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whitevanman

Deluded Old Scrapper Birds On Dating Sites

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20 minutes ago, Malthus said:

Glad I never ran into her during my dating years - especially since I don't have a car so I guess she'd have just thrown the bottle at me ;)

She lives reasonably close to where I work/live - a decent chance I'd recognize her.

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4 minutes ago, JoeDavola said:

Glad I never ran into her during my dating years - especially since I don't have a car so I guess she'd have just thrown the bottle at me ;)

She lives reasonably close to where I work/live - a decent chance I'd recognize her.

Purchase a motorcycle.

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3 hours ago, The Masked Tulip said:

So a woman just contacts me on POF. I do the obligatory look at her profile which has the headline 'Are there any decent men out there'.

What does that say about her?

Does she just attract all the men who are not? Or is she sunbconsciously attracted to the men who are not? Or does she have such high expectations that no man will ever be able to live up to them? Quite attractive so probably relying on looks and not thinkg for a moment about the personality side of things or how she comes across.

I wrote back that there are tens of millions of decent men out there and that I am suspcious of a woman who seems unable to find any.

The answer is, of course, "Yes, they are all with the decent women"

... then look at the reaction.

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Posted (edited)
3 hours ago, stokiescum said:

He will be pissing in the sink once he is 18 and blind drunk it could be worse one of my mates is 54 and pisses in the wardrobe once or twice a year his misses says she would rather him piss the bed and she says he will piss over every item in the wardrobe and get it has high up has he can

When I was at uni a bloke I knew stumbled home after a night on the piss and shat in the oven.

He then set it to slow cook and went to bed. A few hours later his housemates awoke to the homely smell of fresh baked shit wafting through the house while the guilty party slept on in a drunken coma. When (rather forcefully) quizzed about what the juddering fuck he'd done he said he genuinely couldn't remember a thing and didn't even understand how he'd logistically managed to crap in the hotpoint.

Amazingly he didn't get slung out though I gather he spent some time chipping carbonised shite out of the oven before paying some pro's - actual story redacted - to come and give it another good clean.

Edited by Sgt Hartman

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3 minutes ago, Sgt Hartman said:

When I was at uni a bloke I knew stumbled home after a night on the piss and shat in the oven.

He then set it to slow cook and went to bed. A few hours later his housemates awoke to the homely smell of fresh baked shit wafting through the house while the guilty party slept on in a drunken coma. When (rather forcefully) quizzed about what the juddering fuck he'd done he said he genuinely couldn't remember a thing and didn't even understand how he'd logistically managed to crap in the hotpoint.

Amazingly he didn't get slung out though I gather he spent some time chipping carbonised shite out of the oven before paying some pro's - actual story redacted - to come and give it another good clean.

Fuck me Sarge, you must have been my housemate. One of my mates lifted he lid of his record deck and urinated on the turntable.

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7 minutes ago, Sgt Hartman said:

When I was at uni a bloke I knew stumbled home after a night on the piss and shat in the oven.

He then set it to slow cook and went to bed. A few hours later his housemates awoke to the homely smell of fresh baked shit wafting through the house while the guilty party slept on in a drunken coma. When (rather forcefully) quizzed about what the juddering fuck he'd done he said he genuinely couldn't remember a thing and didn't even understand how he'd logistically managed to crap in the hotpoint.

Amazingly he didn't get slung out though I gather he spent some time chipping carbonised shite out of the oven before paying some pro's - actual story redacted - to come and give it another good clean.

O.o

That is a level of drunken cuntishness too far IMO. In my student house he'd have found himself (slightly battered and definitely with his keys taken off him) and all his stuff in the street within about 30 minutes of the discovery being made. 

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Posted (edited)
39 minutes ago, swiss_democracy_for_all said:

O.o

That is a level of drunken cuntishness too far IMO. In my student house he'd have found himself (slightly battered and definitely with his keys taken off him) and all his stuff in the street within about 30 minutes of the discovery being made. 

Oh yeah, he would have been out on his arse in mine too. They were fucking animals in that house though, proper rugger buggers who dared each other to drink pints of piss, that sort of thing.

Taking a dump in the oven was borderline though, even for them.

