Sexual Disappointments and the Illusion of Time

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by JesterRIP, May 11, 2010.

Welcome to the Army Rumour Service, ARRSE

The UK's largest and busiest UNofficial military website.

The heart of the site is the forum area, including:

  1. So I’m in my pit this morning when the alarm on my phone rudely wakes me at 0645. The first thing I notice is that I’m spooned into the wife so I know I have to do that awkward double-jointed thing with my arm to turn the fucking annoying thing off. But as I lift my arm across I hit lucky and managed to sweep up the charger cable, and I carefully pull the cable and phone towards me, eventually turning the alarm off.

    Something else I notice at this point is my morning glory. And because I dragged my heels over cancelling my alarm – she’s now also awake. So I proceed to do what any decent bloke should do at this point, and proceed to force my two-inch erection against her rear end and grind myself up against her in the slight hope that she’ll be, a) horny, b) not pissed off that I woke her up and c) in a good mood. Now I admit, you’ve got more chance of juggling chainsaws with one hand than having all three coincide, but luckily for me it was game-on.

    Now morning sex for me is a little entertaining to say the least. You seem to spend a lot of the time avoiding each other’s breath stream. Not because of each others, but how we felt about our own. Because despite all the brushing and mouthwash only a few hours before, for reasons unexplained someone obviously comes along in the middle of the night and takes a dump in your gob.

    Anyway, after some of my best moves and all the thrashing about (and avoidance of each others faces etc) ...the deed is done. We’re both lying there on our backs after what felt like a good half hour or so. And she says to me “Wouldn’t it be funny if you didn’t actually turn your alarm off and only hit the five minute snooze instead…”

    And at that very moment, my fucking phone went off again. And the missus didn’t seem impressed either.

    Tell us about your biggest bedroom let-downs.
  2. You know that feeling when you're itching to reply to a post, but you really know it's a bad idea? That it's going to land you in the proverbial smelly stuff? And you know that what you're going to post falls well short of your self-imposed criteria of informative, thought-provoking or funny? Yet still you have the urge to post? And, as a last resort, you tell yourself that, if nothing else, it gives a promising thread a bump? .....

    Well, being a woman, if I went into sexual disappointments, I might be here allday. And I've posted, so many times, about my feminist, misanthropic, misandrist, autistic, anti-social, reclusive issues. But, to cut to the chase, your description of a woman waking, in the morning, to that absolutely delicious feeling of an erect willy nuzzling against the perineum, stirred long-gone, but arousing, memories. It's one of the very few forms of contact with other human beings (that these days I usually avoid like the plague) that I recall being truly exquisite.

    Anyway my drivel gives your thread a bump, Jester. :D
  3. One of my ex-girlfriends, who had a particular sheltered upbringing and a cracking bum, had the canny ability not to supply the goods when expected.

    I lived in the block and she lived at home so our time together for some missionary (and occasionally from behind) sex was limited. It consisted normally of the stairs (keeping look-out), the front room (a very quick quicky, my speciality) and the rare sleep-over at a mates house (post-house party). So when my sister offered me the use of her flat for the whole weekend I lept at the chance. Anyway I built myself up to a exhaustive shagging fest and troughed down the carbs a al marathon runner stylee. Come the big Friday night, I got the early train home and popped around the flat, had the candles lit, the chilled wine and telephone number of the local pizza delivery place to hand.

