I started seeing an interesting man. Things eventually led to sex. After some intense foreplay, I was lying naked beneath him. He kissed my lips and started moving lower. I thought I was about to get some amazing cunnilingus. He kisses my neck, chest, and stomach, and then—skipping the «right» spot—starts kissing my knees, moves even lower, and begins frantically sucking on my toes. After three minutes of sex, he has an explosive orgasm, and that’s it… That was the last evening we spent together.

A friend of mine has a neighbor in the village who needed to saw some firewood. He borrowed a circular saw, but while he was working, he lost consciousness. He fell stomach-first right onto the saw—there was blood everywhere, screaming relatives and neighbors, the whole chaotic scene. By some miracle, the guy was patched up and saved; he’s still alive today, though he has a huge scar on his stomach.

Being a bold young woman, I decided to study a field that wasn't exactly «feminine.» One of our subjects was «Metals and Alloys.» The professor was a lecherous old geezer. During one class, we were learning to weld. I was standing there in full welding gear: a black mask with a small dark visor on my face and an electrode holder in my hand. Who would have thought that my appearance would turn him on so much? He came up from behind and started groping my ass with one hand while trying to slip the other under my protective clothing to get to my skin. I tossed aside the welding gear, kicked him hard in the balls, and smashed my mask right into his brazen mug! He couldn't straighten up for ten minutes. There was a confrontation. The rector got involved. They started drawing up expulsion papers. After all, who would they believe—me or him? Him, of course. But at the very last moment, a classmate burst into my dorm room: «I've got something for you!» He showed me a video where… That old geezer’s harassment was clearly caught on camera. He’d wanted to film me screwing up and failing to handle the welding machine just for a laugh, but in the end, he actually saved me. The instructor got fired, and I’ve become something of a legend.

Back in September, I met a really beautiful, sexy woman in an online game. We started messaging on Instagram, and a week later—once she found out the size of my «little rascal»—she suggested we see how I performed in the bedroom. I drove to her city for five days, and things got pretty hot every single night. Now, she flies in to see me once a month for a day, and we spend the whole time doing that wonderful thing… I’m 28 and she’s 34; I’ve never had a woman this hot in my life!

A woman lived in a one-room apartment in our building's entryway. She’d inherited the place from her elderly parents long ago, but after their funerals, she suffered deeply and—without even realizing it—sank into alcoholism. She didn't work; instead, she’d hang out with the local drunks, swilling moonshine. Unlike them, she didn't beg, but she absolutely loved animals. She’d take in every stray cat she found and keep them in her apartment. No one knew where she got the money, but the smell of boiled meat often wafted from her window, and she clearly fed the cats something. A neighbor got fed up with the constant stench of cat filth and went over to confront the woman. She walked in and found her devouring a boiled cat; there was a pile of bones and rotting pelts in the corner, and about twenty cats were yowling around her, begging for food.

Back in school, during our safety class, they taught us how to stop bleeding, but I didn't pay attention and just did my own thing. Then, one day while walking down the street, I witnessed an accident where one of the victims suffered arterial bleeding. Blood was spurting out like a fountain; I just stood there watching, unable to do anything but call an ambulance. But they didn't make it in time. I later found out the man who died had a wife and a four-year-old daughter. I still can't forgive myself for it.

There’s a colleague at the office who walks without lifting her feet—she shuffles loudly enough for the whole place to hear. You can hear her coming from a mile away. On top of that, she sighs heavily, acting as if she’s being forced to haul heavy sacks. She stomps and shuffles back and forth in her slippers like a lumbering elephant, annoying absolutely everyone. I politely asked her not to do it—it’s loud and infuriating. She ignored me. I gave her a car jack for her birthday. She had gotten on everyone’s nerves so much that the whole office chipped in and sent money to my card with comments like «Thanks,» «Hilarious,» and «Finally!»

My brother took out a loan to impress a girl he’s liked for a long time; he took her to restaurants, bought her gifts, and even took her on a seaside vacation. But once the money ran out, she stopped answering his calls. She never promised him anything—they weren't even dating—she just accepted his courtship. Now he’s asking for help with the loan; he’s barely scraping by, and Mom is in tears. Look, I’d happily lend the money, but I refuse to pay off such a shameful loan—he needs to learn a life lesson. Now Mom hates me; it’s both funny and sad.

