The Daughter of Bob Geldof

I’d always secretly fancied Peaches Geldof since she first started appearing in the newspapers at 16. I’m not sure if it was the trying-desperately-hard-to-be-cool aura she gave off, or the fact that she looked as if she’d let you wank into her handbag without batting an eyelid.Yes, she wasn’t the type of girl I’d typically go for, but there was definitely something about her that I found most alluring, and so, I had a big crush. With her being the daughter of one of the most famous men in the country, and the fact she’d started the make a name for herself as a ‘celebrity’, I knew my chances of anything happening (should we ever meet) were incredibly low. Fate, however, works in a funny way, and it was on a sweaty summers day that I finally got my chance to chat up Peaches Geldof.

It was a Friday and I was in Camden for a meeting with a client. It was nothing too fancy; I was in casual attire and we held the meeting over a pub lunch – all went well. It went so well in fact, that an agreement was met earlier that I had expected, and so I had a couple of hours to kill, rather than go back to the office until the end of the day. I went into the Arizona Bar for a pint, whilst I perused the newspapers and contemplated what to do next. Out the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl come into the bar and ask to use the toilets. I didn’t pay too much attention to be honest; I was deep in thought. It was only when I heard the girl return that I did look up, and to my surprise it was Peaches Geldof, dressed all fashionably, with sunglasses on despite being inside, a leopard print dress and finished off with a moody pout.

‘It’s now or never’, I thought, rather hastily to myself, and I called out her name.

“Peaches!”, I shouted. She turned and looked at me as if I’d farted in her mouth.

“Erm, can I get a photo with you please?”, I enquired, rather less boisterous than my first call.

Peaches smiled almost awkwardly, and then agreed to the photo and came over to my table. As we got chatting, I lied to her about my ‘love for fashion’, and talk turned to Peaches wish to bring out her own label. I explained that I may be able to help her, and offered her a drink, which she accepted without hesitation. As we continued to chat, I forgot that I was talking to quite a famous person; to me she was just another girl down the pub, although as the drink intake increased, she was beginning to look very attractive indeed, and my confidence levels soared tenfold.

“Peaches?”, I said softly, and I began to trace my finger up her ankle, following the outline of a garish flower tattoo she had running all the way up her leg.

“Do you fancy getting a hotel room?” I continued, finger now at the top of her thigh. Peaches blushed. She tilted her head forward slightly, and then looked up at me. A smile formed across her delicate lips,

“Not yet, mister! Let’s have a few more drinks first”.

‘What a tease’, I thought, before agreeing. We made our way to another small pub, of which I don’t remember the name, where Peaches was good mates with the owner. We started on shots of sambuca; I don’t think I spent any money, much was the willingness of the bar staff to keep our drinks topped up. After an hour a so, Peaches took me by the hand and led me up some stairs at the back of the pub. I asked where we were going,

“It’s ok. I stay here a lot – I basically have my own room”, slurred Peaches. Her faux New York/London accent was turning me on something rotten. As we reached the top of the stairs, she pushed me into a room and we started kissing. It was drunken, sloppy kissing, but it was passionate. My hands began to wander, but every time I ventured south towards her cock-slot, my hands were pushed away. I had a raging erection, and I was willing Peaches to take it in one of her grubby little hands. But she wouldn’t.

We carried on kissing and I think she sensed my sexual desperation. “I’m sorry, we can’t shag”, she said, every word punctuated with a kiss. “I have a fiancee”

“Well why the fuck am I here then?” I asked. I remember feeling both angry but incredibly aroused by the fact that she’d used the word ‘shag’.

“We can watch each other?”, Peaches mumbled. Well, that was enough for me, I was naked in no time, and I slipped her out of her dress. She lay onto a bed and began strumming away like George Formby on speed, whilst I stood over her, tugging myself silly, trying to aim my pulsating bell-end at her mouth in case I had a chance of receiving a sly suck. The site of a drunken Peaches Geldof, fwapping away blissfully, was mesmerising. My whole body tensed as an arc of gooey mess shot from my rigid rod and landed on Peaches’ leg.

“THAT’S FOR ‘DO THEY KNOW IT’S CHRISTMAS?’ YOU FRIGID TWAT”, I shouted as my first release trickled off her leg onto the bed. Peaches was in a daze, but carried on rubbing her flaps slowly. I felt the urge to go again,

“AND THAT’S FOR LIVE 8, YOU SHOWER OF SHIT”, my jism landed a good foot short of hitting her again. I knew it was time to leave. I dressed hurriedly and fled, leaving Peaches half cut and half naked in the upstairs of a pub.

