I’ve been seeing a girl for a year now—she’s uglier than a nuclear war. She’s fully aware of how she looks and doesn’t try to act like a princess. But the sex? Every time feels like the last! It all started as «sex out of pity»—I was drunk after a company party and decided to «make a plain girl happy» (she actually has a pretty decent figure overall), and before I knew it, I was hooked! She gets incredibly turned on when, right in the middle of things—at her own request—I tell her which of our beautiful mutual acquaintances I’m imagining in her place. I don’t know what kind of masochism that is, but her moans drive me absolutely wild, so I’m in no rush to break things off with her...

A friend of mine did an internship at a psychiatric hospital; she basically worked there for a month. She told me a lot about the patients—she says most of them are just like little children and, generally speaking, harmless. But there were some truly vicious ones, too; they were kept in separate, solitary confinement units. She told me about one guy in particular: he was basically a vegetable, kept constantly sedated on heavy medication. The man was a cannibal; he had eaten both his mother-in-law and his wife. When he was declared legally insane and committed for treatment, they initially placed him in a general ward. During the night, he bit a chunk out of his roommate’s thigh and ate it raw—right up until the orderlies rushed in, subdued him, and tied him down.

I met a guy online—strictly for sex. He proposed a game: meeting up with a stranger in total darkness. I decided to take the risk and went for it. It turned out to be the best sex of my life. In the dark, nothing matters but pure sensation—there’s no analyzing personalities or getting hung up on superficial details. We made love with a total stranger—we didn't just *have sex*. We’ve been seeing each other for three months now, talking for hours on end, but we’re terrified of shattering our little world by stepping out into the light. I haven’t felt this good in ages, and I can tell that this isn’t just about sex anymore—it’s something much, much more...

And that’s just how you go through life: you go to work, you go shopping, you take your quiet walks—just living your ordinary life. And you have no idea that someone you know—a colleague, a neighbor, or maybe even a complete stranger—has wanted to rape you. Someone fantasizes about you, sitting there and suppressing their animal instincts—watching you, spying on you. Maybe I’m completely messed up, but that turns me the hell on.

I’ve been seeing a 43-year-old woman strictly for sex for a little while now. She’s divorced, beautiful, and curvy—so why not? I’ve never witnessed such love for my cock before. It’s not even love, really—it’s an obsession. I’ll show up at her place, and the first thing she does is grab for my dick. She doesn’t kiss *me*—she kisses *it*. She even goes to sleep with my cock in her hand. I get it—maybe she’s been starved for affection, or she just can’t get enough—that’s all understandable. But holy shit, I feel completely superfluous.

My daily schedule is such that I have to take my dog ​​out for her evening walk around midnight—right when the streets are full of rowdy, drunken hooligans. So, whenever we pass one of those groups, I say to my German Shepherd in a stern voice: «Easy, Rex—they're friendlies!» Everyone immediately steps aside respectfully, even though my dog’s real name is Fluffy — and she’s terrified of her own shadow.

When I was a child, my mother’s ex-husband—my biological father—used to physically abuse her. One night, I was so terrified that I climbed onto the windowsill and contemplated jumping out the window (we lived on the 9th floor). The next day, I told my brother what had happened (he hadn't been home that night), and he replied: «Well, if you *had* jumped, then they would have bought the computer just for *me*.»

I’m 20 years old now, but I still recall his words with tears in my eyes. That was the first time I truly learned the meaning of greed and cruelty.

I used to do nude modeling, and I don't regret a thing. But it really annoys me when people label it as pornography. I didn't sleep with anyone, I didn't stick anything anywhere—so why, years later, do people dig up these photos to post in sleazy online groups while clucking their tongues in judgment? Just enjoy the sight of the beautiful body I shared with you, and go to bed in silence.

