Profile for Sonic the Hedgetrimmer:
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Which OS are You?
(I don't actually know what HP-UX is.)
Recent front page messages:
Best answers to questions:
» Wanking Disasters Part II
The question you should never ask
After the second little Hedgetrimmer came along, my partner and I decided we'd had enough of having our sleep patterns ruined and our social lives destroyed, so I volunteered to make the ultimate sacrifice (since Mrs Sonic had been through childbirth twice, it seemed only fair - and, no, what I had to go through is not comparable, I mean it).
So, after the longest twenty minutes of my life, during which the anaesthetic wore off (early on in the snipping of the second bollock) and at the end of which I had to walk home because the traffic was awful and there were no taxis to be had, I was sterile and in considerable discomfort (which at least got me out of the childcare for a couple of days).
Anyway, it stands to reason that if they've just cut off your means of reproduction they have to make sure they've done the job properly, so that you can safely look at the condoms on the chemist's shelf and think, "no more of my pocket money wasted on you, you smelly, rubbery, fiddly little buggers!" As part of this process I was required to produce a 'sample'. Since I lived a very short distance from the hospital, I decided to produce the sample at home and rush it to its destination while keeping it warm in my pocket. I had no desire to go into the little room and attempt to perform with only the stimulation of ninth-hand jazz mags, all the time trying not to think of all the men outside in the waiting room, waiting for their go (that waiting room has all the atmosphere of a funeral parlour, as the men in attendance try very hard not to catch each other's eye).
But I digress. It was first thing in the morning, and I'm not a morning person under any circumstances. In the bathroom, barely awake, under pressure of time, the sound of the kids downstairs adding to my self-consciousness and a silly little plastic container stuck where a woman ought to be... let's just say I wasn't primed, poised and ready to pump. What could I do? All the usual fantasies were failing to materialise in my addled brain - I was too tired to think straight (or even think gay).
I suddenly recalled a visit to my dental hygienist a few days previously. She's not my type - not ugly, but certainly not pretty. No tits or arse worth commenting on. No sexual chemistry between us. No atmosphere in the room when I visit her. No previous fantasy involving her. Why had she popped into my head as I tried to pop one out?
Well, I never found out why, but the mere surprise of thinking about her, of all people, crouching over me as I lay on the big padded chair, slipping off her trousers, grinding herself onto me, etc, etc, supply the details yourself, did the trick - and I slobbered out a trickle of 'sample', enough to form the basis of a decent and reliable analysis. A few weeks later, I found out that all was well and good and the results showed no tadpoles swimming about in the primordial soup of my scarred vas deferens; so I can safely shag any bird I like knowing that she's not going to call me in nine months' time.
The point of this story is that Mrs Sonic knew I had to produce this sample and had been keeping the kids away from the bathroom to give me time and space to perform without her (had the kids not been home, I'm sure she would gladly have offered to help). It was some weeks later that she asked me the question you should never ask.
"When you had to produce your sample... what were you thinking about?"
Ladies, do NOT ask your man what he thinks about when he's practising with his lightsabre. There is only one correct answer - "I always think about you, darling" - and it's not true. Even if it is true, you won't believe him, or you'll demand details about what you're doing in this fantasy and you really don't want to hear those.
I just said, "you should never ask a man that", and to my great relief she smiled knowingly and left it at that.
Apologies for length, but twenty minutes is long enough for anyone in that situation especially with a long walk home after.
(Sat 19th Feb 2011, 23:08, More)
The question you should never ask
After the second little Hedgetrimmer came along, my partner and I decided we'd had enough of having our sleep patterns ruined and our social lives destroyed, so I volunteered to make the ultimate sacrifice (since Mrs Sonic had been through childbirth twice, it seemed only fair - and, no, what I had to go through is not comparable, I mean it).
So, after the longest twenty minutes of my life, during which the anaesthetic wore off (early on in the snipping of the second bollock) and at the end of which I had to walk home because the traffic was awful and there were no taxis to be had, I was sterile and in considerable discomfort (which at least got me out of the childcare for a couple of days).
Anyway, it stands to reason that if they've just cut off your means of reproduction they have to make sure they've done the job properly, so that you can safely look at the condoms on the chemist's shelf and think, "no more of my pocket money wasted on you, you smelly, rubbery, fiddly little buggers!" As part of this process I was required to produce a 'sample'. Since I lived a very short distance from the hospital, I decided to produce the sample at home and rush it to its destination while keeping it warm in my pocket. I had no desire to go into the little room and attempt to perform with only the stimulation of ninth-hand jazz mags, all the time trying not to think of all the men outside in the waiting room, waiting for their go (that waiting room has all the atmosphere of a funeral parlour, as the men in attendance try very hard not to catch each other's eye).
