Sometimes I love picking fights with my husband out of thin air. I invent a pretext, push his buttons, and escalate things into a full-blown argument. Why do I do this? So that afterward, I can approach him wearing a «slutty» dress—along with his favorite stockings and absolutely no underwear—and sit right down on his lap. I know that in those moments, he is overflowing with anger and raw energy—energy that I then channel into a sexual outlet. He fucks me so hard that my legs feel like jelly for the next two days. I never get that kind of intensity from our usual, routine «domestic» sex in the evenings. Once every month or so, I orchestrate this kind of release for him; it’s my way of keeping the passion alive in our relationship.

I have nothing against watching porn, but when my boyfriend left a bunch of porn tabs open on our shared laptop, I asked him not to do that—to please just close them when he’s done. It’s just jarring and unpleasant to open the laptop only to be greeted by a full-screen view of someone’s genitals. He got offended that I called him out on it; he insisted it was his business and that he would leave whatever he wanted open. So, I found a video featuring a woman with a rectal prolapse shoving her hands inside herself, and I left *that* tab wide open. Since then, even his browser history is left absolutely clean after he’s used the computer.

I completely lost my head over a married man. He spun such beautiful fairy tales, and I totally fell for the expensive gifts. Three months later, he vanished. I checked social media and saw that he was spending the entire summer vacationing in Greece with his family. I felt so hurt and resentful that I went out, bought an ovulation test, and mailed it to his wife—along with a note implying that I was pregnant. I just wanted to ruin their vacation and make sure she found out about his philandering. However, his wife simply replied by sending back a string of laughing emojis. Can it really be true that women put up with infidelity just for the sake of money and comfort? How can anyone have so little self-respect?

I work at a small local morgue. I’m the night watchman. Everyone makes jokes about this line of work: people say the dead walk around and howl at night, or that it reeks of rotting corpses, or that we’re constantly shooing away necrophiliacs, or even eating sandwiches right next to the bodies. Guys, it doesn't smell like anything here at all; the bodies are kept in a specialized room with refrigerated compartments, and there are cameras and sensors everywhere. It’s not scary to work here, and nobody bothers me. At night, I design layouts for photo books and weave baskets and planters out of paper. I’m on duty alone, too. I can even lie down and take a rest, since there are cameras, an alarm system, and a panic button covering every inch of the place. The pay isn't huge, but it’s steady; plus, I get vacation time and sick leave. Between that, my pension, and a few low-stress side gigs, I make enough to get by! And in my 17 years on the job, not a single person has ever asked me to steal a body or do anything worse than that… It’s just a normal, quiet job!

I’m a total boob fanatic. I have a very specific type and size I like: they have to be a decent size—not perky enough to defy gravity, and definitely not fake—and big enough that they don't quite fit in the palm of your hand, with large nipples and small areolas. Only one of my girlfriends ever had boobs like that, but we broke up because she was a total bitch and a horrible human being. No matter how many women I’ve been with since then, I’ve never managed to find my dream boobs again. I’m seeing a girl right now, and she’s great. But her breasts are small and don't turn me on at all—though everything else about her is perfect. I’ve asked her to marry me, and now I feel a bit sad, because my quest for the perfect boobs has ended in failure—and, as a decent human being, I won't be continuing the search.

Every time I get indigestion and diarrhea, I find myself involuntarily thinking of my ex while sitting on the toilet. I whisper, «And then Travor goes...»—immediately followed by the loud sound of a fart! I can't help myself; it’s completely uncontrollable—it just comes out automatically. Apparently, that’s the only lasting impression he left on my memory.

My «biological brother» isn't actually my brother at all. My parents brought him home when I was nearly four years old, but my mother hadn't been pregnant prior to that. I remember that day clearly, even though my parents deny everything. My parents are a secretive bunch—they’re a bit odd. I’m actually terrified that they might have stolen my brother.

I work in a department staffed entirely by women—young, attractive women. Sometimes, oblivious to my presence, they slip off their shoes when they get tired of walking around in heels all day. And their bare feet drive me absolutely wild—sometimes clad in tights, sometimes in stockings, and sometimes completely bare. I get such a powerful erection that I sometimes can't get up from my desk for long periods—even when I really need to for work.

I stopped going to prostitutes because they simply didn't arouse me as women. Expecting emotional intimacy in exchange for cash is foolish; besides, I only dabbled in that scene a handful of times—maybe five or six at most—back in my youth. And almost every single time, I felt absolutely no desire or passion during the sex! I just can't do it that way. You have to physically *want* a woman—not just go around poking at some naked object. Back when I was 15 or 16, I would’ve gotten rock-hard for any random thing with a pair of tits, but now, it just doesn't impress me anymore. That’s why I’d sometimes spend 40 minutes trying—and failing—to finish. I regret ever going in the first place!

I just don't get these «sweet» girls—let me give you an example. When I was 17, I fell for a girl who told me, «You're a fat bastard; we're never going to be together.» *Okay*, I thought to myself. So, basically, after that incident, I started losing weight—dropped 25 kg in a year. I got shredded—pull-ups, the whole nine yards. Then I tried making a move on her again, and she was like, «You're a twig; the wind could blow you away...» Son of a bitch. So I started lifting heavy, packed on 10 kg of muscle mass in a year. Everyone remarked on how impressive I looked and kept asking how I got so jacked, and all that. I hit on her again—we actually met up—but she got scared of me. Now she claims I'm «too swole» and might crush her in bed… She even said something like, «You're too big, but what good are those muscles in a real fight?» So, out of pure rage, I decked her right in the face—«That's what they can do, you bitch!» I ditched that airhead and now I'm banging every girl I can find—and with a body like mine, plenty of them are eager to give it up.

I started dating a guy who had been pursuing me for a long time. Things progressed to sex, but he couldn't get it up. Maybe he was too nervous, or maybe it was something else—I don't know—but I didn't freak out about it. We were lying there cuddling, and I started stroking his back. Then I put my fingernails to work. I began tracing them over his back—gently, but with firm persistence. At first, he broke out in goosebumps, and a moment later, he had a full erection. He proceeded to fuck me so hard I saw stars. We haven't had any issues in bed since then, though I rarely use my nails anymore. Plus, he now happily pays for my manicures.

My girlfriend and I came to the conclusion that a threesome (FMF) would be a hell of a way to spice up our sex life. For the experiment, she invited an acquaintance of hers over; we talked through all the details, and the very next day, we got down to business. It was… absolutely terrible! I’d turn the wrong way, or insert it wrong; one girl wouldn't feel anything, while the other would whine, «Where’s the passion?!» Then they actually started arguing about positions and who should go where. My girlfriend screamed, «He’s *my* boyfriend, so *he’s* going to be fucking *me* more!» The other girl shot back, «Then you’d better use your tongue properly, because right now you’re just fumbling around aimlessly!» It’s hard enough to handle one hysterical woman in bed—but here I was, stuck with two of them at once!

