased and ready to go below me, humming like a bandsaw.

Then I lowered my arse over him, and when he was tickling my ring, in a sudden and incredibly painful split second, my fucked up foot gave way and I slipped-

-DIRECTLY ONTO BIG JAKE, RIGHT UP TO THE MOTHERING HILT-

Fuck me!

Pain?

I had never felt that much agony in my fucking life...

It was like being fisted by the Statue of Liberty, with the tourch on fire.

I nearly passed out, but somehow managed to keep it together. My teeth were vibrating from the raw power of Big Jake, it was fucking horrible. When Emma had him in her she was usually howling... but not in the same way I was now.

Eventually, when the ability to move my arms returned, I managed to reach down between my legs and switch Big Jake off. My brain stopped buzzing. It stopped feeling like I was having an epileptic fit. I was weak and sweaty and had a fake cock up my arse. Not a very pleasant feeling...

And there I stayed, for a good fifteen minutes, lying prostrate in an empty bath with Big Jake buried deep in my colon.

That's when I started thinking about the tabloids.

Then I started to panic. And when I panic, I take the only sensible course of action. I cry.

Eventually, after lots of crying and failed attempts, I managed to free Big Jake from my raw ring, which had sort of spasmed and clamped Big Jake in place like a steel vice.

As soon as he was out, I did an absolutely amazing shit in the bath that looked like a large coiled brown python, and then I collapsed on top of it, smearing splashy shit up the walls and even managing to get a few flecks on the ceiling.

After a few more frantic minutes of crying, I could feel the movement ebb back into my legs.

Took me ages to clean the place up... What with the broken foot and sore arse.

When Emma came home that evening she asked me what I'd been up to.

"Oh, the usual," I smiled back nervously. She didn't seem to notice that I couldn't sit down properly.

Couldn't exactly say: "Oh, I impaled myself on your twelve inch dildo in the bath, could've ruptured some internal organs and died in a slick of my own shit, blood, piss and vomit."

And I have to admit the next time Emma used Big Jake infront of me, all I could do was wince inwardly...

...maybe I should've cleaned him properly before I put him back in the drawer???
(Thu 12th Feb 2009, 23:37, More)

» Public Sex

WINSTON CHURCHILL RAPAGE & CUMSHOTS

Now, I quite like putting things up my arse in the name of getting off.

But there’s a limit. There really fucking is...

A few years back I was out in the salubrious confines of Coombe Abbey, Coventry, with my then girlfriend, Scouse Emma. It was a hot day, a very hot day. We had the customary 99 with added strawberry sauce (its great being an adult – you get to bat kids out the way in the queue and make out you’re the hardest fucker in the entire fucking world). Emma fed the ducks. I did a spot of duck bating (take a whole slice of bread and lob it at the feet of the smallest preplexed-looking semi-aquatic fucker, then watch with glee as the others waddle over like fat Travis Bickles’ and kick the shit out of it). After a few parents of the smaller kids shouted at me for being a cunt and having made a little girl cry when she witnessed firtshand some hardcore, 18 cert, duck-related gang violence, Emma and I decided to go for a leisurly stroll further into the lovely woods that line the duckpond. The smell of bark and leaves and the sweet kiss of the sun made us feel relaxed and at peace...

...and incredibly fucking horny.

Emma was wearing a whispy summer dress, quite short, and as she walked infront I became mezmerized by the hypnotic sway of her lovely come-hither buttocks as they danced under the slight fabric. I focused in on her arse crack, which had developed a little sweat what with the heat and the walking and then suddenly something occured to me:

“Emma,” I say, still staring at her glorious arse. “Are you wearing any knickers?”

She stops, turns round: “Too hot for knickers,” she says with an evil grin. “And look at this.” Emma glances round, making sure nobody else is about and hitches down the straps of her dress. The flimsy fabric falls away and her magnificent puppies bound out, bouncing and swaying and almost yelping for some sweet Spanky attention. She jiggles a bit and giggles at me.

I struggle to get my phone out so I can take a photo of this happy scene, to record it for posterity - something to show the grandchildren; but Emma quickly pulls her dress back up and flashes me a sly i-wanna-fuck smile. And I realise with rising excitement that she is completely, utterly, absolutley naked under those clothes...

