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OK, now one or two of you might remember an incident I had a few years ago when I had to dispense with one of my car seats thanks to some, erm, "seepage" from an ungrateful woman when I gave her a lift home one night (OK. well I know ONE of you remembers, Tonemonster is still rubbing one out thinking about it). Oh, yeah, and then she shit her strides on her front doorstep, just as I pushed her into her husband's arms and said "Here, this belongs to you, I think" and escaped.
Well, anyway, I have a similar problem today, but it isn't going to be as easy as just disposing of the offending article. You see, last night, whilst I was enjoying an evening of serious Art House movies, as per usual on a Sunday, I became aware of a rather rotund bottom wiggling at me in the darkness, deathly pale, ominous, like a zombie arse. Not to be scared by such apparitions, I did what most of you would have done - I stopped wanking, moved in and plunged my hand into the growler, like a kid at a Lucky Dip. There were no soft toys up there, t'was like a rip in a bus seat, but she did reach back and pulled my pud, so all was well.
Now, having attempted to tame the wildest of feral clunges in my time, I am a little older and wiser these days and don't go near anyone that I can smell before seeing, or who stands there like a cow with freshly broken waters as some geezer fists her to a gushing, flooding climax. (There genuinely is a "WHUMP" sound as the chap withdraws his fist and the flood waters, hitherto flowing gently up his arm, are unleashed onto the floor/carpet/upper deck of the No 10 night-bus, like the Ruhr valley after a visit from 617 Squadron's Lancasters.) No, not me, I'm more refined these days. Mostly.
So once I ascertained that this inviting bottom wiggle was indeed aimed at me, and it was GAME ON, I did a little test dip first, before committing more digits. All seemed well, no too much odour, none out of the ordinary anyway, and just the right spongy texture inside. I frigged her like one of Fred Dibnah's steam traction engines, my fucking arm still aches now, and was feeling pretty pleased with myself as her legs gave way and she nearly choked stumbling deep onto her husband's cock.
As she was slightly over-fed, I declined the offer to "Get stuck in there and fuck her, pal", managed to extricate my hand and retired to the sanctity of the jacuzzi to allow my balls to recharge before setting out on the hunt once more. As a gentleman, I obviously didn't sniff my fingers there and then, I waited till I got round the corner and asked a passing bloke if he'd like a sniff instead. He declined for some reason, so I had a little snort myself.
FUCK-KING HELL. What a ming. I can't really describe it (but I'm going to have a fucking good try). Nutty, fruity, with a delicate hint of hops and yeast. I dunno, that looks good, that'll do. In reality, the stench was not unpleasant, but definitely...there. Kinda smelled "stubborn" if you know what I mean. It had legs, and I should have known it would run, just like her roasting juices.
I fell asleep in the jacuzzi so had a good hour in there, and came out with fingers like a fucking gecko - I could have climbed up glass. The overwhelming stench was that of chlorine from the pool. Bear in mind that the chemicals are mixed on the heavy side, due to the amount of filthy fuckers doing filthy fucking things in there.
Showering, I noticed the distinct whiff of clunge on my hand still. WTF? If anything, it seemed to have grown in intensity. Scary.
TODAY, I woke up thinking "What's that fucking stench?", and we all know what it was, don't we? Yep, my right hand. (I'm lefthanded, but luckily used my right for some reason). It's appalling, I have a sneer like Billy Idol's, and keep getting a whiff of it on the breeze. I daren't smell my fingers, I know that might be courting disaster. It's not the clinging, cloying stench of rusty sheriff's badge, I did a test probe up there and nearly lost my thumb, so suspecting a trap, I kept away from that end of the field. Oddly, my thumb has scrubbed up just fine and smells like a pinefresh Summer meadow.
I am going to scrub my hand now AGAIN, but I'm most disturbed. Is there some sort of Super Clunge on the loose, how the fuck can it be getting worse and stronger as the day goes on? Anyone else had problems with skunky quim? No way I'm touching a guitar now...
Help!!
Well, anyway, I have a similar problem today, but it isn't going to be as easy as just disposing of the offending article. You see, last night, whilst I was enjoying an evening of serious Art House movies, as per usual on a Sunday, I became aware of a rather rotund bottom wiggling at me in the darkness, deathly pale, ominous, like a zombie arse. Not to be scared by such apparitions, I did what most of you would have done - I stopped wanking, moved in and plunged my hand into the growler, like a kid at a Lucky Dip. There were no soft toys up there, t'was like a rip in a bus seat, but she did reach back and pulled my pud, so all was well.
Now, having attempted to tame the wildest of feral clunges in my time, I am a little older and wiser these days and don't go near anyone that I can smell before seeing, or who stands there like a cow with freshly broken waters as some geezer fists her to a gushing, flooding climax. (There genuinely is a "WHUMP" sound as the chap withdraws his fist and the flood waters, hitherto flowing gently up his arm, are unleashed onto the floor/carpet/upper deck of the No 10 night-bus, like the Ruhr valley after a visit from 617 Squadron's Lancasters.) No, not me, I'm more refined these days. Mostly.
So once I ascertained that this inviting bottom wiggle was indeed aimed at me, and it was GAME ON, I did a little test dip first, before committing more digits. All seemed well, no too much odour, none out of the ordinary anyway, and just the right spongy texture inside. I frigged her like one of Fred Dibnah's steam traction engines, my fucking arm still aches now, and was feeling pretty pleased with myself as her legs gave way and she nearly choked stumbling deep onto her husband's cock.
As she was slightly over-fed, I declined the offer to "Get stuck in there and fuck her, pal", managed to extricate my hand and retired to the sanctity of the jacuzzi to allow my balls to recharge before setting out on the hunt once more. As a gentleman, I obviously didn't sniff my fingers there and then, I waited till I got round the corner and asked a passing bloke if he'd like a sniff instead. He declined for some reason, so I had a little snort myself.
FUCK-KING HELL. What a ming. I can't really describe it (but I'm going to have a fucking good try). Nutty, fruity, with a delicate hint of hops and yeast. I dunno, that looks good, that'll do. In reality, the stench was not unpleasant, but definitely...there. Kinda smelled "stubborn" if you know what I mean. It had legs, and I should have known it would run, just like her roasting juices.
I fell asleep in the jacuzzi so had a good hour in there, and came out with fingers like a fucking gecko - I could have climbed up glass. The overwhelming stench was that of chlorine from the pool. Bear in mind that the chemicals are mixed on the heavy side, due to the amount of filthy fuckers doing filthy fucking things in there.
Showering, I noticed the distinct whiff of clunge on my hand still. WTF? If anything, it seemed to have grown in intensity. Scary.
TODAY, I woke up thinking "What's that fucking stench?", and we all know what it was, don't we? Yep, my right hand. (I'm lefthanded, but luckily used my right for some reason). It's appalling, I have a sneer like Billy Idol's, and keep getting a whiff of it on the breeze. I daren't smell my fingers, I know that might be courting disaster. It's not the clinging, cloying stench of rusty sheriff's badge, I did a test probe up there and nearly lost my thumb, so suspecting a trap, I kept away from that end of the field. Oddly, my thumb has scrubbed up just fine and smells like a pinefresh Summer meadow.
I am going to scrub my hand now AGAIN, but I'm most disturbed. Is there some sort of Super Clunge on the loose, how the fuck can it be getting worse and stronger as the day goes on? Anyone else had problems with skunky quim? No way I'm touching a guitar now...
Help!!
I keep picturing Billy Idol, and I just can't stop laughing! 
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