Oh dear...
Up against the wonderful Grafton centre in Cambridge...and if that lovely old couple that walked past read this I am STILL ashamed that I and my lady were that intoxicated so please no more accusing looks when I walk past you on the street..
(fruit_larceny is some kind of communist superman, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 20:17, 4 replies)

Slightly unrelated, but sod it
I'll post it anyways. Last night I was lucky enough to go to Evensong at Ely Cathedral.

It was a beautiful sunny day- not a cloud in the sky, and warm to boot. The relative coolness of the Cathedral was to prove a welcome relief.

The backstory to this is that a friend and I were meeting up for a beer or two, right outside Ely Cathedral, and tiring of the pub, we thought a wonder round the Ship of the Fens (as it is known locally) would prove different.

As luck would have it, we were just in time for evensong, so we took a pew up near the choir, and dear reader, it was beautiful. If you've never heard the Nunc Dimittis being sung by a full choir, especially in a cathedral with acoustics as perfect as this one, I would highly recommend it.

It wasn't just the sound of the choir that was amazing. The majesty and height of the building, and the dazzling display of colour coming in through the stained glass windows, combined with the exquisite sound of the choir to create an experience that just left me thinking...

"Christ these choir boys give a bloody good blow job!"
( jim_bob can herd cats., Mon 27 Apr 2009, 20:11, 1 reply)

I absolutely hang my head in shame...
The WORST place I've had public sex is.......a Little Chef car park. If this wasn't bad enough, it was just after lunch time on a Saturday.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the police pulled in. I'd already seen them coming (and I just had) so we quickly disengaged. Still, one stroppy looking bobby decided to have a talk with me.

I got out of my Vauxhall Astra* and walked over to meet him. "You know what you've done wrong" he said "have you got any ID?".

I knew I didn't have my paper driving licence as I'd sent it away to have some spent points removed. I searched my wallet. I knew bank card was no good, nor was my work ID I had nothing apart from one thing...

My Special Constable warrant card.**

I showed it too him with a look of shame upon my face. He looked at my card. He looked at me. He looked at my card. He called over the other bobby sitting in the car. He looked at me. He looked at my card. I gave a very cheesy grin. "Pillock" the first one said. "Just as well you're not based at our nick" said the other. "Besides, I thought you lot preferred sheep" said the first and giggled.

They let me on my way.

The part I'm most ashamed of? Shagging in a Little Chef car park, it's just so....common (but then, so was she)!

* Always get out of your car if pulled over by the police. Unless they're screaming "Keep your hand on the f*cking wheel" of course. They like the respect and more to the point, police don't enjoy walking when THEY have a nice comfy car you can sit in.

** I know it sounds nerdy to keep it in my wallet when I wasn't on duty, but it was great for free bus/train travel, discounts at various stores and getting out of light trouble, as you can see above!
(Big Smurf Brush me daddy-O, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 20:08, 4 replies)

Dogging with Chickenlady
A pearoast from 'Desperate Times' - my unwitting brush with dogging...

Sometime ago I went on a date with a very nice chap. It was our first date...although we had known one another for a short while and had become good friends.

We went for a meal in a country pub...where I had three glasses of wine...those of you who know me will know that three glasses are my limit.

So, just before we're leaving I get up to go to the loo. He asks why I agreed to go on a date with him...as I stand up and walk away (swaying slightly in my high heels) I whisper in his ear, "Because you're hot"

Of course I think this is just the sexiest thing possible I can say...and off I go to the loo.

We get in his car and drive down the road...we come to a t-junction and he turns to me and says..."Your place or mine?"

I started to laugh, mainly because I didn't think anyone ever really said this....

Being the lady I am I declined to go back to his place - first date and all that....And I also said it was better if he just dropped me home.

See...I'm not desperate....so I thought....


The the wine kicked in, big time.

Inhibitions swept away...him looking at me with those big brown eyes and cheeky grin....

My skirt seems to be sliding higher and higher....