“Do you fancy finding somewhere... a bit more... secluded?” Emma asks.

I stride up to her, grab her hand, and march her further into the wood like a man on a fucking mission.

Eventually we find a spot off the beaten track. Emma lays down in the soft, warm moss and lifts up her dress and starts tickling her growler. She spreads her legs and even as I’m wrestling to remove my jeans and pants I can hear the unmistakable, sexy sloppy sound of her fingers playing over her sopping wet lady bits.

I dive on top and we start doing some incredibly romantic, touching, memorable, poignant fucking.

“Oooh, you like that don’t you, you dirty bastard,” Emma breathes as she scrapes her fingernails over my arse. “Fuck, yeah! “ Then she looks deep into my eyes and says: “Do me doggy style, Spanky.”

I slide out of her, she gets on all fours and sticks her peach of an arse in the air, I thank the Lord for the bounty I am about to receive and then I guide my spam dagger up her gooey twat.

It’s great doing it this way – it means I can scan the woods for any approaching people, like a sexy merekat, as I’m grabbing Emma’s hips and very lovingly pummelling away. Soon I get a bit tired, my knees are on some twigs or fuck knows what, so I lay ontop of her, still pumping away, and splay my arms either side of her shoulders, my hands palm down on the earth for support.

And we remain like this for a couple of minutes, happily fucking away, blowing flies off my face, licking sweat off Emma’s back like a guddun, feeling my cock fill with baby batter with each and every stroke.

I could feel I was about to cum and it was fucking marvellous.

Now, the next part happened in The Matrix style super-slow-motion. It probably only lasted about five seconds, but in my mindseye it seemed to last a couple of fucking years.
As I’m busy enjoying the fresh air, the sun spotting through the trees and casting weird shadows in the foliage, with this incredibly hot and horny Scouse girl under me, sex-swearing like a docker, acting like some kind of fuck-table for my amusement, I suddenly feel an incredible dead weight slam onto my back from behind. With so much force that my cock rammed further inside Emma’s valley of a thousand pleasures and I thought I might be stuck up there forever – we’d end up on the circus freakshow circuit as a pair of weird sexy conjoined twins.

Then I heard the slobbering and I felt something hard and wet slam against my arse cheeks, rimming my chocolate starfish, hammering away like a Black & Decker. I felt something hot and rough go a little way inside me and I leapt backwards and away from my girlfriend with a wet plop.

And in doing so - what with the sudden excitement or shock, or the fact that something warm and hard had just knocked on the door of my backdoor love tunnel - not sure which – but I ejaculated a great slow-motion arch of glistening gonad goo all over Emma’s arse and back and layed a nice load of cock conditioner over her lovely new hairdo. – Under any other circumstances I would’ve thought: Hmmm, impressive cumshot there, matey – well done, have a gold star.

But instead I screamed like a girl.

And Emma screamed, well, like a girl too.

And I looked round sharply and saw Winston fucking Churchill hanging onto my shoulders, slobbering and panting with the kind of rancid breath that could kill a German at a hundred paces...

Only it wasn’t Winston Churchill.

It was a fucking HUGE bulldog that resembled the esteemed former wartime PM, its great big paws wrapped round my neck, its wet lolling tongue dripping drool between my shoulder blades. My God, it was an ugly fucker...

The force of the semi succssessful canine rape had left me reeling and senseless. I shrugged the fucker off my back and he – oh it was very definately a HE – padded happily over to Emma as she lay with her arse in the air trying to right herself. The bulldog then proceeded to greedily lick my hot sticky load from where it was pooling in a sticky cum lake between Emma’s delectible arse valley.

“Arggg! Gettitoff!!!” She screamed.

And I hate to admit it, but I was ever-so-slightly turned on by the sight.

I could see the fucker was thinking about having a go on my girlfriend, it was sort of positioning itself for a rear mounting. Instictively I legged over and booted it up the arse.

It yelped and went running off into the wood back the way it had come.