Edited by Sgt Hartman

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Posted (edited)

The Incel Movement: "Woe is me I'll never pull because I'm not 6 foot 2 jacked with a full head of hair and model features..."

And then there's this dude who clearly didn't get that memo:

 

 

Edited by JoeDavola

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Following on from the post in Most attractive woman on the planet thread regarding sexual expectations.

Tales From The Riverbank.

# Jen. Age 46. Divorced. Two teenage girls.

Jen met Dave aged 17 whilst at hairdressing college in Colwyn Bay. They knew each other but didn't start going out as an item until they both went back to their home town of Oswestry and started jobs. Neither in hairdressing.

At college Dave had a local girlfriend, they split after going out four years. Jen had her friends for going out with but no boyfriends.

Now aged 23, Jen became engaged to Dave, her first love. Her 'first'.  They married. After a couple of years, Jen gave birth to two daughters, both by c-section. They were happy.

Jen put on weight, she was content being a Mum, hardly went out, stayed in watching TV, eating M&S crisps. 

Now 44, she noticed Dave was becoming more and more distant. He was going out more with his friends, and staying out later.

Then her world was blown apart. Dave confessed, he had been seeing someone else. A woman from work. Dave moved out to live with his new flame, playing happy families with HER two boys. That's what hurt the most.

Now divorced, she kept the house, getting by on one wage, still watching TV, but stopped eating crisps. She lost weight, she grew her hair below the shoulder, like she used to keep it, had her nails done, wore heels again, and hit Tinder.

She decided to change her car, traded in the old Renault Scenic for a brand new white Mini.

She noticed Mike, a neighbour whilst parking her new toy. " Decided to treat yourself ! Very nice! "

" Yes. Thanks ! Dave has left me. He's living with somebody else now. "

" Must be mad. What was he thinking ? " Mike is in like Flynn. :x

Jen agrees to meet for lunch.

Three weeks later, Mike moves in with Jen.

 

" Sex is amazing ! " purrs Jen.

Then tells me why.

 

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23 hours ago, Sgt Hartman said:

didn't even understand how he'd logistically managed to crap in the hotpoint. 

I think I know.  It's like sleepwalking.  You convince yourself you're in front of an appliance, and you operate the appliance.  In his case, its was a blokes flat, so he found the seat in the raised position.  Pulled it down, squatted.  Rose again, (wonder if he found the kitchen roll?)    Possibly kicked the door closed.  Then finally got the bugger to 'flush' - well it made a noise, so it must have.

In my case, I'm happier to report putting my wallet in the 'safe' and entering the digital code after a night out.  No wallet in the morning.  Couple hours thinking I'd been burgled - until I went to use the microwave.

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1 minute ago, Bricks & Mortar said:



In my case, I'm happier to report putting my wallet in the 'safe' and entering the digital code after a night out.  No wallet in the morning.  Couple hours thinking I'd been burgled - until I went to use the microwave.

xDxDxD

Superb!

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On ‎14‎/‎03‎/‎2019 at 14:17, stokiescum said:

He will be pissing in the sink once he is 18 and blind drunk it could be worse one of my mates is 54 and pisses in the wardrobe once or twice a year his misses says she would rather him piss the bed and she says he will piss over every item in the wardrobe and get it has high up has he can

A perfect end to a night out!

Does he piss on his clothes, hers or both?

It makes you wonder what goes on in the brains? of some.

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Where have all the good men have gone?

 Gone to young burds every one.

When will the deluded old scrapper burds ever learn?

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On 14/03/2019 at 18:52, swiss_democracy_for_all said:

O.o

That is a level of drunken cuntishness too far IMO. In my student house he'd have found himself (slightly battered and definitely with his keys taken off him) and all his stuff in the street within about 30 minutes of the discovery being made. 

All this is why I never became a student.:ph34r:

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On 14/03/2019 at 17:37, Sgt Hartman said:

When I was at uni a bloke I knew stumbled home after a night on the piss and shat in the oven.

