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Strange & Embarassing Moments: The Finer Points of Cunnilingus on a Chalkboard
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I'm always rightFuckin' deal with itRegistered User regular
I'm always rightFuckin' deal with itRegistered User regular
Will do!Elki wrote:If you make a new thread without a new, funny story, by you, there will be words.
Post your strange and/or embarassing stories here! I'll be taking a page from the last thread and any/all awesome posts will be linked in the OP with a title change as necessary.
Okay, time for my story.
I'm in the military, as I've mentioned before. Well, in case you didn't know the military is fairly...homophobic. Recently, me and my friends/coworkers were out in the field loading some magazines and talking idly about this and that (loading ammo is excruciatingly boring). At the time, we were talking about sports, more specifically football.
As a die-hard Packers fan, I was lamenting Favre's departing from my team for the goddamn Jets. This led to a conversation about Brett Favre.
As the designated "Packersfag" I decided to make a (horribly misguided) joke about my love for Brett Favre. As my friend was talking to me, I turn to him and say, with a straight face, "I'd sleep with Brett Favre. Tell me you wouldn't."
Friend:
Me:
:) :? 
:xTo this day I still get shit for that.
Friends: "I hope you bought that old edition of Madden so you'd have some masturbation materials."
Thanks a lot, douchebags. :x
Thread title change #1: TheFullMetalChicken, Oct 21, 2008
Thread title change #2: Jmiket, Nov 18, 2008
Thread title change #3: Kedinik, Nov 20, 2008
Thread Title change #4 (For Two Posts!): Smurph, Dec 4, 2008 AND
Gaffero, Dec 4, 2008
Thread Title change #5: Xaiok, Jan 29, 2009
Thread Title change #6: Mystikspyral, Feb 10, 2009
Thread Title change #7: Brandotheninjamaster, Feb 25, 2009
Thread Title change #8: Saiga, March 12, 2009
Thread Title change #9: cyphr, March 25, 2009
Thread Title change #10: chasm, April 8, 2009
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Sixth grade. I went to a private Christian school, and being a private Christian school, we received no federal funding. Hence, the school was never able to build a cafeteria, so during lunchtime we would all just sit in our seats in the classroom and eat lunch. The teachers would usually read us a story from a book so we wouldn't get bored or restless.
Enter a young Matt_S, who was only partly paying attention to his teacher's reading and eating a PB&J sandwich served with a little bottle of water. I had just taken a big bite from my sandwich and was drinking water to wash it all down when my friend, the bastard he is, whispered a funny joke into my ear and made me laugh out loud.
Still with a mouthful of water.
The force of my laugh forced the water from my mouth like from one of those Super Soaker cannons. Friends, colleagues, and other sixth graders near me felt the torrent of water proceed from my mouth. My teacher's words ceased as students cried out in panic, surprise and alarm. Faces, once attentively turned to the teacher, were now looking my direction with bewilderment.
Then silence. The teacher broke it, and said, "Matthew, are you OK?"
"Yeah," I choke out. "Just some water....sorry."
The rest of the lunch period consisted of paper towels, laughter at my expense and my teacher reassuring the victims that No, it was just water - not a mixture of hydrochloric acid and party digested sandwich.
That was a bad week for me.
Fast forward to Valentine's day. She called me at work and told me that they only had towncars available at that time, and I wasn't really concerned, but I picked up a cheap fifth of Vodka and some OJ on the way home. I started out around 7 drinking at the house. I had a glass of vodka, and another separate glass of OJ. I'd drink the alcohol until my throat seized up, then switch to OJ, and back again. By the time the car was scheduled to arrive, I was pretty piss drunk. We had a roommate at the time, and he decided to roll with us and had participated a bit in my pre-drinking as well. The car pulls up, and not only is it NOT the towncar, it is the super-stretch limo, complete with bar. The three of us pile in the back, and proceed to the bar that my wife worked at. We drank vodka and cran on the way.
Bar1 arrival. My wife knew pretty much all the regulars there, and they had some karaoke going on, so I got up and sang something. I'm not sure what it was, but I know I did my best singing evar. One of the regulars was a cross-dresser. His name was Mike, but when he was a girl he was Samantha. I thought at the time that he was pretty hot for a dude dressed like a chick. We stayed for a couple of hours or so, and it was time to move on. Samantha decided to join us, and off we went. Queue more drinking en-route to second bar.