Hiding in the bed

This story doesn’t feature me but two of my close friends. We’ll call them Ray and Ashley. They had been out drinking together, throwing a few abstract shapes on the dance floors of High Wycombe and were suitably drunk. Ray had happened to pull a tasty little blonde lass named Chloe early on in the evening, and Chloe and her mates had joined the two inebriated rapscallions on their jaunt around the pubs and bars of the Buckinghamshire town for the rest of the night. A great time was had by all I’m told; sambuca shots were downed, jugs of sickly sweet cocktails were shared, and the newly acquainted group shared laughs aplenty.

 

Eventually, 2am came, and with it, closing time. The gang made their way over to Dennis’ Kebab Van (now a small celebrity after being bigged-up by rotund comedian James Corden – who would have thought he liked junk food?-  Cracking tits though). Food was purchased and Chloe was intent on going back with Ray for the night. As Ashley had already arranged to stay at Ray’s as well, the trio finished their food and headed for the taxi rank.

 

The taxi journey itself was uneventful; I’m not sure if Ray tried to get his fingers wet or not, but with Ashley sat in the back of the taxi with him and Chloe, it made things rather awkward; after all, he didn’t want his best mate to look like a gooseberry. Time was passed with drunken conversation and banter, rather than the attempted sneaky blowjob Ray had been hoping for. Soon, they arrived home and headed for their bedrooms, with Chloe obviously joining Ray in his king size bed, and Ashley heading off to the spare room to sleep on a single mattress

 

The inevitable happened; Ray and Chloe exchanged bodily fluids and then passed out, whilst Ashley failed in a half-hearted attempt to relieve himself of his own bodily fluid before passing out. However, at around 4am, he woke from his drunken stupor with a raging headache and decided to go downstairs to acquire a drink of water.

 

To get downstairs, Ashley had to pass Ray’s bedroom, which was on the opposite side of the landing. Still drunk and feeling a little mischievous, he decided to take a peek into the bedroom to see what the two lovers were up to. He sneaked over to the door slowly, trying to avoid the creakiest floorboards. Then, he opened the door slowly, pulling it towards him so there was a gap big enough for him to slip through. As he peered over at the bed, he could see both Chloe and Ray asleep, with Chloe on her back nearest the wall, and Ray in the centre of the bed, facing her. The cover was pulled over both of them.

 

Dismayed at not even seeing a female nipple, let alone a hint of boob, Ashley saw how snug they both looked in the big spacious bed. It looked incredibly inviting, so, forgetting the reason why he had got up in the first place, he decided to get in with them. He tiptoed across the bedroom, pulled the corner of the duvet back and slipped in. Then, he pulled the cover over his whole body including his head and promptly fell asleep.

 

Ashley woke feeling hot. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep and he struggled to remember where he was. Then he heard movement next to him. Still he stayed under the covers, racking his hungover brain, trying to retrace his movements. Unexpectedly, he heard a small groan. It was a female groan, he was sure of it. Everything came flooding back to him. He knew exactly where he was.

 

Peering from the top of the duvet, Ashley saw that it was still quite dark, but he could make out the figure of Chloe sat on top of Ray, riding him like a nimble jockey. Ray was laid next to Ashley in the bed, with hands behind his head, unaware that his mate was next to him. Ashley’s initial feelings of shock and then slight horniness quickly dispersed; he now felt like a complete pervert and at a complete loss as to how he could get out of the situation. He couldn’t sneak back out of the bedroom as they’d easily see him, and he didn’t really want to take the chance that Ray and Chloe would fall back asleep once they’d finished their energetic early morning ritual. Instead, he chose another option. An option that has ensured this story gets told time and time again amongst friends.

 

Keeping his legs flat to the bad, Ashley thrust his back and head forwards up off the mattress so that he was sat bolt upright. The duvet cover slipped off of his face, revealing him like a prize on a game show. As he reached the position where he was completely vertical, he waved his right hand in a cheery fashion and said a hearty ‘Helllllooooooo’.

 

Chloe immediately grabbed for something to cover her pendulous breasts with and jumped off Ray’s cock just as quick as she’d hopped on.  Still, Ashley sat in his bolt upright position with a huge grin on his face, maintaining the little wave with his hand, just staring into the same space. Chloe was now screaming at him asking him what the fuck he was playing at and Ray was chuckling to himself, still slightly pissed and a bit annoyed that his early morning shag had been rudely interrupted. After a good 30 seconds of waving, Ashley rolled off the edge of the bed, did a forward roll and left the room, crying with laughter.

