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» Food sex
Yoghurt
So a female friend of mine had some kind of funghal infection in her ladybits and the doctor had told her the best way to deal with it was to apply natural yoghurt. Said ladyfriend started off dribbling a teaspoonful in, then a desert spoon with some light rubbing, then a cupful massaged in, you get the idea. She found it was a very pleasurable sensation and even after her infection was cured would regularly pleasure herself with a carton of yoghurt.
So having told me this while being, ahem, intimate, she suggested we should try sex with yoghurt as a lubricant. I couldn't think of a reason not too, so she liberally applied yoghurt to her parts and I plunged in. And yes, not at all unpleasant.
But there are some disadvantages:
- never fall asleep after sex with yoghurt all over you. It stinks.
- never have yoghurt sex when it's very hot. It goes all lumpy and looks like puke.
- never have yoghurt sex if you're very hairy. You can't wash it out and your genitals will smell like a dairy for days if not weeks.
- never give oral sex to someone who's got a hairy minge and has been wanking with yoghurt the whole summer.
(Thu 6th Aug 2009, 16:45, More)
Yoghurt
So a female friend of mine had some kind of funghal infection in her ladybits and the doctor had told her the best way to deal with it was to apply natural yoghurt. Said ladyfriend started off dribbling a teaspoonful in, then a desert spoon with some light rubbing, then a cupful massaged in, you get the idea. She found it was a very pleasurable sensation and even after her infection was cured would regularly pleasure herself with a carton of yoghurt.
So having told me this while being, ahem, intimate, she suggested we should try sex with yoghurt as a lubricant. I couldn't think of a reason not too, so she liberally applied yoghurt to her parts and I plunged in. And yes, not at all unpleasant.
But there are some disadvantages:
- never fall asleep after sex with yoghurt all over you. It stinks.
- never have yoghurt sex when it's very hot. It goes all lumpy and looks like puke.
- never have yoghurt sex if you're very hairy. You can't wash it out and your genitals will smell like a dairy for days if not weeks.
- never give oral sex to someone who's got a hairy minge and has been wanking with yoghurt the whole summer.
(Thu 6th Aug 2009, 16:45, More)
» Advice from Old People
My grandmother
was from Belgium, born in 1895. At the start of the first world war the Germans invaded right past her front door. The day before the battle the local council were warning everyone to get out and evacuating the children. Her family chose to go to France, but she refused and chose to evacuate to England, despite not speaking any English, and not having any family or friends go with her. The whole of her family was wiped out, she survived. She never went back to Belgium for the rest of her life.
In England she met a nice young army sergeant. He was posted to India a few months after they met, and she decided to go too. The rules said only married women could accompany soldiers, but there wasn't time for them to marry in England before he left. It took several months before she could get a ticket, but as soon as she could she travelled by boat to India. Once there, despite only having known him for a few months, and having been separated for some months, she had to marry my grandfather within 24 hours to be allowed to stay with him.
They lived in India for several years, and she had three children. The first died of TB at the age of a few months. The 3rd, my father, was very ill and constantly crying: my grandmother was exhausted and couldn't take any more. Only her 2nd child, my aunt, pleading with her prevented her from killing the screaming baby, who happily grew up to be a healthy young man.
She left India with the 2 children, the youngest only 6 months old, travelling without her husband who travelled with the army. She arrived back in England in a very cold winter with only the light clothes she had from India, but she and the children made it safely back to Shropshire by train.
She and her husband lived a humble life, as the pay of a sergeant major wasn't particularly high. However she pushed both children to work hard: both of them won scholarships to grammar school (the only way they could have gone) and later both won scholarships to Oxford.
Her husband died when she was 72. By then she was rather frail, but she carried on. She was run over by a lorry when she was 85 and had multiple injuries, but she fought on and recovered. A few years later she would say 'if I hadn't been run over by that lorry I would be alive today.'
At the age of 97 she couldn't cope on her own any more and moved into a home. One day one of the helpers there noticed she had a slight accent, saying 'shukker' for sugar, and asked if she was German, sparking a vicious response. She died 3 months before her 100th birthday.
She was very proud and opinionated, and treated nothing as permanent. She had no mementoes, even very few photographs, and threw away almost everything when her husband died, keeping only his army medals and the paybook which gave her access to his pension. When my brother's girlfriend moved in with him she refused to stay at my parents' house, standing on Wolverhampton station shouting loudly "I will not set foot in your house of sin!".
