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The Coalminer

12 Sep

For a couple of weeks, my brother and I had hatched a plan to pull an extraordinary prank on our mutual friend, James. It came on the back of him getting one over on us with a joke of his own. In private, he had farted into a Pringles tube and quickly sealed it with the lid. Then he found each of us individually and asked if we thought the inside of the tube smelt funny, cue hilarity when we were hit with the fresh pong of his arse hole. We knew we wanted to get him back, but we were undecided about the best way to do it. James often stayed over in the summer holidays for days on end and early suggestions as to how we were going to get him back were quite feeble, including things such as farting in his face whilst he was asleep and putting his hand in water so he pissed himself. What we needed was something that would make James think twice about ever pulling a stunt like his Pringle tube fart ever again, something that would go down in legend amongst our friends. After a lengthy discussion one evening, we came up with an elaborate plan that, if executed well, would get James back twice over. We were going to scare the shit out of him.

James was due to stay the following night and we knew that despite his bravado, he was scared of one thing in particular; ghosts. If we started telling ghost stories, James would put his fingers in his ears and bury his head under his duvet so he could drown out all ghost talk. Like Gary Glitter and small boys, any mention of ghosts put the willies up him. We wrote down our plan of action and then went through a couple of practice runs, ensuring that we could carry out the necessary actions in the time we guessed we’d have available. Once sure that we could, we sat back smugly, looking forward to the events the following evening.

We spent the next day playing football in the local park with James and a couple of other friends. There was no mention to anyone of the plan we had put in place as we didn’t want to put it into jeopardy. The day passed and the evening came and as it was the school holidays we were allowed out late, so we hung around in the local park, doing nothing in particular. Eventually, we decided to call it a night and my brother and I gave each other a knowing look as we made our way home; we were finally going to get our revenge.

The three of us sat in my brother’s room playing his Super Nintendo. All my brother and I had to do was wait for James to give us the prompt we needed to start the prank. We didn’t have to wait long.

“Pause it lads, I need a piss”, said James. This was what I had been waiting for.

“Go on then, be quick” I replied. James stood up and headed for the bedroom door. As he opened it, I put the prank into motion.

“Oh, mate, just to warn you; don’t look out of the small bathroom window that you can see in front of you when you’re having a piss.”

“Err, why?” asked James.

“Because of the coalminer”

“The coalminer?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him, my brothers seen him. Even my mum has mentioned seeing him”

“Who’s the coalminer?” James looked scared already.

“I’m not sure why he’s started coming here”, I began, “but the last few times I’ve been for a piss late at night and I’ve looked out of the window, I’ve seen the face of a small boy looking back at me. The face is covered in soot and is wearing a coalminer’s helmet. It’s really weird and scary”

“Yeah, whatever”, said James. I could tell he was shaken, that was the main thing, and we’d also planted the seed of doubt in his mind. He made his was slowly out of the bedroom.

No sooner had James left us to cross the landing and go to the bathroom, had my brother sprinted downstairs and to the front door. Here he picked up a torch which we had hidden the previous day and then made his way to the front of the house. Once outside, he climbed on top of the wheelie bin, also positioned strategically the day before. This gave him easy access to the flat garage roof to which the small bathroom window looked out over. The practice runs had been worth it as he was up on the roof in no time at all. I meanwhile, had snuck across the landing and was listening at the bathroom door. I could still here the urine trickling out of James and into the toilet and I braced myself ready for the prank’s finale.

My brother was crouching below the bathroom window. He turned the torch on and held it against the top of his head with one hand. Then he leapt up and pressed his face to the window.

“WAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH” he bellowed as he jumped to his feet. As I heard this I burst through the door.

“FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK”, screamed James and he collapsed to the floor, covering his head with his hands.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” he shouted, still not entirely sure as to what was going on.

My brother and I erupted into fits of laughter. I opened the bathroom window and my brother poked his head through.

“Woooo, I’m the scary coalminer boy!” he teased. James looked up from the floor.

“You are fucking bastards! Fuck you!” He was still shaking with fear.

“We got you! We fucking got you!” I replied. My brother had tears rolling down his cheeks.

After a while James got to his feet. What we saw delighted us. Not only had we scared him something silly, but we had forced James to piss all over the front of his trousers. My brother and I were deliriously happy with our achievements.

“I think that makes us about even”, I said to James, once the commotion had died down and we were back in the bedroom playing the computer.

“All I did was a fart…one fart…that was it. A fart” was all that James could muster

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The Daughter of Bob Geldof

1 Sep

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.