New Girlfriend

When I was 19, I started dating a girl named Rachel who I met down my local. We’d been seeing each other for about 3 weeks when I sensed there was a problem ‘between the sheets’. Rachel didn’t say as much, but I could sense it and there was an underlying doubt in my mind that she was not impressed with my sexual performance, so to speak. No matter what I tried, she didn’t seem satisfied, and I could tell that she was blatantly faking her moans and groans of pleasure. It hit me hard; I was only 19, my girlfriend thought I was useless in bed, and as the relationship progressed a few weeks further, I found it more of a chore to put in the effort when having sex as I knew that she wasn’t enjoying it. ‘If only she’d tell me or show me what she likes’ I thought to myself time and time again, ‘then this relationship would be perfect’.

 I was in a position that I hadn’t found myself in before. I couldn’t go to my mates and ask for their advice; I had far too much male pride to do that, and I knew that if my suspicions should come out then they would rip the piss out of me non-stop. Knowing them, they would have offered to have a go on her themselves. I also couldn’t ask Rachel’s friends because, well, that would just be strange. Sitting in my room one night after I’d got back from Rachel’s house, I decided to go and talk to the only person that I thought would be able to give me advice; my Dad.

 Now, this in itself was a big thing for me. We’d never had ‘the chat’, and we didn’t really talk about things like this with each other, apart from the odd ‘Don’t get many of them to the pound’ comment my Dad would make in the car when we drove past a busty female pedestrian. I inhaled deeply and went to the front room, where my Dad was watching the TV.

“Dad”, I said quietly. “I…erm…Can I talk to you about something?”

My Dad, eyes remaining transfixed on the TV, muttered “Yes” and so I began explaining to him in great detail about my fears; about how I didn’t think I was satisfying Rachel, about my constant worry that she’d leave me for someone else if I couldn’t please her in the bedroom and that I didn’t know what to do to make things better. It was a long outpouring of my feelings, and I had to check twice that my Dad was actually listening to me as he remained focused on the TV. After I’d finished, he finally looked at me,

“Son, you don’t need to worry about things like that”. He took a sip of his coffee before he continued, “What you need is a pillow.”

“A pillow?”, I was confused.

“Yes son, a pillow. When you’re doing the dirty, slip a pillow underneath her bum. Works all the time, you can’t fail to hit the spot, she’ll love it. Trust me, when I first started dating your mu..”

“THANKS DAD!” I cut him off before he could go any further and retired to bed optimistic about my future with Rachel. The following day was Friday, and we were going out for drinks before staying the night at my house.

Friday came and drinks were enjoyed. We had a good laugh and my sexual fears and frustrations temporarily disappeared. It wasn’t until the walk home that I started to get a bit nervous about doing the deed again, but my Dad’s words of advice the night before were still ringing in my ears. We eventually got home and I checked the front room to see if my parents were still up. There was no sign of them, so I assumed that they were in bed. Rachel and I headed upstairs, and being quite merry, it wasn’t long before we were kissing passionately, and undressing each other, whilst trying to keep quiet so that we didn’t wake my parents, who were asleep in the next room. Before I knew it, I was on top of Rachel’s perfect, naked body and thrusting away. As usual, I was getting nothing in response, so heeding my Dad’s advice, I reached for pillow. I withdrew temporarily, and lifted Rachel’s legs and pert bum off the bed, sliding the pillow under her. Within seconds I was back inside her sponge cavern and was starting to build up a nice rhythm. I then saw something that will stay with me to the day I die.

My Dad stealthly rolled out from under my bloody bed, gave me a quick thumbs up and crept, on all fours, out of my room. The thing that perplexed me the most was his grin – he looked so pleased that I’d done what he told me to do. It was enough to end my night’s action. I feigned a headache to Rachel (who fortunately didn’t witness any of this) and we went to sleep. All I could think of whilst I lay in bed was my Dad’s big, cheesy grin; like a Cheshire cat.

I got a lock on my room after that.

Sexual Ignorance

A few years back I was indulging in drunken conversation with a lady friend when inevitably the subject matter turned to sex, and in particular, our favourite things to get up to in the bedroom. Having confessed to enjoying having her nipples lightly bitten, her labia being stroked with lace and to loving the sensation of frozen peas being pushed against her pulsating pussy, Melody was eager for me to regale tales of what I had got up to the bedroom and what I enjoyed the most. For the next half hour or so, I went into great detail of what had really got me going between the sheets, and mentioned the following:

Beetroot Enema – I had first tried this at the tender age of 16 with my first proper girlfriend, an 18 year old gypsy girl named Rosie, who was born a hermaphrodite. She would blend up 4 or 5 beetroot, mix in some ginger, and then induce the liquified goodness into my rectum using a hose pipe and a bike pump. The slightly burning sensation was, well, sensational, and in no time at all my gutstick would be engorged and ready for action. I explained to Melody that I had indulged in beetroot enemas a fair few times since.