    All was well, she arrived, had some small talk, a drink and then straight to bed. I did the undressing and we both jumped in. Thought I'd miss out on the foreplay this time as I wanted a few warmers into the bank before I had Serials 1-25 :wink:
    Finally got on top and had the old man ready to go and then hit the major snag of the weekend. She was dry. I've no idea what was going through her head but 'Ghandi's flip-flop' was going through mine. I tried to squeeze him in and it wouldn't go, 'Ouch!' she would say every now and again. I resorted to a bit of clit stimuli but that didn't seem to work either, my big sausage fingers giving it 10-to-the-dozen. I even dropped a big dollop of spit into my hand to slap down there but she went beserk about hygeine 8O

    After what seemed like forever to make her moist I lost the wood and we returned to being in front of the TV to order pizza. The next morning it happened again, and again and again. In fact I never got to spray my salty seed into her all weekend. On one occasion I even split my foreskin as I was trying to push him in that hard. Not severe but sore all the same. She kept apologising and assured me it wasn't my fault, except it didn't make me feel better.
    The only chance I had to break her taboo about getting giggy in other positions and 'try something new' without any interference and she dried up like a nun's clunge.
    Least to say we didn't last that long after that. I still have the mental scars and even after nearly 20 years of marriage I still extend the foreplay so that I can be 100% sure she's dripping like a Ex-Home Secretary after a bad General Election result.
  4. Ha! The wife just read this thread and sent me this text:

    "You should put in there about the one-minute wonder that time when we lived in Melford".

    Anyone need me to elaborate on that?

    Thought not... :D

    Honestly, some men struggle to manage a lazy lob-on - you'd think she'd be more grateful.
  5. Ah, sexual disappointment. I would like to brazen it out and say it’s never happened but I would be lying if I did. This particular episode took place in the former colony of Hong Kong. I’m in a bar with a mate drinking heavily when a dozen or so fit looking lasses entered. One of them looked remarkable familiar, in fact very familiar, but I placed her after a moment or so and didn’t mention it to my mate. The evening was quiet and I fancied a laugh, so I took a little bet with my drinking partner that I would be able to woo this particular lady.

    I approached the group of lovelies and edged my way through to blonde in question. Before she could say anything I piped up
    “My mate has just bet me 500 HK$ that I can’t get off with you, I’m happy to split it 50/50.”
    As opening lines go, I think you’ll agree it’s pretty suave…..
    She threw her arms around me gave me a massive smacker and said
    “Barry! I haven’t seen you for ages! What are you doing here?”

    Barry is my younger brother and there is a family resemblance. Told you I knew her from somewhere. Result!

    I corrected her and explained the bet situation. She agreed and we swapped spit for a bit, then it got a bit heavier and eventually we forgot about the 500 bucks on offer and headed for her flat, all the while fumbling in each others clothing. Her flat was pretty swish, tidy with the odd piece of discarded lingerie on the bedroom floor. We stripped each other off and rolled around on the bed as I desperately though about all manner of perversions in an attempt to override the gallons of San Mig that were sloshing around in my bladder. After a couple of minutes fumbling, I began to sense a mood of change in the room, this was amplified by her opting to use both hands on my button mushroom in order to elicit some kind of erection.
    Now I love determination in a woman and this one was determined to get the whole Taff49 cock experience. Not content with just using both her hands on my flaccid member, she then changed tack, lay down in a manner which left her well-tended lady garden about a foot from my face and proceeded to use a pair of dildo’s on herself, all the while keeping an eye on my Hampton. This impromptu floor show had the desired effect and it slowly sprang into life. With the speed of a thousand gazelle’s she changed position and leapt aboard my wood. I would love to reminisce with you at this juncture abut a night of seemingly endless passion, dear reader, but I’m afraid I can’t.
    You see, it was at this point that I fell asleep.

    I woke up in the morning to an empty flat. No note, no request for me to call her, nothing. There was a duvet on the sofa which made me wonder if I hadn’t had a touch of the snores after passing out mid coitus. I slunk away, and avoided the bar where her and her mates drank for a good six weeks or so.
  6. Does anyone remember the good old days when sex involved a bloke getting his rocks off? There was no notion of the female orgasm, indeed I do believe it hadn't been invented then.
    The man's job was to graciously accept a blow job, couple of tweaks on a nipple, quick sweep round the kebab with an index finger then plonk it in until he was ready to pull a stupid face roll over and go to sleep. It was this rolling over and sleep ritual which allowed the girl to get herself comfortable in the wet patch and even play with herself (if she was a raving nympho who was so greedy she wanted more than her man was prepared to give).
    Now they come out with all those quazi-scientific terms like clitoris, g-spot, orgasm and put all this pressure on a bloke to be 'good in bed' and a 'satisfying lover', worst of all they seem to think that an all-night shag should last longer than 30 seconds! Outrageous!
    One minute a bloke's happily pushing his pole in any available hole for a quick waggle the next he's expected to satisfy the woman. Listen Doris it's hard enough keeping me satisfied, you want these new-fangled orgasms I suggest you get them out of the way before I mount you because your satisfaction is your job.

