So, there was this one time I went on an «extreme» date—one I might not have even made it back from alive… It was around 2010, the heyday of facebook. I was messaging back and forth with this gorgeous girl on there when she wrote:

«I’m just so sad at home right now… so lonely...»

Now, being the «knight» that I am—or so I thought—I immediately replied:

«Hey, tell you what: I’ll come over with some cognac; you whip up something to eat, and we’ll have a good time.»

She shot back: «Let's do it!»

I was a starving student at the time, so—anticipating both food and romance, and not wanting to jinx such a stroke of luck—I spruced myself up, put on some cologne, donned a pair of clean underwear, and drove all the way across town to her place...

I arrived. The door opened; a mysterious silhouette slipped into the kitchen, and I heard:

«Go on into the living room, sit down—make yourself at home.»

And there, laid out on the table, was a spread: sausage, cheese, potatoes!

I set down my bottle of cheap, bootleg «Ararat» brandy (the three-star variety) and thought to myself:

«Any minute now, I’ll get to eat… and get to the 'other stuff' with that beauty, too. What a lucky guy I am...»

BUT!

Into the room walked a woman twice my age—with fried-looking dyed-red hair and a stretched-out tank top—looking utterly unkempt.

I just stood there:

«Um… hello? Where’s Sveta?»

(I think that was her name.)

She replied:

«Don't take this the wrong way, but *I’m* Sveta. The photos online aren't actually me—because if I’d used my real ones, you never would have shown up...»

By that point, however, the smell of food had already gone to my head, so I decided:

«Ah, screw it. I’ll stay anyway—at least I’ll get a meal out of it. Then I’ll bail.»

We sat down, had a drink or two, and I started absolutely pigging out on the sausage. Meanwhile, she began telling me the story of her life—and with every passing sentence, her spirits sank lower and lower, until she finally burst into tears. Then she started openly biting her nails, and suddenly she turns to me…

I remember it like it was yesterday: she was tear-stained, a snot bubble was inflating right out of her nose, and she said—in this sultry, languid tone:

«KISS ME.»

Total shock. I started trying to backpedal, mumbling something about how we were just friends...

With every excuse I offered, her eyes seemed to fill with blood.

At one point, she leaped up, grabbed a massive dirk that was hanging next to a portrait of her sailor grandfather, stood right over me, and screamed:

«DO YOU WANT ME TO SHOW YOU—RIGHT NOW—JUST HOW LONELY I AM?!»

And she took a swing!

They say that right before you die, your whole life flashes before your eyes; but for me, only one thought flashed through my mind:

«I’ve really done it this time… Oh God, please don't let me end up on the 'Crime News.' It’s always just drunk stabbings on there—Mom would see it on TV… what a shameful way to go...»

She stood there with the knife—seething, trembling.

I sat in the armchair—terrified, with a mouthful of half-chewed sausage and underwear that was no longer exactly clean—and switched into «therapist mode»:

«Alright… show me. But hey, let's have one more shot first, okay?»

She let out a breath and sat back down—though the knife was still clutched in her hand.

«Will you stay the night?» she asked.

I told her I would; I promised her the moon—all while pouring the drinks.

And the moment she started to take a sip, I seized the opportunity—and couldn't think of anything better to do than simply tip her over, chair and all, onto the floor.

She hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, rolled under the radiator, and let out a hiss:

«PRAY FOR YOUR LIFE, YOU BASTARD!» I grabbed my backpack with my teeth, tucked my brand-new Nikes under my arm, and bolted down the hallway—all while praying to every god imaginable that her door wouldn't have some stupid, finicky lock.

Because if it did, I’d be absolutely screwed—riddled with stab wounds and serving as the dramatic footage for the evening news.

But no—I got lucky.

Having miraculously managed to get the door open, I ran home barefoot and scared shitless.

I didn't make it back until nearly dawn.