The Lizard – Wendy Halflove, the girl I left Rosie for, suffered from extreme psoriasis. Nothing gave her greater pleasure than me rubbing a pumice stone all over her naked body. Her toes would curl, and she would dig her fingernails into my shoulders as she came; I wouldn’t even have to enter her, it was the pumice that did all the work. This made sex less of a chore for me; I would merely have a wank once she was ‘finished’. However, I would be covered in flaky skin at the time, resembling a giant lizard. I have always made sure I have pumice in my top drawer since. Melody seemed confused by this but I carried on….

Floater – Quite simple really, I had some great experiences with a 24 stone gothic woman named Medusa. I would take a bath, and she would squat on the side and defecate into the water. The thing that turned me on the most was watching the foul faeces leave her; it was the way her buttocks would slowly separate and the brown goodness would appear, like a tiny mole poking its head out of the ground. I would listen intently as she strained, and then lay back blissfully as another bog-trout joined me for a swim. Medusa also introduced me to the wonderful world of sploshing, although sometimes the sessions would be cut short and she seemed to have an overwhelming urge to eat most of the food.

Month-Old Water Balloon – This is something that really got one of my exes horny. I had dated Abigail when I was 20 and at the time it didn’t do anything for me, but since we split, I have had many a wank about it. For one month, I knew that every morning would begin with a blow job. First though, I was made to go for a piss, but not shake off much of the excess. Abigail loved it when my foreskin retracted and a few droplets of urine escaped and trickled down my shaft. She would then work me into a frenzy with her mouth, using her hand to aid the process. I was under strict orders to ejaculate into her mouth, which I did. She would then spit the contents of her mouth into a small sandwich bag, put an elastic band on it to seal, and place under her bed. She did this every days, for 30 days, until she had enough of my putrid spunk in the bag for the next stage of her fetish. This simply involved me throwing the bag at her so the contents would explode all over her. By now, Melody was looking perplexed.

The Matisse – Denise Glover, a 40-something I picked up one night at my local introduced felt pens to my nocturnal activities. We would draw pictures on one another’s intimate areas with the pens; it was fantastic foreplay. I remember drawing a face on each of her breasts once, using her hardened nipple as the nose. Denise would write naughty words such as ‘cock’ on my stomach, and then draw an arrow to my actual cock. Alongside this, she would write poems about what she was going to do with it. It was great fun, although I was caused great embarrassment in a public toilet one time, when the gentleman next to me spotted my fluorescent orange bellend which I had forgot to clean. After sex, we would clean the filthy words off each other in the shower, which often resulted in more sex. This led to more foreplay, and the felt pens would come out again. It was a vicious circle; we once had sex for 72 hours non-stop.

I looked at Melody, having poured out my most personal sexual experiences. “Have you tried any of them?”, I asked. Melody looked dumbstruck, and her jaw dropped a little.

“Erm, no”, she wimpered.

No?! No?! I couldn’t believe it! She’d never even heard of the sexual practices I’d mentioned, despite being sexually active herself! What an amazing display of ignorance on her part.

A new account, coffee and a bit of oral sex

I’d decided I wanted to open a new savings account and after scanning a few of the comparison websites, Halifax was to be my chosen bank (also aided by the fact that of all the banks, The Halifax is closest to where I live).

Working throughout the week and not wanting to waste my precious weekends, I thought it best to venture to Halifax during a lunch break, giving me 50 minutes to queue, hand over the already filled in application form and ID (including a utility bill)and deposit £10 cash into my newly opened account. What I hadn’t chanced upon was being served by Susan.

Ahhh, Susan. Her brunette hair and deep brown eyes will forever stay in my memory; her sweet soft lips forever encrusted in my mind in the file marked ‘wanking material’.

‘Cashier number 2 please’ came the voice from the tannoy, and it was finally my turn to be served after about 10 minutes of waiting patiently. As I stepped up to the perspex window of despair, I noticed a radiant smile beaming back at me and a split second later a pretty face, with toussled, tangled locks swept delicately behind each ear. Her eyes were warm and gentle; instantly carming.

My eyes drifted south, and an ample chest, tightly packed into Susan’s blue blouse, heaved back at me with every breathe she took. I thought to myself that I’d be able to peek a bit of bra if I was stood to one side of her, as the fabric between each button was forced apart under the strain of her bust. Dirty thoughts raced through my mind.

“How can I help?” said Susan gently.

‘Shit, I’ve been caught staring’ I thought to myself.