Before I know it I'm running my tongue over my fingertip, sucking it and then trailing it down my collarbone...my breathing ragged.

"No, turn right here..then left...and pull into the woods"

He drives in...stops the car in the corner of the car park and in the blink of an eye we're on each other like ravenous creatures.

Shirt buttons popping, hair pulling, hands roughly exploring, delicate lacy underwear quickly discarded and one of the most hot first dates I've ever had.

Until while sitting astride him I managed to slam into the car horn....

We start giggling....

Then we notice the other cars in the woodland car park.

The other cars are flashing their headlights at us.

We are still for a few moments...the lights go off and we decide to continue...so desperate are we both to finish....

The point of no return arrives...Headlights appear again on full beam lighting us both up in all our frenzied glory.

Then darkness and the sound of cars being driven away.

Safe.

He gets out of the car to 'adjust' his clothing ....the interior light comes on and is matched by another one in a car only a few feet away....
"Want some help mate?"


And at that moment my entire life flashed before me....

I knew the voice....and it wasn't that of my date.


I had spoken to him once or twice on the phone and plenty of times in the pub...where he's the barman.

I don't go in there anymore.
( chickenlady b3ta's very own Elizabeth Taylor, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 19:29, 7 replies)

Public Sex
Center Parcs Nottingham. The jacuzzi.
Thank god for bubbles !
(SqueakyRat, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 19:24, 1 reply)

Christ, this is a dull load of depressing shite.
When did B3ta turn into the letters page of Reader's Wives?
I visit these parts to laugh, not to read about ugly strangers clumsily fumbling each other's offal in some godforsaken trolleybus in Stoke.
(Jimbotfu Bummed in the gob again, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 18:49, 10 replies)

It was part of my job....
... No, before you ask, I wasnt and have never been fortuitous enough to be a male porn star.

I was briefly employed in the 1990s as a "Male Lead Fluid Operative", or to put it in Plain English, The guy who wiped the cum off the headboard in a porn set.

I remember one ghastly occasion when "Big Ben - The Meatiest 12 inches in Essex" was finishing off a 3 way with Mitzi Drip-Tray and Buck Socket.
He was reknowned for a vinegar shot which would've had Peter North looking on in silent wonder, able to cover the torso of a very sweaty female co-host in several quarts of warm translucent ejaculate.

I noticed the wincing of his face as he approached the 'tipping point' as it is referred to in the industry - or to those who spend hour after godforsaken hour in the middle of the night in front of their PC indulging in a massive binge of self abuse, the point of no return where one is unable to contain ones enthuiasm any longer and shoots one's bolt.

This was my signal to stand clear - he pulled his glistening hard shaft out of Mitzi's salmon pink vulva and with one or 2 deft actions with his right hand along it's length began to deposit his seed on her.
(For those who require a visual stimuli, think of the firemen in the gaviscon advert, and you're looking at the right ball-park.).

After 30 or 40 seconds at the business end of his now rapidly deflating manhood, she looked for all the world as though she'd lost a fight with a Mr Whippy machine.

That was a busy day for me, I remember spending the best part of the afternoon wiping the set down and had to take work home with me to get ahead for the next day!
(LunarJim, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 18:38, 3 replies)

The Legend of SW19
She’d bought them in Victoria’s Secret on a business trip to New York. They were midnight blue satin with large cream polka dots, almost like something you’d see back in the 80s or early 90s, except these were the tiniest, flimsiest and most expensive pair of knickers I’d ever come across – quite literally.


We’d met at Sankey’s – the one in Royal Tunbridge Wells, I think it was 1997. It had a cellar bar I remember very well; all bare brickwork, candles and expensive wine. Tim was an old mate from Uni, he’d moved down to the posh countryside to marry a farmer’s daughter, have chocolate brown Labradors, excessively large 4x4s and an alcohol dependency problem brought on by gin and port. Sankey’s had been his suggestion, I was out of work at the time and would have preferred the simpler attractions of the local pub or even a few cans in front of the TV, but Tim wanted to impress me and show me the highlights of posh totty that the Wells could provide.

