Your worst deuce experience? NWS?

[TimbyMaTombo]

inecessity breeds ingenuity so i start forming a game plan.

I was expecting to read that you opened the cargo hatch with your trousers down and did the deed out the door.... I guess you wanted to maintain some form of tact.

[mtechnik]

I'm a salesman and I was talking to a customer and then it hits me. Guy was asking all sorts of questions while i'm trying to finish up a sale and i'm trying to hold it in and ends up wasting 20 minutes of my time and I ran into the restroom to blow it up, get out and there he is giving me a WTF look and I was like FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.

Like a BOSSSS.

[colorado_cabrio]

Most people contract some form of food poisoning at least once a year. Most of the time the symptoms are mild, and can even be mistaken for a 24 hour flu bug. Other times, the symptoms are similar to one having a very bad case of the flu, but rarely do people ever need to go to the hospital for food poisoning.

Just by its nature, the probability of contracting food poisoning from fish is always higher than most other foods. This is why, based on personal experience, I recommend that no one ever engage in anal sex after your date ate a large fish dinner.

We hadn’t been dating that long, only about a month. Even though we'd only been dating a short time, we were having sex since the second date, and it was the best, freakiest, porno-style sex of my life. Seriously, this was the kind of sex that every man, deep down, dreams about having at least once in his life. It was the kind of sex that I had wished for ever since my voice started changing. It was with this woman, and only with this woman, that I was ever addressed with the phrase, “Use your whole fist for Christ’s sake.”

On one now infamous date night, we were enjoying a romantic dinner at an upscale seafood restaurant. Through the entire meal, however, sex was all that was on our minds. In retrospect, every date we ever went on seemed to just be a temporary diversion from the best part of the night, which involved animalistic insertions, feral lickings and brazen misuse of food products. We emptied wine bottle after wine bottle over the course of the dinner, and by the time the main course arrived, fish for her and lobster for me, she slipped off her shoes and casually masturbated me under the table with her stocking covered feet. Completely plastered and horny by the end of the meal, we decided to skip dessert in the restaurant because a much sweeter dessert “was being prepared in her hot, wet crotch,” she said. I paid the bill and narrowly avoided getting a speeding ticket, not to mention a DUI, during the drive back to my place.

By the time we got into my apartment, we were tearing each other’s clothes off. Sloppy in our drunkenness, we knocked over two lamps during our horny, groping journey into the bedroom. Once in the bed, she got down on all fours, arched her back, and presented her delicious ass to me. I grunted my approval while aiming my rock-hard cock missile at her hairy silo. When the head of my cock began to penetrate her lips, she stopped me.

“No. In my ass,” she hissed at me, sounding both horny and angry at the same time.
“Are you sure,” I asked?
She giggled as she said, “If I could handle last night. . .”
Oh yeah, I thought. Last night’s adventure involved a clown mask, three packets of Pop Rocks, and a twenty-inch replica of the Eiffel Tower. What the hell was I thinking? Of course she could handle some anal-action. She reached between her legs and began lubing up her asshole with her own waffleswaffleswaffleswaffleswaffles juices. Where did I find this girl? I thought. I was in horn-dog heaven. Blessed. Not being an expert in anal intrusion, I slowly eased my way into her lovely stink-star. First the head, then a quarter of the shaft, and soon I was buried to the hilt between her ass-cheeks.

“Go slowly,” she said, half moaning, half panting in both pleasure and pain, I think. I did as she bid, and very slowly began pulling out, like a steam piston on an old locomotive beginning its first run in a century. Almost all the way out of her, but keeping the head firmly planted in her ass-iris, I slowly began inserting again.

“Yeeeeees!” she moaned and began diddling her clit. Soon she said, “Faster.” So faster I went, the tempo increasing until the train was running at full speed, the piston pumping in and out so fast my cock became a complete blur, her hand rubbing her clit like she was trying to start a friction-fire in her waffleswaffleswaffleswaffleswaffles.