I love sex. In any form, and in large quantities. I’m 27, single, not ugly, and can hold a conversation. But lately, I keep running into men who *don't* want sex!!! Even the married ones prefer going to the movies with me rather than giving me a good pounding at my place—anytime! What the hell??? My girlfriends have the exact opposite problem: they want relationships, but men only offer them sex!

I’ve noticed a pattern regarding men's bodies. A man’s penis is shaped just like his fingers. For instance, if the fingers are thick at the base and taper toward the tips, the penis is the same way—with a small, narrow head. Conversely, if the fingers widen towards the tips (say, with spade-shaped nails), then the penis is narrow at the base while the head is wider—or even larger. And naturally, if the fingers are thick, it’s thick; if they’re slender, it’s slender. The resemblance is especially striking with the thumb ;) I haven’t seen that many penises, mind you!

After sex, I went to the bathroom to freshen up my pussy. Since there was no hot water, I grabbed the electric kettle, thinking, «Ooh, nice and warm.» I sat down, spread my legs, and poured the water—only to scream in agony right down there! It felt like red-hot iron! Then it hit me: an hour earlier, I’d put descaler in the kettle! I called my boyfriend over and asked him to check if my pussy was still there or if it had dissolved. It turned out fine—it did a great job removing the limescale, and I didn't even get burned.

I came home pretty drunk after a work party; my wife was in the kitchen with some girlfriends, chatting about life. I walked in, said hello, and told them I was heading to bed; I stripped naked, turned off the lights, and got into bed. Half-asleep, I heard the door open as my wife tiptoed in with three girlfriends, all of them giggling softly. My wife whispered, «He's passed out—we can do it now!» She pulled the covers off me and started caressing my cock, while her friends gasped and marveled at it. It really stroked my ego. I adore her.

Other Trash Stories

I had a dream where Hercule Poirot was performing cunnilingus on me, and I couldn't stop laughing because I kept seeing his waxed mustache. I kept giggling and couldn't relax. He kept glancing at me angrily, but I just kept laughing. My husband woke me up and kept pestering me about what I’d been dreaming, but I was too embarrassed to tell him.

Once, while chatting with some girlfriends, we got onto the topic of how embarrassing it is to poop away from home. Well, one friend declared: «I absolutely cannot poop anywhere except at home.» She ended up in the hospital and didn't have a bowel movement for a whole WEEK just so no one would hear her fart. She described the sensation like this: at first, it was really uncomfortable, but eventually, the urge just went away. I managed to hold it in until I got home and finally dropped a week's worth of poop with a clear conscience. I’m still amazed her ass didn't tear open.

I accidentally found a vibrator in my grandma's nightstand. She’s 70. On one hand, I’m happy for her; on the other, it feels a bit weird.

Everyone knows about double penetration, but few have heard of double cunnilingus. My dorm roommate was a girl with a high libido and a vivid imagination. As it happened, both I and another guy we lived with wanted her. To avoid hurting anyone's feelings, we took turns sleeping with her. Things were going well until she said, «It's either double cunnilingus or I'm moving out.» We agreed. It was a strange experience—one moment I was licking her clit, the next he was...

How being late can change your destiny. I’ve been dating a guy for six months; he’s affectionate, gentle, and fun. We decided to spend our vacation together to enjoy some quality time and nature. I stopped by a travel agency to pick up our trip vouchers. I got held up a bit while finalizing the paperwork—the first time I’d ever been late for a date. Breathless, I rushed to the meeting spot, eager to see my boyfriend, only to see an ambulance driving away. He was nowhere to be found; there was a bouquet of white roses and blood on the pavement. I overheard two police officers talking: «He showed up for a date, then a car hit him—killed instantly.» My vision went dark, my legs gave way, and I sank to the ground. Strong hands caught me and helped me stand up. It was my  boyfriend! Tears streamed down my face, smudging my mascara. He was alive—he’d just been a little late—while the guy who died was someone else, someone whose date would never show up...

I really wanted to try rimming a guy. After a lot of persuasion, he agreed. And it was absolutely disgusting!!! But I was too embarrassed to tell him. Yet, he ended up liking it and is asking for more. FUCK.

Once again, I realized I want to be a man. Men can cheat—«it's just nature»; masturbation, blowjobs, and strip clubs—«that's not cheating»; they can scratch their balls anywhere, go shirtless in the heat, flirt with acquaintances without risking a «slut» reputation, fuck whenever they want without being tied to a cycle, and not shave if they don't feel like it. They don't need to get all dolled up before going out, among many other things simply unavailable to women. It's a man's world.