    I deny all knowledge of the above post (if my missis asks)
  7. Im sitting here with a huge cold you wanker, laughing, sneezing and coughing with a full bladder isn't comfortable.
  8. You old fart, It must just be me that gets a raging hardon about all the things you hate then, tsk tsk.
  9. Over a bar somewhere that I can't remember was this sign,

    there are few things in life as overrated as a poor shag and underrated as a good sh1t.

    As someone who has a great deal of experience of both I must agree.
  10. I've never had a crap shag. It's not a question I would like to ask the ex g/f's anf the wife though. As MiT says, "Your pleasure, your problem"
  11. I thought I’d give this one another bump to see if there are any further takers from at least the usual suspects. I find it hard to believe that everyone’s parallel-parking adventures have all been uber shag-a-thons of epic proportions.

    Plucking another from the Jester Archives, I recall a disappointment from the other side of the fence on this occasion.

    Now these days I tend to find the more upmarket, well preserved types more attractive than the obvious slappers – women that leave more to the imagination if you like. For some reason, the thought of being stripped and gagged by a classy businesswoman, who just happens to have a spare leather outfit in the back of her walk-in wardrobe, whilst talking me through what she’s about to do to me in a voice like that bird from the M&S advert just does things to me no scutter has ever gotten near to. (This isn’t just a ball-gag...)

    But before all that, I used to think the FMBs, boob-tube and miniskirt were a sure-fire way to sexual ecstasy on a night out. For some reason, that image had impregnated itself in my subconscious as an indicator of someone who really knew the ropes. I recall a horny looking young lady (the lady part of that descriptive I use very loosely for reasons explained later) who worked in our cookhouse for a while.

    She was never seen without her trademark FMBs, and wore make-up fairly heavily in all the areas that associated her look with the type witnessed in the centre-spread of any good jazz-mag (so I was told anyway). Of course at scoff, you’d be sat on a table and the inevitable would happen and she would emerge. At this point, rather ‘covertly’ every single head would turn to the angle of attack and the sound of knives and forks clinking would die down a little until she’d made her way through ‘the gauntlet’. The other inevitable thing that would happen was that guy with more sheds than any other would pipe-up and say “She’s pure filth that one” or something similar. And whilst he’d never say he’d “done her” he always knew someone who had.

    So the stories continued, and her legend increased to the point she was probably the dirtiest woman I’d never met.

    One night I seriously thought my luck was in. Out of nowhere on the dance floor in the stereotypical dark and dingy club, she approached me whilst gyrating and started grinding her arrse into me, before gyrating off and turning away. I got that ‘you’re in there’ look from a drinking buddy, and every so often she’d turn back to see if I was watching her. Not wanting to look an idiot, I pretty much ignored her for as long as I was in the place, and come the infamous ten-to-two period, I made a bee-line for door when she stopped me and asked where I was going.

    After being called an arrogant twat and a few other names for not trying to chat her up earlier, we were eventually getting amongst it and after a wee chat outside at the taxi rank, took a cab back to hers.

    Remembering what the guys had said about her, and knowing we’d been spotted leaving together, I was becoming increasing worried about two things. The first was being Captain Come-Quick and never fucking living it down. The other was the Melty-Man that ensues after x-amount of wife-beaters. So we got to hers and eventually into her bed (her room was a fucking shit tip by the way), and after a bit of fumbling and awkward tonsil tennis she suddenly announced, “I’m ready!”