I lost my wallet—it had a pretty large sum of cash in it, plus my debit card (which had just received my latest paycheck and bonus), and a credit card. I was left without a single penny; I live alone and have no one to borrow from, so I just sat there sobbing. Then, suddenly, my phone rang: some guy had found my wallet, looked up my name on the debit card to find me on social media, and got my phone number from there. I rushed out to meet him—and the guy turned out to be a total *Thug*: tracksuit, flat cap, dress shoes. He spoke exactly like one, too; if I’d run into a guy like that in a dark alley at night, I certainly wouldn't have been thrilled. But he simply handed over the wallet and said, «Hey, what the hell, man? Don't go losing this shit again.»

One time, my boyfriend had a little too much to drink at a party hosted by some mutual friends. I dragged him home, somehow managed to get his clothes off, and practically dropped him onto the bed on his back. I stripped down myself, lay down next to him, and fumed—I didn't want to sleep yet, as I’d been totally in the mood for some wild sex. Out of sheer frustration, I gave the big buzzkill a light kick—and suddenly, I saw it! A rock-hard erection! I was practically beside myself with joy! *Ahooooy!* I ended up getting my orgasm—and I didn't even wake my boyfriend up.

Other Trash Stories

An acquaintance—a couple I knew—invited me to celebrate the anniversary of their relationship. The girlfriend downed a glass of champagne, and that’s when things spiraled out of control. She began singing her boyfriend’s praises, but then let slip that, at the very beginning of their relationship, she had actually been carrying on affairs with two other guys—just as hapless as him—while she was «choosing the best one.» She went on about how lucky she was and how, all in all, she was happy with her choice. It was a colossal blunder, however, to blurt out that he was even better than the others in bed—thereby making it abundantly clear that she had slept with *them*, too. Everyone tried to steer the conversation in a different direction, openly hinting that she was starting to say too much, but once a girl has had a few drinks, there’s simply no stopping her. The poor guy—he went from beet-red to ashen-white, and his eyes welled up with tears.

He started drinking heavily himself; with the music and dancing, his «merrymaking» soon spiraled out of control, too. Before long, the party wound down, everyone headed home—and our couple did the same. By the next day, the news broke that the night they shared had been anything but passionate. First—for some inexplicable reason—he slashed and disfigured her face, tormenting her, and then he stabbed her to death so she wouldn't have to suffer anymore. He was sentenced to 13 years in prison—and to think, he had actually been planning to propose to her… instead, he disfigured and killed her. It truly is just one step from love to hate.

1. Medical students practiced on me, performing genital and rectal exams. I literally just sat there in a medical gown, waiting for the next student to come in.

2. I worked at a tannery, sorting kangaroo scrotums by size—some were destined to become animal feed, while others were turned into coin purses sold to tourists. Kangaroo scrotums smell absolutely foul, and they’re also crawling with ticks.

3. I prepared larvae. I worked for a company that produced natural pest control products and natural animal feed. My job involved preparing larvae for use in natural bird feed. Actually, it was one of my favorite positions at that company.

4. Once, I had to clean up poop smeared all over the men's restroom at the grocery store where I worked when I was 16.

The manager didn't give me any protective gear; he just bluntly said, «You're the only guy on shift today besides me, and *I'm* certainly not going to clean it up.»

5. I rated photos of guys' penises. It started out as a joke, but then guys started sending me $20 apiece to get their photos rated. I evaluated them based on a whole host of criteria and provided feedback. It was incredibly fun, though at a certain point, people started sending me some truly bizarre specimens.

6. Five days a week, I cleaned up vomit in a movie theater restroom. Thanks to the people who do this kind of work, public restrooms don't reek. The workers who perform these duties are severely underappreciated.

7. Once, at a music festival, I got drunk and reached into a urinal. Some rich jerk tossed two separate $100 bills in there just to see who would pick them up. He had no idea that I would have done the exact same thing even if they were $20 bills.

8. Once, at a casino, I found a $500 chip in a urinal. I fished it out with my hotel room key, dropped it into the sink, lathered it up and washed it off, and then went and cashed it in. At first, I thought I was being filmed by a hidden camera.

9. This happened in 2020, right before the pandemic hit. I answered a cleaning ad on Craigslist and went to an elderly man's house. He made me lick every single doorknob in his home, but despite that, I walked away with $3,000. That money really saved me.