Bar2 arrival. I'm not sure where this bar was, or why it was picked. Honestly, I was so drunk at that point, I didn't care. I know we hung out there until closing though. It's now 2am, and all four of us (me, wife, roommate, gay guy) were pretty hammered. We didn't want to stop, so we knew of a dance club that stayed open until 4. Off we went. At this point, I became inordinately fascinated with Samantha's false breasts. I was pinching the fake nipples and laughing far more than was appropriate. Sam was amused by my amusement, as was everyone else.
Rave/Dance Club arrival. This place was crazy. Flashing lights, huge bass music, and cages to dance in. I promptly found an unoccupied cage, and proceeded to dance like I had never danced before. I could just feel the rhythm and knew that I was mixing it up with the best of them. Until I banged my head really hard on one of the bars. That put an end to my dancing for a bit. We stay there until they closed up at 4. As we all pile out to the limo, we notice that Sam has a man with her/him. It's a little Mexican dude, and we don't think he speaks english. We shrug, and decide it's time for Waffle House. Where else do you go at 4 in the morning drunk? In transit to WH, we see Sam and Jose (perhaps his name) makin out pretty fierce.
Waffle House arrival. I am sooo hungry, I can't wait to get an omelet. We all stream into WH, and I sit down, and weave a bit sitting. I get a good whiff of the greasy potatoes and decide that WH is probably not what I need right now. I elect to go pass out in the limo until the rest are done eating. At some point during the meal, Sam the cross-dresser decides to come out to limo, followed quickly by my wife. My wife wanted to make sure there were no shenanigans to be had against me in my defenseless form. She runs Sam off, and everyone else finishes the meals and comes out. The rest of them pile into the limo, so now we have Me, my wife, our roommate, the she-male, and a mexican dude. We head back home.
I had been feeling more and more queasy as the night had progressed, but the passed out part helped considerably. Unfortunately the motion of the car on the way home had awakened me and made me aware of how bad I was really feeling. I knew sickness was not far away. I saw we were almost to the house, so I knew I could wait. The limo pulled up to the driveway, and the motion of stopping pushed me past the point of control. Our roommate had unlatched the door, but was entirely too slow in opening it, so I decided to help, by pushing him out of the door. He tumbled ass over teakettle into the driveway, and I stomped on him trying to get out of the car. I just made it past him when I vomited all over the front yard. Immediately I felt so much better, and made it to the front porch. I knew I could handle it now, and then decided I couldn't, and vomited all over the porch itself. Nothing more than alcohol though, so not terrible.
My wife helps me to the bedroom, and puts me to bed, our roommate does his customary ritual of putting some water in the bathtub and passing out in it fully clothed. Sam and his Mexican friend settle down in the living room. All is right in the world. At some point, my wife relates that I got out of bed, went over to the dresser, pulled open a drawer, pissed in it, closed the drawer and went back to bed. I deny this story, but she swears to it, but she's probably telling the truth.
Anyhow, fast forward an hour later, the sun is 'almost' up, and we hear a bloodcurdling scream from the front room. Everyone leaps from where they were, and runs to the living room, just in time to see a naked Mexican running out the front door. He bolts down the street screaming, never to be seen again. He just got Crying Game'd. All this time, we thought he knew. Apparently he did not. Samantha looked heartbroken, and we just shook our heads.
An hour after that I had to call in sick to work, because I was still so completely drunk, I knew I wouldn't make it, and even if I did, I would just be passed out at my desk.
After that, I didn't drink a whole lot. Weird shit happens when I do.
TLDR Version:
For no reason whatsoever, she flips open her phone and takes a picture of my schwanz from a horrifying low angle. I thought this was a funny opportunity to add an overzealous thumb-up beside my throbbing cock, making it a truly terrible picture. We both looked at it and laughed for a minute or two, at which point I jokingly said we should send the picture to our friend Travis.
To my utter surprise, her eyes went wide, her jaw went slack, and she replied, "...We TOTALLY should!"
