Tag Archives: twisted

Dirty Pint Glass

3 Aug

Brace yourself, this one is quite strange (and disgusting) and features my friend Ashley, star of the ‘Some Dirty Bastard has shat on the seat’ post. The location was The Antelope in High Wycombe, a medium sized boozer that has provided my mates and I with many a laugh over the years. This particular story happened one summer when the outside area was open and busy – an important part of this tale.

In the summer, the pub has an outside bar which comes in very handy. It also has a couple of portaloos, which, if you’re brave enough, can also prove useful. My mates and I were all sat round a table, basking in the warm evening air, when Ashley suddenly piped up;

“Fuck me, I need a shit and it feels like it could be massive”.

Now this in itself is a statement that would make any group of friends stop their discussion and go quiet. When the aforementioned statement is combined with a mischievous look like the one Ashley had on his face, you know something other than a bog standard shit is going to follow. We all stopped and looked at Ashley and then we began probing him as to his plans. This was only a couple of weeks after the shitting on the seat incident, and Ashley had received a fair bit of praise for that prank, so we were all wondering what he was thinking of doing next.

“You’ll see”. A smile formed across his face.

“Keep watching that portaloo door. I won’t be long”

Ashley got up and made his way to the portaloo. The rest of us got in the queue for the outside bar and waited. I was already chuckling to myself, wondering what on Earth he was planning. A few minutes passed and still we watched and waited, trying not to make it too obvious to everyone else around us that something was about to happen.

Suddenly, the door opened, very slowly. Ashley’s silhouetted figure emerged in the doorway, and as he opened the door further and the light hit him, I saw the biggest grin on his face. We still couldn’t see what he was smiling about, and not wanting to shout out to him, we kept quiet. I did notice that his arms were behind his back and I wondered what he was hiding.

I didn’t have to wait long. From behind his back, Ashley brought forth a pint glass, and in it was the single biggest log I think I have ever seen. It was a thing a rare beauty; long, thick and perfectly smooth. It was so big that it was jutting out of the top of the pint glass. It reminded me of an iceberg in a way, with most of the mass below the brim of the glass, but with the dome of the log peering over the surface.

I was on the floor.

I’m not sure why I found it so funny. I think it was the thought of him crimping off such a magnificent beast into a pint glass. Tears streamed down my face and I clambered to my feet, trying to regain my composure. My other mates were laughing too, and we were all thinking why he had committed such a crude act.

Ashley closed the door once again, and emerged shortly afterwards, joining us in the queue.

“I hope you’ve tipped that out and flushed it away you dirty fucker”,said I.

“Nope. I’ve left it in the glass! It’s by that little flushing handle thing! Ha!”

Ashley was obviously proud of his newborn, and funny as it was, we told him that he better get rid of it. Grudgingly, he turned and went to go back to the portaloo, but it was too late, two girls had nipped in and closed the door. By this point, I was absolutely pissing myself laughing again, thinking of their reaction on finding Ashley’s mess.

“Maybe they’ll think it’s one of those toilet attendants – it’s big enough” said my brother.

We all started sniggering. I was caught in a loop of trying to stop laughing, and then remembering what I was laughing about, which made me laugh even more. I think we’ve all been there.

Then, without warning, the door flew open and the two girls ran out covering their mouths. One ran to a nearby wall and promptly threw up, whilst the other one was stood next to her, still covering her mouth, shaking her head in a disapproving manner.

We all did what any gentlemen would do in that situation. We turned and legged it onto the dance floor, pissing ourselves with laughter.

Nightclub Shoes

30 Jul

I really hate it when bars and clubs refuse entry based on the type of footwear somebody chooses to wear. What difference does it make if you’re wearing trainers or shoes? I often snub such places that have this rule in place, but it was at a club in Brighton that I had to give into this self-imposed ban, because the rest of the group wanted to go to a certain bar.
We queued up for ages before we eventually got to the entrance. I made pleasantries with the bouncers and walked through, along with my mates, into the busy club. First stop, as always, was the bar. We waited to be served, looking out for any quality ‘fanny’ that we could try and chat up later on in the evening. Mark felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

 

“Meatball’s just sent me a text. He’s outside, he’s worn trainers and the bouncers won’t let him in. What a daft cunt.”

