» Public Sex

A special treat

*pop*

A slack handful of years ago, back when Rotimer was slender, handsome, and the proud owner of a fine head of hair, before he morphed into the tubby, bald monstrosity that currently lurks behind a beard, I used to have a ladyfriend.

We'd meet up with some mates of a Wednesday and head along to the Head of Steam for the Ministry of Skank and get happily steamed whilst nodding our heads to a selection of ska and ska punk classics. If I recall correctly it was the same classics each week with minor, if any, variation.

This particular night proceeded as normal, many a bottle of Budvar was raised, a goodly amount of trips were made out behind the casino to have a quick burn and as the bar staff called time we began to peel ourselves off the sofas and depart upon our various paths.

Me and the missus staggered to the bus stop, hopped on the last connection to Cestria and slumped upon the back seat.

After a bit of sickeningly gratuitous teenage necking on the missus, with a sly grin upon her face, whispered she had a special treat for me and proceeded to deftly infiltrate my jeans and free what lurks within before lowering her head and applying herself with gusto.

"Blimey," thought I "what a treat"

Now I'm not particularly into public displays (Aside from friends at parties... strangely my brain seems to think it's okay to fuck in front of friends) but as there was only a few people on the bus and I was rather pissed (and let's not forget, male) I wasn't going to turn down a blow job.

So as velvety lips and a silky soft tongue applied themselves vigorously to my nether regions I lay my head back, closed my eyes and...

...was gently shook awake by my girlfriend as the bus approached our stop. Apparently mere moments after the fellatio began I fell sound asleep and snored all the way home.

My girlfriend was thankfully amused by the whole affair and kindly tucked me back in rather than leaving Little Rotimer dangling in the breeze for all to see.

What a darling eh?
(Fri 24th Apr 2009, 21:15, More)

» Bullies

Jordan McBitchtits
I was a right hippie at school. Long flowing hair, bushy sideboards and a goatee (okay bushy may be pushing it a bit. I suppose bumfluff would be a better descriptor, after all I was but a bairn).

This endeared me to the small clique of rockers and weirdos, who were to become my close friends, and provided me a small measure of success with the ladies.

It did however have the effect of making me a prime target for the radge packet charvers and thugs whose ranks provided a fair percentage of my school's pantheon of pupils.

Now one of these genetic misfires was Jordan McBitchtits* a lumbering tower of inarticulation and aggression housed within a mountain of beef a Wagyu bull would have been proud to possess.

*Name changed to protect me in the, admittedly, unlikely event she's since learnt to read and use a computer.

She was naturally the de facto leader of the group of bad girls in our year. You know the sort. The ones that made a concious decision to never show any sign of intelligence. The ones with the harsh chemically treated hair and vacuous stares. The ones that traded their infinite potential for a blokey yobbishness and threw their scarily fertile bodies at anyone who could get served booze at the Happy Shopper.

Obviously she found my appearance, bookishness and sarcastic wit distasteful but generally left me pretty much alone.

Until, alas, one day while I was lounging around in class, shooting the shit with Foz and paying little attention to the banal wafflings of our teacher, a shadow crept over me plunging me into an ominous pool of darkness.

I looked up to find Jordan looming threateningly over me. Obviously some broken neuron had flickered into life and I had been promoted from irritant to target in her wildly damage psyche.

No preamble for she, instead she raised a pudgy arm and slowly, oh so slowly, sent it swinging toward me.

"Aha!" I thought "I see she wishes to punch me in the chops" and promptly batted her paw away from my nose to prevent bloodying.

Apparently no-one had ever tried this technique on her before as her eyes widened in shock as if I'd just waggled my willy at her.

"How dare you lay hands upon me you bounder" quoth the psychotic hose beast, "I believe I shall have to take you to task come our repast"

Granted those may not have been her exact words but the gist is there.

In a smooth placatory manner I replied "Fuck off you fat bitch, I didn't hit you I just pushed your hand away"

Bizarrely this seemed to incense her further and she appeared ready to get pugilistic on my face again until the teacher noticed the affray and told her to sit down.

All was well until the lunch bell rang. I, the incident already out of mind, strolled happily out of the gates and began to make my way home.

As I passed the bus stop (bus stops... this shit always happens near bus stops) Jordan and her phalanx of harridans hove into view.

A cacophonous cackling began and, amidst accusations of being a women beater and a puff, I attempted to push my way through the group.

Unfortunately this wasn't to be and Jordan unceremoniously grabbed my flowing locks and swung me round in a wide circle while blows began raining upon me from the half dozen hell bitches surrounding me.

This presented a Catch-22 situation in my mind. I was here receiving a hiding for supposedly laying fists to a women and my only two options were to A: punch their stupid faces in, therefore incurring more wrath or B: give up and hit the ground and adopt the fetal postion.