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A friend of mine lost her husband; he fell ill and passed away before they had a chance to have children. Two years later, she got pregnant—but the baby's father vanished. He simply disappeared; to this day, no one knows where he is or what became of him. She gave birth to a boy, and he turned out to be a carbon copy of her late husband—an exact duplicate. The boy is growing up, and with every passing year, he looks more and more like the deceased man—even when compared to old photographs, they are absolutely identical. Her mother-in-law—the late husband's mother—absolutely dotes on the little one, even though he isn't her biological grandchild at all. She brings over baby photos of her late son, and it’s uncanny—they look like twins. It feels like some kind of miracle; it’s fascinating, yet at the same time, a little frightening… It’s almost supernatural.

Nobody can top the reason my last relationship ended: I hit a woman with my car. I called my boyfriend and asked him «Come! I just ran over an old lady—the stupid bitch was trying to cross the street on a red light.» He showed up. The «stupid old bitch» turned out to be his mother.

A female friend suggested a threesome (FMF), and—fool that I am—I agreed. I’m certainly no sex god; sometimes I struggle even with just one woman, because no matter how tired you are, you feel like you have to prove yourself every time and ensure she gets off. But with two women? That’s double the pressure. I was incredibly nervous—I even popped a pill just to make sure I wouldn't flop. It actually went well; they seemed to enjoy it (or at least, that’s what they said), and now they’re dropping hints about doing it again. No thanks. Afterward, my whole body ached from exhaustion for two straight days.

Spring fever—it’s a real thing. Yesterday, a neighbor lady cornered me in the stairwell and started screaming at me because I cook meals at home, and the smell wafts through the entire building. I’m not talking about a *stench*, mind you—I mean a *smell*. A delicious one. The funny thing is, that very same woman’s husband keeps asking me to cook him some of whatever I’m making.

I hopped into a minibus taxi, spotted the last remaining seat—and sat down. At a bus stop, an elderly woman boards; the doors close, and the bus pulls away. Suddenly, the driver slams on the brakes. The old woman begins to fall, and in that instant, every instinct and bit of training I possess kicked in: I managed to grab her by the elbow, pull her toward me, and—in the process—guide her down onto my seat. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a little girl toppling into the aisle; already in the midst of falling onto some guy myself, I instinctively tossed my tactical backpack into the aisle—it held my work sweater and trousers—and the child landed safely right on top of it. I, meanwhile, landed on the guy. There was a second of stunned silence inside the bus, followed by a simple question from the conductor: «Are you a ninja?»

I have a fantastic athletic figure: firm, size-3 breasts, a trim waist, a nice butt, and great legs. I’m pretty good-looking, too. While I was pregnant, my husband nearly cheated on me (I’m practically a female Sherlock Holmes). I get it, though—a wife with a big baby bump isn't exactly as attractive anymore… After giving birth, I actually became even slimmer, and I retained about 90% of my breast size. Now, he’s just as obsessed with me as he was before the pregnancy. But I still can’t bring myself to forgive him. And so, I’m going to cheat on him. After that stunt he pulled, I have no desire to be faithful anymore.

The most vivid memory from my childhood is a New Year's Eve when I was staying overnight with my aunt, and her drunk friends came over. One of them threw up all over the bathroom—but not before sweeping all the cosmetics off the shelf and into the tub first. The other one face-planted onto the sofa—exclaiming, «Oh, this feels so good!»—right into the spot where a tomcat had peed just a couple of minutes earlier.

The night before my thesis defense—despite the fact that I already had a boyfriend—I somehow ended up on Chatroulette. Naked. It was actually pretty fun showing myself off; it really turned me on. I ended up running into a guy there. Long story short, we spent three hours together—doing exactly what you’d expect. Some kind of crazy chemistry kicked in; I hadn't felt such intense desire in ages—I was practically trembling. To this day, I still remember his dazzling smile… and his cock. I haven't gone back on there since. He gave me his contact info, but I don't think I could bring myself to reach out—my conscience is eating at me, even though the experience itself was awesome.

One time, I sat down next to a girl on a bus. We hit it off, started talking, went on dates, fell in love… and then she cheated on me and left. Now, whenever there’s an empty seat on public transport, I think a thousand times before sitting down next to a cute girl. Just in case she ends up ruining my life all over again...

A girl recently added me on social media. She kept messaging me saying she wanted to get to know me—even after I’d turned her down several times. Eventually, I told her to get lost in pretty harsh terms. And I did it all because I already have a girlfriend I love. As it turned out later, *she* was the girlfriend I loved. She had been testing me using a fake profile. Now she’s furious with me for talking to her so rudely while she was messaging me from that fake account.

My brother’s ex-wife—after watching way too many online «life coaches»—filed for divorce. She decided she was a «goddess» who «deserved better.» She took out a bunch of loans because she wanted to open a beauty studio and go into business for herself. But then everything went completely to hell: she blew through all her money and had no way to pay off her loans. She tried to move back in with my brother, but he told her to get lost—and he was absolutely right to do so. He actually had a new girlfriend by then—a good woman: calm and much more down-to-earth. He proposed to her, but his ex just wouldn't let it go. She tried to sabotage things and cooked up all sorts of schemes, but it was all completely pointless. My brother’s wedding day arrived, and we had a fantastic celebration. We spent the second day celebrating outdoors. Then her mother—my brother’s ex-mother-in-law—showed up and caused a huge scene. She demanded to know what right we had to be celebrating a wedding when her daughter had hanged herself on that very day! What a family! Instead of burying her own daughter, she rushed over just to ruin our wedding—though, truth be told, we quickly kicked her out. Burying one’s child is a terrible tragedy, but that was *her* tragedy, not ours. Our family certainly didn't push her into the rope. And while you’re not supposed to speak ill of the dead, she really was a completely useless human being.

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In our village next door there is an empty house. Previously, a family lived there, the old people died, and the children moved away. Periodically, the youngest son of the deceased owners of the house came there with his girlfriend. As it turned out later, it was not one girl, but different ones, there were 3 of them in total. He brought them, then killed them, raped the corpses, and then buried them in the garden. When he was detained, there was an uproar throughout the village. The point is that it didn’t work out for him with living girls, so he decided to try sex with a corpse, and it worked. 1993

He was jailed for life.

I saw a seller jerking off to a tomato at the market… I came around the corner, the man did not immediately notice me, and when I arrived, he immediately threw the tomato back to the others. And then someone buys it… Since then I don’t go there at all and wash all the fruits, vegetables, berries that don’t even need to be washed with soap.

I work in an ambulance and it’s hard to surprise me. But this spring, a corpse was examined in a forest belt; the girl, apparently, was a suicide or mentally ill. At the end of February she left home, in April she thawed out in the forest, dressed in a light dress, sneakers and a Panama hat, with a sketchbook, several pencils and pens. The album contains two or three pages of drawings — snowdrifts, bare trees, a snow-covered field with a chain of footprints and a sunset. She went into the forest in winter with almost no clothes and painted snow until she froze to death.