 

The rest of the group muttered a collective ‘for fuck sake’ and decided on a course of action. The plan we came up with was simple: We’d ask someone in the club for their shoes, get Meatball to put them on, get Meatball in the club, and then he could return the shoes to their owner, before slipping his trainers back on. It couldn’t fail, we were sure of it.

 

Jimmy spotted one bloke standing on his own at the other end of the bar. He was wearing a black leather jacket, and had thick greasy hair. Most importantly, he was wearing shoes, and looked about Meatball’s size. Jimmy and Mark wandered over to him.

 

“Excuse me mate, this may sound a bit weird, but can we borrow your shoes? Our mate needs them to get in. We’ll buy you a few drinks and you’ll get them straight back”

 

The greasy chap agreed almost straight away; no persuasion was required at all. He slipped off his shoes and handed them to Jimmy. They were ghastly, like the chunky black shoes shoes that I was forced to wear to school. Jimmy slipped them inside his jacket and we all went back to the entrance of the club. Meatball was still there, pleading with the bouncers to let him in but they were having none of it. Jimmy got his hand stamped so he could get back in, whilst the rest of us stood just outside the entrance in the smoking area.

 

Jimmy led Meatball away and round the corner.

 

“Here, have these”, he said, handing Meatball the shoes.

 

“Fucking brilliant! Cheers Jim!” Meatball quickly slipped the shoes on, they were a perfect fit. Not as fashion conscious as the rest of us, Meatball really didn’t care that they looked like retard shoes. He handed Jimmy his trainers, and once again, Jimmy concealed these inside his jacket and they returned to the front of the queue.With a massive grin on his face, meatball strode up to the bouncers.

 

“My mate just dropped my shoes off, so can I come in now?”

 

“Piss off, mate. You’re not coming in, you were lippy before”.

 

Meatball’s grin quickly disappeared and we all wondered what we were going to do. It didn’t take long for us to decide -we all left the club immediately, we couldn’t leave a mate outside on his own. It wasn’t until we got to the next bar that we’d realised what we’d done. Meatball still had the shoes on; the shoes that we’d borrowed off of some poor bloke in the club. He was still in there, just in his socks, probably looking like a complete weirdo. I like to think that he remained in the same spot for the rest of the night, with his socks getting stuck to the spilt alcohol on the club floor. We did feel bad, for a second or so. The shoes were dropped in a bin, before we carried on with our evening.

Wardrobe Wank

28 Jul

Jimmy and Dave are dirty fuckers. Although they are mates of mine, I sometimes cringe at some of their behavior on nights out, particularly when they involve the opposite sex in their antics. It is no secret amongst my group of friends that Jimmy and Dave like to go ‘twos-up’ on girls. One of them will meet someone on a night out, invite them back for some horizontal liaisons, and then invite their mate to join in. It shocks me really at how many girls agree to this. Quite why Jimmy and Dave want to share their spoils with one another is anyone’s guess, but I suppose it goes to show how close they are as mates. They always regale their frolics to us the following day, and the story normally involves them hi-fiving each other at some point. Very romantic.
One particular night, Dave had got lucky with a brunette girl and had invited her back to his hotel for sex. She must have been pissed because she agreed to, and at the end of the night, Dave, Jimmy and the girl made their way back to the hotel at which the two boys were staying. Dave had taken a massive shine to this girl, and he’d made it clear to Jimmy that he wasn’t up for sharing, which wasn’t normally in his character at all. He’d met her the previous night, and although nothing had happened, he had spotted her again, chanced his luck, and scored. Now he wanted her all to himself, and no matter how much Jimmy pleaded with him on the way back, Dave wasn’t considering even asking the girl if she’d be up for it.