My internet started lagging one day. I checked everything and found out a neighbor—who had turned down my request for a date—was stealing my Wi-Fi. I changed the password, and the next day she came over: «Could I use the Wi-Fi a bit?» «And what are you willing to do for that?» She thought about it: «Would a kiss on the cheek work?» It would. A couple of days later, I changed the password again and asked her to go on a date with me in exchange for access. We had such a great time that I walked her back to my place instead of hers. She lives with me now, but I still change the password sometimes if I want something spicy from her in return.

Many people are familiar with the habit of keeping one's hands busy while talking on the phone (doodling on paper, fidgeting with small objects, etc.). Slip your cock to your girlfriend while she’s on the phone, and she’ll definitely start jerking it off. It worked with mine.

I want to address the husbands and boyfriends of women who teach at schools or universities—specifically the young female teachers, because they are the biggest bitches imaginable. Could you please fuck them? Like, really fuck them—fuck the demons right out of them. I’m a first-year student myself, and sometimes *I* want to fuck my professors because it’s obvious the men in their lives aren't getting the job done; I want to do a service—not just for you guys, but for the students, too. If your ladies act like sweethearts at home, I suggest sitting in on one of their classes to see what I mean. You’ll be shocked at what a total bitch your darling little «home kitty» can turn out to be.

What I want most of all is to turn back time. I used to be an athlete—handsome and fit. I studied at a top university in the capital. I spoke two foreign languages ​​and played musical instruments. And most importantly, I had the feeling that something great lay ahead for me. Well, something *did* lie ahead. Fifteen years later, I’m a depressed recluse, obese, and earning a below-average salary. I have no relationships. My diploma is gathering dust in a drawer. I failed to make all the right decisions when I should have. Now, I live in a state of apathy and regret over the past.

When I was six, I took a deep whiff of my own shit and threw up violently. My mother scooped me up and rushed me to the hospital, thinking I was sick. We sat in line for half the day, ran some tests, and went home. Because of all that, I missed my cousin’s birthday party—an event I’d been looking forward to for ages because they always served amazing cakes. I still regret missing it, even though thirty-six years have passed.

A friend of mine is pushing forty. He’s still unmarried and has a massive complex about it. He frequently falls into bouts of depression and searches for a wife with manic persistence. But in reality, his search always ends with him bedding total bitches and gold-diggers who care only about his money and fame, not him. It makes me wonder: is he just an idiot, or is he pretending to want a family so he can sleep around with impunity—only to look at them with puppy-dog eyes later and say, «But I thought we’d be together...»?

Other Trash Stories

My uncle had a criminal tattoo—a mark of high status. It was inked back in the days when such things weren't given to just anyone. I was always curious about what he’d done and what he’d served time for, but no one would tell me. I didn't find out until I was probably twenty-five—and even then, it was only after his funeral. Back in the nineties, some scumbags raped his wife. They threw her into a car, drove her out to a secluded spot, and violated her. He tracked down one of the rapists before the police did; he beat him to a pulp, hauled him out to the woods, and buried him alive. Ironically, he ended up serving his sentence in the same penal colony as the second rapist—who hanged himself just six months into his term. I have a feeling my uncle gave him a helping hand with that.

I had quite a lively childhood and adolescence. My mother worked from home sewing wedding and evening gowns, and all I ever did was peek into her studio whenever clients came over for fittings. To facilitate this, I’d specifically carved a small hole in the wall from my bedroom—one that was completely invisible from the other side. Nine out of ten women would definitely bare their breasts, and some would even change their panties right there—presumably to make sure they matched the dress. What else was I supposed to do? There was no internet back then, and nobody was buying pornographic VHS tapes either. I had to resort to these kinds of perversions just to blow off steam as a horny teenager.

I was riding a bus. I was sitting there, glancing out the window at a traffic light, when a car pulled up alongside us—a guy in a BMW, looking all mysterious. And then I noticed him jerking his hand around… After taking a closer look, I realized he was jerking off right there at the traffic light! What on earth was going through his mind? How can you do something like that while you’re behind the wheel?!