    “Ready for what?” I thought.

    So I just carried on with the motion and a few moments later she said again, “Ready!”. Now I was about 20, 21 maybe at this point in my life. And I have to admit back then sex was a bit like pizza – even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good. Escaping me at this point in time though, was what exactly she was ready for? So I thought maybe she wanted me to eat her bearded-clam for a while. As I went down there she asked me what I was doing. So I said, “Isn’t it obvious?” I obviously wanted to make it sound convincing so I followed it up by telling her “Just lay back and enjoy”.

    To my surprise, she pulls me back up and says “I’m ready – put it in”.

    Erm, ok. The Melty-Man was not far away now I sensed. And the anxiety of a similar thought to Fat-Cav’s started setting in. Will she be – well – moist enough? It turned out that wasn’t going to be a problem because a combination of her having a fanny like a bucket and my micro-penis syndrome made things easier than I imagined.

    But without wishing to appear like a crap shag, I went to flip her over and she asked me what I was doing again. “Don’t you like it from behind?” I asked her. “No”, she said, “Cant we just keep going like this?”. And so we did...

    Well fuck me, after all the hype and all the urban legends about her so called filth, she turned out to be only marginally better than sitting in my room and oiling up my own baseball bat. And the most memorable thing I recall from that night was trying to find my other shoe buried amongst her mountain of clothes on the floor before making my excuses.

    I made up for it the following week though by nailing a gymnast.
  12. Finding out a the bloke at the time was a virgin, the fact that he only had one leg too wasn't so much the problem as his lack of er...bedroom olympics 8O
    I could have had a lot of fun if i hadn't have been too busy laughing. Unfortunately he got the huff on, rather than a stonk on and stomped, or rather hopped off.
  13. Sadly my Yamaha moments are too numerous to list here, MIT I agree with your sentiments a). Never had a bad blow job, b) If your not fast your last c) If you can’t point at it please don’t ask me to try and find it.
  14. Whilst it wasn't a disappointment as such I do recall being in bed with my then girlfriend in the 70's, they had a 10 foot front garden and as her room was first floor at the front not a huge problem, the front gate squeeked and we were dressed and ready to greet her mum and dad.

    Bloody WD 40! first warning was the front door CLOSING they're at the bottom of the stairs!

    In my prime I could get from naked to fully dressed in 15 seconds, and have enough puff to congratulate her dad on oiling my early warning system.
  15. Even in these days of equality, it seems to be less comfortable for a bird to relate a tale of sexual disappointment on Arrse. One knows one is leaving oneself exposed to cries of "'cos you're a munter", etc. Not because I want to brag, but just in my defence, at the age of 30 (when this disappointment occurred) I was in fine condition and knew how to please a man. I have been told I've been someone's most unselfish lover and didn't get many complaints.

    Anyway, my friend and I were on holiday in Morocco. We had spent the evening with a couple of Swedish guys. Her's was a skinny, rather effeminate, little chap. Mine was well over six-foot tall, broad shouldered, big-boned (but not fat) ...... a gorgeous hunk ..... and a lawyer. I had high expectations of the night ahead and was excited. To cut a long story short, it was a non-event. On that night, he remained impotent. (I don't know why? Guilt about his girlfriend? No idea?)

    But, I still see the encounter as a positive experience. Over breakfast we got on to the subject of Roger Moore the actor. I was blown away by the way my Swedish hunk pronounced the name: (with a hard 'g', rather than a soft 'g') ........ Rogairrrrrrrr Mawwwrrrrrrrrrrre. Amused me big time. :D I love accents ...... especially well-pronounced, rolled 'r's. Whenever I meet Jocks, I have to get them to say "burglar alarm" for me. :D

    Nothing to do with distorted perceptions of the passage of time :slow: but bumped your thread, Jester. :D