Although unimpressed by his mate’s lack of generosity, Jimmy agreed to wander around the hotel for a bit, whilst the two lovers got it on – the problem you see, was that they were sharing a room and therefore Dave would have no privacy. When they arrived back at the hotel, the three of them had a drink at the bar, before Dave and his beauty retreated to the bedroom. Jimmy agreed to wait at least an hour before returning, and he stayed at the bar on his own, feeling horny but with no one to help relieve the tension.
Back in the hotel room, things got saucy as soon as the newly acquainted pair fell through the door, and within no time they were rutting like animals; both working up a sweat as they let their inhibitions go. Being drunk, Dave was surprised that he’d actually managed to get an erection, but now he was firm, there was no stopping him and he found himself lasting longer than he’d ever done before. The recipient of his clunge rod was certainly not complaining, and her bacon pocket begged Dave for more and more.
Before long, both Dave and the girl were so hot that they needed to open the patio doors, which led out onto a small balcony. The room was on the top floor of the hotel, so there was little danger of anyone seeing Dave as he slid the doors open with nothing protecting his modesty. As he opened the door, Dave had a brainwave. He called over his lover and asked if she fancied a spot of alfresco sex. She didn’t hesitate and sauntered over to the balcony railing, before grabbing them, bending over so her cunny flaps were winking at Dave.
“Take me from behind”, she ordered.
Dave didn’t need to be asked twice, and he held her by the hips before entering her. This was turning out to be one of the best shags of his life.

Meanwhile, Jimmy was sat downstairs, very drunk and bored. He had looked at his watch about a hundred times, waiting for an hour to pass so he could go back to the room and get to bed. ‘They best not have done it in my bed’ he thought to himself, although secretly he didn’t mind because at least he’d be able to sniff the sheets. Eventually, after finishing his forth pint in the hotel, over an hour had passed and Jimmy decided to venture back.
When he reached the door to the room, he put his ear to it. He couldn’t hear much and guessed that Dave had finished his business and was asleep. He turned the key in the door and opened it very slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. The first thing he saw was his bed, and he noticed that it was as fresh as how he’d left it. Then he noticed that Dave’s bed was also empty. Looking further ahead of him, Jimmy saw the reason why; Dave’s bare backside was thrusting in and out as he pumped away like a Jack Russell on heat. Jimmy was suddenly turned on at what he was witnessing.

Out on the balcony, Dave was oblivious that he had been caught in the act and carried on with the job in hand, savoring every moment. Just as he was about to spray his milky treat, he heard a noise behind him, coming from inside the room. Without breaking his stride, he peered over his shoulder.

What he saw was a sight he would never be able to forget, no matter how much he tried.

Jimmy was stood just inside the door frame, against the wall. He was partially covered by a curtain but Dave could see that he was leaning against the side of a wardrobe and visibly having a wank, aiming his todger at the gap between the wall and the back of the wardrobe. Dave didn’t say a word; he just braced himself for his own climax and let out a groan of pleasure as he spilt his load. Too afraid, to traipse back inside and confront his mate, Dave was at a loss as to what to do. From behind, he hugged the girl he’d just rogered, grateful that she was unaware what was happening behind them, whilst thinking about what he should do next. Now they’d finished shagging, it was getting quite cold.

Again, Dave peered over his shoulder, and this time the scene wasn’t as bad as expected. Jimmy had finished his wank and was now crashed out on his own bed, so Dave suggested to his bit of skirt that they retire to bed, to which she agreed. She noticed Jimmy as soon as she walked through the door; it was hard not to as he was spread out like a starfish, face down, with his trousers and boxer shorts still pulled down around his ankles. Dave had to reassure her that Jimmy was so drunk he wouldn’t have even noticed them outside.
The next morning, once Dave had ushered his conquest out of the hotel room, he woke Jimmy and asked him what the fuck he was playing at the night before. Jimmy’s head was pounding and his mind was hazy and he struggled to remember much. Dave told him to think hard whilst he went and showered. Ten minutes later, Dave emerged from the bathroom.
“Dave”, said Jimmy.
“Yes mate?”
“Did I have a wank behind the wardrobe last night?
“You know you did you dirty fucker! Why did you do that?”
“I don’t know. I thought it was a dream”
“You are a sick bastard”.

