A Council Skip
I was working on skip watch for a local district council in a ridiculously rural place. On a fairly severe ecstasy comedown, three bongs deep and still backed up after a frustrating night of e-based Indian rope dick with a local barmaid, I simply had to throw one out. From inside the skip, I leant with one arm on the highest edge and, while watching the road for people with fridges to dump, cracked one off into a pile of recently-felled conifers.
The 890 Bus to Wolverhampton
This bus route, when you consider it is only 14 miles, should not take as long as it does (anywhere up to two hours) I was on the special that stopped at every rural backwater and, after the chubby MILF with huge bangers exited in the middle of nowhere, I was alone on the bus. So I got into rhythm with its movements and quietly relieved myself into an empty packet of Walkers crisps. And yes, my bell-end did brush the salt. It fucking hurt.
A Golf Course
Although I wasn't a teenager (25 if you're asking) I was fucking bored. Coming down off a three day coke and red wine binge, I escaped the horrors of the idiots in my living room and got a BUS to a GOLF course. I'd got to the 9th hole and, on seeing that there were three groups waiting on the tee ahead of me, I slipped off into the woods and teased one out with a spliff in what appeared to be the classic pissing pose.
Two glasses of wine, a wank and a pack of salt n’ vinegar hula hoops and I’d be out until touchdown
A Bin Wagon.
Working on the bins one summer, the driver and I stopped off at his house for lunch. Or rather he did - the bastard left me outside for an hour in the stinking wagon. So I reached behind the seat for an old Razzle and spunked into his left work boot. Power of ten asshole.
Roomy, clean, and with a huge mirror so you can have a narcissistic mirror wank where your cock looks bigger and, if it tickles your fancy, witness your own cum face. A favourite at uni after long spells in the cell-like study cubicles.
One summer I was temping. The job was shit and the bus timetable meant I used to be an hour early. After the first morning in the caff, when I clapped eyes on the Amazonian goddess serving up Lattes and Muffins, I’d pop in every day before work for a cappuccino and a guilty shuffle in trap two.
12,000 ft above sea-level.
I’m no moutaineer and the thought of sky-diving leaves me cold, but as a teenager I would, whenever confronted with a flight, make sure I joined the one-handed mile high club. Two beers, a wank and a packet of salt n’ vinegar hula hoops and I’d be out until touchdown. It only recently dawned on me that most people would’ve known what I was doing. Funnily enough, despite my fantasies, a stewardess never ‘accidentally’ caught me and finished me off. Shame.
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