My friend was visiting when I got there—the same guy I’d bragged to earlier that night, boasting that I was heading out on a date where I was definitely going to get laid.

And he delivered the final blow with a single question:

«So? How’d it go? Did you get laid?»

A friend of mine has an amusing little family tradition. Every morning, he calls his wife by a different name—and then refers to her by that name for the entire day. His wife has gotten used to it by now and answers to every name he uses...

Sometimes, after my wife gives me a blowjob, I’ll say to her: «You may spit it out now!» I’m a dentist.

A friend of my wife’s left her husband and ended up living alone in a rented apartment with her one-year-old daughter—all because a fortune teller predicted that she would soon find a different, more successful husband. She’s been living like that for seven years now, still waiting.

I only know this story from what my mom told me; it happened at her workplace. A quiet, unassuming woman managed to make her boss fall in love with her—but then she let it slip that she had used love spells to do it. She and the boss got married, but just six months later, she started cheating on him with a young security guard. She talked the guard into murdering her husband—who was also her boss, of course. He strangled the man with a garrote in the apartment building’s stairwell. Afterward, she turned the guard in to the cops herself, acting as if she had absolutely nothing to do with it. She then proceeded to grab all of her husband’s assets for herself. However, before she even had a chance to sell any of it, she was accidentally struck and killed by a car.

I used to love having a good laugh at YouTube videos featuring «parking masters» and other so-called «kings and queens of the road.» But I recently got my own driver's license—and now I just don't understand why people have to be so cruel to us...

I was standing out on my balcony this evening, looking across at the windows and balconies of the building opposite me. Suddenly, I spotted a guy and a girl standing out on their balcony. They were naked. And the girl was giving the guy a blowjob. The guy must have noticed me, because he pulled his cock out of her mouth and waved it at me.

I accidentally broke my boyfriend’s guitar. He’s currently away on a trip and doesn’t know the news yet. I’ve decided I need to come up with a quick cover story—and fast. I found a guitar just like the one I wanted, but I didn't have the money for it… I borrowed the cash from a friend, and in exchange, he suggested that instead of paying him back, I should try a threesome—me, him, and his girlfriend. I thought it over for a while and agreed. Now I'm sitting here, staring at this guitar, and feeling like a total sellout slut...

I work as a flight attendant. I’m having a sexual relationship with one of the pilots. And get this: I give him a blowjob while he’s at the controls. The adrenaline rush is insane. Afterward, I just calmly step out to attend to the passengers. Sometimes I even go back and do it again. I love my job.

I was having sex with my mistress. I wanted to go down on her, but she wouldn't let me. She said that territory belongs to her husband.

My girlfriend has picked up a new hobby: sexually teasing me while we’re out in public, and then mocking me as she watches me suffer with a hard-on inside my jeans. So, I got a life-sized, anatomically correct model of an erect penis and made her wear the thing inside her panties for a while. That certainly cured her of the urge to torment me. Now, however, she dreams of making me wear a bra filled with water balloons so I can find out just how much a pair of breasts actually weighs—even though I’ve never teased her about it, and her chest isn't particularly large anyway. In fact, I actually prefer a smaller, neater bust, so I’ve never even wished for hers to be any bigger.

My husband and I decided to try out a little roleplay: the «cowgirl» fantasy. The idea was for me to ride him—specifically, on his face. We ended up getting so carried away that he walked away with a broken nose and a knocked-out tooth, while I ended up needing stitches *down there*. We’ve decided not to experiment like that anymore.

My husband is incredibly jealous! And not just when it comes to other men—he’s jealous of *everyone*! Since our baby arrived, he’s been insisting that I give all my breast milk to *him* and feed the baby formula instead. He claims he won't let a single drop of «me» go to another male. It’s a bit strange, I admit… but I actually kind of like it.

Other Trash Stories

As a teenager, I used to masturbate using the long nose of a recently gifted Pinocchio plush toy. Naturally, the toy eventually got misplaced, and my mother decided to give it away to a young boy she knew. I felt a mix of emotions when I saw the little guy joyfully tugging at the nose of his new gift.