And there was no other fucker there... the owner had obviously allowed this mut to roam free, to rape, pillage and shit on the paths, no doubt.

Emma and I struggled quickly into our clothes and walked in silence back towards the car. I looked at every dog on the way back and shuddered inside. We got a few weird looks too in return. We were a little dishevelled, and one time when I saw a bloke paying far too much attention to Emma as we walked past, I turned to her, noticed something, and said helpfully:

“You’ve got cum in your hair.”

“Shuttup!” she spat back through clenched teeth.

Eventually, when we got back to the Cleo, the metal and glass protecting us from random acts of wanton unwarrented beastiality, Emma said: “Let’s never mention this again, ok?”

I nod, “Sounds good to me,” and as we drive off I try and lighten the mood a little. “Now, if it was a good looking dog like Lassie it might’ve been a very different situation...”

Emma was not amused. She simply gave me a curt and clipped: “Cunt,” under her breath and kept her eyes firmly on the road. There was something bothering her, something on her mind. When we were closer to my parents house she turns to me and says: “Why did you cum when that dog mounted you?”

And, in all honesty, I didn’t have an answer...
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 13:07, More)

» I'm going to Hell...

Bloody Morphine
I greeted my girlfriend's parents in the sterile lobby area at University Collage Hospital London. They looked tired. I looked tired. We'd had a hard day.

I received a call from them at lunchtime to advise they were getting the next coach from Cardiff to London and that they would be at the hospital a.s.a.p.

My girlfriend had had major surgery earlier that day to sort out the constant, agonizing pain she has suffered from for the last eighteen months; a gynacological condition that meant she could hardly walk and was hurting so much that once she actually cracked one of her teeth cuz she was clenching her teeth so hard through the pain. Painkillers just didnt work.

What was supposed to be an hour long operation turned into two hours, then three - eventually stretching out to six hours in surgery. And all this time I was mulling about the hospital, trying to find out information with no luck, stepping outside to chain smoke, then returning to be sent to another department to speak to somebody else in a white coat or nurses uniform who didnt seem to have a clue what was going on with my girlfriend.

"Liz is on the thirteenth floor," I said in my best Tom Waits chain smoking all day gravel voice. "She's ok."

We filed into the lift, not even talking. We were all so tired.

Then we shuffled into the ward - the nurses there had got used to my face by now and we were allowed straight in.

My girlfriend, Liz, opened her angelic blue eyes and sort of focused on me as we approached her bed - she was on so much morphine she didn't appear to notice her parents were with me.

Liz then told me that the surgeon had just been to visit and had told her her fertility was fine and that if we wanted to try for a baby we should start as soon as she'd recovered from the surgery.

I was just happy she was ok, but this news made me feel so incredible inside. I never wanted kids before, but when you meet the one you just want to give them everything, to hopefully bring a new life into this world who's part you and part the person you love.

And so, in this moment of serenity, of absolute love, with her parents standing on the other side of the bed looking relieved that their baby daughter was still alive and ok, Liz fixes me with a sly look and says:

"So no more bum sex for you, Spanky."

Bloody morphine.

Her parents are dyed in the wool Catholics. Yep, I'm probably gonna burn for converting their daughter to the ways of the dark side.
(Thu 18th Dec 2008, 9:59, More)

» The most childish thing you've done as an adult

Severely pissed off
fighting through the hoards of tourists and shoplifters in Primarks on Oxford Street, my girlfriend asks the shop assistant:

"Excuse me, do you have any brown dressing gowns?" she turns to me as I stand sheepishly behind her. We'd had a row about me walking round in Le Buff at home; what with the terrible unintentional flashing incident involving the Japanese couple next door who saw my meat and two veg while they were doing their gardening. I had to get a dressing gown. I was on an official warning.

The tired, bored shop assistant starts: "We've got blue, green, red-"

My girlfriend, Liz, tired and irritable from a hard days work raises her hand: "Sorry, has to be brown," then she turns to me and says: "Tell the lady why it has to be brown, go on!"

And I mumble: "So I can pretend to be Obi Wan Kenobi when I'm doing the hoovering..."
(Thu 17th Sep 2009, 16:45, More)
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