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10 ways to keep your man happy – using only a damp flannel

9 Dec

After the success of my XXXmas post (https://kylejwilkins.wordpress.com/2011/12/06/xxxmas/) , I realised that not everyone likes Christmas and so, would not have many of the festive accessories suggested for use in the bedroom to hand.

As a result, I’ve complied a short list of 10 ways you can please your partner with an item that every household is bound to have; a damp flannel. Why spend hundreds of pounds at Agent Provocateur when you can please your man on the cheap? So sit back, read and then go and grab that flannel from the bathroom – things are about to get damp, in more ways than one.

1) Gentle Spanking — Whip him gently with a warm, damp flannel over his back, his thighs and  shoulders. Watch his toes curl. Careful not to mimic the ‘whip the back of the legs with a tea-towel’ move that some parents use on naughty children, because this will hurt like fuck.

2) Gag him — he won’t be able to control himself as you seductively gag him. Make sure the flannel is damp and not wet, as there is a small chance he might drown.

3) Water sports — A clean way to recreate a Golden Shower; simply squat over him and wring out the flannel. Works best if directed at your partner’s chest.

4) Play nurse — Put the damp flannel on his forehead as if he is unwell, then dress like a nurse and look after him. “Excuse me nurse, I don’t feel too good”.

“Well I’ll soon sort you out, fnarr fnarr!”

5) Chill Out — Place an icy cold damp flannel in front of a fan, get your man naked and watch him go all goose pimply as the cold air hits his body. Then warm him up with your mouth. Perhaps get really kinky and hang something from your erect nipples, like a coat-hanger or chocolate treat.

6) I don’t Adam and Eve it — Three damp flannels stuck teasingly over the breasts and lady garden will have him in a spell in no time. Imagine you are back in God’s garden; you have no idea what sex is yet; so go wild and invent something new. After all – it can’t be wrong can it? Nostril sex is best avoided.

7) Beads — A warm, damp flannel rolled tightly is the perfect substitute for anal beads. Look at his face as you pull them seductively from your puckering sphincter.

8) Hand Shuffle — Wrap his penis in a warm damp flannel then tug him to ecstasy. The flannel can then be used to mop up any spillages.

9) He’s in control — Take a few flannels and let him tie you to the bed and have his wicked way with you. Decide on a ‘safety word’ before hand so you can let him know once you’ve had enough. “Oh Yes!” is probably not the best choice.

10) Extra Tight — Pad yourself out to give your man the sensation he’s making love to a virgin. He’ll love you for this. Make sure the flannel is warm and very damp.