“I’d like to open a new account please” came my mumbled response, my face getting hotter and more crimson by the second. I was in lust; I wanted Susan there and then, it was a longing that I’d never experienced in my life up to that point, and haven’t since.

15 minutes or so passed and my new account was set up and ready for use, but all I could think about during that time was she. I lost the ability to write; I struggled to sign my name. I’m sure I said one or two stupid things, maybe more, but she had laughed at my lame jokes. She twisted her hair in her fingers as she spoke to me. Was this flirting? According to the magazines it was.
I wanted to see Susan again. Soon. But how? It was as she handed me back my ID that I decided to chance it…

“Would you be up for going for a coffee tomorrow lunch time”. I couldn’t believe that I’d come out with it. She was out of my league, a stunner, she’d have a boyfriend for sure.

“Sure, why not. Here’s my number, I have lunch from one to two o’clock tomorrow” replied Susan, smiling.

I smiled back, “See you then”, and walked out of Halifax. I almost jumped and clicked my heels together as I made my way back to work; tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

===========

We sat upstairs in Costa making small talk, edging ever closer to each other until our thighs were touching. I felt an instant shock run up my leg and all the way up my spine. My heart fluttered with desire and I watched her; ‘I could watch her talk forever’, I thought to myself. She was perfect.
She touched my hand as she laughed. I liked it when she did so. She tilted her head slightly to the left when trying to get life anecdotes and small talk from my shy self. I liked this even more.

I’d barely touched my coffee, and she was about a third of the way through her frapucinno when she whispered in my ear, “Follow me”.
She took me by the hand, quite gingerly at first, and then clasped it tightly as we stood up and she skipped towards to female toilets, pulling me with her. Looking around to make sure no-one was looking, she pushed me through the door and led me to a cubicle.

As the cubicle door shut behind her I kissed on the back of the neck as she slid the lock to ‘occupied’. Susan turned and our lips met. They were so soft, so gentle, and her tongue felt warm and almost rough in comparison as it worked with mine. We stumbled backwards, holding each other for support, the kissing getting more frenzied with every passing moment. I felt her reach for the flies on my work trousers and I repayed the favour, being careful not to rub too hard against her polyester trousers for fear of getting a static shock.

Susan’s hands moved from my waist and all the way up my back until she was cupping my neck. Then she slid them outwards across my shoulders, forcing me down onto the toilet as she did so. We both gasped for breath. I remember wiping saliva from the corner of my mouth. As Susan dropped to her knees, my meaty bangstick pulsated and throbbed with all its might, itching to be freed from the cage that was my boxer shorts and into the beautiful wilderness that was Susan’s mouth. I lifted my buttocks slightly so that she could pull my trousers and boxers down.

The blow job was heavenly. Susan’s tongue teased my shaft as she licked gently from my balls up to the tip, smiling and moaning as she did so. This was a huge turn on, knowing that she was enjoying pleasuring me. She teased me, opening her mouth over my cock, but refusing to close until I was near on begging her to suck me into oblivion. By now my shaft was truly awesome; more hard and manly than ever before, aching with the pain and torment of not being relieved. My balls sat tightly, like two vacuum packed ping pong balls, all the while being gently groped by Susan’s ever willing hand. Eventually she took me into her mouth, her eyes looking up at me as she did so. Her eyes looked so innocent, so pure, and I had to remind myself that she was expertly working my cock with both hand and mouth, definitely no amateur, and certainly no angel.

The relief was immense. I saw colours and lights and my hands gripped Susan’s shoulders tightly. My salty love stew dribbled from the corner of Susan’s mouth and my bellend glistened with post cum.

“Best get back to work” she said and she smiled and left me, sat half naked in the female toilets of Costa.

I continued seeing Susan for about 2 months after this first encounter and it is a part of my life that I will always look back on with great fondness. We even had sex in the bank during early evenings when she had to balance the tills. This soon stopped because I couldn’t face cumming whilst looking at a life size cut out of Howard the Halifax Man. She no longer works at the branch; she moved to Devon and was transferred

Damn the Dark

It had been a great night. Alcohol had been consumed in vast quantities, cigarettes had been smoked in abundance, and rug had been cut on the dance floor. ‘What would really top this night off’, I thought to myself, my drunk thoughts tripping over themselves, ‘would be a shag. A sweaty, lust-filled, over-in-minutes, shag’.

 

Fortunately, I had made it to the relative safety of my home with two girls, Nancy and Lisa, who I had been with all night as part of a large group of friends. Unfortunately, they were only with me as they had travelled from Cardiff (I live in Bucks) and they needed somewhere to crash for the night, and they had made it perfectly clear that they were up for no naughtiness (especially with me). We’d been sat around on sofas in my front room for half an hour or so, the girls wrapped up in duvets whilst I ate a greasy kebab (fnarr!); and all the while I was trying to charm the two Welsh ladies into bed but they were having none of it.

