The first bra I ever removed was my grandmother's. She was sick in bed and I was over to her place, alone, looking after her -- at least in the way a 14 year old might.
The bra hung on the clothesline and using the mere tips of my frozen fingers I removed the clothespins from the huge, pink garment and brought the stiff bloomers into the house. I set them on the rocking chair beside the wood stove.
Then I think I got my grandmother a piece of cheese.
Dunno about the Keynsham thing, but I used to listen to Luxembourg a lot - wasn't The Peel on it?
Great radio station, that was.
And I don't mind in the slightest giving my age away...or anything else for that matter...
Enough of this all round the houses stuff!
I've been waiting patiently for some pervert to get round to it and here I am!
Let's hear about your first shag!
Personally, I'm still waiting!
(I bet Mark doesn't start contributing to this one!)
Thank you, Mississippi. Now that I've got permission I have to report that the metamorphosis from my virginity to savoir faire transpired through a cycle of confrontations, stumbling blocks, interceptions, interruptions and a whole bouquet of missed opportunities and false starts. This pattern was to remain consistent for the next twenty years.
In other words, my manhood was initiated in much the same way as everyones - through a series of bumps, lumps and humps.
The girls offered me fashion, ration and passion, in that order. They adored me, assured me and bored me, in that order. They appealed to me, concealed from me and revealed to me, in that order. They obsessed me, undressed me and confessed to me, in that order. They'd charm me, wrap me in their arms and palm me off, in that order. They'd know me, blow me and flow with me, in that order. They'd desire me, inspire me and tire of me, in that order.
I've been snatched, matched and attached, so you could say that I've been mated, rated and donated to their friends, who have then selected me, collected me and rejected me, in that order. They've blushed, rushed and hushed. They've been busty, lusty and sometimes even rusty. They've been flirty, dirty and shirty, always in that order. They've seduced me, goosed me and used me. They've offered me soap, hope and dope. They've shagged me, nagged me and tied me up with rope.
And then, as is their wont, they've changed all the orders around, so they've put a spell on me with their carnal cravings and thirst for lust one day, and then completely camouflaged their dreams and desires the next. The third day will see them seducing me by disrobing themselves, and then blushing and rejecting me. On day four they'll nag me, assure me and flirt with me, in any order, and on day five they'll want to go fucking shopping! Not only will they want to go shopping, but they'll want to drag this miserable arsehole along as well!
(Wolfie, you were right, I was trying so hard to be polite)
Blimey, Karl, that was somewhat poetic. My youth was somewhat more scrappy, I confess quite willingly.
Andrea - I found out later that the pill was being distributed "like Smarties" - but only on campus. As far as I recall, it was only normally available to married couples until the seventies, and it was only at the very end of the sixties that it became de rigeur even in so-called "enlightened" society (ie among students).
But.. no-one recognises Keynsham? Shame on you! Not only one of the great naff advertising campaigns of all time, but the name of an album by one of the all-time great bands!! I shall obviously be keeping my coconut.
Sounds like just the kind of 'girl' I've spent my life avoiding. I'm sure she's a great pal Emily and you're obviously both from a different generation to me, so perhaps you wouldn't understand my feelings nor I yours.
What do you mean Emily 'she's a lovely girl, despite all that.' Surely you mean 'because of all that.' Sounds like just the kind of girl I've spent my entire life searching for. An introduction would not come amiss if I may make so bold. My idea of the perfect woman - a bloke with big knockers. Don't think about this too much.
Mississippi. it pains me more than somewhat to have to agree with you but you're dead right about Socrates and all those other Greek blokes. Who the bloody hell do they think they are, putting these ideas in our heads and making us think so much when we could actually be doing something useful. No wonder the plumbing, electrics etc., is so bad in Greece - they're all off bloody philosophising when they should be doing a decent days work. That and the retsina off course. I think it was Ned Flanders (you know, Homer Simpson's neighbour) who said 'If only I could silence the little voice in my head that keeps saying 'THINK'.
Good one re the 'strange shag', Mississippi. I rose like a lazy and negligent carp to the floating crust of your bait and well and truly hooked myself. Still, I had much fun replying. You know me by now, I'll bite anything. Scarily the story of the General and his missing leg is substantially true.