But I digress. It was first thing in the morning, and I'm not a morning person under any circumstances. In the bathroom, barely awake, under pressure of time, the sound of the kids downstairs adding to my self-consciousness and a silly little plastic container stuck where a woman ought to be... let's just say I wasn't primed, poised and ready to pump. What could I do? All the usual fantasies were failing to materialise in my addled brain - I was too tired to think straight (or even think gay).
I suddenly recalled a visit to my dental hygienist a few days previously. She's not my type - not ugly, but certainly not pretty. No tits or arse worth commenting on. No sexual chemistry between us. No atmosphere in the room when I visit her. No previous fantasy involving her. Why had she popped into my head as I tried to pop one out?
Well, I never found out why, but the mere surprise of thinking about her, of all people, crouching over me as I lay on the big padded chair, slipping off her trousers, grinding herself onto me, etc, etc, supply the details yourself, did the trick - and I slobbered out a trickle of 'sample', enough to form the basis of a decent and reliable analysis. A few weeks later, I found out that all was well and good and the results showed no tadpoles swimming about in the primordial soup of my scarred vas deferens; so I can safely shag any bird I like knowing that she's not going to call me in nine months' time.
The point of this story is that Mrs Sonic knew I had to produce this sample and had been keeping the kids away from the bathroom to give me time and space to perform without her (had the kids not been home, I'm sure she would gladly have offered to help). It was some weeks later that she asked me the question you should never ask.
"When you had to produce your sample... what were you thinking about?"
Ladies, do NOT ask your man what he thinks about when he's practising with his lightsabre. There is only one correct answer - "I always think about you, darling" - and it's not true. Even if it is true, you won't believe him, or you'll demand details about what you're doing in this fantasy and you really don't want to hear those.
I just said, "you should never ask a man that", and to my great relief she smiled knowingly and left it at that.
Apologies for length, but twenty minutes is long enough for anyone in that situation especially with a long walk home after.
(Sat 19th Feb 2011, 23:08, More)
» Turning into your parents
Since I became a parent...
I have used the following phrases:
"How many times do I have to tell you?"
"I'll give you something to cry about in a minute."
"Why can't you behave?"
"Why don't you listen?"
"Put your shoes on NOW."
"No, you can't watch telly because it's dinner time."
"I'm not telling you again."
"Oh, just be quiet."
"Be careful!"
"What do you say?" (expecting either "please" or "sorry")
"Leave your brother alone."
Any of this sound familiar? It does to me...
[EDIT: I missed out a few, including, "and I thought you were [X] years old..."]
(Sat 2nd May 2009, 13:09, More)
Since I became a parent...
I have used the following phrases:
"How many times do I have to tell you?"
"I'll give you something to cry about in a minute."
"Why can't you behave?"
"Why don't you listen?"
"Put your shoes on NOW."
"No, you can't watch telly because it's dinner time."
"I'm not telling you again."
"Oh, just be quiet."
"Be careful!"
"What do you say?" (expecting either "please" or "sorry")
"Leave your brother alone."
Any of this sound familiar? It does to me...
[EDIT: I missed out a few, including, "and I thought you were [X] years old..."]
(Sat 2nd May 2009, 13:09, More)
» Inappropriate crushes
One of many missed opportunities
In my previous awful life as a market researcher, I had to conduct focus groups. There was a girl in one of them who was definitely making eyes at me, offering to help me change the tape in my tape recorder (if that's not code, I don't know what is), giving 'helpful' answers, lingering a bit at the end. Sadly, she was at the group with her loud and boisterous mate, whom I didn't fancy at all, so I let the opportunity slip. (In any case, it would have been unprofessional - that's my excuse.)
A few months later this babe turned up on telly - she was an actress and had been given the job of being the Face of Boots (the chemist) on their TV ads.
Vicki, if you're reading this - we connected... But I'm afraid I'm now married and a father, so the moment's gone. I just want you to know it meant a lot to me, even though you're probably not reading this and if you are you're either laughing or going "ewwww".
Oh, and I even remember the date of the group - September 10th, 2001...
I could leave my phone number at the bottom, but that really would be unprofessional.
(Wed 4th Oct 2006, 21:01, More)
One of many missed opportunities
In my previous awful life as a market researcher, I had to conduct focus groups. There was a girl in one of them who was definitely making eyes at me, offering to help me change the tape in my tape recorder (if that's not code, I don't know what is), giving 'helpful' answers, lingering a bit at the end. Sadly, she was at the group with her loud and boisterous mate, whom I didn't fancy at all, so I let the opportunity slip. (In any case, it would have been unprofessional - that's my excuse.)
A few months later this babe turned up on telly - she was an actress and had been given the job of being the Face of Boots (the chemist) on their TV ads.
Vicki, if you're reading this - we connected... But I'm afraid I'm now married and a father, so the moment's gone. I just want you to know it meant a lot to me, even though you're probably not reading this and if you are you're either laughing or going "ewwww".
Oh, and I even remember the date of the group - September 10th, 2001...
I could leave my phone number at the bottom, but that really would be unprofessional.
(Wed 4th Oct 2006, 21:01, More)