He then set it to slow cook and went to bed. A few hours later his housemates awoke to the homely smell of fresh baked shit wafting through the house while the guilty party slept on in a drunken coma. When (rather forcefully) quizzed about what the juddering fuck he'd done he said he genuinely couldn't remember a thing and didn't even understand how he'd logistically managed to crap in the hotpoint.

Amazingly he didn't get slung out though I gather he spent some time chipping carbonised shite out of the oven before paying some pro's - actual story redacted - to come and give it another good clean.

I had a fairly square housemate who came home absolutely paralytic one night. Another one of my housemates found him passed out on the sofa. He went into the kitchen and took a shit on a plate, then chopped up one end of the shit with a knife and fork and left it beside the passed out housemate. When he woke up in the morning we convinced him he’d taken a shit on the plate and then eaten some of it just to win a bet.

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10 minutes ago, Hail the Tripod said:

I had a fairly square housemate who came home absolutely paralytic one night. Another one of my housemates found him passed out on the sofa. He went into the kitchen and took a shit on a plate, then chopped up one end of the shit with a knife and fork and left it beside the passed out housemate. When he woke up in the morning we convinced him he’d taken a shit on the plate and then eaten some of it just to win a bet.

o.O

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Posted (edited)
28 minutes ago, Hail the Tripod said:

I had a fairly square housemate who came home absolutely paralytic one night. Another one of my housemates found him passed out on the sofa. He went into the kitchen and took a shit on a plate, then chopped up one end of the shit with a knife and fork and left it beside the passed out housemate. When he woke up in the morning we convinced him he’d taken a shit on the plate and then eaten some of it just to win a bet.

Worst one I heard: good mate of mine was on a stag do, one of his mates got beyond hammered and passed out naked on the bed. One of his other mates spat in a Jonny and put it up his arse then they all retired to their own rooms.

Not surprisingly the lad who passed out never mentioned it, but was sheepish for the rest of the long weekend.

Edited by Roger_Mellie

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Hi,

I was an occasional poster on tos and am an occasional reader of this one. I'm posting now because I need some advice, and I know you'll have good ideas.

Back in Feb I met a woman at a meetup group, a fairly normal group based around learning something. We chatted a bit at the group, when it was over I messaged her asking if she wanted a coffee, she replied with her number and we're meeting this weekend. Messages have been pretty normal, she is attractive and intelligent and seems articulate, polite and interested.

Earlier today, armed with her name and number, I googled her. I'm pretty good with google and have an eye for detail. I spotted something, which led to something else and something else, long story short I've discovered she is working as a professional dominatrix in my city. I've found her site, complete with pictures - they are disguised with masks and careful camera angles but if you know what she looks like you can tell it's her. I've found her twitter feed, where she has very recent posts showing her clients' spanked arses, fat middle aged men tied up etc, plus details of her availability. I've found client feedback, which is quite a laugh, adverts on dominatrix sites etc.

I'm not judging as such (OK I am a bit) but I can't see any chance of wanting to get to know a sex-worker. I'm not into being dominated either. I don't want to cancel though, because I think it's a massive opportunity to have a really interesting conversation with someone who doesn't know that I know her secret. So what should I do? How should I play it?

tl:dr - I have a coffee date, with a sex worker, who doesn't know that I know she's a sex worker. What should I do?

I'm not posting her details here, private or "professional" - sorry. I'm not looking to mess her up or expose her either, I'm just really intrigued.

I will update once I've met her.

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7 minutes ago, Butthead said:

Hi,

I was an occasional poster on tos and am an occasional reader of this one. I'm posting now because I need some advice, and I know you'll have good ideas.

Back in Feb I met a woman at a meetup group, a fairly normal group based around learning something. We chatted a bit at the group, when it was over I messaged her asking if she wanted a coffee, she replied with her number and we're meeting this weekend. Messages have been pretty normal, she is attractive and intelligent and seems articulate, polite and interested.

Earlier today, armed with her name and number, I googled her. I'm pretty good with google and have an eye for detail. I spotted something, which led to something else and something else, long story short I've discovered she is working as a professional dominatrix in my city. I've found her site, complete with pictures - they are disguised with masks and careful camera angles but if you know what she looks like you can tell it's her. I've found her twitter feed, where she has very recent posts showing her clients' spanked arses, fat middle aged men tied up etc, plus details of her availability. I've found client feedback, which is quite a laugh, adverts on dominatrix sites etc.