So went texted the picture to one of my bestest buddies, along with the phrase: "Sh-boobidy-booby!" -which, according to him, was disgusting black slang from Oceanside that meant, "what's up?" He hated the phrase.
We get a call from him ten minutes later. He's beyond pissed. His biggest complaint being that the picture was darker on his phone than ours, meaning he had to look close and study the photo for a moment before recoiling in terror at having just gazed so long at my package.
"For a few seconds Oskar saw through Eli's eyes. And what he saw was...himself. Only much better, more handsome, stronger than what he thought of himself. Seen with love."
--John Ajvide Lindqvist, Let the Right One In (Page 446).
Also didn't help their case while I was sitting in the stall next door doing my thing when they started talking about needing more lube on the pipe. Most uncomfortable rest room experience yet.
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I'll go with now. The grey is um...what's the word I'm looking for...distinguishing? Hell, I'm not good at commenting on how other men look.
This has never come up yet as I'm waiting for the opportune time and place to say this and enjoy the look on my friend's faces, but if it came down to it -- like, aliens came in and took my fiancee hostage and threatened to destroy the world unless I'd commit the unspeakable, yeah, I could be gay for Bear Grylls.
Feel free to quote this post in the next S&E thread.
So one of my jobs is retail, in a Canadian Tire. So I typically come in 5 minutes before my shift, go to the bathroom, and make sure I look okay before going out.
So this one particular day last week, I notice a slight pimple on my cheek (note: I'm not really the type to have an acne problem, I've grown out of that phase, so this is unusual for me). Strictly to see how far along it is, I give it a gentle squeeze. Big mistake, as the thing explodes. Thats not the problem though. The problem is, for some reason, the spot where it was now begins to bleed like a motherfucker.
We're not talking b-movie squirting here, but we are talking a pretty steady oozing. It just won't stop. So I grab a big wad of toilet paper, and try to stem the tide. 10 minutes later, it still hasn't stopped and I need to swap tissues. I'm already late for my shift, so I decide to just man it up, grab a fresh wad of TP, and just stroll out, dabbing the thing every 5 seconds and wishing no one would look. So after a very awkward conversation with my Manager where everyone is tact enough not to mention the red-stained tissue pressed to my face I start the shift. It wasn't so bad, since I was the only person in my department (weeknight, few people there) but still, I must have gone through like 10 tissues that shift, and it was still bleeding 4 hours later, though rather less. I did catch plenty of odd looks from customers wondering why I had a bloody tissue pressed to my face, though. It did stop later that night, but still, it was an embarrassing few hours.
What a coincidence though.
(seriously)
I never had acne or anything as a teen. I was blemish free. Now, at 20, I'm getting an oily face and pimples and all. It really sucks. Anyways (and maybe this is actually making it worse, who knows) a couple of times a day at work I'll go into the bathroom, wash my face, pop any pimples/squeeze out any of that disgusting, opaque oil/dirt from my nose pores, then wash it again.
So I was at work the other day and went to do just that. I got a good grip on either side of the pimple (well, really just a pure white bubble of doom), and splat. The pimple/white head seriously exploded out, sending 4-5 big globs of pus/oil all over the mirror. It looked gross. The worse part: I got some toilet paper and went to wipe it off the mirror, and it just smeared like the disgusting, oily substance it is.
UGH
One of my friends had the foresight to rent a room at the Ares Inn hotel across the street for us all to sober up or crash at, so we convoy there, him in my car. I put the semi-concious friend in the back seat and gave the charge of holding his head over the bag and keeping him from "vomiting all over the fucking back seat" to the same friend who booked the hotel room. This task is simply too difficult for my other friend as he is trying to break up with his girlfriend via text message. He lets the poor drunk bastard bang his head against the window repeatedly and lets him vomit outside the perameters of the bag, which I specified must be kept in front of the vomit.
We get to the room and we have to decide who gets to supervise the throwing of our friend the lush into the shower, as he is too far gone to let this be done unsupervised. Apperantly I am nominated as everyone else wants to play Halo 3 on an extra television set they had craftily snuck into the room. I close my eyes harder than any thing has been closed in the history of man and I proceed to assist my friend in the unbuttoning and unzipping of certain items.