I’ve been a dancer for 16 years now (I’m 28). It would be fine, except—fuck—whenever I’m having sex with someone, I’m constantly counting in my head: «One-two-three-four-five-six-seven-eight.» You guys might get a laugh out of that, but I’m fucking sick of it!

A girl from my building became completely obsessed with a guy she was in love with. For two years, she relentlessly pursued him—stalking him, declaring her love. Somehow, she managed to sleep with him and ended up pregnant. She thought that would be her ticket to keeping him, but—yeah, right—she picked the wrong guy to mess with. She gave birth, but the guy told her to get lost; he already had a wife, and this chick had gotten so damn annoying that he decided to take drastic measures to get rid of her. He’s a real piece of shit, too. Late one evening, he put her in his car, drove her out to the woods, and dropped her off. He threw the car in reverse, then slammed on the gas—driving straight at her. He fucking ran her over. She ended up with a broken leg and severe bruising. He came to his senses, drove her to the hospital, and she didn't press charges against him. She just said, «I love him, and I’ll put up with anything.» Later, during another hysterical outburst, she jumped out of her third-story hospital window and broke both her legs—one was an open fracture. It was brutal. A year has passed; she’s still walking on crutches, her mom is raising the baby, and she *still* «loves» that asshole.

While having sex with my boyfriend, I strained myself so hard that I let out a loud fart—right onto his balls, complete with a gust of wind. I immediately claimed it was just air escaping from my vagina, and he actually believed me. Thank God it didn't smell at the time, so he never caught on—but man, was that embarrassing...

During my pregnancy, I managed to go through three different boyfriends. It was a mix of hormones, being only 18 years old, and the fact that my husband was too grossed out to sleep with me while I was pregnant. He eventually forgave me, though; he figured, «Well, at least you can't get pregnant a second time while you're already expecting.» During my second pregnancy, he finally decided to fulfill his marital duties himself. He even gave me a vibrator—just in case. But I already had a baby by then, so I wasn't exactly in the mood for any hanky-panky.

For all three years I worked at one place, I had a crush on this one guy, but for some completely nonsensical reasons, I was too afraid to even say a word to him. Three whole years I spent drooling over him. And then, on the very day I quit, we slept together. I guess I just snapped.

I used to get so annoyed that my husband would leave his socks lying around everywhere. I’d scold him, grumble, pick them up, and—just to make a point—ostentatiously fold them and place them right on his pillow. It was useless. Then a friend gave me a tip: «Don't pick them up. Just get a box.» I placed a nice-looking basket right next to the bed and announced that it was the «temporary sock storage station.» It worked. Now he tosses them in there, simply because it’s exactly the same distance away as the floor. A week later, T-shirts, phone chargers, and various scraps of paper of his started finding their way into the basket, too. The room became tidier, and I stopped feeling like an angry cleaning lady.

My boyfriend had a fantasy: he wanted me to give him a blowjob in the car while he was driving. I flatly refused for the longest time, as it seemed like a dangerous idea. Recently, however, we got stuck in a massive traffic jam. It was late at night, and the traffic was moving so slowly that I swear turtles probably mate faster than we were inching along. Since the side and rear windows were tinted, I finally decided to go ahead and give him a blowjob—just so he wouldn't get bored behind the wheel. Oh, the look in his eyes afterward… I hadn't seen that much pure joy in his eyes in ages! Dreams really do come true.

I’d watched too many movies where women show up at their lovers' places wearing nothing but a trench coat—or just their lingerie—underneath. I guess I was craving that same kind of excitement. I tried it out with three different men (visiting each separately, at different times, and by prior arrangement): I’d arrive wearing sexy lingerie underneath a fur coat. They’d undress me—usually rolling their eyes playfully—but, surprisingly, sex never actually happened on any of those occasions. Everyone was thrilled and delighted, and they certainly enjoyed the view, but nobody skipped the «standard program»—the obligatory spread of sliced ​​fruit and champagne. Not a single one of them actually ended up screwing me right there in the entryway.

My upstairs neighbor—an old broad with cats; I figured she was classic witch. One time she flooded us, so I went up to sort it out. She opens the door—wearing a corset and stockings, bright red lipstick, a spiked collar around her neck, and a goddamn whip in her hand. She said:

«Sorry, kiddo—it’s just that my handyman broke the main water pipe.»

I blurted out, «As long as it’s not his *own* pipe.»

And then I walked home, absolutely fucking stunned. 