I'm not judging as such (OK I am a bit) but I can't see any chance of wanting to get to know a sex-worker. I'm not into being dominated either. I don't want to cancel though, because I think it's a massive opportunity to have a really interesting conversation with someone who doesn't know that I know her secret. So what should I do? How should I play it?

tl:dr - I have a coffee date, with a sex worker, who doesn't know that I know she's a sex worker. What should I do?

I'm not posting her details here, private or "professional" - sorry. I'm not looking to mess her up or expose her either, I'm just really intrigued.

I will update once I've met her.

 

Tell her that TMT sent you and ask for the Berlin Dungeon Weekend Special.

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4 hours ago, The Masked Tulip said:

 

What?

Tune out. That's my specialty, let them mutter on about their children, grand-children, cats, just nod, or mumble the odd word that let's them think you're listening, when really you're not. Sometimes I am.

 

Jen was pleased to walk around town with Mike, to be seen out and about with somebody new, they went for coffee, went to the cinema, even. Mostly they just walked around town and sat by the river together.

One rainy Tuesday afternoon, the doorbell rang, it was Mike. Jen's pulse quickened, she was wearing her favourite black jeans, she was pleased she could fit into them again, and her new knee length black cardigan, over her leopard print top. She asked Mike if he wanted to come in for a coffee, given the rain, they could watch Doctors. In he went, sat on the sofa, awkwardly, sipping a coffee, opening a Jacob's Club biscuit. 

Doctors finished. Do you want to watch Shakespeare and Hathaway: Private Investigators instead of going to town. Yes great he said.

Jen felt really comfortable but confused. Her only boyfriend, her ex-husband, Dave, would have tried something, but Mike didn't make a move. When she started going out with Dave, a young couple of lovers, at it like knives, sweat bailing aff them, no even stoppin' for a plate o' soup or nothing. Daein' it in phone boxes, in cars, in closes, aw that. Mike must just see her as a friend, he doesn't see her that way. She's disappointed. More than anything she just wants him to hold her. Just hold her, tears on your shoulder.

Dave was not the world's greatest lover but at least he wanted her. He had his routine, like clockwork. He would come home Friday night after sinking six pints of Stella, eat his lamb kebab, watch Graham Norton and away off to bed. If she was lucky he would be asleep by the time she joined him. If she was out of luck he would be wide awake listening to the Hitachi clock radio.

....and it's Lights Out and Away We Go !

The mechanical lover began his moves. She checked the red digits illuminating the bedroom dimly, 11.45. She rolled away and hoped for the best. Oh oh, here it is. Dave turns towards her, reaching his arm across her to give her a squeeze Goodnight. Great! he's going to turnover and go to sleep. Not so fast Mr Moto ! Dave finds her left nipple, giving it a gentle tweak, then twiddles it like a car radio dial, it responds on muscle memory. His hand moves across to her right nipple, repeats the motion, then checks back with her left nipple. Green light. No objection. Let's go. Jen checks the red digits, 11.58. Sigh. Dave coaxes her onto her back, he has a semi. Shit. She moves her legs apart. Dave slides across, kissing her, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol. He nudges his way in gently. It hurts, she's not ready, he pushes further, OK it's not so bad, slow motions, in and out, she feels him soften, he carries on, he stops. Jen checks the red digits 12.10. She knows what Dave wants. She plays with him until he stiffens, she rolls onto her stomach, pulling her legs up to raise herself. Dave nudges in, again, gently, slow motions, then faster, harder, then out. Dave flips her onto her back, in he goes for the kill. Jen check the red digits 12.20. Not long now. Dave does his absolute best, out of breath, pushing in with all his strength, faster, faster, S-p-l-o-d-g-e !!! Game over. Dave rolls away, goes straight to sleep.

Jen goes to the bathroom and waits for gravity to work it's magic. Flush. Back to bed. The clock radio red digits 12.32.  

Dave is snoring loudly.

That's on a good day. Sometimes Dave runs out off puff halfway through, rolls away with a kiss and an apology.