10. I used to work in a call center—it was the most humiliating job of my life. I saw firsthand the kind of stress people endure working in call centers. They pay like shit, yet they make you work like a dog.

The only upside to my time at the call center was that it taught me to put more effort into my job search. And that effort certainly paid off.

11. I got paid to bang a sex worker right in front of her disabled client, who enjoyed watching it. After a two-hour session, I’d walk away with $200 in my pocket. I did this once a month for a year. It was 1996, and I was in college, so that was really good money for me.

12. I participated in a study for a lotion designed to make breasts bigger. No joke. For two months, I had to rub this lotion on twice a day, and then go to a clinic once a week so someone could give my breasts a full analysis—not just size, but also the distance between the nipples, the distance from the chin to the nipple, and their circumference. It was so awkward. And you know what? In the end, they told me it was all a placebo. Still, I made $500 and paid my rent. That was back in 2002.

13. Just yesterday, I was clearing out some guy's sewer line and pulled out 150 condoms. At least the dude is playing it safe.

14. My boyfriend—he was 15 at the time—met this creepy old guy. The guy offered him £100 to get into his car and do something dirty. In the end, my boyfriend took the cash and bailed before the guy could do anything. He met up with me and asked me out on a date. We spent our first date using money stolen from an old pervert. That was years ago, and we’re still together.

15. It was my first day working for a moving company in Boston. I was driving under a bridge when, at that exact moment, a guy decided to jump off it and kill himself. I was driving at about 70 miles per hour. He landed right on the front of my truck. I was 18 at the time. That incident still haunts me to this day, even though 20 years have passed.

16. I’m a nurse, so I’ve had to clean up shit, urine, vomit, and other bodily fluids. I’ve been punched in the face, kicked, and verbally abused. I’ve also provided post-mortem care and medical treatment to some truly terrible people—because that’s part of my job. For instance, my patients have included rapists, violent offenders, and so on. People have spat on me, defecated and urinated on me, coughed in my face on purpose, and so on. I do not recommend it.

17. I’ve cleaned up the scenes of suicides. It’s just part of my job. The worst thing about those situations is the smell. In those moments, I just tell myself that I’m getting paid double time because of the nature of the work, and I just keep doing my job.

18. I sold my body to the government and enlisted in the military. Later, I realized that the knee and back pain—along with the anxiety and depression—definitely weren't worth it.

19. I participated in clinical drug trials—partly because I actually needed the medication myself—but I’ll never do it again. Depending on the study, they might provide you with housing—sometimes even a two-story house—and food, usually decent takeout. I have no idea how that particular study affected my body in the long run, but they paid me enough to buy a plane ticket home.

20. When we were kids, my brother told me he’d give me 10 bucks if I downed a shot glass full of soy sauce. 10 out of 10—do not recommend.

21. I worked as a cleaner at a 24-hour truck stop. Never again in my life. Several times a day, I’d suit up in protective gear and a mask, grab a high-pressure hot water hose, and get to work. I will never understand why people love writing messages on public restroom walls using their own feces.

22. I’m a nurse. Here are just a few examples of what I’ve experienced on the job: Cleaning up diarrhea when my glove tore open; having amniotic fluid splash all over my shoes; and emptying a bile drain, only to spill the contents and completely soil my clothes.

A guy with a bowel obstruction started vomiting—and at that moment, his vomit consisted entirely of fecal matter. The puke came gushing out in every direction and somehow even splattered onto the door at the other end of the room. I’ve had to clean up flakes of sloughed-off skin from a patient’s scrotum—a patient who kept peeling dead skin off his penis and placing the pieces on his bedside table.

23. I worked as an EMT for seven and a half dollars an hour. I had to get into physical altercations with junkies, drunks, and people with mental illnesses. We worked shifts lasting anywhere from 48 to 96 hours with almost no sleep. I will never work in EMS again. Far too many people seem to think it’s perfectly acceptable to assault healthcare workers. Just so you know: we’ll kick your ass first, and then we’ll sue you. Yes, we have the right to defend ourselves—even if you’re dying. And we are under no obligation to help you if you sustain even more injuries because you made the stupid decision to attack us.

