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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other Trash Stories

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...

Other Trash Stories

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!

Other Trash Stories

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.

Other Trash Stories

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!

Other Trash Stories

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

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

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.

If you feel like a moron, then remember my friend. He fucked a girl for three months, walked with her in taverns, and so on, well, they are still some kind of esoteric-schizoteric subculture, they get stoned forever… and so my friend all this time did not know that his chick was deaf and dumb, he thought that she is stupid or extinguished forever)) I talked to her, she did not answer or mumbled or showed gestures))

We had sex with a guy, he threw used condoms under the bed. After a hot night, I didn’t find them there, everywhere was searched, but the condoms disappeared… The next day, everything fell into place when his dad shouted from the corridor: “Danya, damn it, your dog is shitting with condoms!”

I absolutely do not want to buy a used car, because I am haunted by the thought that the previous owner farted mercilessly in the driver's seat.

My sister bought herself a bitch fur coat for 100-something thousand, while her little brother needs an operation on his eye so as not to go blind.

Mom says it's her money after all, let her do what she wants.

And I already gave the fucking fur coat back to the store, and now she wants to sue me.

Broken family relationships.

She hinted to the young man that I would very much like to wake up one fine morning from oral sex. In the morning I woke up because he was poking my dick in my mouth.

It just so happened that I have a superpower: since childhood I have not smelled any. Even if the stinkiest spitting bum will fart with me, I will be pissed off. Yes, I don’t smell my mother’s cutlets, the girl’s perfume, but that’s okay, and there are still more bad smells in the world than good ones, at least in our crap town everything is like that. And so, when I get bored, I gorge myself on protein bars and go to the cinema or ride in transport, and I get a hard puff from them. And just imagine, you are sitting in the cinema, farting and watching how a whole row is vacated)) and now you are already at home, lounging on chairs, farting and watching a movie for your pleasure)

Have you ever wondered if you can fry sperm?

In fact, this is the same protein as in the egg.

This question haunted me, and what is said — done.

Accumulated semen for 10 days. Then he jerked off into a glass and fried it with a sausage cut into rounds. In general, you can’t tell the difference from scrambled eggs.

Guys, this is complete fucked up… Just a few hours ago, a relative called me and told me what trick my second cousin had done the other day ...

This small representative of the human race was presented with a fancy smartphone for his birthday (the boy turned 6 years old). Small immediately pumped up various games for himself, and among them was the game «Myausim», I think many have heard about it. So, 2 months have passed, and this small reptile came up with the idea to teach a domestic cat to go to the toilet, just like cats do in the game. No sooner said than done. While the parents were busy with their own affairs, the little slut pushed the poor cat backwards right into the hole in the toilet bowl… I will not go into details, I will only say that after that the poor animal ended up in a veterinary clinic with a fracture of its hind legs, where it died a few hours later from a broken heart. But what killed me the most was that the parents just laughed at this case, saying «children are such children» ...

We had a fucking subject a year ago, it was called LOGIC. The teacher loaded us with some kind of crap, we taught all sorts of shit and he shouted that his subject was the most important, because without logic you can’t live in this wide world. As a result, we came to the exam jerked off, shaking, we didn’t know what and how it would be there. They sat down, he gave us candies and the point was that whoever had the chocolate filling — that five was automatic, who had milk — for retake immediately.

One person yelled:

What the hell is logic? Fucked up… — and threw the notebook on the floor.

The teacher said to him in response: — Quickly came here.

Dude came up and the teacher gave him a four in the test book.

People are in awe, we ask «why the four?»

The teacher «lowered the score for the mat.»

I saw a huge spider on the wall. I didn’t think of anything better than to seal it crosswise with masking tape (I’m in awe, how did I do it). I'm afraid so bad. So the spider has been hanging for the second day under a blanket of scotch tape ...

I was walking down the street, and a guy with a very sour face was walking towards the meeting. I decided to smile at him, cheer up like) He looked at me and how he vomits! I hope he had something with his stomach, and I didn’t act on him like that.

My boyfriend is a body odor fetishist. He can bury himself in my chest, hair, neck, somewhere lower and inhale for a long time, talking about how pleasant I smell. Why a fetishist? Because in the process he gets up) Yes, and he ends at such moments faster and stronger, I indulge in this every time, I check) What can I say, it’s nice for me)

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