My son (6 years old) walked into the kitchen with a light bulb in his mouth. My husband dropped a large mug of hot coffee on his foot out of laughter, and I jumped up from the loud blow and his scream and crashed my head into the shelf. As a result, the three of us sat in the emergency room: my husband with a suspected broken finger and a burn, me with a suspected concussion, and my son with a light bulb in his mouth. The doctor could barely keep from laughing.

At work, my bosses and employees (a small department, about twelve people) often accuse me of separating myself from the team: I don’t indulge in snacking, I don’t drink tea and coffee with them between breakfast, lunch and dinner, I don’t chip in on tea, cookies and candy. I make excuses for PP and stomach problems — which, in principle, is true. But in fact, there is another reason that I am silent about. I noticed that my boss never washes her hands after using the toilet: I often saw her leaving the stall and walking past me right on the way out while I was washing my hands. And then with these unwashed hands she puts cookies, gingerbreads, waffles and marmalades into a bowl, and everyone else eats it… Ugh...

My husband works at a school — not a teacher, but still. He got there through an acquaintance and somehow gained a foothold and moved up in career. He doesn’t get paid like crazy, pays for our apartment, knows how to do everything a man does around the house, doesn’t demand my money, etc. But I’m ashamed that he works in a woman’s environment. Plus he doesn’t drive and doesn’t want a car — is that a manly thing? I work as an administrator at a car dealership, there are only men here, for whom the car is a priority. Because of this, I feel like my husband is somehow unmanly.

I have ugly breasts. I am young, never had kids. They just grew up like that. I can't look at myself in the mirror. Even at home I wear a bra all day long because hang and it annoys me. When I stayed with the guys at night, at first I didn’t even take it off to sleep. My new boyfriend has never seen my breasts, although we have been together for quite a long time. I'm so tired. I’m saving for an operation, but money is tight right now. From the moment my breasts started growing, there wasn’t a single day when I didn’t feel complex. I know that the guy will accept anyone, but I can’t show him anyway. Because even I hate her myself. In fits of hysteria, thoughts came to cut everything off. So tired of crying over this. I can no longer listen to myself about self-acceptance. There was enough time to accept it. I couldn't.

My boyfriend’s penis is strongly curved in one direction, and it is precisely because of this and, probably, some feature of my anatomy that I do not experience any discomfort and no gag reflexes during a throat blowjob. I think we have found each other!

Men don't watch porn! Honestly, I'm 25+. There have already been a couple of times that I couldn’t finish with the girls. Yes, there was no special feeling or excitement, but the ladies looked very normal. I remember my first sex and my first girls — I could barely hold on with the joy of seeing a naked female body. Dick to the ceiling. Now, because of visual addiction, everything has become worse. Conducted an experiment. A couple of weeks without porn, a minimum of jerking off — everything returned to normal. Now even if it’s on fire, I’m afraid to jerk off!

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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

I live with a guy. It’s night, he’s sleeping, and my back hurts like hell. Well, I think we need to stretch it out. I bent over and stood on the bridge pose — it didn’t help. I decided to walk around in that pose and left the room. Then I come in again, and at that moment my boyfriend wakes up. I have never heard such yelling from him. Imagine: you wake up in the middle of the night, no one is around, and something comes out of the kitchen in a bridge pose and groans :) He calls me a witch and is afraid that I might walk on the walls like that.

I am a dentist in a children's clinic. I can’t stand children, despite the fact that I recently became a mother myself. During the appointment, I catch myself thinking that I want to hurt especially capricious and spoiled children. Raise your children, friends!

And in the 15th year of my continuous driving experience, my husband continued to teach me how to drive. He sits drunk in the passenger seat and pesters: wrong row, hatch, distance, turn, too fast, too slow. Got it! Once again, I silently stopped near the traffic cop and said: “The rules say that the passenger has no right to distract the driver. This passenger is so distracting that we almost had an accident!” — which is true. A traffic cop dropped off a drunken husband. And I left. Returned home quiet.

My husband started a new job six months ago. Everything seemed to be fine. On the contrary: considering that this is a new direction in which he was retrained, he is completely enthusiastic. And he became more active in relationships, or something. But somehow I felt uneasy inside. In general, I got into his phone. I found nothing: no correspondence, no new contacts, no sites in the browser history — nothing at all. I scolded myself. But the anxiety did not go away. And I was drawn to look at the gallery. And there are a bunch of photos of his colleague. And he took these photos furtively, because in them she is not posing, but doing some kind of work, eating, talking on the phone. The girl is young, under 30 years old. And I am both disgusted and scared by this hobby of his. Looks like a maniac from a movie. And I don’t understand how to feel about this. It seems like they definitely have nothing, and, probably, this hobby will pass. But in my heart it’s sad and offensive that this is happening at all. There is no crime as such, so I can’t share it with anyone, so as not to inflate it into a scandal or, conversely, to not be ridiculed.

My mother-in-law went on vacation to see the world. The vacation was very long, and her neighbors called my husband. They say the smell from the apartment is unbearable. The husband opened the door — and there were five corpses of kittens. Before her vacation, she locked her pregnant cat in her apartment, leaving her food in the refrigerator. The entire refrigerator was rotten, the cat gave birth, she got out through the window, but the kittens couldn’t. I am amazed at the stupidity and cruelty.

A friend's daughter got sick. To bring down the temperature, children are rubbed with vodka, but the father of the family did not drink, and the only alcohol at home was a gift bottle of Chinese vodka with a snake. When they began to rub the child, a terrible cadaverous smell came from the liquid. The mother got scared and started screaming for her husband to “throw out this dead thing,” and the girl began to cry a lot: “Don’t, mommy, maybe I’ll still survive.” When they laughed it off, I had to explain for a long, long time that they love her and will never throw her away :D

I'm 33, and I just now realized what I want to be when I grow up. A prostitute! I read a lot and watched films about girls in this profession and realized that I wanted that too. Money pays for normal, regular and interesting sex, which does not get boring, as in the case of marriage or a long relationship with one man. This work is an eternal holiday, different acquaintances, a lot of communication. You can be a little drunk, and no one will say anything about it or dismiss you, like at a regular job. And in our time, such girls are treated normally, they even have a chance of getting married. In short, now I’m thinking about how to get into this business.

Back in school, my best friend and I became interested in the idea of ​​equality and feminism. We studied a lot, joined groups on social networks, argued fiercely and fought for women’s rights. Recently a friend got married. We are students, he is a young teacher. And every day at the university I see how he uses it. “Dear, will you go get me some coffee, I have a lot of work?”, “Honey, prepare my favorite soup for dinner,” “I have a conference tomorrow, will you prepare my suit?” It seemed kind, but in reality he made her a servant. Love is evil...