“Sal! Sal! Come on you old trollop! Show me the fucking ‘phone!” a crowd of over-made-up women were squawking at each other by the bar.

“But darling, your shoes cost less than this ‘phone, do you honestly think I’m going to let you, with your reputation for losing fucking millions, get your sweaty little mitts on this? I mean, for fucks sake – you’ve shagged bloody Nick Leeson!“ This one was the pack leader; expensive clothes, incredibly high heels that would do real damage if she wore them naked while walking across a man’s back, I mused as I looked closely for a knicker line on her tight short skirt.

“Commando?” Tim asked – all through Uni he’d been my wingman, he knew my moves, hell, once on a particular drunken night out in Leeds he’d even been on the receiving end of my moves but apart from some uncomfortable glances – not to mention uncomfortable body parts – we’ve resolved to never mention it again.

“Yeah, I think so. How much to find out?” I replied. Tim had many weaknesses: large girls called Polly, alcohol, Mexican marching powder, me, fast cars and gambling. He bet me a small sum to discover whether the ‘phone princess was more giving with her body than her possessions.

Having watched too much American film and television I decided to be classy – I paid for a glass of pinot griot and asked the barman to give it to her while I leaned nonchalantly against the bare brickwork in the corner, bottle of sol in one hand and arrogance worn like an aftershave.

She took my wine, handed it to one of her squawk of friends and then stalked towards me holding a bottle of Bollinger and two glasses. “Rather poor I think. This stuff is better.”

She was right.

Sally was a couple of years older than me; she worked in the City and liked her men a tad on the rough side – my (then) lack of job was a turn on for her. We chatted a little about French movies, she poured me another glass. Tim had been taken a willing hostage by her pack of girlfriends. Sal turned her back on them and gently forced me further against the wall. I remember the cold roughness of the soft red Kentish bricks and the sharp bubbles of the expensive fizzy wine. Her breath was slightly sour – wine and a hint of Marlboro lights.

She didn’t kiss me. There was never any suggestion that she might. Not even when her fingers ran up my thigh and across my hardening cock.

She gave me her card and told me she would be at Wimbledon on the Friday of the first week – corporate thing – be there.

Ticket touts made me cough up £85 for the pleasure of standing around in the pouring rain while dickheads decked out entirely by Hackett wandered past eating overpriced watery strawberries and braying at the poor people who didn’t have a second holiday home in Antigua. Not my type of place. I don’t play tennis and aside from watching some of the ladies matches just to get a flash of thigh this wasn’t my thing at all. I was beginning to wonder why I’d turned up, then I caught sight of Sally, my cock twitched in anticipation and I knew why I’d turned up.

She was wearing a dark red dress, sleeveless and strappy, full skirt and of course a pair of killer heels. She stopped the conversation she was having with a large rugger bugger type and strode over to me.

“Follow me”

The look in her eye told me how this was going to end.

I followed.

I’m not sure who she paid or who she knew but within a couple of minutes we were camped out under canvas in the corner of Centre Court.

“I’ve always wanted to do it here. Maybe it’ll improve my service.” She said as she expertly unzipped my trousers, unbuckled my belt, unfastened my clothes and freed my swollen cock into the stale grassy trapped air for a brief moment before she took it deeply into her mouth.

I kept quiet, hands slowly easing her skirt up her slender thighs then fingers gently edging their way towards the damp warmth of her silken pussy. She moaned and sucked harder. My fingers probed and slipped inside her, gliding on her wetness.

She stopped, pushed me back, slid her midnight blue satin knickers down, wiped them across my face, “So you’ll smell me all day”, then shoved them into my jacket pocket. Lifting the green canvas up a little above her head she straddled me, my cock now throbbing inside one of the tightest and wettest clefts I’ve ever had the pleasure to fuck.