Now unbeknownst to me my friend had drunkenly called his girlfriend and had confessed he was "going to die without her and needed to see her before I go to hell", but she comes in to our story just after this next part. I (my eyes still fastened closed like a prison door in hell) was helping my now nude friend into the tub. During this ordeal he loses his balance and pitches his hands forward to steady himself. Then, as Tyler Durden put it, "at our most beautiful moment together", his girlfriend arrives and comes barging into the bath room with me, my eyes closed and hands steadying him (one on his hip the other on his back), and him with his front angled downward and buttocks not more than 1/8 of an inch away from my crotch. I could've told her it wasn't what it looked like, I could have told her any number of things really, but the look of sheer indignity and horror on her face at not only the grotesqueness of the situation, but the very concept that someone else would dare try to fuck her man. So I opted to be a smart ass (as many of us do in these times with friend's girlfriends we hate) and uttered in a charming creol accent, "you had yo chance honey", and with a catty snap of my fingers and a scream on her lips, madness overtook her and she fled screaming at horrors unseen.
Fuck me man I could get fired for laughing this hard at work
Bravo sir, Bravo
thread delivers in under 30 minutes or the story is free!
One day, with my brother and sister-in-law present, I squeezed a little too much and the thing popped.
The squeeze ball is filled with Indeterminate Whitish Gooey Substance.
Large sectors of Indeterminate Whitish Gooey Substance landed square on my crotch.
I will never touch a morphing squeeze ball again.
I then proceed to move back to the basement to watch some tv. An unknown length of time passes and I suddenly hear my name being called rather angrily, still quite high and wondering what can be so urgent.
The mulch caught fire, burned the tree to a crisp and melted the plastic wall of the shed. The neighbor was outside and took care of the fire while I was watching tv.
There’s a new plant there now and it covers the deed but I still wake up sometimes wondering if I somehow put something on fire with my pot.
Back when I was waiting tables we were screwing around in the kitchen during some downtime. Somehow I end up with a bottle of lotion, I don't remember why exactly, and can't get any to come out. So, in perfect cartoon fashion, I look into it and squeeze at the same time. Splat! Lotion all over my face, centered around my mouth.
Luckily mentions of this stopped about three weeks after it happened, but man it was embarrassing.
#8 The Instant Drunkenness Cure that I Don’t Want You to Know About!
On my 19th birthday my friends took me out for night of drinking at a club and to set me up with on a blind date with someone that a few of my friends knew from their work. It should be noted that setting someone up on a blind date is fine, taking a friend out drinking on the first night they can legally do so, also fine, but both should never be done.
I had just broken up with my X for first of many times and was out to forget all about it
using as much beer and breasts as I could (12 bottles of beer and 1 pair of breasts was my total for that break up) this seemed like a good plan and I told this to the girl that I was being set up with, but I was never told she was at the club to see me. Despite this she still went home with me I have no clue why.
So we get back to my place and my roommates, who were out parting with me, decided that giving me the whole place might be a good idea. This was a great idea as she was a screamer who liked to yell words of encouragement as well as instructions at the volume only reserved for WW1 field generals during an artillery strike. So we get into my bedroom and start into the good stuff right away and after a few minutes I realize that peeing might be a good idea in the next few minutes. In my drunken state I decided to finish what I started then take care of my bladder. So I soldier on while this girl continues to pray/answer questions I haven't asked/make unreasonable requires on my penis or (Oh God / YES / More) I finally realize I really have to go and now.
“I have to go†I say to her still drunkenly, to which I get the response
“Oh God give it to me, give it all to me†and she opens her mouth.
So I pulled out whipped off the condom and had one of the greatest accidents of miscommunication of all time, 6 beers worth of miscommunication give or take. I have never seen anyone sober up so fast in my life.
The next morning I decided to quit drinking for awhile. Too which my friends that still worked with the girl were very relieved to hear.
Witchhunter's was awesome, but still ... a challenger appears.
Jesus.
That is NUMBER EIGHT?!
Oh my god.
I... I don't know what to say.
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I mean...
Reaction to it encapsulates every emoticon we have in the list, and more. It's truly, truly epic.
Also I humbly request numbers 7 down through 1.
Though I must have some stories I haven't told yet that I'm actually willing to tell...
Come on, guys, this isn't exactly the kind of thing we should be showering with praise.