I work as a manicurist, and I can easily tell by a woman's hands whether she frequently satisfies herself with her fingers—the skin on the hands changes in a specific way. Of course, I can't exactly ask them directly to confirm my observations.

In my youth, I used to masturbate with cucumbers. Later, I went through a whole bunch of different vibrators and dildos—ranging from the cheapest ones to those with astronomical price tags. And let me tell you, after all these years, it feels absolutely amazing to go back to my roots! (Female, 31 years old-still masturbating with cucumbers!)

I’m trying to turn myself into a sort of Pavlovian dog. I masturbate while listening to a few specific songs I’ve chosen, waiting for the reflex to kick in—the urge to get aroused whenever I hear those particular tracks.

One day, while doing abs at the gym, I made a discovery. When using the leg-raise machine—specifically when you pull your legs up while keeping your knees bent—it’s actually possible to achieve an orgasm. It’s quite an experience: feeling that intense pleasure while surrounded by a crowd of people, none of whom have the slightest clue what’s going on. The main thing is to be careful with it; you really need to be able to control your body movements right at the peak of pleasure!

I had some porn playing on my iPad and was lying on the couch, masturbating. I heard a noise outside the window but didn't really think anything of it. I climaxed, then glanced over at the window—and there, hovering right outside, was a quadcopter drone with a camera! I rushed over to the window, but it had already flown off somewhere behind the buildings. Now, every single day, I frantically scour all the popular porn sites—terrified that someone might upload that video!

I’ve been masturbating since childhood by squeezing my legs together in a specific way. For a long time, I didn't see any problem with this, but when I entered into a serious relationship and things progressed to sex… I realized that I couldn't feel anything at all. Neither clitoral stimulation—whether with fingers or a tongue—nor penetration… *nothing* gave me any pleasure; it only caused discomfort. I tried to retrain myself, but to no avail. It feels like I’m destined to be a total «dead fish» in bed for the rest of my life.

We went to Moscow the other day and stayed right in the city center—a five-star hotel with all the trimmings. My absolute favorite memory from the trip? A high-tech Japanese-style toilet with a built-in bidet function. I actually climaxed twice before I figured out how to turn the water off.

Whenever I masturbate while lying in the bathtub, I always get this irrational feeling that if I open my eyes, I’ll see someone standing right over me. I have no idea where this bizarre fear came from. I live alone, so there’s theoretically nothing to worry about—but for some reason, that just seems to make the fear even more intense.

My sister asked me to order a dildo for her. She messages me every single day asking if it’s arrived yet… But I’ve actually had it for a week already. It’s been unboxed. It’s been used—repeatedly. And it shows no signs of making its way to its rightful owner anytime soon. I feel guilty about it, but I just don't want to give it back to her. I have a feeling she’s going to start getting suspicious pretty soon. It would be pretty funny if a rubber dick turned out to be the thing that drove a wedge between us.

I actually choked on my own saliva while I was masturbating the other day. I choked so hard, in fact, that while I was coughing my lungs out, I was convinced I was going to crack a rib. I was absolutely terrified. If I can't even handle masturbation, what hope is there for actual sex?

Back when I was still living with my parents, I used to load up the washing machine, turn it on, lock myself in the bathroom, and masturbate to the sound of the cycle running. Doing the laundry was basically just my excuse to get some privacy. I’ve been living alone for ages now, but to this day, whenever I turn on the washing machine-I get turned on.

When I asked my friend what she was going to get me for my birthday, she laughed and said she’d give me a vibrator or a dildo; in the end, though, she gave me a gold chain with a cute little pendant. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this disappointed...

Some people go out and buy pricey vibrators and other sex toys, but all I need is two minutes with my oooold electric toothbrush. It’s long since become useless for cleaning teeth, but it delivers amazing orgasms.