The Bad Sex Chronicles

Discussion in 'The NAAFI Bar' started by Turbogoat, Apr 15, 2009.

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  1. There’s been many an inflated tale of sexual conquest and derriere-do on this forum recently, some of it better received than others. While I have no doubt that much of it is wildly inflated, much like a condom over ones head, there may at times have been a grain of truth to some of it.
    In response, I feel it is only fair to begin to recount some of my own history, and also a few stories I have encountered along the way. I’ve shagged more than my fair share, but mainly because I have been willing to lower my standards further than most, rather than any particular pulling power of mine. In truth, I cannot claim to have as much pulling power as a freight train; in fact it is rather more similar to a moped with a flat tire.

    The first tale was not my first sexual encounter; I will leave that for another day. In fact it happened quite recently, when I had quite rashly walked into a room and declared that I could cop off with any of the women in there. Sadly I was in a retirement home at the time, but at least I felt it was a boast I could live up to. (I would not have been so crass as to say this in a rape crisis centre or a nursery school, even I have some boundaries.)
    I weighed up the talent with an experienced eye, not immediately discounting those bound to zimmer frames, but definitely penalising them for undoubted lack of flexibility. I soon saw my mark, a saucy wee minx playing scrabble by the window. She’d just placed the word ‘knob’ on a triple word score so I knew she had a dirty mind. Her blue rinsed curls fell tantalisingly about her horn rimmed glasses, and she gave me a cheeky stare out of her good eye.
    “Scoring much?” I asked with just a suggestion of double entendre, backed up by a subtle air-thrust with my hips.
    “Oooaah, you’re a naughty one bor” she replied. Christ she was from Norfolk. Oh well, we could make do without the dirty talk then, I’d never been much of a fan since I’d mistakenly called a phone-sex line based in Swansea. I pressed a finger to her lips (not as dry as you might think) and ushered her towards the boudoir of forbidden lust.
    Once in the broom cupboard we fell upon each other with unbridled lust. Well, it was unbridled once I’d removed her girdle, but it became bridled once again when I got it stuck between my teeth and the silly cow would stop yanking on it.
    After disentangling myself from her undergarments and support hose I reached down to fondle her breasts, and reached down, and down and down. In the end, it was easier just to haul the breasts up above her knees, you’d need arms like an Orang-utan to get a hold of her nipples and still stay on your feet. I traced my fingernails tenderly along her stretch marks, making her moan in pleasure. She arched her back causing the gristle to crackle menacingly (Note to self: Maybe skip the pile driver 69 this time round).
    With an alluring hand she pulled her dentures from her mouth, tossing them carelessly over her shoulder. There was a worrying crack as she dropped to her knees before me, but I was too excited to worry about her arthritis as I was about to score the Granny-bangers holy grail – the Gum job.
    There are many acts of copulation that can bring large amounts of pleasure, but a toothless blowjob has to be one of the greatest. No biting, no snagging of pubes, just sheer unadulterated (yet possibly adulterous) pleasure.
    Say what you like about octogenarians, they’ve had plenty of time to practice their fornicatory arts, and this one must have been a right goer in days of yore. As soon as she had de-trousered myself she had clamped on like a limpet to the hull of an Akula class submarine and was sucking on it like a condemned mans last cigarette. In the end I was forced to pinch her nose together so the fixated bint would let go. As she gasped for air I turned her round and tried to aim for the wet spot. There wasn’t one, blasted dried up old mare. After trying to bring up enough spit to use as lubrication (the determined blowjob had rerouted ALL my bodily fluids away from the head), I spotted a bottle of Brasso on the shelf and elected to use that instead. If I tried the back door route we’d have to rename her rusty sheriff’s badge.
    I flailed away, she moaned insensibly. I was a little worried she was having a stroke, but it turned out it was just her Norfolk accent once again. When I could tell she could take no more a mere thirty seconds later, I let out a cry of victory
    “He shoots, he scores! Yessssssss! ” and proceeded to blow my copious Brasso tinted load over her even more copious back wrinkles.
    Sated, I looked in vain for my other shoe as I left the broom cupboard and it’s shagged out occupant.
  2. The Bad Sex Chronicles II.