I couldn't choose between the two with the distraction of fists and feet striking me so I just kept my feet under me as I was whirled around and beaten.

This continued for what must have been no longer than 30 seconds but felt like an hour before I managed to extricate myself and strode purposefully away to my mother with blood, snot and tears adorning my battered face.

And the worst part is now I have to pay hundreds of pounds to receive the same treatment.
(Wed 13th May 2009, 15:04, More)

» Unexpected Nudity

She was not amused
It had been a cold and wet evening. Undeterred by the elements we had made our way to a nearby park and huddled under the brightly coloured hut from which a garish slide protruded.

Bottles of budget vodka and cans of cheap pissy beer were brought forth and quaffed. Banter was brought into play and eloquent repartee sizzled through the dour evening air. At some point an individual's sexual preference may have been questioned, and assertations of masculinity and boob touching exploits may have been fired back by the accused.

All in all everyone had a great time and as the last of the booze ran out we stumbled off to our respective abodes. I was, to put it bluntly, completely wankered. Seen from above I'd imagine my perambulations would bear more resemblance to a sinusoidal waveform than a line. However, with the words of Tony Wright echoing in my inebriated skull, I persevered and made it back to my parent's home.

Handily my father was at work and my mother was already abed so I didn't have any explaining to do about my obvious state of intoxication. Not that they minded me getting drunk but I was DRUNK. Sniggering away to myself over inane thoughts I smoked a spliff in the kitchen, burned some toast to cover the smell and made my way to bed. A perfect night. And sleep...

...and wake to shouts of fury and disgust. "What's happening?" thinks I, "Why is my mother in my room shouting at me?" "Hang on this isn't my room" "Wait a minute I'm standing in my mother's room" "Holy shitting Christ I'm pissing all over my mother"

That's right. I'd had a moment of drunken somnambulation and, in my search for a toilet, wandered into my mother's boudoir and unloaded my booze distended bladder across her slumbering form.

I'd imagine my mother considered this a SURPRISE TODGER moment.

Once the realisation of what I was doing and the content of my mother's words filtered into my consciousness, my proud stream of urine cut off instantly. I turned, I ran, I dived back into bed with my face contorting into a gestalt expression of abject terror and uncontrollable mirth.

I hid under the covers like a brave responsible man while my mother barged in and shouted obscenities at me before leaving to deal with her piss soaked bed clothes. I managed to control my horror and hilarity and get myself back to sleep. In the morning my father could barely contain his grin as he gave me a half hearted scolding and told me I'd have to pay for a new duvet and bed sheets.

Luckily over the years my mother has come to view this as funny rather than rage inducing, which is handy as it gets brought up at nearly every family gathering.
(Fri 29th May 2009, 16:11, More)

» Bullies

The whole town was out to get me (well not really)

As I've detailed this week in a previous post I was a bit of a hippie at school. I was fairly popular but my mode of dress, habit of speaking in overtly convoluted language and general interest in furthering my knowledge meant I attracted a decent amount of detractors.

Combine this with my pig headed inability to avoid confrontation and you had a recipe for the odd bit of bullying.

Normally these scuffles were passing affairs, for a few days at a time some cunt or other would call me a girls name or throw shit at me in class. I'd take the bait and heaps piles of verbal abuse upon them and more often than not that'd be the end of it.

However there was a guy 3 years older than me (let's call him Discarded Spunk Sack or DSS) who I obviously disgusted so much he couldn't bear to pass me in a corridor without a sly dig or bit name calling. I'm tough skinned so this didn't bother me and I'd generally chuck a half hearted put down back his way.

This low level of bullying was escalated one day when I made the unfortunate decision of spending my lunch break in a younger friend's form class. As I was chatting away, showing off my knowledge of bands and making all the nubile young ladies froth at the crotch with my flowing locks and fledgling beard / boards combo, a young lad I had never seen before in my life looks me up and down and proclaims "You've got girls hair. You must be a right fag"

Unfazed I glanced round, locked eyes with him and told him to "cunt off, you chubby little fuckface" before returning to letching over Joanne Stoker and her horde of jailbait lovelies.

Unbeknownst to me this fellow (who appropriately was known as Chubby) had taken umbrage to my casual reply and had reported such to his biggest hardest friend, and you can guess who that was can't you.

So I'm sitting in the Design and Technology department later that day, cackhandedly failing to produce some item of woodwork, when I hear a knock on the window behind me. I turn to find DSS gurning wildly at me and yelling words of aggression.

Apparently I was to be “seen to” outside the gates come the end of school. He lurched away from the window and went on his way whooping and howling threats over his shoulder while his minions roiled around him cackling.

After school I ambled out to meet my certain doom, refusing to take the easy option of running out the back gate as my friends suggested. As I passed the DSS and his group of little Spunk Sacks they eagerly followed forming a loose circle around me.