Her advice to me: look after yourself, no one else will. Never look back. Don't take risks with money or your health. Education is important.
Sound words, all.
(Fri 20th Jun 2008, 12:00, More)
My grandmother
was from Belgium, born in 1895. At the start of the first world war the Germans invaded right past her front door. The day before the battle the local council were warning everyone to get out and evacuating the children. Her family chose to go to France, but she refused and chose to evacuate to England, despite not speaking any English, and not having any family or friends go with her. The whole of her family was wiped out, she survived. She never went back to Belgium for the rest of her life.
In England she met a nice young army sergeant. He was posted to India a few months after they met, and she decided to go too. The rules said only married women could accompany soldiers, but there wasn't time for them to marry in England before he left. It took several months before she could get a ticket, but as soon as she could she travelled by boat to India. Once there, despite only having known him for a few months, and having been separated for some months, she had to marry my grandfather within 24 hours to be allowed to stay with him.
They lived in India for several years, and she had three children. The first died of TB at the age of a few months. The 3rd, my father, was very ill and constantly crying: my grandmother was exhausted and couldn't take any more. Only her 2nd child, my aunt, pleading with her prevented her from killing the screaming baby, who happily grew up to be a healthy young man.
She left India with the 2 children, the youngest only 6 months old, travelling without her husband who travelled with the army. She arrived back in England in a very cold winter with only the light clothes she had from India, but she and the children made it safely back to Shropshire by train.
She and her husband lived a humble life, as the pay of a sergeant major wasn't particularly high. However she pushed both children to work hard: both of them won scholarships to grammar school (the only way they could have gone) and later both won scholarships to Oxford.
Her husband died when she was 72. By then she was rather frail, but she carried on. She was run over by a lorry when she was 85 and had multiple injuries, but she fought on and recovered. A few years later she would say 'if I hadn't been run over by that lorry I would be alive today.'
At the age of 97 she couldn't cope on her own any more and moved into a home. One day one of the helpers there noticed she had a slight accent, saying 'shukker' for sugar, and asked if she was German, sparking a vicious response. She died 3 months before her 100th birthday.
She was very proud and opinionated, and treated nothing as permanent. She had no mementoes, even very few photographs, and threw away almost everything when her husband died, keeping only his army medals and the paybook which gave her access to his pension. When my brother's girlfriend moved in with him she refused to stay at my parents' house, standing on Wolverhampton station shouting loudly "I will not set foot in your house of sin!".
Her advice to me: look after yourself, no one else will. Never look back. Don't take risks with money or your health. Education is important.
Sound words, all.
(Fri 20th Jun 2008, 12:00, More)
» Public Sex
Picnic table
I used to have a girlfriend who liked outdoor sex very much. We would meet up after work and go to a nearby park. Her favourite position, and one which avoided scrabbling around in the bushes, was her lying on a picnic table and me standing up.
We'd found a suitable table in an infrequently visited area of the park and made use of it regularly. One evening we were going at it when I heard someone approaching. It was too late to pull out so she arranged her skirt to hide as much as possible. But it wasn't just one person: an entire group of old folks was coming along the path towards us. It looked like a senior citizen outing or something.
Girlfriend lay there, trying to look casual and relaxed, a fixed grin on her face. I stood as close up to the table as I could, hands on hips or resting nonchalantly on the table; I believe I may have whistled.
Every single person who came past said 'good evening' and we replied likewise to each and every one of them. The last to come past were an old lady and, I assume, her husband. She said ‘How nice to see a young couple out in the fresh air’ while he gave me a thumbs up and a ‘Syd James’ face. Kind of killed the moment.
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 15:25, More)
Picnic table
I used to have a girlfriend who liked outdoor sex very much. We would meet up after work and go to a nearby park. Her favourite position, and one which avoided scrabbling around in the bushes, was her lying on a picnic table and me standing up.
We'd found a suitable table in an infrequently visited area of the park and made use of it regularly. One evening we were going at it when I heard someone approaching. It was too late to pull out so she arranged her skirt to hide as much as possible. But it wasn't just one person: an entire group of old folks was coming along the path towards us. It looked like a senior citizen outing or something.
Girlfriend lay there, trying to look casual and relaxed, a fixed grin on her face. I stood as close up to the table as I could, hands on hips or resting nonchalantly on the table; I believe I may have whistled.
Every single person who came past said 'good evening' and we replied likewise to each and every one of them. The last to come past were an old lady and, I assume, her husband. She said ‘How nice to see a young couple out in the fresh air’ while he gave me a thumbs up and a ‘Syd James’ face. Kind of killed the moment.