My first husband cheated on me with my sister. I divorced him, and I haven't spoken to my sister in over 15 years; I never forgave her. My second husband cheated on me with my best friend. Neither that husband nor that friend are in my life anymore; I kicked them both out without a shred of regret. Now I’m seeing a new man; everything was going great—he proposed, and we were planning a wedding for August. But just the other day, I found out he’s sleeping with my 19-year-old daughter. It’s not rape—it’s entirely consensual. It’s a total fucking nightmare. There won't be a wedding; I kicked my fiancé out, and I’m no longer speaking to my daughter—I kicked her out of the apartment, too, even though, technically, we’ll have to split the place since she owns a one-third share. Why do I keep getting hit with these «surprises»? Do I genuinely just attract assholes? And it’s one thing when it’s them—but my own family? The people I didn't get to choose? How could *they* do something like this to me?

Other Trash Stories

I was walking home when I saw some guy beating up a girl. I decided to step in, and a brawl broke out with that fucking pig. The end result? The cops got called, and the girl filed a report against *me*—turns out he was her dad.

I get turned on when people yell at me. Like, *really* yell—spit flying everywhere! I vividly imagine myself getting fucked while someone screams at me. It’s incredibly hard to detach myself from that fantasy whenever I’m arguing with my parents...

My boyfriend spent ages trying to talk me into a threesome (with another girl). I was always against it, and we used to have huge fights over it. But one night I finally gave in; I was sick of arguing about it, plus I was absolutely wasted—we’d been out at a club. He picked up a chick there who was also down for it; he was making out with her, thinking he was about to have the time of his life. But then we went back to our place, and once things got started, the other girl got totally into *me*—and we both completely forgot about my boyfriend. We were just enjoying each other’s company so much. He tried to join in, but we pushed him away and kept going—even after we’d sobered up a bit. Eventually, he just left.

Black leggings turn me on like crazy. Especially when they’re hugging a great figure, of course. Sometimes I just want to pick up a girl wearing black leggings and rip them right off her during sex. But who would actually agree to that—and without any compensation, too? So, I’m hoping to eventually talk some drunk girl into it after a night at the club. How else am I supposed to make it happen? Otherwise, this fantasy is going to stay just that—a fantasy—for a long, long time.  

I went to a class reunion. I got so wasted there that I couldn't string two words together, and I ended up puking right next to my bed. I overslept and missed work, but I distinctly remember that all morning long, some guy named «Alarm» kept calling my phone.

I live in a dorm, and they moved a roommate into my room. Since I had absolutely no desire to share my space with him, I started stashing my dirty, stinky socks—fresh from my workouts—under his bed; the stench was so bad it made even *my* eyes water. A week later, he moved out.

If you ever feel like a total fuckwit, just think of me. One time, with nothing better to do, I decided to turn my bathroom into a makeshift sauna. I turned the water up to 50°C (I was afraid to go any hotter, thinking I’d scald myself) and let it run. I lay there steaming away, but I nearly suffocated in the end because the bathroom door was shut and the ventilation wasn't working. My dad actually had to give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

I met a guy. We’d been talking for a long time, and eventually, things progressed to sex. Passion, sparks, pure fire. He whispered tenderly that he had a gift for me. I was anticipating something really lovely—but instead, he took the «gift,» shoved it into my vagina, and started fucking me with it. I thought it was a dildo, but it turned out to be a cucumber inside a condom. I wish he’d just used his own dick instead...

I was in college—18 years old, a virgin. I had plenty of admirers and wanted to have sex, but I was terrified of it. That is, until I was sitting in class one day and something just *clicked* in my head: I needed to do it—and I needed to do it *now*. I didn't have a boyfriend, so I messaged one of my suitors straight-up: «Be my first.» That very evening, I went over to his place. The sex felt so new and amazing that, after spending the night with him, I headed straight to another suitor's place the next morning and slept with *him*. I never made it to the third guy, though—I fell asleep on the bus. When I woke up, I was absolutely floored by my own behavior—what the hell had I just done?!—and within a month, I’d settled back down. I never did end up making it to that third guy.

My pussy swells up after sex. I have no idea what to do about it. It happens every single time. It puffs up like a balloon. Whenever it happens, my husband calls it my «little dumpling.» We’ve been wanting to try anal sex, but I’m afraid my ass would swell up, too. I sit here wondering what to do about this—and whether it’s actually possible to be allergic to sex.