Years of Pony Club practice paid off as she rode me and the rain pounded down on the green canvas over our heads. Voices from the spectator stands only served to make her wetter and to fuck with more frenzy until we both couldn’t stand it – I gripped her perfect tight arse and exploded into her like the cork being pulled from a bottle of her beloved Bollinger.

The rain had begun to ease, she rolled off me, ran a finger up her thigh, dipped into herself and then sucked, “Mmm, you and I taste good – better than those fucking strawberries. Oh, and keep the knickers. A keepsake.”

She led me out to one of the staff entrances and there finally she kissed me gently on the lips.

I never saw her or the knickers again.

When Wimbledon is on and it’s raining, I sometimes think about her.

That was until I saw this article in the Times Online.
(Stiff Richard, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 18:01, 8 replies)

I was traumatized for life
What kind of things traumatized you as a child? For me, the movie All Dogs go to Heaven- but I bet you guys all have better traumatic experiences.
(mariam67, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 17:54, 2 replies)

Scout Camp.
Many years ago on Scout Camp I woke up to a shuffling noise. After a few moments my brain started coming to life and I worked out the lad next to me was having a crafty wank. I tried to go back to sleep and was almost there when I was suddenly hit in the small of the back. At least he gave up then.
(jvz, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 17:53, Reply)

Almost a grand story...
If I'd had this QOTW in mind I might just have done it... was on a *unnamed non league* football pitch celebrating with the players at 3am over the weekend after they *won the league or got into playoffs, I'm not specifying any further!* and took the celebrations a bit further with a particularly cute player. When it dawned on me the other lads were six feet away and more than likely had camera phones, I regained my ladylike composure. Would have been my all time public "outing", tamer venues include the swings of a kids play park (at night mind!), club toilets, beach lounger, the usual...
(anicehandful ...and all round fun, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 16:52, Reply)

Two Japanese girls, one bed
We clambered through the wooded glade over old logs and the fallen petals, enjoying the fresh spring breeze. After a while, we stopped to take a short break, sitting in the musty undergrowth beneath the dappled shade of the cherry blossom trees. I offered her a sip of my water, but she wasn't interested in drinking.

She leaned in and gazed at me expectantly. I closed my eyes for the briefest moment and her tongue flicked across my lips. I stroked her face then gently pushed her away... it was wrong and she knew it. I heard a pathetic whimper before she turned her head away, obviously disheartened by my rejection.

--------------------------------------------

We'd met a few months previously after being introduced by my wife. She'd had been out shopping when they first met each other and hit it off together, so she brought her over to the house party where we had agreed to meet later in the day.

They walked through the door together, I set eyes on her for the first time and I was smitten. She was beautiful, with deep, dark eyes and shiny black hair, but then again that's pretty common in Japan. I just knew we would end up being 'friends' too. Everyone at the party adored her, me especially so.

My wife saw her a lot over the next few months. I worked late, but I could see they had become good friends judging by the amount of time they were spending together. It meant I also got plenty of time to get to know her myself.

She had a playful attitude towards me, even with my wife around, and she wasn't afraid to tell either of us what she was thinking. I like a feisty girl who knows what she wants, although the language barrier meant I had no idea what she was saying most of the time, instead relying on body language and intonation to communicate. I was used to it, having lived in Japan for six months already.

By the time we ended up in those woods, I think my wife actually knew what was going on, but she didn't care. Our marriage is pretty open and she would certainly tell me if she disapproved of anything. It may be hard to grasp for readers without experience in Japan, but many Japanese women have a relaxed attitude towards the kind of relationship that had started to develop. In fact, this cultural barrier led to a few awkward encounters between the three of us.

For instance, my wife and I live in a small house in Tokyo, which is fine but it can get a little crowded at times. The two girls' friendship resulted in many a late night after the last train had departed, so she would end up sleeping in our bedroom... in our bed... with the two of us. Thankfully , it's a queen-size bed, so there was always plenty of room, and of course my wife would insist on separating us by being in the middle (it's called 'making a river' in Japan, apparently).

