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Things I Found In My Attic Today

21 Sep

I’ve just been cleaning out my attic and to my delight I found an old trunk which I had forgotten about for some time.It contains many of my most treasured possessions. Amongst them;

A Stuffed Camel – This was given to me by my Grandfather before he passed away. It was one of his most treasured possessions and the story that goes with how it came into his hands really is quite remarkable; he stole it off of Adolf Hitler’s bed. During the second World War, he was part of a little known squadron that happened to infiltrate one of Hitler’s many hideouts. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to capture the evil tyrant as he was out at the time. Instead he, and the other soldiers with him, feasted on food that they found in Hitler’s cupboards until they were fit to burst. My Grandfather told of the juiciness of Hitler’s grapes and would always add “Not his haemorrhoids you cheeky buggers!” when we stifled our laughter at this part of his story. He would also go into great detail about the ornate decor in the hideout that they had infiltrated, in particular, the naked woman on all of the ceilings that had been hand painted in fascinating detail. My Grandfather would say, “You could make out every pubic hair. That’s how impressive the paintings were. Of course, back then, all the ladies had hairy vaginas”.

It was in Hitler’s bedroom that the stuffed camel was stolen. My Grandfather spotted it sat on one of Hitler’s pillows and couldn’t resist the urge to take it. In its place, he squatted and defecated onto the pillow, then stuck a cigarette in the fresh stool, along with two Smarties for eyes. Giggling, a few of the soldiers then put Hitler’s pants over their trousers and pretended that they were army superheroes, running all over the house and throwing fruit at each other. My Grandfather placed the camel in his backpack and it was there it stayed until his return to English shores. He kept the capture of the camel a secret from his superiors, and it was only once the war was over that he showed the rest of the family just what he had found in Germany. We named the camel, unoriginally, ‘Adolf Humpler’.

 

A Signed Copy of the Bible – I’m not sure how genuine this is, but I refuse to throw it away despite the fact I’m an atheist. It’s quite tatty, and it is now stored inside a smaller wooden box to prevent any further damage to it, and I have been advised by my mother to wear gloves when handling it, (not that I ever read it). On the inside front cover of the copy I own are the words ‘All the best, Jesus Christ’ with a little smiley face which has a beard. I have no reasons to doubt that this could be a fake. It might be worth something in a few years time, so I am trying to take good care of it.

 

Lucky Packet of Chewing Gum – This means a lot to me because it was given to me by my Dad, even though it has bought him so much luck over the years. He came up to me one day with it, pressed it into my hand and told me to keep it. “I’m getting old, son”, he said, “You have this now”. The chewing gum is an unopened packet of Wrigelys Extra; spearmint flavour. My Dad first discovered it was lucky when he was rubbing it in his trouser pocket during the 1966 World Cup Final. He claims it is because of this rubbing action, it was responsible for England winning the World Cup, as well as his substantial win on the Pools, the fact he met my Mum and numerous other fortunate events. Each time something good happened to him, the chewing gum was in his pocket. I took the lucky qualities of the chewing gum with a pinch of salt; I was just grateful to be given something that meant so much to my Dad. However, after he gave it to me, it bought me one stroke of tremendous luck.

I was in town a few years ago with friends, and a mugger came up and tried to steal my wallet. A tussle ensued, but he managed to prise it from my hands. As he attempted to run off, I went for him, and he pulled a gun and took a shot at me. The chewing gum was in the top pocket of my denim jacket I was wearing. Usually, I wouldn’t take the chewing gum out with me, but for some reason I’d decided to take it with me on this particular day. I was so fortunate that day; the bullet missed me and hit one of the friends I was with instead.

 

A Wooden Replica Elephant’s Penis – On my gap year I decided to do a bit of travelling. I ended up, by mistake, in Kenya, having hid inside my own suitcase for a laugh as I wanted to give the baggage handlers a bit of a fright. This backfired somewhat when the movement from me inside the case caused the baggage label to fall off, along with that of a case that was resting alongside the one I was in. The labels were replaced, incorrectly, by the handlers and I ended up in Kenya instead of Prague. I decided to make the most of the mishap and stayed with locals for a few days, playing Frisbee, teaching them English swear words, shooting animals and eating all sorts of exotic meats such as tiger and zebra. They adored me out there, and when it was time for me to leave, they presented me with a huge wooden penis. They explained that the elephant was seen as some sort of God in their country, and that I had reminded them of a God. The penis was carved as a gesture of goodwill, and is supposed to ward off evil spirits.