FOOTIE WARNING COMING UP.
Anyone not interested in football should leave this thread now. Feel bad case of Wolves nostalgia coming on brought about by MYB's reference to important footie match I attended many years ago. The symptoms manifest themselves in long, detailed e-mails re scores, scorers, referees, disputed offside incidents, controversial penalties, crowd trouble et al. There is no known cure and the disease can last, well forever really. Turn the lights off on the way out, will ya girls.
Well, well Mark. You and me have been in the very same place at the very same time. I attended this self-same match and the replay and if I may be so bold will now correct you on a few small matters of fact and maybe enlighten you about THAT penalty. It was 1981, by the way - FA Cup centenary year. Unfortunately when it comes to footie I am one of those know-all bastards Mississippi referred to just a few postings ago.
The score was 2 - 2, not 1 -1. Steve Archibald scored for you early one - about 4 mins, if memory serves - cross from the left, typical Archibald near-post toe-poke. Simple, but effective and all goals count '1' however you score 'em.
Spurs 1, Wolves 0.
We equalised - and here, shamefully, my memory is a bit shaky, I was probably getting obligatory pie and pint - through, I think the golden boot of Kenny Hibbitt or if not, John Richards.
Spurs 1, Wolves 1
Then, the first of two significant refereeing errors from the calamitious Mr. Clive Thomas. Theatrically Ardiles swallow-dive - you just can't trust these foreign types can you resulting in A TOTALLY UNJUSTIFIED freekick to you from which Glen Hoddle had the bad grace to score.
Spurs 2, Wolves 1
Half-time comes, as it is apt to do in all football matches except those referee'd by someone with advanced Alzheimer's. Wolves manager John Barnwell (yes. the same John Barnwell who is now head of The Football Manager's Association and who vehemently opposed the appointment of a foreign coach for the national team) usually a man of few words (like 'toss', 'crap' and 'bollocks') gives the tactical talk of his life and with the insight of Sven Goren Erikson on mescaline advises all Wolves players to 'get in the box as often as possible, then fall over' because 'that tosser Thompson is just dying to give someone a penalty.' I know this to be true from my (then) inside sources at the Molineux. Well, I have to admit we were pretty much outplayed in half no. 2 until the dying seconds when Kenny Hibbit DID get into the box and DID fall over and that tosser Thompson DID give us the most dubious penalty in the whole history of football just like the clairvoyant Mr. Barnwell had predicted.
As in life, so in football. You don't get many breaks but when you do you have to make the most of 'em. In this frame of mind the diminutive, ginger Scottish wizard Wille Carr calmly steps up, places the ball on penalty spot from whence he propels it in a beautiful slow-motion-like arc into the far left of the goal, far from the despairing reach of the Spurs goalie. Sorry, goalie - clean forgot your name mate. Unless you were Barry Daines. Let me know, Barry, will ya mate. Was it you?
So, like I said, Spurs 2, Wolves 2, not 1 - 1.
Don't want to say much about the replay except the score was 3 - 0 to you. If you remember it was played on a Wednesday night at Highbury which is three miles from your ground and 130 miles from ours. Wolves supporters, being the conscientious lot they are, could not get away from work in time to get to Highbury for 7:30 kick-off and consequently about two Wolves supporters turned up - me and my Dad - as opposed to about 35,000 Spurs fans effectively making this a home game for Spurs, thus handing them a massive advantage. If you're wondering how come I managed to attend, you can blame Dr. Samuel Johnson. He it was who said 'no man is a hypocrite in his pleasures.' Since football is my pleasure and I am no hypocrite I figured it was my duty to attend. To Capital Life Assurance Society, I can only apologise for the work-day I so disgracefully stole from you. You can come and get it back if you want. That's if you can find me, of course.
Anyway being a bloke who loves the Wolves but who loves football even more - in much the same way as I love my particular woman but I love the general concept of womanhood even more (see footnote) - it was almost worth losing just to give Ricky Villa the chance to score that beautiful goal against Man. City in the final.
Good on yer, Mark and to everyone else many apologies but don't say I didn't warn you.
