Stop Eating My Food!

I had a food management class in high school. I actually loved this class even though the teacher was a bit of a odd man, his tone through me and his clear and precise actions did make me think of people in the service (  he was a veteran ) but how he acted made me think he clung to his mom a bit too tight as he still had this little child tone in his voice when he spoke and this man was completely gray haired. He used to let me make whatever I wanted, whether it was baking sugar cookies and selling them in the halls, or barbecuing chicken and green beans while everyone else had that sorry excuse for pizza at lunch. He was awfully nice about that.

My classmates, one in particular this girl who earlier this week was telling us about how he was messing with this older guy and about how she was sitting on his face and playing with her cum in his goatee ( I about grabbed my stomach and doubled over at this point ) I couldn't imagine how anyone wanted to stuff their face down there let alone anywhere close to this girl. The day before she was wearing some green stretch pants and I swear I saw this yellowish powder in the crease of her butt cheeks like rosin ( I used it in orchestra when I played my cello ) I swear this is relevant to the story. You have no idea how hard I am laughing at how some people who are reading this now are doing what I did in complete disgust right now, this is wonderful. I'll call her “V”.

So one of the final mornings draws near as we are just coming to class to finish the school year as we are already finished with finals. So I'm cooking some breakfast as everyone else in class was. I don't take long cooking though and mine is smelling mighty good and is catching the attention of most of my classmates. My pancakes were light and fluffy, and my eggs were just right with some bacon and sausage well you know the deal, all the stuff that will give you a nice dose of the “itis” ( food so good that it will put you to sleep soon after you eat it ) early in the morning. I lay my plate down damn near salivating over it and I remember my glass of milk in the huge sterile kitchen, as I make my way back to my seat after retrieving my milk who do I see sitting in my seat fucking stuffing her face? Fucking V! She must have slowed down long enough to hear my footsteps and say with a huge mouthful of damn near a piece of everything on my plate, “I'm sorry, it looked so good I just needed to get a taste you can have it back”. I froze and thought of all the disgusting things she had just told us, and placed the milk in front of her and told her to enjoy, and promptly left class. Why do I still have fond memories of that class?

Never Have Anal Sex after a Fish Dinner

 Most people contract some form of food poisoning at least once a year. Most of the time the symptoms are mild, and can even be mistaken for a 24 hour flu bug. Other times, the symptoms are similar to one having a very bad case of the flu, but rarely do people ever need to go to the hospital for food poisoning.
Just by its nature, the probability of contracting food poisoning from fish is always higher than most other foods. This is why, based on personal experience, I recommend that no one ever engage in anal sex after your date ate a large fish dinner.

We hadn’t been dating that long, only about a month. Even though we'd only been dating a short time, we were having sex since the second date, and it was the best, freakiest, porno-style sex of my life. Seriously, this was the kind of sex that every man, deep down, dreams about having at least once in his life. It was the kind of sex that I had wished for ever since my voice started changing. It was with this woman, and only with this woman, that I was ever addressed with the phrase, “Use your whole fist for Christ’s sake.”

On one now infamous date night, we were enjoying a romantic dinner at an upscale seafood restaurant. Through the entire meal, however, sex was all that was on our minds. In retrospect, every date we ever went on seemed to just be a temporary diversion from the best part of the night, which involved animalistic insertions, feral lickings and brazen misuse of food products. We emptied wine bottle after wine bottle over the course of the dinner, and by the time the main course arrived, fish for her and lobster for me, she slipped off her shoes and casually masturbated me under the table with her stocking covered feet. Completely plastered and horny by the end of the meal, we decided to skip dessert in the restaurant because a much sweeter dessert “was being prepared in her hot, wet crotch,” she said. I paid the bill and narrowly avoided getting a speeding ticket, not to mention a DUI, during the drive back to my place.
By the time we got into my apartment, we were tearing each other’s clothes off. Sloppy in our drunkenness, we knocked over two lamps during our horny, groping journey into the bedroom. Once in the bed, she got down on all fours, arched her back, and presented her delicious ass to me. I grunted my approval while aiming my rock-hard cock missile at her hairy silo. When the head of my cock began to penetrate her lips, she stopped me.
“No. In my ass,” she hissed at me, sounding both horny and angry at the same time.
“Are you sure,” I asked?
She giggled as she said, “If I could handle last night. . .”

