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- a member for 18 years, 0 months and 26 days
- has posted 12 messages on the main board
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- has posted 2 stories and 0 replies on question of the week
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» Not Losing Your Virginity
Bad choice
I was 17, so were these two birds and I was at school with them both. 'Blonde' was a thin perky little stunner with fabulously uplifted breasts, a waist you could tie a shoelace around, and an arse like two splendidly arranged canteloupes glued together. 'Brunette' was more on the average side: tall and gawky, round face, biggish nose, a little heavier than normal. No, let's not be overly kind: she was porky. I went to the movies with them and we sat in the back row. Blonde immediately plonked herself on one side of mine, very VERY close, her right tit just about cradled under my armpit. She kept looking at me funny and touching my arm. Brunette sat on the other side of me but kept her distance.
To cut a long story short, nothing happened that night but a couple of weeks later I shagged the Brunette. I had the misfortune of actually going out with her for a while (she proved to be borderline insane). I saw Blonde at university the following year, she had become even more scrumptious. We began chatting and she revealed to me, in these exact words, "Do you remember that night at the movies? I told Brunette that I was going to flirt with you, and if we got together, I was going to fuck you." It would have been my first one... and hers.
Yes, shoot me now.
(Sat 28th Oct 2006, 2:33, More)
Bad choice
I was 17, so were these two birds and I was at school with them both. 'Blonde' was a thin perky little stunner with fabulously uplifted breasts, a waist you could tie a shoelace around, and an arse like two splendidly arranged canteloupes glued together. 'Brunette' was more on the average side: tall and gawky, round face, biggish nose, a little heavier than normal. No, let's not be overly kind: she was porky. I went to the movies with them and we sat in the back row. Blonde immediately plonked herself on one side of mine, very VERY close, her right tit just about cradled under my armpit. She kept looking at me funny and touching my arm. Brunette sat on the other side of me but kept her distance.
To cut a long story short, nothing happened that night but a couple of weeks later I shagged the Brunette. I had the misfortune of actually going out with her for a while (she proved to be borderline insane). I saw Blonde at university the following year, she had become even more scrumptious. We began chatting and she revealed to me, in these exact words, "Do you remember that night at the movies? I told Brunette that I was going to flirt with you, and if we got together, I was going to fuck you." It would have been my first one... and hers.
Yes, shoot me now.
(Sat 28th Oct 2006, 2:33, More)
» Housemates from hell
She asked...
...to move into our gaff and sleep on the lounge floor for a couple of days while she house-hunted for a place of her own. Three months later she was still there, eating our food, sleeping until noon, staying awake until 4am with every fucking light on (and not chipping in for the electricity bill). She also used two fulls roll of toilet paper a day, leading us to think she was not tearing off strips but grabbing the whole roll and sponging down her copious, piss-sodden saddlebags with the fricken thing. Whenever we broached the subject of her moving on, she became hysterical, sobbing about having to live in the street, yadda yadda. The last straw was me coming home from the pub, admittedly slightly early, to find her giving mouth-love to a somewhat unclean black guy IN MY BED (this helped explain some of the stranger stains which had been sporadically appearing on my sheets). We gave her 48 hours to move on but not before Chris and I left her a farewell gift of our own DNA, neatly folded into her clean, pristine panties then slotted back into her suitcase. Never seen her again and never fucking want to.
(Sat 7th Apr 2007, 6:20, More)
She asked...
...to move into our gaff and sleep on the lounge floor for a couple of days while she house-hunted for a place of her own. Three months later she was still there, eating our food, sleeping until noon, staying awake until 4am with every fucking light on (and not chipping in for the electricity bill). She also used two fulls roll of toilet paper a day, leading us to think she was not tearing off strips but grabbing the whole roll and sponging down her copious, piss-sodden saddlebags with the fricken thing. Whenever we broached the subject of her moving on, she became hysterical, sobbing about having to live in the street, yadda yadda. The last straw was me coming home from the pub, admittedly slightly early, to find her giving mouth-love to a somewhat unclean black guy IN MY BED (this helped explain some of the stranger stains which had been sporadically appearing on my sheets). We gave her 48 hours to move on but not before Chris and I left her a farewell gift of our own DNA, neatly folded into her clean, pristine panties then slotted back into her suitcase. Never seen her again and never fucking want to.
(Sat 7th Apr 2007, 6:20, More)