There was a case in our village. A lonely elderly woman climbed into an empty cellar — to heat it, smoke it from mold and bugs, before storing the crops for the winter. The cellar was deep, the stairs were iron, welded from two ladders. She climbed down, put the barrel down, lit the firewood in it, and quickly climbed up so as not to inhale the smoke, but in her haste she stumbled and fell down. She broke her leg and couldn’t get out on her own. Only a day later her neighbors found her. Let's go find out why the cow is screaming as if she hasn't been fed, and the woman is nowhere to be found. Everyone looked around — no. They found her in the cellar, all smoked and black.

I have always loved sex at noisy parties. When you, drunk, go with an unfamiliar guy to the toilet or another room, undress, kiss and caress him, and he caresses you. Afterwards, he fucks you to the music playing in the common room, squeezes your breasts, hits your ass and calls you a bitch, and you can let yourself scream at the top of your lungs from orgasm, knowing that no one will hear you except him. For me these are unforgettable moments, they give me joy and nostalgia when I remember them. I love non-standard sex.

I decided to become a cuckold to entertain my wife. I found her a man and sat down in the corner to watch. In the process, I realized: she was not pretending, she was simply disgusted with me. Now they sleep in our bed, and I moved into the kitchen. I can’t kick her out — the apartment is hers, but I still love her just as much. Yesterday I brought them breakfast in bed, she didn’t even say thank you, she just laughed at my apron. I’ve become a stranger in my home, I’m disgusted with myself, but I don’t have the strength to leave.

At 33 years old, I finally experienced my first orgasm! Yes, yes, that’s how it happens (I’m so retarded). I bought a vacuum stimulator and just flew into space with it — for the first time in my life! But after that, my clitoris became so sensitive that now I constantly experience arousal from any simple actions, such as, for example, rubbing panties or clothes while walking… I don’t know yet how to manage my new sensations. This is very strange and unusual for me, since I have never experienced anything like this before.

My girl is obsessed with the topic of desecration. At first she asked me to just spit in my face — I still got over that. But now the extreme cruelty has begun. She demands that at the peak I make myself vomit directly on her. She also forces her to do this in a pile of garbage that she has been accumulating for a week in the corner of the bedroom for a “garbage dump atmosphere.” She says that this is the only way she feels alive and dirty. The smell in the room is such that it really makes me sick. I love her, but it seems that I will soon simply die from some kind of infection.

Other Trash Stories

1. A woman came in and spent about 10 minutes talking about how she bought cinnamon-flavored lubricant, and now she’s complaining that she smeared it on her ass during anal sex, which is why her anus “inflamed.” She wanted me to pay her $500 for pain and suffering. She even found it necessary to lift her skirt, take off her panties and show me her burning ass. I told her to come back when the owner was there and show him everything. She whined that she couldn't even sit down.

2. We had video viewing rooms in the store with a $20 deposit. Don't cum on the floor or pee in the trash can and you'll get your deposit back.

I thought it was strange that we even had a rule about peeing. But then I had to tell one guy that he wouldn't get his deposit back because he pissed all over the place.

3. My sister used to work in a pretty decent sex shop. Nurses from a nearby hospital often came there, so she constantly had to listen to salacious stories about patients admitted to the emergency department.

My favorite story is about a woman who wanted to try anal sex, but her boyfriend was against it. She decided to try it herself and impaled her ass on the doorknob without removing the knob from the door. Yes, you read that right, that's right. Now imagine a doorknob and think very carefully about the role of the sphincter. She got stuck and called the firefighters, who arrived, and they had to saw the door so that the woman could be taken to the hospital to remove the handle. She was apparently wheeled into the emergency room on a stretcher, belly down, with part of the door sticking out of her butt. After administering muscle relaxants and lubrication, she was pulled out of there.

4. When I was younger, my mom worked for a company similar to Avon that sold sex toys and lubricants. One day my mom had to take my sister and me to one of the “parties” she was throwing at a woman’s house. We got bored pretty quickly and started walking around the house while Mom explained what gadgets and products were for sale. I stood in the doorway of the party room, waiting for my mom to turn around so I could ask if I could have some Rotel sauce. I was probably 6-7 years old. One of the women saw me and widened her eyes. My mom asked what happened and she pointed at me. My mom turned around, holding a meter long double sided dildo, and screamed at me to leave.

5. An elderly man came in who wanted to experiment with sex toys, since his and his wife’s sex life was practically at a standstill. I discussed options with him for a while and he seemed happy with the purchase, so that was the end of it. A week later, on my day off, an older woman came into the store to thank me because their sex life was now incredible. She even cried while talking to my colleagues because it really made such a difference.

6. I worked in a porn film and sex toy store for about a year. There were promotions for staff that offered high-end toys at a deep discount. And for big sales you get a bonus.

We all had different sales methods. I advertised one fancy vibrator. It was in a package lying at the counter with a note: “Replacement men’s accessory.”

An elderly man came into the store to rent a bunch of toys. Yes, this was possible before. He looked at the note, took out a toy, turned it over in his hands, and then said: “Well, damn it, it doesn’t mow the grass.”

I don't know what he expected to see in our store.

7. A guy came in and paid to rent one of the booths. These booths were located at the back of the store, through the doorway. Then a couple came in. They walked around, looked at different things, talked, and so on. They were near the door leading to the booths when the guy in the booth had an orgasm and screamed so loudly that the man jumped and the girl screamed and fell to the floor. Then she got up and quickly left. I saw a wet spot spreading on the front of her jeans. The guy came so loudly that the girl wet herself in horror.

8. One evening I was working with my friend in a sex shop, and suddenly I heard him talking to someone with a familiar voice. I tried to remember who the voice belonged to, but all I remembered was the person who had influence over me. I immediately hid, thinking that it might be my father, whom I had not seen for many years, but it was not him. It was my former math teacher. Our eyes met, my stomach sank, and he turned pale and ran to hell.

9. On weekends we worked until midnight, and about 15 minutes before closing, an ordinary-looking woman in a tracksuit came in. She was holding a leash, at the end of which sat a man in a diaper. What shocked me the most was that this guy was wearing sandals with socks. I told the couple they needed to leave because pants were required for shopping. The man turned red (I think humiliation is his thing), the woman grinned, and they left.

10. I worked in several sex toy stores. One day a 19-year-old guy came in with his girlfriend and immediately behaved rudely. After every answer I gave, he made rude remarks. Finally, he asked what they should do to spice up their intimate life. I took him to the dildos and told him he should have sex. Unfortunately, they didn't buy a dildo that night.

11. This is the story of my girlfriend. A customer came in and said that she had never had an orgasm, and she was told that some women simply never have an orgasm. She didn't buy anything except condoms and left. Two days later she returned with her boyfriend. The guy was furious and shouted: “TELL HER SOME WOMEN JUST DON’T HAVE ORGASM!” In principle, they told her this the day before yesterday. He was throwing merchandise all over the store and talking about how his manhood was being insulted and that he was going to show everyone in the store how big he was. After he finally left, he urinated on my girlfriend's car.