 

They were both tired, and had started to sober up slightly so my chances of a quick fumble with either girl had all but vanished. Then talk turned to ghost stories. Lisa started off with a story about her local church being haunted and that she’d actually seen a ghost there. Nancy got scared by this, and pulled up her duvet around her neck.

 

“Please don’t talk about ghosts”, she said quietly, “I won’t be able to sleep, especially in the dark”.

 

Lisa and I laughed and carried on regardless, talking about various clips and stories we’d seen on the internet. As we went on, I could see Nancy literally start shaking with fear, her eyes filling up with tears.

 

“Guys, seriously, I’ll need the lights on now otherwise I won’t be able to sleep on my own” she said, pleadingly.

 

My drunken brain hatched a plan. I’d cut the electric, plunging the house into darkness, and Nancy would have to have someone in bed with her. That someone would be me. I excused myself and went to the kitchen and flicked the switch on the circuit breaker. Everything went dark; lights went out, the TV went off and the kettle stopped boiling. The only thing that broke the tranquility of the dark was the screams emanating from the front room. Nancy and Lisa were shrieking.

 

“It’s ok, it’s just a power cut”, I shouted as I returned, feeling along the walls to aid me. “Happens all the time round here”, I lied. 

 

Lisa and Nancy lay side by side on the King size bed, with me on the outside next to Lisa, wearing just my underwear. Nancy had point-blankly refused to sleep in the room I had provided and Lisa was also too scared to be left alone. The dark has a habit of playing tricks with people’s minds, it amplifies the vulnerability of situations, and this had played to my advantage. All the talk of ghosts, and now the ‘power cut’ had scared the girls quite splendidly, and they wanted me around to ‘protect them’. As we lay in pitch black darkness, the only sounds I could hear was the soft breathing of the girls, and the clock ticking on my wall. I didn’t know if either Lisa or Nancy were awake, the conversation had died out 20 or so minutes earlier, but I did know that I was horny.

 

Their sweet, fruity perfume tickled my nostrils as I inhaled, and in moments my gristle truncheon was standing proud as I thought of undressing each girl slowly and having my wicked way with them. I tucked my bobbing member under the elastic of my boxers, keeping it flat against me so that Lisa would not bump into it. I would not have minded if she did, but I didn’t want her to think I was some sort of sexual pervert. I wanted to play it cool. I lay silently for what must have been about 10 minutes, fighting the urge to start kissing Lisa on the small of her back. I wanted her to roll over and feel my erection and get turned on, getting carried away with the situation, so we could hump like animals throughout the night.

 

‘Nancy would join in’, I thought. ‘Yeah, she definitely would. First she’d play with herself and then she’d join in’. We would wake in a sticky, sweaty mess, holding each other, and start all over again.

 

Then I farted.

 

It was a loud, reverberating fart, that if I hadn’t been in the company of two females, I would have been proud of. I would have laughed at it. It was a kebab-backed, deep, meaty fart; a hearty *pop*, like a shotgun. My guts twisted and churned and I placed my hands on my stomach as if to hold any further anal explosions in. Luckily, Nancy and Lisa didn’t say anything; their breathing remained constant – I hadn’t been heard.

 

My bowels felt like they were rolling over in my belly, as my sphincter clenched tightly. ‘Dodgy kebab’ I muttered and I got up out of bed to feel my way to the toilet. As it was a cold night, I reached down for my dressing gown, dressed and crept slowly and silently out of the bedroom, being careful not to stride too far in fear of fecal matter seeping from my anus. The relief as I sat on the porcelain throne was instant. Vile smelling, sticky fluid poured from my back passage, hitting the water with a great force causing splash-back. It tickled slightly. The stench was putrid. Once I was sure I was empty, I wiped and went back the bedroom, where the girls were still asleep, whimpering quietly to myself. The next thing I knew, it was morning. I had fallen asleep and missed my chance.

 

I woke to glorious sunlight seeping through the curtains. Nancy and Lisa were still in bed, talking about the night before.

 

“Morning ladies, fancy a cuppa? I should be able to find the emergency backup switch now there’s some light”.

 

Nancy wanted tea, Lisa an orange juice, so I felt down to the floor for my dressing gown. As I picked it up I span my legs out of the bed and onto the floor, and then lifted the dressing gown to cover my morning wood. With my back to the girls, I slipped it on.

 

“Erm, why are you wearing my dressing gown?” Lisa asked.