    In the previous episode I recounted a tale of forbidden wrinkly-sex in a broom cupboard. In retrospect this may have not been the best tale to begin this epic saga with as I fear it may brand me as a depraved Granny shagger. While I’m not averse to the odd bit of GMILF (Grand Mother I’d Like to Fornicate), it is by no means my preferred perversion.
    My next tale is of a woman much closer to my own age, in truth I think she might even be a couple of years younger.
    Once again, I was began surveying a room full of rampant totty, confident that I could do the deed with any of them in there. By 0300 the only lasses left in the club were the drunk, the morbidly obese, the abandoned and the munters. As luck would have it, I spotted the trifecta, a drunk morbidly obese abandoned munter near the exit. She had delicately placed her hand against the wall to support herself as she vomited with such an uninhibited air that I knew she would have no qualms about a night of anonymous passion. Her legs quivered as she discharged undigested kebab, sending ripples through the cottage cheese of her voluminous thighs. As her short skirt rode up higher and higher on the cellulite it also seemed she was wearing no underwear.
    I was mistaken; it was just hidden beneath an endearing roll of ass fat that was trying to disguise itself as a third buttock. With as much gentlemanly grace as I could muster, I tried to unhike her skirt from her waist to help cover her ass cheeks. She looked behind her startled, and no doubt confused that such a paragon of virtue could inhabit such a lowly dive as this. As I calculated, this move threw her even more off balance than the copious amounts of alcohol she had previously consumed.
    Without another word being said, we hurried out the door to a back alley, pausing only to pick up another kebab. Laying her upon the least soiled cardboard I could find I re-hiked up her skirt, wishing I had brought my bicycle tire irons to help lift it over the larger rolls of fat. She helpfully lifted her belly out of the way as I dove in head first, fully intent on giving her a muff-diving of Olympic qualifying standard. Sadly, the distance between her thighs was to narrow to fit my head in, so much like a cow pushing it’s head through a fence or a sixteen year old attempting auto-fellatio I was left thrusting my head out in vain, attempting to stick my tongue out far enough to make contact. She let out a moan of delight, although this was probably because of the kebab she was devouring at the time.
    Deciding that the caress of my ears against her thighs ought to be enough foreplay for one evening I dropped my trousers and threw her ankles upon my shoulders. This may have been the point when my collarbone cracked but I was concentrating on other things at the time. Grabbing her delicate waist with both hands I attempted to manoeuvre her into position for some furious pumping. Sadly, it would have taken Lou Ferrigno’s bigger brother to move her, so I changed grip and tried to move a few more rolls out of the way.
    Spotting my target I plunged in, letting her have it all the way to the hilt. That’s right, BOTH inches.
    “Take it all you shameless hussy!” I cried. She tried to reply, but hadn’t quite finished her kebab yet. I was almost finished with her however as several seconds later I pulled out just in time to give her the chef’s special sauce over the remains of her kebab. “He shoots, he scores! Yesssssssss! ” I shouted as I rolled clear and began the hunt for my shoes. I didn’t remember taking them off and was a little worried she may have eaten them.
  3. The Bad Sex Chronicles III
    My previous tales have recounted Granny Shagging and Chubby chasing, predilections that are both worthy in their own right, but not ones I am exclusively partial to.
    A recent conquest was neither geriatric nor elephantine. In fact she was a rather striking lady, tall, elegant and refined. I met her whilst walking my dog in the park on a Spring afternoon. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, and I was hornier than a three bollocked teenage boy with a web cam set up in the changing rooms at a women only gym.
    I’ve found my dog is a brilliant method for meeting women. Better than my last one anyway, apparently Pitbulls aren’t useful for scoring with women, except in a ‘get your gear off or I’ll let him off his leash’ sort of way. My current dog is much more user friendly and as such is a handy wing man for starting conversations with unknown women.
    Today was no exception. I had Fido well primed, under strict orders not to sniff at any crotches until I had done so first, and was able to steer him toward my tall elegant target who was sitting at a park bench delicately nibbling a hot dog. (I believe this is called foreshadowing)
    On cue, Fido sat at her feet, lifting one front paw that most people seem to translate as begging, but is really him pretending to hold a 9mm gangster style telling you to drop the food bitch. I approached in a well rehearsed manner, making swift apologies for the dog, before distracting him with a couple of thrown dog biscuits, ensuring at least one landed amongst her cleavage.
    “Would you like to stroke my schnauzer?” I asked my well dressed object of my carnal desires.
    “I do believe that’s a Labrador actually” She replied. She could stroke my dog as well if she really wanted to, but that’s not what I asked. With a knowing gleam in her eye we disappeared into the bushes behind the park bench. It was but the work of a moment to clear away enough dog shit so we could lie down on the grass.
    She obviously had some pent up desires as I found myself pinned to the ground as she tore my shirt open and began furiously gnawing on my nipples. “Thanks darling, but men don’t really give a shit about that” I said as I gently placed both hands on her head and not so gently pushed her down to waist level. I silently gave a prayer of thanks to the makers of the new desensitizing gel I was using as she could have sucked a bowling ball out of a mouses arrse the way she went at me. As I felt my eyes about be sucked down through the eye sockets I pulled her head away from my brutalised genitalia and climbed aboard her, hooking her panties down with my big toe as I did so. In retrospect this was a rather stylish manoeuvre, but was completely accidental at the time.
    She flung her legs around my waist in a manner that threatened to impale my kidneys on her high heels as I managed to plunge my pork sword into her on only the fourth attempt and began thrashing away like a two stroke piston. (It was a vicious rumour that my boarding school nick name was two stroke, although it is not for nothing that I never had to eat the soggy biscuit.)
    As I felt the familiar building of pressure like a volcano about to erupt, I knew that the desensitizing gel was giving out. Just as I was about to give her a couple of rather large shunts for good luck I felt a delightful sensation at my puckered arrse rim. “Oh you dirty dirty girl” I whispered down to her, realising she was working up to giving me a prostate examination. Then, realising she had both hands holding her own ankles, I realised it couldn’t have been her at my rear exit. Looking around I saw Fido, nose deep in my own arrse cheeks greedily trying to get at the sweat running down my crack. Before I could try and distract him with a dog biscuit, the multiple stimulations from below, behind and the use by date of the desensitizing gel meant that I shot my load while frozen to the spot. “He shoots he scores! YESSSSSSSSSSS!” I cried half heartedly, but satisfied nonetheless. With a barely audible pop I pulled out and frantically searched for my shoes before Fido began to chew on them.
  4. You talking to yourself? You'll get locked up for that.
  5. Why anyone would be so vain as to think that others would be interested in your sexual history is beyond me. Even supposing that the above diatribe is true.It is not fair to begin to recount some of your stories.