12. An elderly man of about eighty came to us and bought an inflatable doll. He took it out of the box to look at it, and then simply shoved it back so that the parts stuck out at the top. We asked if he wanted the package, he said no, paid and left. We then watched as he placed the doll on the front of his handicapped scooter for everyone to see and rode off, happy and with a big smile on his face.

My husband is a pervert. I found some porn on his computer and, out of curiosity, decided to take a look. And there was this guy sticking a speculum up an actress's ass—followed by… lollipops! LOLLIPOPS! Those colorful ones! Then she pushes them back out of her ass—basically shitting them out! After that, he takes turns banging her with his dick and a Chupa Chups, shoving both into her mouth… I literally—and I mean *literally*—threw up. Now I’m disgusted by lollipops, by porn, and by my own husband...

One time, I got the urge to try out a giant dildo—3 inches in diameter. I ordered it. My husband saw it and was absolutely flabbergasted; he said, «Are you telling me that thing is actually going to fit inside you?!» It didn't fit—not even close. Afterward, I didn't know what to do with it. Throwing it in the trash wasn't an option; I didn't want pensioners or homeless people rummaging through the bins to find it—or worse, for some kids to stumble upon it, since they root through the trash, too. I couldn't keep it at home either—our child is getting older and might find it, plus there was simply no point in keeping it around. So, I decided to burn it. I took it with us to our summer cottage and told my husband we needed to toss it into the barbecue grill, pile some firewood on top, and let it burn up. My husband laughed his head off and suggested we just bury it instead. But I wouldn't give in. And so, late that evening—with no one else around at the cottages, the air cold, and a fine drizzle falling—my darling and I stood over the grill, burning a giant dildo… The top half melted completely and lost its shape, but the thing never actually burned away. The next morning, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and took it to the dump. Now I don't have to worry about anyone finding it!

I have a slightly strange hobby: I collect penises… Just photos of them, though! I meet men of all ages online, engage in lewd chats with them, and trick them into sending me photos—though I never send anything back myself. Afterward, I use a photo editor to frame the images, adding their name, age, and the date; then, once a month, I go out to get them printed. You should see the look on the staff’s faces when they open the folder containing 50 dicks—they practically choke as they ask me exactly what I want printed!

I want to have a threesome with my girlfriend; the thought of having another cock inside her really turns me on. During sex—specifically when she’s riding me—I tease her with my fingers down there and whisper for her to imagine that she has two cocks inside her. I ask, «Do you want this?» She says yes, and she gets really aroused. But I don't know how to actually bring this fantasy to life! I’m afraid that a threesome might ruin my relationship with the woman I love… yet I want so badly to give her that double pleasure.

Guys, you shouldn't watch porn! Honestly—I’m in my mid-twenties—I’ve actually had a couple of instances where I couldn't finish while with a girl. Yeah, there wasn't much emotional connection or intense arousal, but the ladies themselves were physically quite attractive. I remember my first time and the first girls I was with—I could barely contain myself just from the sheer joy of seeing a naked female body. My dick was practically hitting the ceiling. Now, thanks to this visual addiction, things have gone downhill. I ran an experiment: a couple of weeks without porn, minimal masturbation—and everything went back to normal. Now, even when I'm really horny, I'm actually afraid to jerk off!

Back in my freshman year of university, I met a girl who was a year older than me. She was very heavy-set—especially in the butt, thighs, and arms. Yet, thanks to the absence of an «apron belly,» combined with huge breasts, big blue eyes, and a long blonde braid, she was damn attractive. We’d say hello and chat a little, but nothing more than that. One day we ran into each other and decided to hug (hugging was just starting to become a trendy thing back then), and I got a massive, rock-hard erection—I couldn't even get a word out. I had to lock myself in a bathroom stall to blow off some steam; otherwise, I couldn't have possibly gone to class.

My husband has never been the polygamous type, but something must have just snapped in my brain—and I consider myself a perfectly sane woman, mind you; I simply can't find any other explanation for my actions—so I decided to put him to the test. I signed up on a dating site using a fake name and photo. My husband failed miserably: he promised to leave his wife (me), sent photos of his junk, and so on. When I finally got fed up with it, I simply told him to pack his things and get out. Now, however, he claims it was just a mistake, that he loves me deeply, and that he wants to come back. He’s begging for my forgiveness—after all, we’ve been together for six years.

I used to hate traffic jams; they absolutely infuriated me, to the point of trembling with rage. But now I’ve found a way to entertain myself: a remote-controlled vibrator. The moment I hit a traffic jam, I simply clamp this little marvel of technology between my legs. And that’s it! Now, the trembling comes from pure pleasure. I can easily climax five or six times before the traffic finally clears.

In terms of intimacy, I’m a woman with extensive experience, yet I remain somewhat unjaded. Recently, I found myself wondering what the most unusual thing that’s ever happened to me in bed might be. Then I remembered: back in my youth, I dated a guy who absolutely adored having me sit on his face while wearing nothing but lace panties—and he’d beg me to «step on the gas» as hard as I possibly could. The result of this particular maneuver was an erection of epic proportions, which meant our intimate session would last all night long. To this day, I can’t even look at legumes, because back then I was eating them in massive quantities—which meant I was farting 24/7, and not just when I was sitting on my boyfriend. I guess you could say I’ve already farted my fair share.

I once had a fling with an impotent man. And you know what? The guy didn't have a single hang-up about it. He told me his issues had started back in his youth, and he’d undergone various treatments with mixed results. In the end, however, he simply mastered cunnilingus to an otherworldly degree—and learned to use his fingers with absolute, sheer artistry. Plus, his natural charisma—and the aura of sex surrounding him—is simply off the charts. Yes, he admitted that he has occasionally disappointed women who don't consider it «sex» without the involvement of a penis; but on the whole, his sex life has been quite successful. He experiences arousal and desire just like anyone else; he derives pleasure from oral sex and is fully capable of ejaculating—it’s just that he doesn't get an erection, or if he does, it goes down immediately. And it’s really no big deal—he’s even managed to have children.

I don't wash up before sex. At all. Ever. My wife thinks I’m just being spontaneous and passionate. In reality, I simply want her to smell my scent. The real me. Sweaty, masculine, unwashed. If she only likes sleeping with me after I’ve taken a shower, then it’s not *me* she likes—it’s the shower gel. She puts up with it. That means she loves me. Once, I went three days without washing (on purpose), and she still got into bed with me. That’s when I realized: I’d successfully conditioned her. Now, my unwashed skin serves as a test of her sincerity. And she passes it. Although… no, she doesn't really pass it. She just gave up.

Other Trash Stories

1. It was confusing and awkward. And advertising on Craigslist wasn't exactly easy, either. I called it «naked amateur massage.» Haha.

To be honest, I don't remember the details of my first time, but I’ve had so many wonderful moments in this line of work that they clearly overshadow the bad ones.