(Thu 23rd Apr 2009, 15:25, More)
» Public Sex
Not so good
At university I fell in love with the most beautiful girl I have ever known. I wasn't the only person to fall in love with her, but by some miracle she chose me (actually I found out later that I was one of several people, but let's not let facts spoil the story).
I'll call her Q: she was stunningly beautiful and loved mucky sex. She had a boyfriend at another university so wanted to keep our relationship a secret from her friends. She was in a shared room, I was not, so my bed saw a lot of action, but it did mean our possibilities to meet up and do the dirty were restricted.
One day, after a particularly hot shag, she whispered huskily in my ear that she wanted me to come to her parents' house that weekend "to tune my harpsichord". I thought that a rather poor euphemism: when I realised she'd said "to tune my father's harpsichord" I was even more worried. But it turned out her father really did have a harpsichord, and as I was somewhat musical this could be a good excuse.
So we took the train to her parents' house and I messed about on the harpsichord a bit in the morning. After lunch Q suggested we went for a walk in the woods. When we were well out of sight of the house she took me by the hand and led me into the trees. “This may be the only chance we get this weekend” she said as we walked deeper into the woods. Then, “I want to show you a special place”.
Well I’d already seen her special place, but perhaps seeing it outside would be even better, I thought. Turns out it was a special place in the woods she wanted to show me. There was a glade, and it was perfect. The sunlight came slanting down through the trees, illuminating the mossy floor with shafts of green and golden light. The leaves seemed to be rustling sensually as we stood looking into the hidden grove. The only thing missing was a baby dear. Two trees had grown leaning together, their trunks forming a kind of arched entrance. Q looked up at me and proceeded to tell me about wood-spirits and ancient pagan customs, and the meanings of trees. As I lost myself in her deep brown eyes and soft voice she told me that when we walked through the arch are souls would be joined and the magic glade would be ours to consummate our woodland wedding.
She led me through the arch into the clearing and we stood in a beam of sunlight, holding hands and gazing at each other. I bent down to kiss her and as our lips met I swear the birds started to sing. Well we snogged and then there was some fumbling and rubbing and pretty soon we were lying down on the mossy grass. Q started undoing my belt and trousers. My hands were already in her pants, so I pulled them down and she manouvered her legs to get them off. My cock came free and she was stroking me enthusiastically as I undid her blouse, exposing her beautifully formed breasts. She rolled me over onto my back, pulled a condom out of a pocket somewhere and expertly put it on me. “I love this girl”, I thought as she straddled me, her long dark hair falling around my face like a cage just for us two.
I think it was around then that I noticed the spider web in her hair, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Her head was down close to mine, her eyes closed as she moaned. I felt an itch under my bum, against the ground, but chose to ignore it. Q reached round to scratch an itch on her back. I kept pumping away as she squirmed delightfully on top of me, and then moved her hand to scratch one knee. I was aware of the itch on my bum getting worse, and I was starting to feel a scratching on the back of my neck. I used one hand to scratch it and felt something on my neck, something wriggly. Then there was a burning sensation starting at my neck and moving down my back, the itching on my bum turned into a biting, Q’s sexy squirming turned into an irritated shaking and her moaning from pleasurable to complaining. She suddenly leapt off me, her hands going under her clothes to scratch herself and I reached for the burning areas on my skin. I looked down to my glistening dumbstick, only to see what looked like a small army of ants marching up my thighs towards it, pausing only to sink their enormous jaws into my soft flesh. I stood up and started dancing around, slapping at my legs and back, where more ants were beating a path down my spine. Something was in my hair: a beetle! Q was standing head down frantically scratching at her head and I swear I saw spiders and centipedes falling out as she pawed at her hair.
We both ran and jumped, scratched and slapped, I more encumbered than she as my pants were round my ankles. Eventually I thought I’d got all the bugs off me but my skin was still crawling. I felt a slimy thing on my thigh only to look down and discover it was my condom-clad and now-deflated member drooping slimily against my leg. Q was crying as I pulled up my trousers, still shivering and twitching as I felt the creatures crawling over me. To cap it all off a bird flew over and crapped on me with a laughing cackle.
Q stormed off, sobbing and I followed her, pushing our way through what now seemed thorny, unfriendly undergrowth, pausing occasionally to claw frantically at more spiders which had latched on to us.
We got back to her parents’ house, rushing to have (separate) showers. The harpsichord never got tuned.