Our unscheduled bed partner would drift off to sleep while we waited to quietly make love in the 'spoons' position, hoping not to wake her up. I know we failed at least once, because I'm ashamed to say I looked into the wrong girl's eyes as I reached silent orgasm. Luckily she kept quiet and gave me a knowing, loving look instead, which felt particularly wrong.

I finally realised I would get no respite from her subtle advances following a heavy night's drinking at our place and the usual three-in-a-bed arrangement. I awoke feeling a breath on the wrong side of my neck and found her nudging me out of my slumber. The cheeky bitch had silently crept over to my side of the bed after returning from the toilet and was now pressed hard against my naked body, while my wife slept off her formidable hangover a few centimetres away.

I knew in my heart I should wake my wife, but at the same time I wanted it to happen that morning. It was time to get out of the house, so I got dressed as quietly as I could and met her by the front door. She couldn't take her eyes off me, the happiness that I had finally relented and caved in to her advances was palpable so I grabbed her things and we sneaked out into the early morning sunshine. Before long we had found our way to the wooded glade near our house. It was overlooked on both sides by housing, but that fact didn't bother either of us...

--------------------------------------------

So many times we read "photos or it didn't happen" on this site. Well, if you want to see how it ended, I think a photo would illustrate what my words may have failed to convey, so at this point I'll break from standard QotW protocol and post a picture of her and the conclusion in the replies...
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 16:37, 13 replies)

Not really sex
On the afternoon train from Southend to Liverpool Street, my (at the time) girlfriend and I were getting quite frisky, to the point where I whipped out one of her rather perky norks and had a quick suck. Classy!
(RVD420 has his world coming down on, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 16:07, 3 replies)

Matlock Bath
My wife was vigorously masturbating me at the bottom of the cliffs just outside Matlock Bath one sunny bank holiday. Don't ask why, it just took my mood at teh time.

So, I apologise to all the old dears on the bus who waved back nervously as I waved to them during the vinegar strokes.
(leancranker, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 15:57, 1 reply)

An ex and I
were out in my car soaking up the sun and the wind in our hair. The usual chat ended up with quite saucy suggestions, one of which was outdoor sex locations.

We discussed several, including the beach we parked up at, had a meal in a local restaurant, before returning, at dusk, to the car.

We continued chatting when a storm blew up, the air was charged, and so were we, I don't think I'll ever beat intimate sex during a thunderstorm in such an open area.

I didn't care for the dog walker though, who was desperately trying to get her dog away from the car!
(Ethelred is watching cheese grow, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 15:54, 2 replies)

There's nothing amusing about...
... interminable lists of places that you've 'done it'. Repeating by rote a succession of unimaginative locations for al-fresco rumpy-pumpy is about as amusing as reading a dictionary.

Unless, that is, the list includes any of these places:

- A sunshine bus
- The moon
- A nursery, whilst you are teaching children about religion
- On the centre spot of the pitch at Old Trafford on a match day
- At the vets, while they're telling your sex-partner that his or her tortoise has to be put down
- In front of your terrified parents who have been bound and gagged with their eyelids taped open.

As for 'a cemetary', 'a pub toilet' or 'the cinema'... if there's no amusing story attached, just meh.
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 15:51, 2 replies)

China a few years back
I was with this girl. Really nice sexy chinese girl, She spoke broken english, quality body and was great in the sack.

It was about 2am on our way back from a night out. We go past a lake on the city limits, to which the chinese girl mentions its a romantic lake and tells me the mythical love story about the lake.

ANYYWAY... we ended up walking along this kind of footpath/bridge crossing the lake. we stop at a bench and talk.

The path spans the whole lake is about 30ft across (width) with a road in the middle sandwhiched between two footpaths on either side, lit with street lamps.

about 10 minutes after sitting, i ask her to sit on my lap. two minutes later and shes straddling me... another two minutes and im working her knickers down and unzipping my pants...