2. I’m an independent escort; I don’t work for any agency, nor do I use any middlemen. My first date took place in a car (I know—silly). I was incredibly nervous, but the guy turned out to be very sweet and pleasant—clean-cut and good-looking, too. After the date, I bought a few beers and kicked back. I felt happy.

3. I was completely broke, so I decided to give sex work a try for a while. I was really nervous at first, but honestly, the guys who sought out my services were way more awkward than I was, so I calmed down pretty quickly.

4. I’m a stripper. I used to work as a nanny, but then, at 18, I decided, «To hell with all that.» On my very first night, I realized just how many guys have issues. When I started, I was actually still breastfeeding. One guy grabbed my breast and called me «Mommy» all night long (so many guys wanted to buy my breast milk—it was absolutely bizarre). Another guy whipped out his dick and said, «Just sit on it.» Oh—and then there was the guy who licked my armpits!

5. My first time performing on stage was incredibly nerve-wracking; I’m pretty sure I looked like a newborn fawn—or maybe even worse—considering I’d never walked in high heels before that night.

6. My first day as a stripper. I’d been working as a waitress at a bar near a military base, and I was actually pretty good at it. I found out that a new establishment was opening in an area with potentially more attractive clientele. I was hired as a bar waitress once again.

I showed up for my first day of work and got straight to it—taking orders, mixing killer shots, and so on. About halfway through my shift, the general manager approached me and told me to come into his office. My heart instantly seized up; I was fully braced for something straight out of a «casting couch» scenario.

He didn't try to hit on me, but he did warn me that if I wanted to keep my job as a waitress, I’d have to take on some additional duties. So, it was either the stage or nothing at all. I remember how he pitched it, appealing to my ego: «I can't have a girl like you running around the floor all night. I need you up on the main stage.»

So, I did it. He told me to pick a song I knew really well, down a couple of shots, and just go for it. Honestly, I was surprised by how easy it turned out to be.

7. This probably doesn't quite fit into the realm of sex work, but it's interesting nonetheless. About eight months ago, I became a sugar baby; prior to that, I used to sell nude photos of myself. At first, I was incredibly nervous because I felt self-conscious, but even after I landed a steady gig as a sugar baby, I kept selling photos—simply because I’d grown to enjoy it.

8. My first day working as a stripper was a total nightmare. I was wearing heels from some obscure brand, so my feet were absolutely killing me. I was terrified to death of talking to people and felt like I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Fortunately, the other girls at the club were really sweet and helped me figure out the ropes.

I still work as a stripper, and at this point, it has become second nature to me. I really enjoy it, and I’m pretty good at it. I’ve also started doing porn now, and my very first day was absolutely addictive! I loved it; I got such a rush that I felt invincible.

9. I work full-time in the sex industry. I don’t remember the details of my first day. I was 19, my boyfriend had just dumped me, and I needed money. I think I did a pretty good job.

10. The first time around, I got paid $850 just to let a guy smell my armpits. It took 15 minutes, and he even drove me home. I was only supposed to get paid $400, but he gave me a bonus on top of that. I stayed in the business for two years.

11. I got VERY lucky. My first client was an attractive, middle-aged man who lived in a huge, immaculate house. Eventually, I told him that he was my very first client. He looked me in the eye and said, «You shouldn't be doing this.» I only stayed in the business for about six weeks.

12. I was really nervous on my first day, but I had some acting training (from school, not for work), so once I «got into character,» everything went much more smoothly. Now, it feels less like acting, and everything comes across much more naturally. It’s funny, because I’m actually a huge introvert and quite a quiet person, but something transforms inside me when I’m on stage.

My first client wanted me to tie him up, humiliate him, and step on his face. It didn't give me any pleasure, but it did boost my self-confidence.

13. My first day working as a stripper. I was 19, and I worked in a very small club (I called it the «shoebox club») that featured a wobbly pole—purchased from Lowe's—that went right through a gaping hole in the ceiling.

I had a panic attack in the dressing room before going on stage, because stripping down—even partially—in front of total strangers for the very first time is incredibly awkward. Then I went out there and saw people I vaguely knew sitting at the bar. After that, I rolled around the stage rather clumsily and accidentally knocked an ashtray off the bar, hitting someone in the process. Not exactly my finest moment.

14. I once worked for a company where my job was to respond to sexually explicit messages. On my first day, I found it quite amusing—even kind of cool. I worked from home and would tell my partner about some of the messages I was receiving. I had been told that I would be managing several different female «profiles.» I was convinced that the men knew it was a fantasy line, since the manager had assured me that this was clearly stated on their website. However, she never actually told me the name of the website.

Anyway, over time I realized that these men were messaging people they believed to be real women. They constantly referred to it as a dating site. I regularly received general memos from my manager instructing us to always say that «we like the idea of ​​meeting up someday,» but never to actually agree to it—and to insist that we wanted to chat for a while longer first, so that the men would keep replying. Some of these men corresponded with «a single woman» for YEARS, even though, in reality, that one profile might have been handled by more than 20 different women in a single day.

From one guy—let's call him John—I learned that the ad had been marketed as «dating local singles for sex»; they had to pay £3 per message and were frustrated that the women never actually agreed to go on a date.

15. So, I got into erotic massage back when I was practically homeless and just scraping by on odd jobs in New York City. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing, but I was surviving on stale leftovers found in strangers' fridges, so I decided to give it a shot. I posted an ad on a website along with a friend, and within a few hours, I received an inquiry. I didn't run any background checks or take any safety precautions because I simply didn't know any better; looking back now, I realize just how INCREDIBLY lucky I was.

16. I was so nervous. I dressed up in the only halfway-decent outfit I owned. I went to meet him at his hotel, and when he opened the door, my jaw nearly hit the floor. He was drop-dead gorgeous, and I was stunned. He was a businessman in his early thirties from Iceland, in New York on business. He was simply charming. He was charismatic, intelligent, impeccable, and funny. I spent an amazing hour with him and walked away with the equivalent of a week's wages—money I usually earned working at some dingy café where I got insulted by wealthy customers who would happily drop $7 on a latte but wouldn't leave a single cent in tips. The sudden, 180-degree shift in my status was shocking.

17. I’m a dancer; my first day was a little awkward, but I think I found my footing pretty quickly. Before I started working, I was already interested in pole tricks, so I was fairly proficient in that regard, but I had absolutely no clue what to do when it came to the actual dancing part.

A coworker had to show me how to give a lap dance—haha. Talking to the customers was nerve-wracking, too, but I quickly learned that I could just ask them questions, and they would spend the rest of the conversation talking all about themselves.

18. My first day as a dancer was a real eye-opener. I was 18 years old and had just moved to the big city all on my own. I had never earned my own money before and was incredibly naive. I had never seen or used drugs in my life, and I was shocked to discover that they were absolutely everywhere in the club. That evening, I danced a private dance for the first time, and the man I was with pulled out a sizable bag of cocaine and expected me to indulge him—and was very surprised when I turned him down.