 

I looked at what I was wearing. A pink fluffy dressing gown. I looked over at the door and there hung my BHS blue dressing gown. I turned to look at Lisa and her face dropped –

 

“What the f*** is that on my dressing gown?” she shouted, pointing at me accusingly.

 

Dry, crusty poo clung to the dressing gown like a limpet. The splash-back had been powerful.

The Greengrocer’s Daughter

When I was 18, I used to date a girl named Sarah, 21. Her father Bert was a greengrocer and a thoroughly nice chap and her mother Lucy was a very attractive lady and very welcoming. However, they probably wouldn’t have been so friendly if they knew what Sarah and I got up to with some of Bert’s produce.
Now, as I was still relatively young and a bit of an amateur when it came to sex, some of the things Sarah did shocked me a little to say the least. Highlights of our relationship included:

 

– Sarah using leeks as a makeshift dildo. Not just 1, a whole bundle of them, held in position with an elastic band. After climax, she’d lay exhausted and sweaty with leeks protruding from her spam purse, sticking out in all directions. I used to call her ‘The Praying Mantis’ when she was in this position as it looked like she had some extra green legs.

 

– She asked me whip her with runner beans. I felt a bit weird doing this, mainly because she’d hang a couple of turnips (tied in place by their stalks) to my scrotum and they’d dangle about like some sort of ball-bag tumour. I’d then have to have anal sex with her and push a turnip into her quim. She really got off on this

 

– I made some anal beads using 5 radishes and some nylon string. Getting them into her back passage wasn’t a problem, her sphincter seemed to lap them up, as if it was swallowing them. The problem occured when one end of the string came untied and one radish got left behind as I pulled the Rampant Radish(TM) out. Watching her poo the remaining radish out will stay with me forever – It was like a baby’s head crowning at first, and then it shot out at force and rolled across the bed. She let out a sigh in relief.

 

– She would make us dress as Adam and Eve. We’d wear cabbage leaves over our privates and she’d have huge mushrooms covering her nipples. After taking a bite from an apple she’d have to punish herself. This was done by me – my gutstick was the serpent and she’d suck me into oblivion

 

Those were the days.

Big Ginger Blanket

Craig had always been a bit simple. He was a good lad, lacking severely in common sense, but that’s why I liked him so much. Nights out were better when Craig was around.
I’d been seeing Natalie for a few weeks, things were ok; I think we both knew it was nothing serious. On the Friday night of this particular tale, I had a bit of a dilemma on my hands. Natalie wanted me to go out for drinks with her and then back to hers for a game of hide the sausage, but Craig had already asked me to go out on the lash with him. Not one for standing up my mates, especially after already committing myself, but not wanting to miss out on the chance of getting my willy wet, I decided to compromise. I asked Natalie to bring along a friend, and we’d all go out together.

At 7 o’clock, I went to Craig’s for a couple of beers before we went to the pub. As usual, Craig was in good spirits and looking forward to the night ahead.

“Who’s Natalie bringing out then?” Craig enquired.

“I’m not sure actually, I could ring her if you want?”

“Nah, no point, we’re meant to be meeting them soon. I’ll wait and see. I hope she’s fit”.

“Well I’ve met two of her mates and they’re both nice”, I said, lying.

We got to the pub and got a drink in each. The girls were running late (as usual) so we found a table and waited, passing comments on the various people coming in and out of the pub. By the time the girls eventually showed up, we were on our forth pint.

“Hi guys, sorry we’re late. This is my friend Sandra by the way”.

To say Craig was disappointed when he saw Sandra would be an understatement. He was gutted. She was, to put it nicely, hideous. She was very fat, with at least one band of blubber hanging over the top of her jeans. Her head was quite big, and red, and she had garish ginger hair that looked like it hadn’t been brushed for a while. She reminded me of a ginger Grotbags. Her hair clashed quite spectacularly with her bright pink t-shirt.

“We’ll get the drinks in”, I said, pulling Craig up from his chair and to his feet.
At the bar, Craig was in a sombre mood.
“I was hoping to get a shag tonight”, he garbled, knocking back his drink.
“You still can, mate, Sandra’s probably up for it”, I teased.

“Fuck you”.

The night went well. We all sat and chatted and had a good laugh. Sandra, for all her shortcomings in the looks department, was good fun, and was drinking pints at an alarming speed. In between drinks, we downed shots and before long, we were all in a sorry state. Natalie suggested we carry on the session back at her place, so we left the pub and jumped in a taxi.
Back at hers, we moved onto vodka; Craig was having neat shots, whilst the rest of us mixed it with orange juice. I sensed Natalie was eager to get to bed, so we made our excuses. Sandra said that she was going to stay up for a while, whilst Craig didn’t really know what was going on, he seemed to be happy where he was, sprawled on a chair. Natalie tossed him a blanket and said that he could kip on her sofa, and then we went upstairs to her room.