“Gnnnnnnnah!” she screamed. Thinking she was close to orgasm, I pumped that ass even faster, faster than Amish meth-head churns butter.
“Gnnnnnahstoooop,” she screamed, or something like this, because the noise in my head was drowning out the reality around me, for in my head I heard a steam locomotive, chugga-chugga-chugga-chugga-Woo-Woo! Barreling down the tracks, and somehow I pumped even faster.
“YES!” I screamed.
She started reaching behind her and flailing on the bed in what I thought was ecstasy—
“—Stop!” she screamed, able to finally get out the word I had mistaken for groans of ecstasy moments ago. She screamed this with such volume and guttural, primal force that it had the effect of pulling the emergency brake on a 100,000 pound locomotive running at full speed. The sex act squealed to a halt, and I pulled my cock out of her ass like the rip-cord on a parachute. Did someone order champagne? No, that popping noise was my cock coming out of her ass.
“Arrrrrrgh!” She screamed, as I yanked my cock free. And then it happened.
Immediately after my cock popped out, I was sprayed from belly to thighs with watery, fish-smelling diarrhea.
“What the—-?” I said, not able to get the word ‘fuck’ out of my mouth because of my shock at the brown funk lining my body. As she sprayed me, she seemed to be propelled forward by the force of the jet-propelled diarrhea, and she collapsed onto her stomach.
“Oh. My. Fucking. God.” I murmured, completely shell-shocked. Everything was still. I could hear my wind-up alarm clock ticking on my dresser. I stared at my shit-covered body. I surveyed the room to see if there was any collateral damage. The trajectory of the diarrhea spray was similar to buck-shot in a sawed-off shotgun; it was everywhere. Unfortunately, during the sex act she had been facing the feet-side of the bed, which meant that the headboard, my bedside table and lamp had poop on them as well. Even my bedside clock had a few speckles staining its face. The bed sheets: Killed in Action. A total loss.

I looked at my date, lying there motionless. I called her name. No response. I called her name while shaking her a bit. Nothing. Fear shot through me, as I thought, “Oh my god, what if she’s dead?” But this fear quickly dissipated when I heard her snoring. She was passed out from the wine. I on the other hand was no longer blasted drunk, because the blast from her ass rendered me completely sober. This night was definitely going down in the (ahem) annals as the all time worst date of my life. In fact, I had to invent a new special category, “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic,” to describe this night.

I cleaned up. I cleaned her up. I cleaned the headboard, the dresser, the lamp and the clock. With some manipulation of her passed out body, I was able to wrangle the sheets from the bed and throw them down the garbage chute. By two in the morning, I found myself lying on my couch, drinking Jack Daniels from the bottle. I don’t remember passing out myself, but I can say that unconsciousness didn’t come soon enough.

“It was food poisoning,” her voicemail message explained to me the next day. After some silence, she added, “The fish.” More silence. “Sorry.” She left this message the following day, around 2:00 p.m. I had slept until Noon, and, thank God, she was gone when I woke up. How do you face that? She never called me again. I never called her. I definitely learned two valuable lessons that night: 1) Never have anal sex after a sea food dinner. 2) Be careful what you wish for. There’s only one other experience in my life that entered into the “Even the Devil would feel sympathetic” category, and frankly I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to tell that story. Let’s just say that the morning after a great one-night-stand, the beautiful woman you banged the night before can certainly use your bathroom. . .but she shouldn’t be more comfortable standing up while she pees.

[gtdragon980]

Most people contract some form of food poisoning at least once a year. Most of the time the symptoms are mild, and can even be mistaken for a 24 hour flu bug. Other times, the symptoms are similar to one having a very bad case of the flu, but rarely do people ever need to go to the hospital for food poisoning..........Let’s just say that the morning after a great one-night-stand, the beautiful woman you banged the night before can certainly use your bathroom. . .but she shouldn’t be more comfortable standing up while she pees.

If this was your own story and not copied and pasted, I applaud your ingenius story. This is by far, the best story I have read since my days of reading Harry Potter. You sir, given the previously mentioned requirements, win the internet.

....aannndd after a quick google search, it was copy and paste. Although, I haven't read it before so you deserve kudos for bringing this light to my eyes.

[colorado_cabrio]

If this was your own story and not copied and pasted, I applaud your ingenius story. This is by far, the best story I have read since my days of reading Harry Potter. You sir, given the previously mentioned requirements, win the internet.

....aannndd after a quick google search, it was copy and paste. Although, I haven't read it before so you deserve kudos for bringing this light to my eyes.

Yeah definitely not trying to represent as my own. But it fits the subject too perfectly

[Pl3wA]

went to the stall at college. Got bored of pooping. Pulled out rc car, donuts in the bathroom

[flyboyx]

Yeah definitely not trying to represent as my own. But it fits the subject too perfectly

well, since it isn't your own, i will say that it is a pretty funny story. it kind of reminds me of my childhood reading those silly made up stories in the back of hustler magazine that all start with "i never thought this would happen to me":

i guess since it is on the internet, it has to be true.