For her whole married life that's her total experience of sex with Dave.     

Now she finds Mike and he doesn't want her like that.

They agree to have lunch on Thursday, and with that, he's out the door, and walking away.  

Jen draws the shade and hangs her head to cry.    

 

Dave hasn't set the bar very high for Mike. o.O

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15 minutes ago, Bedrag Justesen said:

Tune out. That's my specialty, let them mutter on about their children, grand-children, cats, just nod, or mumble the odd word that let's them think you're listening, when really you're not. Sometimes I am.

 

Jen was pleased to walk around town with Mike, to be seen out and about with somebody new, they went for coffee, went to the cinema, even. Mostly they just walked around town and sat by the river together.

One rainy Tuesday afternoon, the doorbell rang, it was Mike. Jen's pulse quickened, she was wearing her favourite black jeans, she was pleased she could fit into them again, and her new knee length black cardigan, over her leopard print top. She asked Mike if he wanted to come in for a coffee, given the rain, they could watch Doctors. In he went, sat on the sofa, awkwardly, sipping a coffee, opening a Jacob's Club biscuit. 

Doctors finished. Do you want to watch Shakespeare and Hathaway: Private Investigators instead of going to town. Yes great he said.

Jen felt really comfortable but confused. Her only boyfriend, her ex-husband, Dave, would have tried something, but Mike didn't make a move. When she started going out with Dave, a young couple of lovers, at it like knives, sweat bailing aff them, no even stoppin' for a plate o' soup or nothing. Daein' it in phone boxes, in cars, in closes, aw that. Mike must just see her as a friend, he doesn't see her that way. She's disappointed. More than anything she just wants him to hold her. Just hold her, tears on your shoulder.

Dave was not the world's greatest lover but at least he wanted her. He had his routine, like clockwork. He would come home Friday night after sinking six pints of Stella, eat his lamb kebab, watch Graham Norton and away off to bed. If she was lucky he would be asleep by the time she joined him. If she was out of luck he would be wide awake listening to the Hitachi clock radio.

....and it's Lights Out and Away We Go !

The mechanical lover began his moves. She checked the red digits illuminating the bedroom dimly, 11.45. She rolled away and hoped for the best. Oh oh, here it is. Dave turns towards her, reaching his arm across her to give her a squeeze Goodnight. Great! he's going to turnover and go to sleep. Not so fast Mr Moto ! Dave finds her left nipple, giving it a gentle tweak, then twiddles it like a car radio dial, it responds on muscle memory. His hand moves across to her right nipple, repeats the motion, then checks back with her left nipple. Green light. No objection. Let's go. Jen checks the red digits, 11.58. Sigh. Dave coaxes her onto her back, he has a semi. Shit. She moves her legs apart. Dave slides across, kissing her, stinking of cigarettes and alcohol. He nudges his way in gently. It hurts, she's not ready, he pushes further, OK it's not so bad, slow motions, in and out, she feels him soften, he carries on, he stops. Jen checks the red digits 12.10. She knows what Dave wants. She plays with him until he stiffens, she rolls onto her stomach, pulling her legs up to raise herself. Dave nudges in, again, gently, slow motions, then faster, harder, then out. Dave flips her onto her back, in he goes for the kill. Jen check the red digits 12.20. Not long now. Dave does his absolute best, out of breath, pushing in with all his strength, faster, faster, S-p-l-o-d-g-e !!! Game over. Dave rolls away, goes straight to sleep.

Jen goes to the bathroom and waits for gravity to work it's magic. Flush. Back to bed. The clock radio red digits 12.32.  

Dave is snoring loudly.

That's on a good day. Sometimes Dave runs out off puff halfway through, rolls away with a kiss and an apology.

For her whole married life that's her total experience of sex with Dave.     

Now she finds Mike and he doesn't want her like that.

They agree to have lunch on Thursday, and with that, he's out the door, and walking away.  

Jen draws the shade and hangs her head to cry.    

 

Dave hasn't set the bar very high for Mike. o.O

Is this all your own work? Or are you transcribing it from a woman's mag?  (Hope there's a good ending coming!) 

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