AB#3 – Spying on the Pikeys

7 Aug
Two days ago a group of around 16 travelling people, housed in just two caravans, moved into the field behind my house. I kept a close eye on them as I know they have a reputation for robbing, vandalism, physical and mental abuse, AIDs spreading, hosting dog fights and not washing. Here is my account of what I witnessed yesterday:
8am: I was woken rather abruptly by shouting coming from behind my house. On looking out of the window I saw two large caravans parked up in the farmers’ field. Numerous flea ridden dogs were barking at one another, kids were throwing stones at cars as they drove past and there were adults sat idly around smoking, and drinking strong lager. I also witnessed a 30-something year old lady squatting over a bucket and releasing a torrent of what I can only describe as ‘gravy’. The Pikeys had officially landed.
8.10am: I had to duck down quickly as one of the main pikey men saw me spying. I burnt my forehead on the radiator and had to apply a damp flannel. I held this in place with a bulldog clip attached to my fringe so I had both hands at the ready, should I need to use them. The children were called by the elder lot for breakfast and they sat round a fire under a gazebo to eat.
8.20am: The gazebo caught alight and in turn set fire to one of the older, slower dogs. 3 men and a teenage boy threw the burning remnants of both the dog and the gazebo over the fence of a neighbour who lives 2 doors down from me. Luckily, it landed in the pond. I went down for breakfast; poached egg on toast.
8.50am: I saw two pikey girls aged around 16 jacking up behind one of the caravans. One appeared to have a small goatee beard. I wondered if they could be part of a circus. My thoughts were interrupted with the sight of one dog tearing a rabbit to shreds, whilst the rest of the pikey clan whooped and cheered with joy. The rabbit was then skinned and given to the children to play with. They used it as a football. One boy kicked it with such force that the rabbit’s liver shot out and landed on the roof of one of the caravans.
9.35am: Numerous beer cans littered the field now. I contemplated phoning the police but thought I’d observe a little longer. 3 of the younger children decided to drop their trousers and bare their backsides to me. All 3 had worms; I could see them dangling free quite clearly, even at a distance. One of the younger pikeys pulled one free and hurled it into my back garden. It seemed to stretch out as it flew through the air.
9.45am: I moved into the back garden to get a closer look. I have a nice peep hole in the back fence. Music was now blaring from the make shift camp site, it sounded like that new rave techno shit all the kids seem to be listening to nowadays. I accidentally trod on the tapeworm. It was slippery and of a rubbery texture. It looked like a cross between a condom and a jellyfish but smelt like Swindon. I nearly vomited but managed to contain it which caused a burning sensation in my stomach.
10.00am: The lady who I had previously seen relieving herself in a bucket ran over to one of her friends, who was sat upright on the floor, with her back against the wheel of the caravan. She had a distressed look on her face and was panting and sweating quite alarmingly. She had a rather nice red and yellow chequered dress on though, with a dandelion in her hair.
10.03am: Said lady gave birth and followed through at the same time. The dogs began the clean-up operation whilst the men opened a can of lager each in celebration. The sound of Whigfield now filled the air.
10.15am: As all the family crowded round the newest member of their pikey clan, the two biggest men, both in their late forties, overweight and with lumberjack style shirts on, made their way inside one of the caravans. They appeared a few minutes later carrying something wrapped in a blanket. The blanket was put onto the grass and unfurled, revealing a small, disfigured cripple boy. The young lad smiled at the baby, and then pulled a tuft of hair from his own head and a tooth from his mouth before crawling into a small puddle. His legs looked like they were fused together, like some sort of freakish mermaid. He had sores and welts covering his scaly skin.
10.25am: Some of the other children began prodding the freak with bamboo canes. I admit I laughed a little when one of them gouged his eye! This was the highlight of my morning as not much else happened for the rest of it, only foul language and the consumption of more alcohol. I made my way back inside to play scalextric and make an artichoke sandwich. I could still hear them from my front room, so put on my home made video; ‘A tribute to Linda Barker’, in which I’ve edited together all of her best bits. I try to watch it at least once a day if I can.
2.00pm: I must have dozed off. I awoke to find I had soiled myself but I could also smell burning. I searched for the source of this smell and through the glass pane in my front door could see a small fire. I opened the door and stamped manically on the fire to put it out. Eventually I succeeded. I was about to go back inside when two pikey children decided to pop up from behind my front wall and hurl faeces at me. I cowered behind my wheely bin until they had run out of ammunition, the last of which cannoned off the wall behind me and landed, still steaming, next to my shoe.
2.10pm: I ran back inside my house and went back to the upstairs window. Two cars were now in the field, a blue Austin Maestro and silver Vauxhall Cavalier. I couldn’t see if they had tax discs from where I was, but I doubt they did. There was also a frail donkey,a small tent had been set up, and a naked man in a wizards hat. This disturbed me somewhat. I could hear him shouting “Come on children; who wants to play with my wand?”
2.15pm: The naked wizard man disappeared inside the tent with 2 children; a girl and a boy, whilst their parents looked on. I assumed wizard man to be a relative. A bonfire was lit and most of the other pikeys started throwing deodorant cans onto this. As they exploded, the kids were jumping out of the way. I noticed the small freak laughing manically under one caravan.
2.45pm: The bearded lady also gave birth and the previous ritual was carried out. Wizard man offered his congratulations by knocking his helmet across the chops of the mum thrice, before disappearing back into his tent. One pikey, who I presumed to be the dad, lit a roll up and nodded in appreciation. The mum looked tired from giving birth but exuberant. Her dress was tattered and her withered breasts could be clearly seen. I took a couple of polaroids.
3.30pm: One of the teenage boys turned up on a tractor, obviously stolen from the farmers’ yard. A few of the younger girls started throwing sanitary towels at him so he chased them around the campsite, narrowly missing the crippled child who was now rolling around on the ground, wrapped in his duvet. He reminded me of a large grub worm as he moved about.
4.04pm: Most of the children were now on the rampage, pulling down the fences that separate the gardens from the field. These were being used as firelight. An elderly gentleman from up the road went to remonstrate but was forced back into his house by one of the dads, who picked up a rake and began thrusting it aggressively towards him. I heard the smashing of at least two windows and I was very nervous that my property may get damaged as well. I decided to call the police, who confirmed to me that they had already received several complaints and were on their way already.
4.30pm: On their way my arse! The police finally arrived to the field which was now burnt, littered and covered in putrid mess. I was surprised as the pikeys moved on with minimum fuss. Initially, a few glass bottles were hurled at the police cars, but when the police retaliated and shot the wizard man in the knee cap, the pikeys’ fun was over. Unfortunately, so was mine. Whilst I was scared at the thought of these people entering me and my house, it was exciting to watch, and I got some great photos of the occasion. I still hope they never come back though, they’re like human rats.