Jimmy has managed to refrain from wanking behind wardrobes since the incident, but one does wonder why he chose such a place to aim his pecker. What a strange man.

AB#1 – Stuck in the House

7 Jul

Today is Thursday and I have decided to pen my latest diary entry just in case I die. You see i’m trapped, trapped in my own home and have been without food and water for almost 76 hours. I even refuse to masturbate because this will take up vital energy (I did slip up yesterday, although this provided valuable nutrition).

 

It all happened so fast. One minute I was watching Super Nanny on the TV, whilst simultaneously practising my extreme ironing/bestiality combo hobby. This involves ironing, using an ironing board and iron, in an unusual stance, pose, position or place, whilst taking sexual revenge on an animal that has upset you somewhat. I think you can see where this is going.

 

I had one foot on my sofa, one on the floor. The ironing board was in the same position, forming a perfect 45-degree angle between itself and the floor. In my right hand was the iron, not plugged in of course because this would just be stupid. Straddling the ironing board was a 6-year-old goat, white/grey in colour, and wriggling like you do when you accidentally inject steroids into ones scrotum. My left hand was venturing up the goats sphincter, and I was opening and closing my fingers like a starfish.

 

After a few grunts, and loud squeal noises, the goat had calmed down a bit, so I took the opportunity to try and milk one of his little udders into my favourite Thermos flask, Thundercats in design. “This will make the little bastard angry”, I thought to myself. I gripped his rubber like teat in my mouth, steadying myself by leaning against the ironing board, and careful not to let go of the iron. If I had, I would have had to disqualify myself (and I don’t think I could hold urine in for that long ever again).

 

This is where it gets a bit hazy, and quite messy.  I yanked down on the teat with my mouth, and aimed it towards the open flask on the floor. The goat took quite an offence to the fact that I was pulling at what is essentially his nipple. Milky fluid squirted out onto the carpet, missing my flask by a matter of inches. As part of it hit my slipper, I lost concentration for a split second and lost my tight grip slightly. The goat slid down the ironing board, my arm in his arse was now up to the elbow. A piercing shrill filled the room and I felt a painful kick into my chest. My iron holding hand flew backwards, hitting me on the head as I fell, and smashing a small ornament of Cyndi Lauper as it hurtled towards the floor.

 

The sheer force of the goats kick sent me spiralling backwards, and freed the goat to make his escape. Up he leapt, almost salmon like, and bolted through the door of my living room, dragging the ironing board behind him. I heard another crash as he managed to free himself from the board, possibly with a wild shrug, I wasn’t sure, and the door closed behind them both.

 

My eyes closed at this point. I was in pain, my head spinning, ribs aching, and bonar diminishing. I awoke 2 hours later to an eerie silence, with a puddle of blood and goats milk around my head. I surveyed the carnage around my and almost broke down in tears.
“Better go catch the bugger”, I thought to myself, and went to push the door open. It was jammed. I pushed a bit harder, still nothing. I took one step back and leapt forward, shoulder first into the door, but alas it did not open.

 

Squatting down, I peered through the keyhole and saw what the problem was. My ironing board had become wedged between the door and hall wall, trapping me in. I started to panic for I knew that it would be impossible to cry for help. Not many people live in Siddlesworth anymore and my phone had been disconnected.
The next 24 hours were pure blood, sweat and fears. I pushed, bashed, threw every possession in sight at the door, but still nothing. I bawled at the thought of the goat telling his friends and them coming round to get revenge. I took up a foetal like position in the corner of the room and rocked, sobbing to myself.

 

As a day passed I became more hungry and thirsty. I had sucked as much milk from the carpet at possible, and eaten a cactus that I had in a nice pot next to the TV. I had even contemplated licking the moss that grew in the damp corner of the room. Many hours were spent looking at myself in the mirror. I didn’t feel ashamed, the manoeuvre I had attempted was one of the hardest, I just felt a bit silly.