The moment just took us

it was awesome,

until i notice a guy walking and fast approaching from the left... he gets about 20ft away then looks at us, a couple of seconds to figure out whats going on and then 'makes a phone call' and turns around, hastily retreating.

Then I have a realisation moment, im surrounded by people going about their business.

I should have realised, in china, at night when its cool (er) people often used this walkway for strolls etc.

about 10 people went past me and the girl in the space of 10 mins. did i stop? did i fcuk.

infact i went harder, pumping away at her, before picker her up and laying her down on the floor to make the beast with two backs.. I was only in the country for another 2 days...to hell with it...

after about another 5 mins, i realised the chinese police wouldnt really approve of suich a thing, given the amount of people that had seen us - we chickened out and went home, not before i got a cheeky handjob all the way home in the taxi.


yay for china
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 15:24, Reply)

One very drunken night...
I'm aware it's not the most original subject line but nevertheless: One very drunken night I met a reasonably attractive young lady in my local. After an agreeable conversation we trooped back to her friend's house just a few doors away. More drink was consumed and it became obvious that there was a sexual frisson in the air. Unfortunately, this lady's friend was in no way going to allow any sort of sexual bonding to take place under her roof as she was also good friends with this young lady's boyfriend. Undeterred said young lady and I jumped into a taxi and scoured Walthamstow for a hotel room in which to indulge our carnality. No rooms were forthcoming and so we ordered the driver to deposit us at Stratford where we continued our tour of possible accommodation. Once again we were fruitless in our pursuit, so we had to indulge ourselves at the back of Morrison's, next to the bins, until the arrival of a van load of seemingly migrant workers on the night shift curtailed our fumblings. Our final port of call was Stratford railway station where we squeezed into a Photo-Me photo booth and rutted like a pair of sweaty teens. Just as I blasted my mess into the gusset of her panties the curtain of the photo booth was torn back with some force and we were faced with a red-faced, furious rail inspector who demanded that we leave forthwith, as in his words, "it's a bloody railway station, not a knocking shop". Thus chastened, we tucked our slightly raw and abused equipment away, staggered out of the booth with heads held high and caught another taxi to our respective homes and partners.

We never saw each other again.
(highly_defined, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 15:22, 1 reply)

One of my best
In my younger days I have had the usual teenage, sometimes drunken, fumblings, handjobs and what-have-yous in quiet corners of the park etc.

I have only really had 2 'proper' times but the most memorable was with an older woman at a wedding reception. I was 18 and I had been admiring from afar this wonderfully voluptuous woman for a number of years. The occasion and a little alcohol had loosened us both up and a great deal of flirting had turned the air thick with sexual tension. I do honestly feel I would have exploded if we had continued for much longer. The wedding reception was hosted at a large country house so there was plenty of space to get lost in on a cool summer evening. I accompanied her out for a cigarette but rather than standing close to the house we ended up just wandering and talking then arm in arm then with my had around her waist and drifting to her bottom as we walked.

I was not paying attention to where we were going so I had no idea how long it took to reach the gazebo but when we did she just turned and stuck her tongue as far down my throat as she could. I was seeing stars and I guess she was too as our hands were everywhere and we were both breathing hard and shallow. She bent over pulled up her skirt and slip and pulled her knickers to one side. She said "It's OK, don't hold back" so I just pushed into her and tried desperately to hold back for a minute. Thankfully she was as horny as I was and when she came I lost it and was hit by the orgasm train at 150MPH. It took a full 10 minutes to get my breath back and we did it again in no time, but a longer and more controlled fuck.

We got together a few times afterwards and had a wonderful time every time.

To this day I still strive to orgasm that hard again!
(wackywavinginflatablearmflailingtubeman Hi, I'm Al Harrington..., Mon 27 Apr 2009, 15:21, Reply)

Cruise control
"I'd been driving all night, my hands wet on the wheel.."

Well, not quite. Golden Earring failed to capture the sheer mind-numbing tedium of following a convoy of Satan's Portakabins meandering no faster than forty-three miles an hour along the A303 at two in the afternoon. We'd been travelling for four hours during August bank holiday and the roads were predictably hell.