At the end of the dance, the man forcefully pulled me toward him—so tightly that I was pressed right up against him and couldn't even move to the music. Since I was the new girl, I didn't know what to say to make him stop touching me like that—and, God, it was absolutely repulsive.

19. I worked completely nude, and at first, I felt deeply uncomfortable with men staring at me, touching me, and propositioning me for sex. However, on that very first night, I made about $400—it was the first money I’d ever earned, and the feeling was incredibly gratifying.

Nearly four years later, I’m still dancing at that same club. Nothing surprises me anymore; I love my job, and I definitely give my guests a wild, no-holds-barred experience.

20. I work as an administrator at a brothel. It was terrifying at first; I had no idea what was going on—everything happened so fast and felt completely disorienting. I accidentally brought a client in before all the girls had arrived, and one of them ended up yelling at me. Fortunately, that didn't deter me, and five years later, I can't imagine myself working anywhere else.

21. Years of working in bars gave me experience dealing with drunks, handling cash, multitasking, and providing customer service; plus, I feel completely comfortable being nude—so this turned out to be the perfect fit for me. An added bonus is that I get to help create a safe space for sex workers where they can do their job. And being surrounded by beautiful women and all that sexual energy gives me a real buzz.

22. I’m not sure if this counts as sex work, but I’m a webcam model, and I really enjoy it.

On my first day, I was incredibly nervous and anxious; nothing particularly eventful happened, but I was so terrified that people there would hate me or get angry.

I’ve realized that about 98 percent of people are genuinely nice and fun, but the remaining 2 percent are just vile. There have been instances where people tried to pressure me into talking about my children. There have been times when people made demands. But overall, I highly recommend it as a hobby—rather than a full-time job.

23. I’m a dancer. I remember coming home one Saturday with about $120 and thinking, «Well, okay, that’s not bad.» Now, I won’t rest until I’ve made a thousand dollars in a single shift. Surprisingly, I wasn’t nervous at all the first time I went out on stage or when I had to take my clothes off. I guess I’m a natural!

We live in a small town where five-story apartment blocks and private houses stand side-by-side on the same street. There are sturdy, well-kept homes, but right next door stand old shacks—mostly inhabited by either the elderly or alcoholics. This summer, one of those shacks burned down; it went up in flames instantly, and the firefighters ended up dousing logs that were already almost completely charred. They found a charred corpse under the rubble. Some police officers I know guarded the body at the fire site all night long, using sticks to shoo away the stray dogs that had gathered around the remains of the shack. One of the cops told me, while standing guard, his mouth practically watered from the smell of roasted meat wafting off the burnt body—he’d been called out on an emergency alert and hadn't managed to eat anything all day except for breakfast.

I’ve always been small and petite. Back in fourth grade, we were playing «Dodgeball»; I threw the ball at a boy, and—somehow, to this day I don't know how—I broke his arm. He vowed to get revenge. Later, after his cast came off, we were playing tag about two weeks later. We were running side-by-side; I gave him a shove, he fell, and he broke his leg. We never spoke again after that. I still feel ashamed about it.

I grew up in the 90s, and we lived in extreme poverty. I remember one time, some relatives or acquaintances gave us a three-liter jug ​​of honey! It was my absolute favorite treat. I used to go out to the balcony where it was kept in a cupboard, dip my finger in to scoop some out, and eat it right there—I must have been about five years old at the time. Then, one day, I reached my finger in… and felt something soft. It turned out I hadn't closed the lid all the way; a mouse had climbed into the jug and drowned right there in the honey. I told my mom; we fished the mouse out… and then we simply went right on eating the rest of the honey. And I hadn't even remembered that a mouse had been swimming in there...

Recently, I watched a couple with a stroller standing at a bus stop, smoking. A bus pulled up; the dad simply tossed his cigarette aside, but the mom stubbed hers out on the pavement, tucked the butt into a pocket on the stroller, and then they headed toward the bus. There was a trash can right next to the stop! Of course, it’s great when people don’t want to litter. But putting a cigarette butt *in the stroller*—that’s something else entirely!

I’m a student, so a 6 a.m. pass for our local pool is dirt cheap. But—unlike in my dorm—the showers there actually have hot water. And at 6 a.m., there’s hardly anyone around—another thing that sets it apart from dorm life. I go there to swim, have a quiet wank, and get washed up. I’m a total night owl, but this is a genuine incentive to drag myself out of bed at such an ungodly hour.

I work at a spa complex that features traditional Russian bathhouses. One day, a drunk guy comes in, and as I’m escorting him to the baths, he says—in the manner of a stereotypical «New Russian» gangster—«Hey there, sweetie, why don't you hook me up with some girls and some vodka?» I reply that ours is a family-friendly establishment and that we don't offer alcohol or «girls.» He pauses for a second to think, then—with a lewd grin, practically slapping me on the butt—he shoots back: «Well, in that case, how about you and I play 'family' for an hour or two?»

My girlfriend is the purest, most innocent creature untouched by the harshness of life. She never uses profanity, never makes dirty jokes. But today, I accidentally overheard a phone conversation she was having with a friend, and I was absolutely fucking floored. It wasn't anything major—just a few words: «fuck,» «shit,» and «bitch.» That’s all… Now, whenever I see her smiling sweetly and looking at me, I’m reminded of that conversation. It feels as though she’s been faking everything. Maybe I’m being an asshole, but I’m honestly having a hard time coming to terms with this. Could it be that my sweet girl has been pulling a fast one on me all along?

For New Year's, my CEO gave me an expensive watch—as he put it himself—as a token of appreciation for my contributions to the company. I really *had* worked hard and deserved some kind of reward, but I was counting on a cash bonus; I have a perfectly average salary, a mortgage, two kids—I’m your classic middle-class guy, basically. So what am I supposed to do with a watch worth fifteen thousand dollars? Wear it with a suit that cost fifty times less? Selling a gift feels wrong somehow; and even if I *were* to sell it, where on earth would I even list something like that? It’s highly unlikely I’d find any buyers for an item like that on a site like Craigslist or eBay. So there it sits, gathering dust in the back corner of my linen drawer.

My wife is, as they say, a «pedant-fictionist.» She always needs everything to be in its proper place. Whenever she finally pushes me over the edge—or starts getting on the kids' nerves—I’ll casually move things around: I might hide her bra inside a pair of boots, or «accidentally» stash her nail polish in the toy bin. She immediately switches gears to cleaning—grumbling all the while—but she can't actually call me out on it; after all, we had an agreement right from the start: keeping the house clean is strictly *her* fucking problem.

I caught my younger brother pulling my bra out of the laundry hamper. It turned out he wasn't a pervert. He’s just getting serious with his very first girlfriend and was studying how the clasp works so he wouldn't embarrass himself when the moment finally arrives.