[lylefk]

I can top every single story here, but I reserve that treat for in person drinking time. Took a couple years before I could even talk about it

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[myinfernalbmw]

went to the stall at college. Got bored of pooping. Pulled out rc car, donuts in the bathroom

If that's your worst deuce experience then you must lead a very pampered life.

[Roysneon]

Got this off of Facebook from a post Buck 65 made.

I have a biology degree. When I was studying, I usually rounded out my course load with English and philosophy classes. Within biology, I studied all sorts of things, including ichthyology, which is the study of fish. Show me any fish and I'll give you its scientific name. One of my favorite orders of fish is the ostariophysi, which includes piranhas, catfish and electric eels (I have a great eel story I'll tell you another day). But mostly, I studied human biology. Although I didn't end up with a career in the sciences, I draw on the knowledge I gained in my study on a regular basis. I also still have most of my biology textbooks in my library. I dig them out to check on something once a month or so.

I say this because I feel I know my body quite well. I go to the doctor when I need to, but I'm quite good at diagnosing myself when something ails me. I often give my own analyses to doctors before hearing what they have to say and I've never been wrong. They're always impressed.

Long ago, I accurately diagnosed myself as having sensitivities to dairy and wheat (although I will say that it has more to do with chemicals and genetic modification than it does the foods themselves, but that's another discussion). But for years before these conclusions were drawn, I suffered. I got used to feeling like my body was being turned inside out at some point almost every day. When an attack came on, my only salvation could be found in the sanctuary of a well-equipped bathroom facility. But my path to recovery was often blocked by a life-long and fierce aversion to public bathrooms. To this day, I must come face-to-face with death's door before choosing to walk through that of a public bathroom.

It was during those days of intestinal infirmity that I found myself in the city of Portland, Maine for a performance. It was an especially joyous occasion because I was in the hometown of some old friends and label mates, with whom I was sharing the bill that night.

After sound check, a large and cheerful group of us went out to catch up on old times over a meal. I don't remember what was on the menu that night, but something I ate raised the demon in a bad way. By the time we made it back to the venue, I was in serious trouble. I had to face the reality that if I didn't get to the bathroom, I'd be in no shape to perform. And so it was with great reluctance that I dragged my agony to the men's room.

I had two graces working in my favor. First, doors of the venue hadn't opened quite yet. I had about 15 minutes before that would happen. Second, although there was no bathroom backstage, the one that was available was a one-person-at-a-time deal with a locking door, so I could be in there alone. If that wasn't the case, I very well may have let myself die and be eaten by raccoons.

I'll spare you the more horrifying details, but suffice to say that once inside and uncomfortably seated, I had a very difficult time. It took quite a while for the waves of anguish to crest. It wasn't a situation that could be rushed, for as much as I would have liked for it to be over quickly. I probably could have read Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness in the time I was in there. When I began to feel human again, a full roll of tissue wasn't quite enough to… pave the road back to civilization, if you will. I had to finish the job with an unforgiving swath of industrial-grade paper towel.

As soon as the color returned to my face, it drained out again when I flushed and the torrent couldn't vanquish the horrors I had left behind. The toilet was clogged and a putrid slurry began to overflow the bowl and spread across the floor. With my brain on fire, my eyes frenzied about my confines for something to stem the tide, but there was nothing. I was helpless. I was frozen in terror with my fists clenched and pressed against the sides of my face. My mind raced for a solution but none was found. I had never felt so alone.

Faced with the awful reality that my only recourse was to seek help and/or supplies in the outside world, I reached for the doorknob. That's when I heard the dreadful sound: the muted cacophony of voices of the ticket-buying public. The venue's doors had been opened during my ordeal. There was no escape. I opened the bathroom door and was confronted by a lineup of at least two dozen people, waiting to enter the chamber that I had just turned into a dungeon of atrocities. Every one of them recognized me. In case there was any doubt, a guy in the middle of the line announced, "Hey, look - it's Buck 65!"

One by one, I shook the hands of these beautiful people who had just invested their hard-earned money in the promise of an evening of my most intimate expression. And one by one, I warned them they'd get way more than they bargained for if they entered whence I came.

[F34R]

I took a huge ass shit @Swanny's house. Then left the door open. It was bad.

[der affe]

I was dropping a deuce and Rachel opened the door and started throwing sour gummi worms at me while on the throne..........

[E30_Pare]

[flyboyx]

I can top every single story here, but I reserve that treat for in person drinking time. Took a couple years before I could even talk about it

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if you didn't post it, it didn't happen. since you don't want all of us to call you a bullshitting pu$$y, you should probably share.

[kickinindian]

is it weird this makes me miss the r3vs sex stories thread?