Oh yeah, I thought. Last night’s adventure involved a clown mask, three packets of Pop Rocks, and a twenty-inch replica of the Eiffel Tower. What the hell was I thinking? Of course she could handle some anal-action. She reached between her legs and began lubing up her asshole with her own pussy juices. Where did I find this girl? I thought. I was in horn-dog heaven. Blessed. Not being an expert in anal intrusion, I slowly eased my way into her lovely stink-star. First the head, then a quarter of the shaft, and soon I was buried to the hilt between her ass-cheeks.
“Go slowly,” she said, half moaning, half panting in both pleasure and pain, I think. I did as she bid, and very slowly began pulling out, like a steam piston on an old locomotive beginning its first run in a century. Almost all the way out of her, but keeping the head firmly planted in her ass-iris, I slowly began inserting again.

“Yeeeeees!” she moaned and began diddling her clit. Soon she said, “Faster.” So faster I went, the tempo increasing until the train was running at full speed, the piston pumping in and out so fast my cock became a complete blur, her hand rubbing her clit like she was trying to start a friction-fire in her pussy.
“Gnnnnnnnah!” she screamed. Thinking she was close to orgasm, I pumped that ass even faster, faster than Amish meth-head churns butter.
“Gnnnnnahstoooop,” she screamed, or something like this, because the noise in my head was drowning out the reality around me, for in my head I heard a steam locomotive, chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-Woo-Woo! Barreling down the tracks, and somehow I pumped even faster.
“YES!” I screamed.

She started reaching behind her and flailing on the bed in what I thought was ecstasy―
“―Stop!” she screamed, able to finally get out the word I had mistaken for groans of ecstasy moments ago. She screamed this with such volume and guttural, primal force that it had the effect of pulling the emergency brake on a 100,000 pound locomotive running at full speed. The sex act squealed to a halt, and I pulled my cock out of her ass like the rip-cord on a parachute. Did someone order champagne? No, that popping noise was my cock coming out of her ass.
“Arrrrrrgh!” She screamed, as I yanked my cock free. And then it happened.
Immediately after my cock popped out, I was sprayed from belly to thighs with watery, fish-smelling diarrhea.

“What the―-?” I said, not able to get the word ‘fuck’ out of my mouth because of my shock at the brown funk lining my body. As she sprayed me, she seemed to be propelled forward by the force of the jet-propelled diarrhea, and she collapsed onto her stomach.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” I murmured, completely shell-shocked. Everything was still. I could hear my wind-up alarm clock ticking on my dresser. I stared at my shit-covered body. I surveyed the room to see if there was any collateral damage. The trajectory of the diarrhea spray was similar to buck-shot in a sawed-off shotgun; it was everywhere. Unfortunately, during the sex act she had been facing the feet-side of the bed, which meant that the headboard, my bedside table and lamp had poop on them as well. Even my bedside clock had a few speckles staining its face. The bed sheets: Killed in Action. A total loss.