Other Trash Stories

It was 1990. My dad, who was young at the time, got drunk in the village with some buddies and, somehow failing to make it all the way home, fell asleep next to a haystack. In the morning, he woke up to the sound of people talking as they walked past. As they drew closer, he recognized them—they were deceased acquaintances of his, and they were debating whether or not to take him with them. «No, it’s too early for him yet; let's keep going!» By that evening, an elderly man in the village had passed away. Since that moment, my dad hasn't touched alcohol again. And to this day, he recalls that encounter with sheer horror.

I never knew what to get my girlfriend; I have a terrible imagination and absolutely no creative flair. Her birthday was approaching, so I really needed to come up with something. A female friend of mine came to the rescue, suggesting I get her a high-tech vibrator—the idea being that it would keep her from getting lonely whenever I wasn't around. So, that’s exactly what I did. My girlfriend stayed with me for another month after that… and then decided to dump me. Apparently, I chose a gift that was a little *too* high-tech—seeing as it ended up doing a better job than I did...

Do you want to know how I learned to swim? We owned an old car. No one had driven it in ages, even though it was still in working order. Then, one day, my dad and I decided to take it out for a spin and drive it down to the river. I was sitting in the front seat. Dad sped up and drove the car straight into a river—with the doors and windows still shut. He told me, «If you want to live, you'll swim out,» and then he fucking bailed out of the car (to this day, I have no fucking clue how he did it—what kind of magic was that?). Naturally, I was absolutely fucking stunned, but somehow, I managed to scramble my way out. After that incident, Mom filed for divorce.

I was trying on jeans at a store, and I really, really wanted to fart. Then I had a thought: *What if I buy these jeans, only to find out someone else has already farted in them?*… I never did buy those jeans.

Every time I jerk off, I involuntarily point my feet like a fucking ballerina—practically bending them backward, at an angle of over 180 degrees; my heel almost touches my shin. I don't even notice I'm doing it until I finally cum. But then comes the hard part: I can't painlessly return my feet to their normal position. So there I lie, splayed out like a compass, slowly inching my feet back into place, gritting my teeth against the pain. I’m terrified that one day I’ll just snap my ankles right off from sheer arousal—yet I keep right on pleasuring myself. Afterward, I can't even walk for half an hour.

I recently buried my best friend. He was walking home from the store when he took a bad fall. His ribs hurt terribly; the pain was so severe he couldn't even cough, and breathing was agonizing. All the signs pointed to a clear rib fracture, but he wasn't in any rush to see a doctor—he kept putting it off until later. He put it off once too often… Sometime during the night, he must have shifted into an awkward, incorrect position, and a shard of the broken bone punctured his lung. In the morning, his mother went to wake him up, only to find him lying in bed, blue in the face… If he had sought medical help right away, he would have pulled through; instead, he now lies in the cemetery, wrapped in the cold earth.

I work as a cashier. During a particularly hectic rush, I blurted out something to a male customer—instead of the standard «Have a nice day!»—that went something like, «May God grant you good health!» The look he gave me… «Amen,» the man replied, then hurried toward the exit, glancing back over his shoulder with a look of sheer apprehension.

My girlfriend and I were having sex. We were just moments away from the finish line. And right at that moment, she sneezed. The sudden jolt caused her vaginal muscles to contract. Caught completely off guard, I ended up finishing right inside her. Now we’re walking around, totally on edge, anxiously waiting for her PMS to kick in.

Our whole family recently moved to a new country. We found an apartment right in the city center—it’s surrounded entirely by high-rises, and our windows look directly out onto the windows of the building across the street. One day, quite by accident, I noticed an elderly man in the window across the street. He was intently watching the tourists strolling along the boulevard; I could see the old guy from the waist up, and his right hand was hanging down, moving vigorously. Holy shit… Just imagine—you’re out for a nice evening stroll, and someone is jerking off to you from a window. I really don't think it was Parkinson's.

My husband once witnessed a conversation like this. An American and an Englishman were arguing over who actually won World War II. The American insisted that *they* did, while the Englishman argued it was the Russians. Unable to hold back, a German man finally chimed in and said, «Why are you guys even arguing? The Russians won.» To which the American retorted, «And what gives *you* the right to butt in? How the hell would *you* know?»