My First Rude Discovery

17 Aug

I’d seen a view rude things growing up. From the lingerie section of the Kays catalogue, where, if I was lucky, they’d feature a few see-through bras and I’d get a hint of aereola; to the fantastic feeling of playing Hide and Seek in the woods with my mates and finding a few ripped out (but crumpled and weather damaged) pages of Fiesta left behind a bush. I, like most of you, had also caught glimpses of Eurotrash, although I could never pick up channel 4 properly in my room with the portable TV aerial so the picture was often blurred. Lola Ferrari looked more like a pixelated Donkey Kong on my TV.

It wasn’t until my first trip abroad that I really got to see something rude; something that really opened my young eyes to new delights that the world had so far hidden from me. Majorca was the destination, and to this day, the excitement of boarding and travelling in a plane, swimming in foreign seas and trying paella for the first time, is still overshadowed by my rude discovery.

It was our first full day at the resort, and my Mum sent my brother and I off to the local shop to get an ice lolly for her and my sister. At 13, I was the eldest and I was handed the cash. My brother, 11, followed me to the store, with further instructions from my Dad to get him ‘a Feast, because ice lollies are girly and just frozen water with food colouring in’. Off we marched and I still remember feeling a little nervous about whether or not the lady behind the counter would start rambling on at me in Spanish. We picked up the items we were asked to get, along with something each for ourselves (for some reason I bought a Lipton Iced Tea), and made our way up to pay. It was then that it happened.

On a stand near the counter, were various holiday trinkets; key rings, postcards, pens and other crap with ‘Majorca’ emblazoned across it. However, there was one set of items that caught my eye in particular – pornographic playing cards. My eyes lit up; here right in front of me, were images of ladies in various states of undress, and most of them had their bronze European tits out. “Look!”, I whispered to my brother, nudging him with my elbow, nodding my head towards the playing cards. He looked up and I noticed his eyes widen too.

“Shall I get a pack?” I asked him, unsure of whether he would think I was being naughty and would tell Mum.

“Erm, yes, do it”, he replied giggling.

So I did.

Although, I do have a slight confession to make. I didn’t actually pay for the cards, and it wasn’t intentional. After handing over the other items I was going to pay for, I just froze; I was a 13 year old boy with a pack of porn playing cards in my hand. As I glanced down, I noticed that I’d picked up the ‘Anal Sex’ edition. I’m not sure I even knew what anal sex was, but I could tell from the image on the front of the pack that it was quite naughty, although the woman seemed to be smiling and enjoying herself. Before I knew what I was going to do, the woman behind the counter handed me my shopping in a carrier bag, and we turned and walked out, with the cards firmly clasped in my hand.

Keeping them in my short pockets for the rest of the afternoon was a scary thought, but I had to do it. I didn’t want my parents to know I had them, and certainly didn’t want them to know I’d stolen them. The hours slowly ticked by and eventually we headed back to the hotel to get changed for dinner. It was here that I managed to unload them into my rucksack, and it was there they stayed until 10 days later, when we arrived back home. I can’t tell you how nervous I was walking through passport control on the way back, thinking I’d be arrested for having these cards on me.

I couldn’t wait to show my friends my newly acquired playing cards, and the very next day we were in the park, flicking through them, laughing at some of the images and almost vomiting at others. For the next two or three days, I was The Porn King; the 13 year old who had everything; Chewits on tap, free cola bottles and white chocolate mice when I demanded, and best swing in the park. My playing cards had given me power amongst my peers. They had also taught me something new – what the term ‘anal sex’ actually meant.
Time passed, and the novelty of the cards wore off. Other boys found their mum’s dildos, or dad’s video collection, and my playing cards could not compete with these. However, I kept them, there was no way I was going to get rid of them; what if my mum saw them in the bin?!

“But what happened to the cards?!” I hear you cry. (well, not really, but it leads me onto the next point).

I still have them.

14 years on, after 2 house moves with my parents, to me moving out on my own into rented accommodation, back in with my parents and then finally last year to my own place; these cards have come with me. It wasn’t until I thought about them again randomly this week that I remembered I still had them, so I checked, and yes, there they were, in the old box file under my bed along with my Granddad’s war medals and old school reports.

I took the liberty of taking a few photos of the images that still take me back to Majorca, the ones that really left a lasting impression:

Obviously, these links are NSFW!! They feature tits, arse, cum dripping cock, minge and ugly foreign people.