I looked at my date, lying there motionless. I called her name. No response. I called her name while shaking her a bit. Nothing. Fear shot through me, as I thought, “Oh my god, what if she’s dead?” But this fear quickly dissipated when I heard her snoring. She was passed out from the wine. I on the other hand was no longer blasted drunk, because the blast from her ass rendered me completely sober. This night was definitely going down in the (ahem) annals as the all time worst date of my life. In fact, I had to invent a new special category, “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic,” to describe this night.
I cleaned up. I cleaned her up. I cleaned the headboard, the dresser, the lamp and the clock. With some manipulation of her passed out body, I was able to wrangle the sheets from the bed and throw them down the garbage chute. By two in the morning, I found myself lying on my couch, drinking Jack Daniels from the bottle. I don’t remember passing out myself, but I can say that unconsciousness didn’t come soon enough. “It was food poisoning,” her voice-mail message explained to me the next day. After some silence, she added, “The fish.” More silence. “Sorry.” She left this message the following day, around 2:00 p.m. I had slept until Noon, and, thank God, she was gone when I woke up. How do you face that? She never called me again. I never called her. I definitely learned two valuable lessons that night: 1) Never have anal sex after a sea food dinner. 2) Be careful what you wish for. There’s only one other experience in my life that entered into the “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic” category, and frankly I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell that story. Let’s just say that the morning after a great one-night-stand, the beautiful woman you banged the night before can certainly use your bathroom. . .but she shouldn’t be more comfortable standing up while she pees.


Best of Craigslist The Worst "Anal Sex Accident"

Prarrie Doggin it!

 Back in basic training in Fort Lenard-wood (Fort Lost-In-The-Woods), Missouri our drill sergeants told us that they had killed about nine copper head snakes that morning and we were to be low crawling around in that same area later that day, so all I thought was shit, man if I come face to face with a poisonous snake I’ll just shit myself.

We had these harnesses on, that were similar to the ones worn with the famous game Laser-Tag. They marched us (the soldiers in training) down into the pit filled with tall grass, trees, and obviously fucking copperhead snakes. The drill sergeants and officers start off by standing on the hills and shooting down at us, (now everyone has blanks) and as soon as this started we all ran and hide behind the trees and shot back. Next the DS's (Drill Sergeants, yes for once I'm going text style) were standing out and getting popped all day but they never walk away its more focused on us, and if we get hit we have to do some insane sort of exercise that punishes us for getting hit. Now there is this rope that is stretched between two trees and we have to get passed this without getting hit and they are picking people off who get close to it.

So I cunningly made it pretty close to the line and the DS's shot at other people I would work my way up, but I could see one of them constantly watching my progress so I knew I would get more attention the closer I got. There was a few others that have tried but got plugged and I ain't going out like that plus I have a sudden problem! I am prairie dogging! If you haven’t seen the movie Rat Race, I’ll further explain like this and I really want you to do this, slide your tongue out of your mouth and pull it back a few times. Well yeah that’s what I was doing due to the M.R.E.’s they fed us earlier. M.R.E.’s are meals ready to eat, dehydrated food with their own heating source, well being that they are dehydrated this cause one to have a huge amount of gas. Well I could feel this extreme pushing and I was trying to reel it back, get it? Kind of like when you can’t get that pen to write and you keep clicking on it thinking that if it goes back inside and comes back out it will write better. It’s almost to the point where I need to hold the bottom of my pants like some 4 year old who just made a mistake. During this time, I notice that I'm not the only one with this issue, one of my fellow comrades fixed his situation, he simply popped a squat and took a dump right out there in the middle of everything but I wasn't showing my ass to no one.

So my time is running out and the officer kept his eying me. So the time is now or never and I looked down the line and see two other soldiers trying to go and it gets his attention and then I make my break for it, and its almost as if hell let them go just to keep me back, because they easily made it over the line and he continued his sights on me, it must have been my wise crack about how he looked like a 14 year old boy, anyway so I just back and grit my teeth because the pressure is getting intense. One cat was some cracking jokes and they were painfully funny but I can’t laugh for fear of them seeing me grow a tail. If you could have seen my face of determination I had you would probably pissed your pants laughing at me. So I turn around and to see the officers attention switch to someone else so I start running and the officer turns around with a smile like he was baiting me, and starts shooting and I am too far to turn back so I grit my teeth even more and the line is getting closer and closer. From two feet away from the rope I leap in the air with my rifle in my hands and do a roll and keep running. I can faintly hear the officer's voice as he was trying to tell me I did a good job because he didn’t shoot me and if he were in earshot he would have heard my response.