Another Thursday, another dose of too-much-information. Hit up Lilu’s blog if you want more! This one though is one of my favourites, and one I’ve never actually talked about in public. I hope my friend forgives this little tale about bodily fluids gone wrong.

Once upon a time I had friends. The real type. I would speak to them on the phone for hours, we would hang out after school and play video games, or go down to the park to watch girls. Nowadays I don’t have real friends — I have friends that I talk to regularly of course, just not face to face, and not over the phone. Friends like you, in fact. Eventually I’ll run out of stories to tell, I suppose, and then I’ll have to make some more real friends. But until then…

This one’s about a chap called Tim. I have a few stories to tell about Tim as he was a very interesting fellow; not always in a bad way but prone to moments of weirdness and insanity. He wasn’t a great friend of mine either, but for a variety of reasons we would often end up sharing the same space. We certainly got on fine; he was a friend, but not one I would go out of my way to hang out with.

After a party, I ended up sleeping on the floor of his bedroom. I’m not great at falling asleep, which means I’m normally the poor sod that has to try and fall asleep while someone else snores noisily. That was no different. There I lay, on the floor below Tim’s bed and looking at the lamp beside his bed, wishing fruitlessly for sleep to take me.

He certainly seemed to be sleeping soundly, if the snoring was anything to go by. At first I thought it was just a bump in his blanket, an unseemly fold placed at just the wrong place — or right place, if you’re a hormonal teenager. I giggled.  Or maybe, on closer inspection, it was his knee…? I shrugged and turned over, trying yet again to leave the waking realm.

Thankfully, the snoring ceased soon after. But then a rustle and the clink of the bed springs as he redistributed his weight and got comfy again. I opened one eye a fraction of an inch but was surprised to see him looking down at me. He didn’t react, so I can only assume he thought I was soundly asleep. He hadn’t seen my partially-opened eye in the dark.

He looked to the bedroom door to make sure it was closed, and only then did he slip his blanket off revealing, you guessed it, an erection, a turgid penis, a boner — it certainly was not his knee. For a moment I held my breath, hoping that he was just a little hot; praying that he was just getting a little fresh air before he went back to sleep.

Some Marvel Comic re-hash. No idea what it's originally from.

But then he went for it. His hand grabbed his man meat and started thrashing up and down and sideways in that violent, unceremonious fashion that only teenagers have mastered. His hips lifted, thrusting his penis and pelvis to new heights. A groan escaped his lips. I wanted to shut my eyes but I’m half-ashamed to say… I couldn’t. Like watching a car drive faster and harder until a crash surely seems inevitable, I was morbidly mesmerised — I wanted to see it through to its conclusion!

The hip thrusting and fist-pumping were rhythmic in their movement, quicker and angrier; I thought he might tear it off, to be honest (I learnt in later years that the male penis can withstand quite a stretching, and beating.) After 10 minutes he started panting. His back arched. Two more decisive, piston-like tugs with his right hand and he shuddered, the orgasm quickly gripping his entire body. His feet twitched, his free hand clenched and he bit his lip as he came. He shot a single, long stream of white, warm goo from the tip of his penis. It felt like it took ages, slowly arcing through the air gracefully, taking its time, picking its target.

It actually moved damn quickly.


‘DUDE! It’s in your fucking EYE!’

I quickly leapt to my feet and looked down at Tim’s naked body, his war-torn, victimised cock red and fast becoming flaccid. I looked at his torso where a few spatters of semen dotted his chest. Then my eyes found the sticky trail that began at the base of his neck and followed up over his chin. Across his lips, along the curve of his cheek and finally to the ejaculate that pooled in his right eye socket.

‘Seb, stop staring and pass me the box of tissues.’

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Ask Me Anything: Volume 3 -- Burps, cramps and stalking


I am a tall, hairy, British writer who blogs about technology, photography, travel, and whatever else catches my eye.