    You are deluded and need professional help.(In the form of a revolver).
  6. Are you Dashing_Cnuts mong brother?
  7. Can I check if this is meant to be a chronicle of bad sex, or a bad chronicle of sex?
  8. Personally, I think its an attempt to cash in upon Dashing_Chips hilarity.

    Could be wrong though. :wink:
  9. Made me laugh, keep it up!

    Interesting - the speed it took you to put that together.
  10. A man after my own heart, always go ugly early.

    Winner of many a Gronk Trophy, unsurpassed Mess Champion on HMS Intrepid after copping off with a SpaceHopper in Weymouth two nights after leaving Base Port on a 4 month deployment. Nearly managed to surpass that in Malta on same trip but, got lucky with the better looking half, and she didn't fancy a threesome.

    Ah Well, Beggars can't be Choosers, which reminds me of this homeless female beggar on Brighton Station in the 80's, I'd missed the last train to Pompey and she'd missed everything, we were thrown together for a blissfull moment or two as she kept me warm on the long wait for the first train.

    Ahh memories
  11. Just because dishing_chips et al. can pull it off, doesn't mean everyone can. Also, like any form of humour, saturation of the market is going to drive prices, quality and effectiveness down. Best give it a rest, eh?
  12. Fuck off penis eater. If I want tales of bottom touching and bowel battering I'll speak to the padre of the ACF.
  13. Turbogoat you must be an award winning typist to type that fast.....
  14. Not to long after my discharge the Army, or was the discharge I had that forced me and the Army to part company (probably both) I went to the pub with my brother for a quite night out :twisted: .
    There were a couple of horrors there who where game (things you see and nothing to shoot em with). After a reasonable night out, Bro had gone AWOL and I was left with these two renditions of black country femenimity, so back to their place for fun and games :roll:
    Horror 1 went to her cage with with Bfriend whilst yours truly was left with mate to do with as I pleased, anyway I had wicked way with No 2 and much fun was had. No1 knocks on door and enters bedroom, it transpires No1's Bfriend is comatose and has problem getting it up and No1 is slightly miffed and wants to talk.
    Opportunity for threesome on the cards here.
    I suggested that she join us and we could discuss her problem. No 1 sit's on end of bed and starts babbling on, Im stroking No2's phlange which is quite nice but its getting cold in the room. Listen I say to No1 why don't you climb under cover's where its a bit warmer, to which she did. but would not shut up about the comatose corpse next door. I was building No2 up for a gushing orgasm when I thought "go for it " and started to touch up No 1, the conversation seemed to trail off as No1 realised she might actually get poked that night. to cut a long story short a threesome ensued which was mindblowing.
    Cock was duly wiped on curtains and off I went home.
    Brother asked for the gory details and was suitably impressed until I told about No2's mastectomy. Nearly threw up he did, but its a first for me having a shag with three tits on offer :D