I visited San Francisco recently. I was walking down one of the main streets toward a shopping mall—looking all beautiful, fully made-up, and dressed to the nines. Suddenly, a local homeless man approached me: «Hi, my name is John. You look so sad. Don't be down; everything’s going to be okay. Let's have a hug.» And he reached out to embrace me. Naturally, I was shocked. But then I started wondering: do I really look that bad? Or are Americans just that obsessed with smiling? I think about it constantly. And about all the diseases you could catch from hugging a homeless person.

I was turning eight at the time. My mother and stepfather had drunk way too much. After the «celebration,» my stepfather called me over to get my present. The «present» turned out to be a ride on his beat-up old moped. He forced me to sit down, then climbed on behind me. I tried to break free, but he was terribly drunk. Two minutes later, we were speeding down the highway—followed by a loud crash and excruciating pain. I woke up in the ICU; I had survived by a miracle, but my stepfather was dead. The only thing my mother said to me was: «Why him, and not you?» I never saw her again… I hate her more than life itself.

I was out walking my dog ​​when I saw a person lying on a patch of grass. He was lying face-down, and he didn't look like a homeless person… I can't just walk past in situations like that—you never know what might be going on; anything can happen in life. I walked over and asked: «Are you alive? Are you okay?» The man lifts his head slightly and, staring at the ground, declares: «Please, everyone—just fuck off! I feel really GOOD right now!» Nodding vaguely into the void, I headed home, while the fellow—having returned to his original position—remained right there on the lawn.

I once had a colleague—a thirty-two-year-old woman: married, with two children. A tough cookie, too, I might add. But then she found out her husband was cheating; she tracked down his mistress—and that’s when the hell broke loose: insults, ambushes outside the apartment building (resulting in a cracked skull), and threats. And not just from her, but from every member of her family. They absolutely hounded the guy: «How could you? You have children, you piece of scum!» The mistress couldn't endure this living hell and eventually bowed out of the picture. But the husband, it seemed, had fallen hard: he started drinking heavily, lashing out at his wife, and beating her. She finally had to let him go when, one night, he tried to strangle their children—who, in his twisted mind, were supposedly the root cause of his misery...

We once went to visit some relatives of ours; they had a three-year-old son—the kind people describe as having «ants in his pants»—absolutely ceaseless in his energy. While all the adults sat in the kitchen chatting over drinks, the boy was left unsupervised. He ran around wildly, making a racket. When we finally went to check on him—wondering why we couldn't hear him anymore—we were absolutely horrified: the child was lying face-down on the floor in a pool of blood, with the tip of a blue pencil sticking out of the back of his neck. Apparently, he’d been running around with the pencil in his hand, fell, and impaled his own throat. The paramedics barely managed to save him.

1. A friend of mine decided to try anal sex with her boyfriend. Her father walked into the room while they were in the middle of it. Her boyfriend pulled his penis out so quickly that she ended up shitting all over his stomach and chest. Apparently, the smell was so terrible that he actually threw up afterward. Her poor dad saw the whole thing.

2. I had an ex-boyfriend who loved sucking pimples off girls' bodies while simultaneously pleasuring himself.

3. I picked up a girl for a one-night stand. As soon as we finished, she called her mom and proudly announced that she had just lost her virginity.

4. My brother is ten years older than me. One day, for some reason, a friend and I ran into her mother's bedroom—and there we saw my brother. He jumped out of her bed, stark naked, while my friend's mom hid under the covers.

5. I sometimes suffer from jaw spasms. One time, I was giving my boyfriend a blowjob—he has a rather large and thick penis—and my jaw started to ache. I thought, «Screw it!» and kept going, which turned out to be a huge mistake.

It got to the point where I couldn't open my mouth wide enough for him to pull his penis out, so I actually had to pry my jaws apart with my fingers. Ouch.

6. I was performing oral sex on my boyfriend in my dorm room. His muscles were all tense, and he was breathing heavily. He said he wouldn't be able to finish because he’d had too much to drink, so we both got dressed. That’s when I noticed some strange brown streaks on the sheets. He didn't say anything and left immediately.

That was when I realized why he had been acting so strangely: he was trying to hold back while I had his cock in my mouth. The next day, he had the audacity to lie and claim that he’d had a chocolate bar in his back pocket, and that it must have melted onto my bed.

7. This guy and I were friends with benefits, and one day we decided to get a little naughty. We decided to try anal sex, and I ended up getting poop on his cock. And that wasn't even the worst part. Because of that, he ended up with a urinary tract infection that lasted for several months. I still feel terrible about it, even though it happened years ago.

8. A friend and I figured out when her parents would be out of town and invited a guy from the water polo team to join us. Everything was going great until her mom came home early and caught us red-handed.

It turned out she was a sexologist (she even had her own radio show and everything), so she tried to sit the three of us down to talk about what we were «doing.» I hid under the covers and pretended that nothing was happening. And that’s how I lost my virginity.

9. My first threesome was amazing… right up until we finished. After our bedroom antics, I had an allergic reaction to their dog. My eyes swelled up, and I broke out in hives all over my body—just in time for a job interview the very next morning.

10. Back in college, my girlfriend and I decided to give anal sex a try. Everything went perfectly—except for the moment right after the orgasm, when a small amount of fecal matter ended up on my genitals.

We cleaned it up easily, and everything was fine; however, she took the incident completely out of context and told her friends that she had pooped on me. Her friends interpreted this as me having a poop fetish. I only found out about this two years later, so I had to explain to them that, actually, I don't like it when people poop on me.

11. The guy I was seeing came to town for work, but he had to share a hotel room with his colleagues. We went for a late-night swim and decided to duck into the poolside restroom to have sex.

We were going at it full-throttle in the restroom when a police officer peeked in through the door. It turned out the area was known for prostitution, and someone had called the police, mistaking me for a sex worker. We had to answer a barrage of questions just to prove that we actually knew each other.

12. I was in Australia, having sex on the beach with a British guy I’d met earlier that day. We were just about finished when a group of partygoers approached us. Instead of leaving us alone to finish the job, they stood about ten feet away—watching us scramble to get dressed—and blasted the song «I Just Had Sex» by The Lonely Island on their portable speaker. Suffice it to say, neither of us ended up finishing.

13. I was involved in a threesome with two guys who were friends. One of them insisted that I give him a blowjob while the other entered me from behind, lying on my back. Just as he was about to climax, he yanked my head down toward his crotch with such force that I started to choke and pulled away.

As a result, his entire load of cum sprayed directly onto his buddy’s face—and some of it even landed in his mouth. I’ll always wonder if their friendship survived that encounter.

14. A few years ago, I was seeing a guy from work and gave him a blowjob. He acted a bit strangely afterward, but I didn't think much of it at the time. A few days later, he asked me: «Do you remember what you had for lunch on the day you sucked me off?» I had no idea, but he said, «You ate chicken with cashews… I’m allergic to cashews.» Apparently, the blowjob made his dick swell up—it got puffy, itchy, red, and started peeling. Just like that.