(Fri 24th Apr 2009, 13:15, More)
Not so good
At university I fell in love with the most beautiful girl I have ever known. I wasn't the only person to fall in love with her, but by some miracle she chose me (actually I found out later that I was one of several people, but let's not let facts spoil the story).
I'll call her Q: she was stunningly beautiful and loved mucky sex. She had a boyfriend at another university so wanted to keep our relationship a secret from her friends. She was in a shared room, I was not, so my bed saw a lot of action, but it did mean our possibilities to meet up and do the dirty were restricted.
One day, after a particularly hot shag, she whispered huskily in my ear that she wanted me to come to her parents' house that weekend "to tune my harpsichord". I thought that a rather poor euphemism: when I realised she'd said "to tune my father's harpsichord" I was even more worried. But it turned out her father really did have a harpsichord, and as I was somewhat musical this could be a good excuse.
So we took the train to her parents' house and I messed about on the harpsichord a bit in the morning. After lunch Q suggested we went for a walk in the woods. When we were well out of sight of the house she took me by the hand and led me into the trees. “This may be the only chance we get this weekend” she said as we walked deeper into the woods. Then, “I want to show you a special place”.
Well I’d already seen her special place, but perhaps seeing it outside would be even better, I thought. Turns out it was a special place in the woods she wanted to show me. There was a glade, and it was perfect. The sunlight came slanting down through the trees, illuminating the mossy floor with shafts of green and golden light. The leaves seemed to be rustling sensually as we stood looking into the hidden grove. The only thing missing was a baby dear. Two trees had grown leaning together, their trunks forming a kind of arched entrance. Q looked up at me and proceeded to tell me about wood-spirits and ancient pagan customs, and the meanings of trees. As I lost myself in her deep brown eyes and soft voice she told me that when we walked through the arch are souls would be joined and the magic glade would be ours to consummate our woodland wedding.
She led me through the arch into the clearing and we stood in a beam of sunlight, holding hands and gazing at each other. I bent down to kiss her and as our lips met I swear the birds started to sing. Well we snogged and then there was some fumbling and rubbing and pretty soon we were lying down on the mossy grass. Q started undoing my belt and trousers. My hands were already in her pants, so I pulled them down and she manouvered her legs to get them off. My cock came free and she was stroking me enthusiastically as I undid her blouse, exposing her beautifully formed breasts. She rolled me over onto my back, pulled a condom out of a pocket somewhere and expertly put it on me. “I love this girl”, I thought as she straddled me, her long dark hair falling around my face like a cage just for us two.
I think it was around then that I noticed the spider web in her hair, but my thoughts were elsewhere. Her head was down close to mine, her eyes closed as she moaned. I felt an itch under my bum, against the ground, but chose to ignore it. Q reached round to scratch an itch on her back. I kept pumping away as she squirmed delightfully on top of me, and then moved her hand to scratch one knee. I was aware of the itch on my bum getting worse, and I was starting to feel a scratching on the back of my neck. I used one hand to scratch it and felt something on my neck, something wriggly. Then there was a burning sensation starting at my neck and moving down my back, the itching on my bum turned into a biting, Q’s sexy squirming turned into an irritated shaking and her moaning from pleasurable to complaining. She suddenly leapt off me, her hands going under her clothes to scratch herself and I reached for the burning areas on my skin. I looked down to my glistening dumbstick, only to see what looked like a small army of ants marching up my thighs towards it, pausing only to sink their enormous jaws into my soft flesh. I stood up and started dancing around, slapping at my legs and back, where more ants were beating a path down my spine. Something was in my hair: a beetle! Q was standing head down frantically scratching at her head and I swear I saw spiders and centipedes falling out as she pawed at her hair.
We both ran and jumped, scratched and slapped, I more encumbered than she as my pants were round my ankles. Eventually I thought I’d got all the bugs off me but my skin was still crawling. I felt a slimy thing on my thigh only to look down and discover it was my condom-clad and now-deflated member drooping slimily against my leg. Q was crying as I pulled up my trousers, still shivering and twitching as I felt the creatures crawling over me. To cap it all off a bird flew over and crapped on me with a laughing cackle.
Q stormed off, sobbing and I followed her, pushing our way through what now seemed thorny, unfriendly undergrowth, pausing occasionally to claw frantically at more spiders which had latched on to us.
We got back to her parents’ house, rushing to have (separate) showers. The harpsichord never got tuned.
(Fri 24th Apr 2009, 13:15, More)