After a moment or two of verbal sparring, it became clear that he was a fucktard and I could talk circles around him so he launched a blow causing a hefty bit of lip splittage. Naturally I was a little surprised and annoyed by this fist interface but I am a fairly non-violent fella so I responded in the only manner that seemed fit and spat a nice phlegmy glut of blood onto his pristine white trainers and walked off.

Behind me, and over the barely restrained chortlings of his cronies, I heard him vow that all of the town would be out to get me. It would appear his loss of face in front of his friends due to the besmirchment of his trainers was to be repaid in full.

Strangely enough he ceased to bother me in any physical sense but he did keep his promise to some degree. Over the next few months I had to be on my toes as occasional groups of thugs would wander up to my usual haunts and enquire to my whereabouts. I was a nimble little fucker though so I tended to be well out of the way but this couldn’t last for ever and indeed one day I turned around to find I’d been caught.

Let us call him Matty (for I believe that was his name), I’ve no idea how he’d become involved in this bullshit as he went to a different school and although I’d heard tales of his exploits (the usual knuckle dragging list of achievements; stealing cars, punching people younger than him and taking loads of drugs) as far as I know he didn’t associate with anyone that I had so far offended.

He took a moment to identify me and then started lumbering toward me offering me on for a fight for “what I’d done to that Chubby kid”.

I backed away for a while assuring the gentleman I had done nothing unwarranted to the porker in question and had no desire to enter into fisticuffs but this did little to placate him and he brought out his right hook for me to admire.

Admire it I did, admittedly only briefly but as closely as I could as once again I found my delicate face receiving a battering. Now to save further ruination I realised I would have to take some positive action and when he swung again I ducked underneath his parabola of destruction, locked my arms around his ample frame and lifted.

I now found myself with around 15 stone of enraged bully gathered in my arms like a father scooping up his child for a hug. I quickly toyed with my options and unceremoniously chucked him over the 4 foot fence which ringed the park in which the assault had taken place.

As Matty tumbled helplessly over the fence and, I hope, landed in a large pile of dogshit and nettles I briskly walked home which was handily just around the corner.

My mother, upon spying my blackened eye and bloody nose, forced a condensed version of the story out of me (don’t you wish she’d been here to make me condense this version) and before I could protest that I didn’t want her to get involved she screamed “That’s Matty Goatfelcher, I used to be good mates with his mother at school, I’ll get on the phone to her” and in her mind that was the end of it.

I had a feeling there would be further repercussions for grassing on one of the supposed hard lads of the area to his Ma so you can imagine my dismay when the same group of lads came sauntering up to me the next day.

Bracing myself for more facial punishment I was surprised when he held a hand out to me that wasn’t clenched in a fist.

“I just wanted to apologise for hitting you yesterday” he said, “I’ll not bother you any more and by the way I didn’t expect you to be strong”

Stunned I shook his hand and muttered that it was no problem and I’ll catch him around.

Turns out not only did my ma’s phone call to his gain him a tongue lashing from his mother when he got home but he’d actually perpetrated the crime in front of his granddad’s house who’d seen him and grassed him up to his father too. Apparently his father gave him a sound thrashing and threw him out the house saying he wasn’t welcome home until he’d found me and apologised.

Good times.

Jesus, apologies for length: no, really, I am sorry
(Mon 18th May 2009, 16:05, More)

» Public Sex

The principle

It had been a long and enjoyable night. There was a group of around 8 of us drinking and getting stoned in our mate Briggsy's bedroom. Briggsy's mother was the coolest, happy to allow us to abuse ourselves in ways various in the comfort of his bedroom when most teenagers were forced to endure the elements when they wished to poison their bodies.

Not only that but she'd happily down a few bottles of wine with us at parties and supply endless amounts of toast and tea whenever we were afflicted with "the munch". All in all the perfect host.

Anyway, to cease making a short story long, we had spent the night chucking loads of beer down our necks and passing a goodly number of spliffs around whilst singing our hearts out to the delightful strains of Lagwagon, Me First & the Gimme Gimme's and the like.

As the booze ran out everyone found themselves a clear bit of floor space and one by one slipped from consciousness.

Pleasantly piddled I smoked a final spliff before laying down next to my girlfriend and drifting away, only to be awoken a short while later by some furtive noises.

Focusing my intoxicated and sleep baffled eyes I quickly realised that Ron and his young lady were lying but a scant few inches from my head and Ron was gently feeding his pork intruder into her dirtbox whilst she whispered words of encouragement.

As their unholy union was consummated, and with the musty scent of pierced rectum filling my nostrils, I slurred "It's the principle of the thing!" before lapsing back into the refuge of sleep.

Still didn't stop the buggers from finishing off though.
(Sat 25th Apr 2009, 14:17, More)