Memoirs of the Unstoppable Sex Machines
a lot of people really dont believe this but i swear tis true :
(how i lost my virginity) me and my man were messing around, i was dressed in s chool girl uniform with no underwear, we were 8ahem* having fun.. he picked me up and had a bit of fun and then he put me down......
and guess what i landed on.....
yes, his dick! we never intended to have sex but he dropped me, so....
Hello, this is my first post on crap shag. One of my ex's (from many moons ago) live at home with mummy. Mummy was a completely mad creature, and surrounded herself with several cats, 2 dogs, stick insects, ponies and goats. Anyhow, mid shag (boring missionary as bloke couldn't manage much more than this) and blokie was getting rather excited (I was probably compiling a homework list or something), going a bit quicker when psycho cat jumped in the bedroom window and landed on blokies naked arse, digging his claws in. It was such a shock, but actually really funny. This was the same bloke who told me that it was impossible for a man to have sex more than twice in one day, as the man needed time to recuperate and produce more sperm. Or something.
As a sixth former at St Chris, I took it as my sacred duty to deflower a few fifth year boys. I still have a thing for schoolboys actually, but I tend to look not touch now that I'm middle-aged.
Anyway, this is an account of Chris G. I won't put his surname up because if I were him, and I typed my name into a search engine, I would be mortified to find out that the world knew that the first time he had sex he thought that it would be quite normal to try and do it with access to the girl completely prohibited by the fact that her legs were tightly clamped shut by his own.
Or: "The first night with the bloke who would I one day marry. "
I was drunk, and I'd just arranged my boyfriend to dump me by acting a perfectly beleivable account of being a madwoman. It was my first night in a new house and I didn't really want to be alone. Straight to the phone box: "N, can you come round?". "For you, anything!" Smashing. Went home. Fell asleep.
Something woke me up three hours later. Bloke had been banging on the front door (of a strange house) in the rain trying to wake me up. Oops, better be sorry and grateful. Come in then.
Snog. Will you go out with me? Ok then. Thinking to myself "some of this weight will have to come off, and if I get drunk every night, I can probably ignore the red crusty sweat patches under his arms, and the crusty scalp falling off. He's quite sweet in a pitiful way". Snog. Fumble. Under the duvet. Ok I'm going to sleep now. "oh? do you want me to go, Sandy, or sleep on the floor?" You can lie in the bed with me too if you like? "ok!". snog. fumble. I'm in my nighty. I take his tshirt off; put hand down his pants. he'd already come in his pants. "sorry", he mumbled
er thats ok. *falls asleep*
so why the FUCK did I marry him?
Whilst I was going out with Graham, he used to annoy me incredibly so I pulled a (rather large) number of people to amuse myself with. One of whom was in the RAF based at the local RAF place - whatever that was, I wasn't terribly interested.
Anyway. drinks. dance. leer. snog. grope. back to mine.
He was about half way through, when I realised that I wasn't in the slightest bit interested. I don't remember what he looked like, as he was completely unmemorable and bland. So I remember shoving him off me and saying "oh just FUCK OFF!" at the top of my voice. (Nice to my conquests, aren't I *grin*.) He was completely terrified and pulled his clothes on, sprinted from my university room, hopped over the wall and then had to walk back to his RAF-place-thingy. I say walk back, because in the morning I found the contents of his pockets placed RAF-like neatly on my desk. Money. Washing tokens. Car keys. Heh.
Bad me. But he was crap.
I should point out that the following story is not about a crap shag per-se. The bloke in question was a reasonable lay if a little prone to murmering cheesy sweet nothings, but I digress.
This incident occured on the morning of Friday 13th December 1996, in the halls of residence at Keele University. The previous day my friend Felicity's room had been broken into, occasioning the loss of some CDs, some money, a coat and one or two other items. Understandably, she was pretty upset, so we tried to cheer her up by having a particularly riotous evening out at the local goth night, and getting her, not to mention ourselves, monstrously drunk.
I was accompanied home by a gentleman called Steve, whom I had been vaguely seeing for the past week or two, and, partly out of shag-enthusiasm but mainly out of drunkenness, I neglected both to remove my copious make-up and to make any attempt to tame my hair, which had been backcombed to within an inch of its life. I must have been drunk or the thought of allowing my conquest to see me with morning after face and hair would have been enough to persuade me to sort it out.
