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Big Ginger Blanket

23 Jun

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

19 Aug

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

13 Jul

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.

High Wycombe

7 Jul

High Wycombe holds mixed emotions for me. I detest the town with a passion, but it’s where I had my first sexual experience of sorts, so all the old feelings and memories come flooding back whenever I pass through the town. The town itself is dirty, smelly and full of Jeremy Kyle guest types, and not even the recent introduction of a brand new shopping centre has done much to enhance the reputation of the town. Underage mothers, illegal immigrants and rowdy teenage boys mix in harmony and it truly is a horrible, depressing place to go and shop on a Saturday afternoon.

However, I still get that ‘butterflies-in-the-stomach’ feeling of nervousness and excitement thanks to seeing a naked girl in the bus station toilets. She was the first girl I ever got to see naked in the flesh, and was named Ebony; funnily enough, she was black (not that I have a problem with that – otherwise I wouldn’t have wanted to sleep with her). I’d been to a Wycombe Wanderers game with my mates, and afterwards we walked to the dingy bus station so we could all get our designated rides home. I however, (unbeknown to me) was going to get rather a different ride that evening. Ebony was stood inside the bus station with 3 of her friends, sheltering from the rain and probably spitting on the floor. As my mates got onto their buses and disappeared to their homes, I was left alone waiting for my bus, feeling quite intimated at being surrounded by a group of girls. I sat patiently, head down, trying to keep myself to myself, but it was hard not to stare at Ebony. Whilst her friends were quite loud and brash, Ebony carried herself in a much more feminine manner. Not only that, she was stunning; like a young Naomi Campbell, minus the punching and violent outbursts. She had beautiful, big brown eyes, which provided the finishing touch to her perfect, pretty face. Although she was quite slender, I could tell she had an ample pair of love pillows, and looking at her got my teenage body quite excited.

After 10 minutes of being sat by myself, Ebony and her friends came over and made small talk. They weren’t the bitchy adolescent girls I’d imagined them to be, they were all very kind and asked what I’d been up to, where I lived etc. I mumbled my answers and felt myself getting red in the face, but I noticed Ebony smiling at me, which reassured me I wasn’t making a complete fool of myself. We chatted for a while when I realised my bus was due in 5 minutes. Needing a piss, I made my excuses and ventured to the toilets. Unsurprisingly, they were filthy; as I urinated into the metal trough, fag-ends floated down stream to the clogged up drain. I was shaking off, when I heard the door open behind me. Being young, I quickly put my cock away, expecting an older gentleman to come and stand next to me, and embarrass me with his bigger penis. I turned, felt a damp patch form on my cotton boxer shirts from where I hadn’t shaken enough, and there was Ebony.

Ebony smiled and pushed me into a cubical, switching the lock to ‘occupied’ behind her. I almost fell over, much was the haste that she led me into it, and I kept asking what she was up to. My rigid shaft stood to attention, but I was absolutely shitting myself. I hadn’t done anything like this before but Ebony seemed to know exactly what she was doing. She stripped naked, her labia was so smooth and delicate and reminded me of a Labrador’s mouth; dark and shiny but with a thin pink trim. As she released my rod from its lair, the pungent smell of urine filled the air, and a couple of droplets dribbled out of my foreskin.

“I…I didn’t shake properly”, I stammered.

With that, Ebony punched me square on the nose, and followed it up with a slap to the back of my head. It stung me, and I was in complete shock. Then, she bent over, (I noticed her arsehole widen slightly as she did so), took my wallet from my jeans, picked up her clothes and left me. I sat in tears for a good quarter of an hour, on the toilet, head in hands. I finally plucked up the courage to put my clothes on, and examined the damage in the mirror. It was nothing too bad, a slightly bleeding nose – it was my mascualinity and pride that had been hurt the most. To make matters worse, I had to scrounge 20p off an old woman so that I could ring my mum so she could come and collect me.

High Wycombe – do not go there

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