Photo 1 – The image on the box. Look how happy she looks – imgur.com/lN53p

Photo 2 – The psychedelic hat man. I always wondered why he kept his hat on, and why the fuck his bought it in the first place – imgur.com/byxvL

Photo 3 – Banana Split. This was the one that my mates and I used to piss ourselves at. – i.imgur.com/wG5We.jpg

Photo 4 – Horny. To be honest, this was the one that made my mates and I feel a bit queasy. – imgur.com/8X84O

Photo 5 – The Work Out. I used to wonder why she had this attire on. – i.imgur.com/RKvvh.jpg

I have actually played proper card games with these cards in the past and I think I’ll keep them for a while longer yet

Sexual Ignorance

7 Jul

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.

Young Japes

7 Jul

I’m not sure why we did this, but I suppose it’s just one of those japes that youngsters get up to. There were four of us; my brother, his best friend, my cousin and I, and it happened to be the Summer Hoildays. Being aged 13-14 we had nothing better to do than expose ourselves to numerous passing cars from the safety of the local park, where we could run into the woods and hide if necessary.

However, the stakes were upped – it soon gets boring flashing your arse, even if you did feel the urge to spread ones cheeks a little. My cousin, Long Neck, came up with a ‘genius’ way of exposing himself. Pulling his shorts down, so that both his arse and cock were free to the world, he then untucked his long T-shirt so that they were hidden from view. Then, he pressed the button on a pelican crossing and waited for the red light.

What came next both shocked and tickled my young mind – he star-jumped across the road in front of the stationary traffic. With every jump, his T-shirt lifted up, exposing his tiny penis as it flapped wildly, the movement it made reminded me of that a worm makes when it’s cut in half. His small sack slapped around the top of his thighs and his scrawny arse shone, reflecting the sunlight. However, the thing I remember most vividly was just how happy he was with himself. Smiling, almost gurning, with delight.

Every pelican crossing I get to now, I always remember him doing this

Inappropriate Erection

15 Oct

I’ve had to change the name of the main character (and a few other places) in this story as what he did was very wrong and quite disturbing. For the purposes of this story, I’ll call the person in question Nathan.
I’d arranged to meet Nathan in the pub early one evening after we had both finished work. At the time I was working fulltime as a builder’s labourer and Nathan worked in a shop in the high street as he’d just finished sixth form and wanted to earn a bit of money so he could go on decent holiday later that year. We got a pint each and sat down at a table.

 

“Good day, mate?”, I asked before taking a sip from my hard-earned drink.

“Yeah, it was ok”, Nathan replied. He sounded more downbeat than usual, and as clichéd as it sounds, I knew that he wanted to tell me something.

“What’s up, Nathan?” I couldn’t be arsed to wait for him to tell me what was wrong, I decided that we may as well get anything on his mind out in the open. Nathan looked up from his pint.

“If I tell you something, do you absolutely promise that you won’t tell anyone? Seriously.”

 

This had to be good, I was sure of it.

“Course not mate, go on, what is it?”

 

Nathan took a deep intake of breathe and then began. As he spoke, my eyes lit up with bewilderment. The following is what Nathan told me. I’ve chosen to miss out my spate of laughs, gasps and genuinely shocked comments but you can probably insert them yourself.

 

“Well today on my lunch break I felt really horny. I went and bought a sandwich, and then just wandered around the town. For some reason, and I don’t know why, I got a massive erection so I had to go to the churchyard and sit on one of the benches until it had gone down. Because I was really horny, nothing I could think of would make it go away, so I made it as discreet as possible and then wandered around a bit more.
I walked up Lily Road and there was a really fat lady doing her gardening. As I got nearer to her I could see her boobs were nearly falling out of her top, and even though she was horrible, I got even more turned on. I put my head down and went to walk passed her front garden but out of the corner of my eye I saw her look up at me, and then carry on with what she was doing. For some reason, I thought she was checking me out. I got my cock out, which was still really hard, and turned round and walked back to her. Then she looked up at me again and stared. I looked at my cock and smiled and then she asked me what the hell I thought I was doing, so I just ran off. This made my erection go down and I went back to the shop and carried on working”.

 

By the time he had finished, my jaw was resting on the table in disbelief.

“What the fuck did you think would happen?” I muttered.
“I dunno, I just thought she might invite me in or something.”
“But you said she was fat and ugly”
“Yeah, but I was horny. Listen; please don’t tell anyone I feel really bad”.

 

The next day, I found out that most of the shops and residents in the town had received ‘Warning: Pervert’ leaflets through their letterboxes. If any part of me had doubted Nathan’s story for one second, then this was all the proof I needed to confirm that he was telling the truth. Nathan was a good lad, usually, and what he had done was completely out of character. I advised him to keep a low profile for a week or so and I didn’t tell anyone that the pervert on the loose was indeed him. He was many things, but pervert was not one of them, despite his actions.

 

What the fuck was he thinking though?!

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