We eventually went to sleep at about 6am. Never that comfortable with two of you in a crappy student single bed, especially as neither of us were exactly small and waif like, so actually sleeping at all was something of a luxury, and we were none-too-chuffed to be awoken suddenly about three hours later by a violent banging. At the door.
First instinct told us to ignore it. We hid under the duvet and waited for it to go away, but it didn't, and eventually we heard Felicity's voice.
"I'm really sorry to disturb you..." She began, as we retreated further under the duvet. Felicity was somewhat highly strung and crises prone and we were both fairly convinced that whatever she needed us for could probably wait, at least until we had had time for a coffee and a cigarette.
"...But I've got a really big apology to make to Steve..." she continued. Steve and I exchanged bewildered looks but again, figured that the apology was not really that urgent and kept silent in the hope she'd asssume we'd gone back to Steve's the previous night and weren't in. She wasn't put off.
"...And... er..." Felicity went on "The police are downstairs and they want to talk to him."
The next few minutes were a bit of a blur as we hastilly got up and followed her downstairs, Steve wearing nothing but his trousers from the night before and me in a very cliched black satin dressing gown. It turned out that amongst the items stolen from Felicity's room was a replica gun which Steve, for reasons best known to himself, had seen fit to lend her. The police were afraid that it had been used in a robbery that had taken place the previous night.
While he was describing the gun to them I caught sight of my reflection in the window. My hair, which the night before had been huge enough to make Siouxsie Sioux look like a two-bit drag queen, was now half-flattened and sitting at a rather awkward angle such that I now looked more like a Flock Of Seagulls tribute artist. The elabourate Eye Of Horus (I was young, OK?) which had been painted on my face had smudged beyond recognition across my cheek and worse, over Steve's. The Policemen gave me a withering glance and I decided it'd be better if I waited upstairs.
Funnily enough, that was the last time I ever slept with Steve and indeed, the following evening I first got of with the bloke I went on to spend the next three years with and very nearly married.
I have just set up a new community that might interest you lot.
Have fun :-)
Ok, thought I should introduce meeself to this by posting my most recent crap shag at a Whitby not one million miles away.
Doing the band watching thing I spotted a not-entirely-unattractive young man who, since the pill Id taken earlier was doing the job just nicely I thought it'd be fun to get talking to. It turned out he was from Wales and for the sake of this we will call him "S".
"S" was essentially very boring and couldnt talk his way out of a paper bag so I resorted to snogging his face off to shut him up. Mistake number one as his ability in this area was about as good as his talking skills. Anyway, I dragged him outside and round the local area until I found a dark secluded spot and started to work on getting his trousers open. No sooner had I got his semi-erect item out than it went off, in my hand, all over my skirt - and the face he made was not dissimilar to a boxer after he's been knocked silly. I had to go off and get changed as my velvet skirt was stained down the front, I made my excused and didn't talk to him again for the rest of the week.
I blame the welsh.
Worse, ladies and gents, than stubbly legs on a lady, is a stubbly chest on a man. A man who is wearing a silk shirt that sticks to the stubble and grates on it as you try and grope him and you don't realise afterwards as you begin to sober up and realise that you've been shagging on a sofa in Levenshulme and have stubbed a cigarette out in your own vomit. I shudder to remember that cockrock chest stubble.
When I was in university - probably about 19 or so, I frequented a shithole night club called the warehouse. At the time, it was the ultimate shiznit, and I was there every weekend without fail.
Some of my most embarassing (read OH SWEET MERCIFUL CRAP HOW DID I END UP WITH YOU) episodes were a result of that night club, but I thought I would share one in particular with you good people.
On the surface, David was anything *but* embarassing. He had moved down from Ontario (all this takes place in Canada, btw), and I had not seen him there before.
I was completely floored - he was *gorgeous* He turned out to be a model, actually - Japenese, just over 6' with saucer brown eyes and straight black hair down to his arse. So of course I thought to myself 'right then, I'll have one of those'....and I did.
Unfortunately, all abject prettiness aside, when it came right down to it, there was not alot there to work with, as it were. Probably about two..mabye three inches (that's real inches, not 'man' inches, kids)....I couldn't stop giggling...
I didn't see him again after that - he called a few times, but the mere thought of being with him made me giggle :)