Even my much loved Mk2 Golf GIT couldn't lift the frustration, nor could my then fiance who was randomly ejecting and swapping cassettes from the aged Blaupunkt stereo; I was angrily voicing my ingratitude at being forced to endure the offensively whiny voiced Meredith Brooks for a third time in one day.

"Aww, you're stressed honey!" she said in a rare, concilliatory voice.

"Fuggingcaravansdieslowcuntselfishcuntcuntcunt!"

I'm not the most patient driver.

I felt the gentle, reassuring pressure of her right hand on my thigh and relaxed a little but was still loudly denouncing everything which had conspired to turn my countryside motoring into hell.

"fuggingmeredithfuggingbrooksisawhinyvoicedbintdiediedie!"

Slowly, the hand began to inch towards the crotch of my jeans.

"whatthecockisthistwattingfuggingidiotdoing...mmmmmmmm..."

zzzzzzzzzip!

Without a word, she unclipped her seatbelt and leaned over. A moment later, I felt her warm and wet mouth around me. My mood was definitely looking up.

And for the next few miles, I sat back in the seat wearing the smile of a man being expertly fellated as the stress melted away from my system. Life was suddenly very good indeed...

...right up until I reached a section of dual carriageway and slowly overtook a packed coach full of daytripping pensioners, suddenly remembering that the sunroof was still open.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Mon 27 Apr 2009, 14:28, 6 replies)

On the subject of Dangerwanks and some sem-public shame
Moving on a little from the heady days of indies nights and the thrills of beers and weed. I was 19 and had discovered the joys of ecstasy. Fuck me if I didn’t love that stuff. The problem was I really didn’t like the attendant music (at least what was on offer in Reading), and I just couldn’t seem to make myself fit in with the culture. In short I was a pilled up indie kid with a newly shaved head and a puppydog expression that kept trying to eat itself.

Or to put it another way, I couldn’t pull to save my life. Believe me the irony wasn’t lost on me, that I would go out and ingest huge amounts of a drug that aroused me uncontrollably in an environment in which I would soundly fail to pull.

So one Saturday morning, after lurching round the town in that twilight between club closing and the first train home, I smoked a couple of joints and just walked around enjoying the feeling of my brain gently fizzling. But no matter what I did, I just couldn’t shake that pilly horniness that simply demands satisfaction.

Arriving at reading station I deftly shoplifted a razzle from the menzies and popped into the toilets on platform 6 for a bout of self relief. One of the cubicles was locked but there didn't appear to be anyone in there so I popped into the adjacent box.

After much sweating and grunting and nearly tearing off my drug desensitised priapus, I achieved a form of relief. A few minutes later the train arrived and I began to wend my way home to my pit of shame.

Half an hour later they blew up the toilets. The cubicle next to me contained a bomb...
(voodo_kinky, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 13:52, 7 replies)

Not me, I was the victim
Caravan holiday to Primrose Valley; I loved that place. Midnight one night, we're all laid in bed, when I feel the caravan rocking. It had rained that night so I wasn't too bothered.

Then I heard my mother moaning.

*cries*
( Methylene Blue - electrohead, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 13:33, 1 reply)

It's a Pearost... but
On a train..
I sat near to the loo, then the toilet door made that Star Trek "tickshwoosh!" noise, and slid open. There was a young bloke in a suit in there, facing away from the door, looking in the mirror. Holding a big handful of loo-roll at what would have been groin height. With his trousers undone.. But he was over the sink, not the toilet itself..

No I didn't wonder at the time, not until I told another bloke, who nearly pissed himself laughing... Who knew there was any such thing as danger wanks?
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 13:27, 2 replies)

Burger King in Liverpool
by central station was possibly the most public for me, although woods, fields and the odd street have also been used.

Perhaps the worst time was with an ex at a car park in a wooded area near where I live...