24. Have you ever wondered where cheap, mass-produced eggs come from? They come from factories. And those factories have to be cleaned every single day. Even considering that we clean the place every single day, it’s impossible to keep up with cleaning absolutely everything. And do you know what happens when broken eggs seep into the floorboards day after day, mixing with water? Well, I do. And I can also tell you exactly what kind of stench fills the air.

25. This happened in the army, during a deployment to Iraq. My buddies all chipped in and pooled together $200 to get me to eat an old, sticky fly strip. I was allowed to wash it down with water. But to win the bet, I had to go at least an hour without puking. I lasted an hour and two minutes. The hardest part about eating it was the incredibly sticky adhesive on the strip—it made actually consuming the thing insanely difficult. I rolled it into small, swallowable balls and washed them down with copious amounts of water. Thanks to this stunt—and other stupid things I did for cash—I didn't have to spend a single dime of my actual paycheck throughout the entire deployment.

26. I used to translate love letters of a rather intimate nature. One woman, who was cheating on her husband, was corresponding with her lover in France. This was back in 1999, before the internet had really caught on—at least in our country. They exchanged letters via regular postal mail.

As far as I could gather, the lady had lived in France for a while. That’s where she met her suitor and started up an affair with him. She had a basic grasp of French, but she still needed some assistance. You know how it goes: people can often converse quite comfortably in a foreign language, but the prospect of tackling a lengthy written text completely intimidates them. At the time, I was around twenty years old, while my client was in her forties. So, you can probably imagine just how cringeworthy the whole situation was. Sometimes she would bring in a letter and ask me to read it aloud to her, translating it on the fly.

As for the juicy details, I barely remember any of them. Mostly, it went something like this: «Remember when we did such-and-such? All I dream about is doing it all over again.» All in all, the whole thing felt just like that song Dylan wrote for Haley in the TV show *Modern Family*—only in French.

27. It was winter, and I was picking up various temporary odd jobs. One day, I got called in to help a crew of excavators locate a damaged sewer line.

The sewer pipes in this part of town—Orangeburg, South Carolina—were over a hundred years old, and most of them were made of wood. One of the sections had collapsed, creating a small sinkhole that subsequently clogged up and filled with semi-frozen sewage sludge. Because of the pipes' age, there were no existing blueprints for the sewer system. So, while a heavy-equipment operator handled the digging, someone had to climb down into the sinkhole and probe around with a shovel. Guess who got sent in to wade through the muck?

A septic truck arrived on the scene and tried to pump out the wastewater, but it could barely keep up with the inflow. When you’re a guy working temp jobs, you face intense pressure—even if it’s not applied directly. You’re essentially forced to take on whatever work comes your way. And if you turn down too many jobs, the boss simply stops calling you, and you’re left without any money. So, I agreed to do it. I’d been warned about the conditions beforehand, so I layered up with several layers of clothing, then stepped into a pair of garbage bags—pulling them up past my crotch—and wrapped them tight with duct tape to keep from getting filthy.

In the end, I spent only about 20—maybe 25—minutes down in that hole. But that was long enough to catch hypothermia. The tape didn't hold up very well, and at one point, I sank even deeper—right up to my waist. Two guys had to help me climb out. At three in the morning, standing on the side of the road—soaking wet and in minus 25-degree weather—I stripped down to my underwear, stuffed my shit-stained clothes into a garbage bag, and slowly made my way home. For the next three days, I couldn't seem to get warm.

I’ve been dating my boyfriend for four years, and today I found out that his birthday isn't actually May 15th—it’s November 11th. It turns out he’d been hiding this the entire time because, when we first met, HE KNEW I WOULD NEVER DATE A SCORPIO, SO HE LIED HIS ASS OFF AND TOLD ME HE WAS A TAURUS.