 

That was 75 hours, 43 minutes ago, and now I am worried. I still haven’t worked a way of getting out. My nails are worn and brittle from scratching at walls, and do not allow myself to sleep, as the nightmares are far too scary. I am starting to wish I had have taken my father’s advice. When i was a youngster, probably 10 or 11, my dad would let me watch him perform extreme ironing/bestiality moves in the back garden. I had seen him perform this trick only once in his short life ( he died at the age of 37, on stage in Camden, London, playing bugle for the Merry Feltchers). His trick however was in the safety of the garden. I remember him using a polypropylene rope to tie the goat steady, and the trampoline was used instead of a sofa. He looked at me before he started, winked and said, “Arthur, if you ever try this, always do exactly as I do, never different”.

 

I’m sorry Dad, sorry for ignoring you. I fear I will waste away in the next few days and I leave this behind as a message to all ironing enthusiasts as a warning. I leave this behind as a message to all animal haters to kill goats, and I leave this behind as a message to Cyndi Lauper to say, “Boys wanna have fun as well”.

 

Until next time, if there is one, Goodbye diary, Goodbye World (perhaps)

The Greengrocer’s Daughter

7 Jul

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.

The Follow Through

3 Nov

As Sam queued up he felt a rumble in his stomach, but he didn’t panic. Renowned locally for the regularity and vileness of his farts, Sam was sure that this would be a run of the mill guff and nothing to write home about, not by his standards anyway.

 

Sam cocked one leg and pushed slightly. The escape of air was instant and he smiled reassuringly as the tang of his own insides reached his nose. He strained one last time to push the last of the gas through his colon and out of his arse hole, when disaster struck.

 

Sam felt a bubble of air that quickly popped and let loose a torrent of fizzy gravy that filled his pants instantly.

 

He’d shit himself in Jewsons.

 

Undeterred, Sam stood where he was, ignoring the stares he was getting from other people in the queue. The smell was vile, filling the air around him, but he remained focused on trying to look innocent. All he wanted to do was pay for what he was buying, and then leave, quickly.

 

Another customer was served and Sam stepped ever closer to the till, now feeling slightly ashamed, but in a funny way proud of the contents of his undercrackers. However, as he took a pace forward, things took a turn for the worse. The stride forward opened up his underwear, and sticky shit trickled down his leg, resembling more soup than fecal matter as it splattered onto the floor. Sam glanced around nervously to see the reaction of the other two people queuing up behind him, and more runny shit escaped from the bottom of his trousers.  The first man stood behind Sam had a look of utter disgust on his face. He tutted and walked out of the building. From behind him, another builder stepped forward to take his place in the queue, but he hadn’t spotted the mess on the floor in front of him. As he was looking directly ahead, it was the putrid stench that hit him first. It wasn’t until he scanned around, repulsed, that he saw the root of the smell, lying on the floor below Sam. He took a few steps backwards, and held his nose between his fingers.

 

Eventually, the bloke in front of Sam had been served, and he was now at the till. The girl serving was all too aware of the foul smelling air, and took the opportunity of a change of customer to glance over the counter. She spotted the mess on the floor and then looked at Sam. She looked back to the runny excrement and then to Sam again.

 

“Oh, have you had an accident?” she enquired.

 

“Yep!” replied Sam, with a grin on his face

 

The girl turned her back to Sam, picked up to phone and whispered down it. Sam struggled to make out what she was saying. After a short call, she turned back and started scanning the few items that Sam needed to pay for. Just as he was about to pay for his goods, he heard movement behind him. As he turned around, he saw a sight that made him ever so proud. A sight to behold, he tells me.

 

A maintenance man was spreading sand over the mess he’d made. Once done, he fenced it off with four cones before disappearing again.

 

Sam collected his items and headed off for the van, smiling. What an achievement.

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