Other Trash Stories

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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I’m a lawyer, and right now I’m handling the strangest—and funniest—case of my career. The plaintiff and the defendant work in the same office complex. It turns out the plaintiff occasionally takes photos of women while they’re using the toilet from the adjacent stall—even though the restroom is clearly divided into separate Men's and Women's sections. Well, one day the defendant was taking a leak, and the plaintiff tried to snap a picture. She spotted his hand holding the phone peeking out from underneath the stall divider… and she peed all over it. Afterward, the plaintiff got thoroughly thrashed right there in the ladies' room and had his head dunked in the toilet bowl. The guys at the office have since dubbed him «Golden Hand»; they refuse to shake his hand and just howl with laughter whenever they see him. His reputation has officially hit rock bottom. I’m currently trying to defend him on charges of property damage—I’m not even bothering to argue for emotional distress. This is, without a doubt, the most delightful case I’ve ever handled.

My dad is a well-deserved retiree now; he spent his entire working life at the same industrial plant. They had a tragic incident there once. A woman returned from vacation with only a month and a half left to work before she could retire. She had spent twenty years working at that very workstation. On that particular day, she was reprimanded several times for failing to wear a headscarf, as required by workplace safety regulations. She just laughed it off, cracked jokes, and arrogantly boasted about her vast experience—claiming she could do her job even with her eyes closed. Then, just like in the darkest of jokes, Murphy’s Law kicked in. By the end of her shift, her hair got caught in a rotating spool; her head was yanked in right after it, and the machinery didn't stop until her head was completely torn off. So much for experience; so much for seniority. If only she had been wearing that headscarf, none of this would have happened.

I was walking down the street in a short, light dress—and no bra underneath. It started pouring rain, and I got absolutely soaked through. My dress became completely see-through; you could see my breasts and nipples clearly. As I walked, the hem kept riding up past my panties—and even higher… I caught so many guys staring! Such lust in their eyes… And for some reason, it turned me on big time.

I had this fucked-up acquaintance, and one time at a house party, he was acting like a total jackass and pulling some crazy stunts. Long story short, he licked a power outlet—and got electrocuted!

He was screaming his head off, blood was somehow pouring out of his shorts, and we were absolutely fucking stunned… We called an ambulance… It turned out that the massive electric shock had made his testicles burst...

Holy fucking shit!

I’m a theater student. I can’t watch porn—it’s all so staged and unnatural, especially when the actresses look right into the camera. Guys are fucking them in every hole, yet they’re batting their eyelashes at the lens and moaning for show. I don’t buy it, goddammit! I DON’T BUY IT! Come on, just fuck each other for real—full Stanislavski method—otherwise there’s nothing for me to jerk off to! :(

I met a sweet, petite woman. A real Thumbelina with an angelic voice. We dated for about a month, and everything seemed wonderful—at least to me. One day, she suggested we spice up our sex life; naturally, I agreed—I love to experiment. The idea was to incorporate various sex toys. But imagine my surprise when she pulled a massive dildo out of her dresser—as thick as a salami and about 30 centimeters long. That monster slid into her tiny body with absolute ease. And that’s when my insecurities came crashing down on me...

My boyfriend and I live with his parents. In the summer, they stay at their country house; in the winter, they live with us. We did a deep clean of the apartment just before they were due to arrive the next day. We scrubbed everything spotless—she even watered all her little plants and whatnot. She walked through the apartment, scrutinizing every corner, and finally declared: «Holy shit, you guys actually cleaned up! There’s absolutely nothing for me to nitpick.» Then she just walked away in silence.

Today, a female friend of mine offered me a tidy sum of money in exchange for permission to sleep with my boyfriend...

Today, I got zapped by static electricity from my boyfriend’s penis. I was about to give him a blowjob, and the moment my upper lip—and part of my teeth—brushed against the head of his cock, a jolt of electricity shot right through them. My teeth actually went numb for about ten seconds. I have no idea how that’s physically possible, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant sensation. My very first thought afterward was: «Well, talk about sparks flying between us!» The penis itself remained unharmed (it didn't get zapped).

Back in my distant childhood, every spring we’d make a point of collecting birch sap. However, the older kids would always beat us to it, swiping all the fruits of our labor and leaving us with nothing but empty containers. That is, until one of us—the bravest of the bunch—decided to take a leak right into one of their bottles...

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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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