 

Charlie Chaplin’s Kidney Stone – Stolen from Chaplin’s toilet by my wacky uncle, the kidney stone has the aroma of fame and the texture of success. My uncle was a stagehand back in Chaplin’s heyday. One evening before a live performance, my uncle heard Chaplin in the toilet, shouting loudly and making a great deal of fuss, which was unheard of. He hid and waited for Chaplin to go on stage. Once he had, my uncle rushed to the loo and it was here that he was greeted with one solitary kidney stone that hadn’t been flushed away. He delved into to water to retrieve it (later claiming to have caught syphilis from the toilet seat) and he gave the stone to me on my 18th birthday.

 

Samantha Littleslot’s Goggles – Samantha was a girl with breasts like udders that I used to date in secondary school. One night, we sneaked into the local swimming baths, where she proceeded to give me the most satisfying blow job of my life to date. I had warned her before we started dating that it had been a long time since I had been intimate with a lady, and as such, she took precautions by wearing her swimming goggles whilst my todger was in her mouth. As I ejaculated (I saw stars I may add), my semen gushed forth and Samantha was unable to contain it in her mouth. Her head moved away from my penis, and I covered her face in teenage gooey mess. Fortunately, her goggles saved her eyes from my stinging jism. She gently removed them from her face and left them on the changing room floor. I pocketed them in secret before we left, as a memento of the occasion. They were cleaned as soon as I got them home.

 

A Pickled Finger – When holidaying in the Maldives, I spotted a glass bottle floating in the sea towards the shore. I ran over to it, intrigued, and was surprised to find a severed finger inside, preserved in vinegar. Attached to the neck of the bottle was a message, stitched into parchment. It read ‘To whoever finds my middle finger: Up Yours’. I have done a little research into the owner of the finger but have had no real success in finding out who it belongs to. My local Pirate Museum valued the finger at around £5000 a couple of years back,  so it was a good find.

 

Coleen Nolan’s Tambourine – It’s a little known fact that Coleen Nolan is a tambourine enthusiast. In fact, she used to busk in my local area with a tambourine before she hit the big time with her sisters. It was my young child’s inquisitive nature that blagged me her tambourine when she came back to her old stomping ground for a rare tambourine medley last year. My daughter asked to have a go, and loved bashing Coleen’s tambourine with great vigour, so much so that she didn’t want to give it back. Coleen was good about it though, and agreed to swap in for two Cheese-strings, a Curly-Wurly and an orgasm.  It was all I had on me at the time to offer her in return. I of course obliged, and left her exhausted with a smile on her face, and her tambourine in my hand.

 

A Match Ticket – Not just any match ticket, this is a ticket to the first ever Swan Twatting Championships that was open to the public. In 1974, the Swan Twatting governing body allowed non-ST’s (Swan Twatters) to attend the championships. My father, a big fan, managed to win a ticket to the event. He was disappointed as he had missed out when the tickets had gone on general sale, but to his enormous surprise, he won a golden ticket in a breakfast cereal that was sponsoring the event. More surprising to me, is that he didn’t have his lucky chewing gum at the time.

 

There are still plenty more things to look through, I’ve been pouring over so many objects and remembering so many great stories. I’ll note down the others soon.

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

Damn the Dark

7 Jul

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.

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?!

My one and only vice…

16 Sep

In technology class when I was 16, my teacher Mr. Grabowski caught me pretending to put my scrotum in a vice.

 

“Are you putting your genitals in that vice?”

“Yes, Sir”

“Are you stupid?”

“I suppose so”

“Well that’s one of the most stupid things I’ve ever seen. Putting your own genitals in a vice. Idiot.”

 

And with that, he just wandered off.

I wasn’t actually going to clamp them; I was messing about. I just like the fact that he told me it was a stupid thing to do and then fucked off. He didn’t bother asking me why I was clamping my testicles, which if I caught someone with their love pouch hovering above a vice, would be the first thing I asked.

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