We were getting it on, clothes were partly off and much caressing and groping was going on when I look up and see some dude looking through the window at us, I get up and make ready to chase him (in actuality I'm screaming like a girl for my GF to drive off at speed)

Found out a couple of weeks later that it's a popular dogging spot...

Remember folks, in future do your research before trying out a new place!
(Fuckarma was masturbating into your handbag, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 12:32, 1 reply)

Alphabetical order
I love it outdoors but I have been known to say no to outdoor sex just because the first letter of the place we chose is the same letter as somewhere else we've done it!

It is a bit convenient having to go somewhere else to do the deed but I am trying to get a full alphabet of places and there is no point in getting duplicates if you can avoid it.

We did consider going for alphabetical order as well but that was pushing things a bit too far.

So far we're half way through the alphabet with:

Aylesbury
Brockenhurst
Burwash
Fordingbridge (3 separate ocassions)
Heathfield
Jersey (middle of nowhere so no palce name)
Kos - Greece
Idstein Germany
Looe
Minsted
Puerto Pollensa - Mallorca (double points)
Rye
S.......... (name omitted to protect the guilty!)
Worthing
Xante - Greece (also known as Zakynthos)
Zakynthos - Greece (also known as Xante)
(Al987, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 12:28, 3 replies)

G20 Riots
One of the best things about the April 1st Climate Camp in the City was that it afforded us the opportunity to hump away in a tent surrounded by thousands of protesters, approximately four feet away from a police van brimming with riot cops.

Very satisfying.
(Raphanizein, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 12:21, Reply)

Wet and Wild North shields
Me and Mrs Reptilianoid decided to go at it in the tunnel at wet and wild.

Things were going swimmingly (Arf!) with me pushing her bikini to one side and having to heave 3 times to get the old fella in due to her tightness (ok nothing to do with the story but I like brag about it when appropriate)

Pounding away merrily content in the knowledge that we could see both entrances to the tunnel (again Arf!) not realising that there was a young lad of about 10 who could do a pretty good impression of a miniature submarine and had swam through the whole length of the tunnel underwater. The view must have been quite spectacular.

As we left we seen him talking excitedly with his mates and pointing to the tunnel. Exit stage right (Rapidly)

The crack was good and bad at the same time.

Length? Well the water was cold, but she didn't complain (shes a good sport)
(Reptilianoid, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 12:05, Reply)

Why I like fishing
The riverbank is peppered by sunlight, a leaf-green canopy breaking a brilliant blue sky. We have been here for an hour. When we left his house he promised me action and I refuse to leave until I'm satisfied. I watch his long fingers knowing how skillful and dexterous they can be. He pulls his t-shirt over his head in one quick movement baring a golden body slick with salted sweat. I respond by slowly unfastening the top buttons of my shirt.

We lean closer in anticipation. I am so near that I can smell the raw scent of his skin. I breathe lightly and the hairs on his arms stand skywards and I see him stiffen as his rod jerks, just once. He lightly caresses the thick shaft, barely touching it. The tip quivers. Another jerk! He grins, wild-eyed, and begins to move his hand.

"Let me!" I murmur, and I place my hands on his. He groans.

Together we manipulate the pole's pleasing thickness. There is a splash and I feel moisture on my skin. "Beautiful..." he whispers, lowering his hand into the wetness. My breath catches in my throat. I move my hands faster and he leans over me towards the dampness between my legs. He grunts as he dips down and in one commanding movement he snatches his hand away victoriously as I cry out in pleasure and relief and we collapse in a shuddering release, spent, back onto the riverbank.

Length? A good 13 inches and it smelt of fish.

[Edit: photo in replies]
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 12:04, 13 replies)

Door 4 of the Albert Hall
It's now Door 3 (I think) and you can buy expensive drinks and crisps there during the interval, but I still look at the doorway and think, "that's my step".

Can't believe I've only just remembered this. It won't make page one, but at least it's true.
( Sonic the Hedgetrimmer doesn't care what you think, Mon 27 Apr 2009, 11:46, Reply)