I woke the next morning with my head pounding. Natalie was already up and dressed, and urging me to get up.
“Turn the fucking light off, Natalie. What time is it?”
“Nearly 10. Haven’t you got football today?”
She was right. I dragged myself out of the bed, slung my clothes on and staggered downstairs. Crag was awake, sat in the same chair, fully clothed. I didn’t think he’d got changed for bed and had just slept where he fell asleep.

“I was wondering when you’d be up, mate. Come on, let’s go”, he said as I walked into the front room.
“What did you get up to then?” I probed.
“Just ring a taxi, I’ll tell you on the way”.

Ten minutes later, we were climbing into a taxi. I’d said bye to Natalie, but there was no sign of Sandra, who had slept in the spare room. As soon as the taxi door closed, I asked Craig to spill the beans.

“Well”, he began. “You know I was fucking hammered, right? Well, I think I might have shagged Sandra last night”

“What do you mean, you think you shagged her. You either did or you didn’t?

“I can’t remember! I was that drunk. But I do know that I woke up this morning next to her and that she was naked”

“You must have shagged her then! Ha-ha! Nice one, Craigy!”

“It gets worse mate”

“Oh, yes, please go on”. I waited with great anticipation. What could top Craig shafting Sandra?

“Well this morning, I woke up and looked at her, and she was laying there snoring like a big fat pig. She looked horrible, but I was feeling a bit horny. So…so… I had a wank over her big ginger carpet”.

“HAA! And she didn’t mind?”

“Well, she was still asleep wasn’t she? So, she still doesn’t know”

“You dirty bastard” was the only response I could come up with; the image of a naked Sandra was now firmly imprinted in my mind, making my hangover a million times worse.

“Please don’t say anything to Natalie”, begged Craig.

I promised I wouldn’t, and I didn’t. I still haven’t to this day. I did however tell all the boys at football that afternoon, and it earned Craig a new nickname; The Phantom Spunker.

Summer Loving

I was sat in a friend’s kitchen enjoying a few beers and cigarettes one Summers evening. As it was a warm night we had the patio door open to let a breeze in, and to let our cigarette smoke out. The conversation was flowing; we chatted about a vast array of subjects, the normal drunken topics such as what would win in a fight out of a kangaroo and a dolphin. We put the world to rights, we chatted about girls and we talked enthusiastically about football. It was a normal night.

 

Suddenly, over the top of our ramblings, we heard the easily recognisable sounds of two people rutting vigorously. Peering from the patio door into the garden, we saw the house backing onto our garden had a solitary bedroom light on and the window was wide open. We fell silent and sat and listened as the two lovers built up into a simultaneous climax, with the woman screaming, “Yes, Mark! Harder, Mark! Harder, Mark!” I felt bad for listening, but who wouldn’t? We held back the laughter and waited. As Mark spilt his creamy load he let out a huge groan of pleasure; he sounded like a walrus with a sore throat. Then, an eerie silence fell – I imagined that the rather vocal pair had collapsed, exhausted onto the bed; their naked bodies entwined, with the woman asking Mark if he loved her, and Mark trying desperately to go to sleep and/or hold in a fart.

 

After 30 seconds or so, we heard another neighbour, who to this day remains anonymous, start a slow hand clap (like those that a crowd does for Olympians as they prepare for a run up in the long jump), interspersed with shouts of “Well done Mark” and “good performance son!”

It was enough to gets us laughing properly and we joined in with the hand clap. Then, the bedroom

window of the lovers was slammed shut and we laughed even harder. Whoever the neighbour was that took it upon himself to start a slow hand clap; I salute you, Sir. You didn’t know we were listening as well, but you must have heard us laughing at your perfect comic timing. I hope you smiled a bit when you heard us.

First Breasts

I was about 11 when I saw the breasts of a Chinese woman. She was pushing her bike along the pavement of a small Buckinghamshire town where I reside, and I was in the car with my Mum on the way to collect my Dad from work.

I couldn’t believe what I’d seen; she had her top pulled down to her waist, tiny denim shorts on and brown sandals. I remember my gut-stick doing that funny turn that happens when you go down a dip in the road really fast in a car.

We picked my Dad up and I was telling him excitedly what I’d seen. On the way back home, we saw her again, only this time being escorted my two policemen. She had yet to pull her top up and on closer inspection I realised that one of her breasts was banana shaped. I remember how care free and happy she looked though, and I looked out for her whenever we drove on that road. I never did see her again.

I miss you, topless Chinese bicycle lady.