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

Save Yourselves…

17 Nov

My mates and I went through a stage of baring our backsides to passing cars despite being in our late teens. I called it ‘revisiting my youth’. My mother, when she caught us doing it one night, called it ‘being a stupid prat’. Predictably, we always got our bums out after a few drinks and it ensured that a night was rounded off with a good laugh. After a couple of weekends of ‘pulling moonies’ we got bored with the traditional approach of simply waiting for a car to near before we dropped our trousers, so one Friday night after the pub closed, we tried out a new technique.


At one end of the high street there was a large roundabout which had four turnings off of it; one obviously going into the centre of town, two headed off in different directions out of town and one led to the car park of a major supermarket. The shrubbery in the middle of the roundabout was quite unkempt and we decided that it would make an excellent hiding place for us to leap out at traffic from. Six of us took up our positions behind various bushes and trees on the roundabout and waited for the first car to approach. As it was late on a Friday night, cars were few and far between, but we were getting one every five to ten minutes.  I’d hear someone shout out excitedly from their hiding position, “Here’s one!”and then the road would be illuminated with the glow from the vehicles headlights.  This was our nod to emerge from the bushes and gather as a group with our arses out, surprising the poor driver. Most of them ignored us, a few laughed and there was the odd driver that would erupt into a fit of rage and circle the roundabout numerous times before we all managed to scarper in various directions.


On this particular night, we had been pulling moonies for about forty minutes and decided that the next car would be our last victim of the night. Once again we all got into our hiding positions and waited for the next car, giggling with drunken excitement. A few minutes later, we heard a car approaching. First out of the bushes was one of our friends Ben, a rotund chap who had been kicked out of the pub earlier that evening, not for being drunk, but for being hyper on Coca Cola. As he reached the edge of the roundabout, he dropped his trousers and bent over. The rest of us were making our way over to join him when suddenly someone shouted, “Shit, it’s the police!”


A quick look beyond the headlights of the car confirmed that the shout was correct and Ben was now in full mooney position, his crinkled scrotum dangling like a hypnotists chain in front of two bemused coppers who were in the car. Ben heard the shout and peered over his shoulder to see them looking back at him, and then to his right saw the five of us sprinting full pelt towards a retirement home across the road. He tried to pull up his trousers and follow, but he was in such a rush, he could only succeed in getting them halfway up before he started on a pathetic waddle towards us. Trying not to laugh, we made our way into the gardens of the retirement home. Previous escapades had seen us use this as an escape route as you could either climb a fence at one end of the gardens and get onto a little back road, hide behind one of the numerous fruit trees in the ground, or jump over a high hedge which took you into the garden of the house next door. From here, it was possible to leap a few more fences and make a clean getaway.


By now, the two coppers were out of the car and in pursuit of us. To his credit, Ben had picked up quite a pace for someone who only had their trousers half on and as we jumped over the fence one by one, he was almost up with the rest of our group, charging like a demented rhino. The two coppers were slightly further back, but gaining ground fast.


“Quick Ben you fat fuck”, shouted Mike, the fifth person to drop over the fence. Ben placed one foot on the fence ready to climb, but as he did so, his trousers slipped down once more. Struggling to regain composure, he saw that the coppers were now very close. Every time he went to place his hands on the top of the fence, his trousers would slip down and he’d stop and try and pull them back up again.


“Lads, save yourselves! Run, run, run” he shouted, and we pegged it without hesitation as fast as we could, leaving Ben to explain his actions to the police.


We all hid in a nearby park for a while, laughing over the events beforehand when my phone suddenly rang. It was Ben.


“I’m not answering it” I declared, “It’s probably the police”.


One by one, each phone went off until Warren plucked up some courage and answered his. On the other end was Ben, now alone. We arranged to meet.


Ben was greeted not with thanks, but with abuse. ‘Gutted you fat wanker’, ‘Ha ha, you retard’ and ‘Nice one, Braveheart’ were a few of the insults I remember. Ben did see the funny side eventually and was grateful that he’d only received a mild ticking off for his ‘immature and quite frankly, disturbing’ behavior, but he still reminds us from time to time about when he put his neck on the line for the rest of us. We in turn respond as you’d expect, by calling him a fat wanker.

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