Footnote - I know this sound a bit disloyal but 'my particular woman' knows anyway. It's one of the things she likes most about me.
Footnote to footnote - for God's sake everybody, please don't start a thread entitled 'The General Concept of Womanhood' or we'll all be doomed.
I saw an amazingly crappy film the other night, "What women Want " with Mel Gibson. About a guy , through a bizzarre `accident`has the ability to hear what women are thinking. My wife thought it should have been called, "What Men think women want" She did not see it as a `girlie` film, but a men's fantasy type film. I must confess usually she moans at me for always going for a `heavy` film, but although it was undoubted tosh, I secretly enjoyed it. Wow to really know what women thought and to be able to use it to your advantage as a male! Then again how very scary to hear what the opposite sex are really thinking about you...
(Come on Mark grow up, it's not `us` and `them` anymore, you've matured, haven't you?)
Back to the footy......
Dear John L, Thatt was a brilliant description of the match, your memory of it being so much better than mine I can't even dispute your knowledge of events, although we agree on the final penalty decision. Barry Daines was such a bad goalkeeper we used to give him a round of applause for a back pass!
have decided to spend the day getting in touch with my masculine side so i can boast about it later ...
planned activity:
change oil in van and fit new rotor arm
scratch arse (and possibly other parts)
read paper in preference to conversation
ignore children in favour of watching news on telly
go to pub for beers on way home from work
have kebab
ignore children when i return in favour of watching snooker/golf/boxing/horse racing/tiddlywinks world championships
scratch parts again or possibly talk briefly on phone whilst readjusting said parts
emit noxious gases
go to bed without having a shower and ask partner if fancies a quickie
roll over after quickie and snore
emit nocturnal noxious gases
scratch parts in sleep
(report on masculine side will be forthcoming)
I just knew Karl was hoping somebody would open the door for him! In fact the reason I did was curiosity, he either had an experience so explosive that he was going to re-write the text book on first shags or he was a virgin looking for tips! OK, I was wrong, but I can't help thinking he's over-indulged in poetic license here. He comes across as the archetypal shagging machine on overtime!
I'm going to be completely honest and admit that although my first kiss occurred at age eight I was still a virgin at 22. I've tried my hardest since, to make up for lost time but as I expect any sexual exploration to be accompanied by genuine affection as opposed to rampant lust, it has been hard to come by. (Yeah, I know!) I know it's not what guys are supposed to do but I'm gonna come clean (Like I said, I know). I've only ever had three serious relationships in my life and I loved 'em all. And all of 'em cheated me! Any chance of some lessons Karl?
IFB, I don't know if money was at stake here but you were always going to win and you know it!
As for you Marky boy, you've been a naughty boy peeping through this particular keyhole, so come on in and stop hiding!
Pretty damn good, Fish
You're obviously more in touch with your masculine side than you think. I feel somehow exposed.
Mark, Re Useless Goalies.
Wolves used to have a goalie called Phil Parkes. Whenever his name appeared in the programme my mate Dave Guest used to exclaim 'Oh no - The Ancient Mariner is playing.'
I never understood this but, not wishing to show my ignorance, never asked. Finally curiosity got the better of me and I asked Dave why he always called Parkesy 'The Ancient Mariner.'
'You know that poem we had to do at school' he explained 'The Rime of The Ancient Mariner. Remember how its starts?
It is an Ancient Mariner
And he stoppeth one in three
Well, that's just like Parksey - he stops about one in three.
You don't need to dispute my version of Hillsborough events circa April 1981, Mark, That's exactly how it happened. I know 'cos it's etched on my very soul.
Let's see...I lost my cherry at 12 (but have managed to regain several since) and loved it so much that now, at 22, there's no stopping me...never looked back (or in any other direction either, for that matter.
I bet none of you believe me, do you?
Quite right too (on most points).
Blimey, Karl, that was lovely and explicit, mate.
You ever thought of writing for Mills and Wotsit?
LOL Your a national treasure John!
Gascoines goal against the Arsenal at Wembley FA Cup semi Fiinal, we won 3-1 , etched on my heart.
Miss Fishbone I am outraged at such blatent stereotyping, I have never passed a `noxious` gas, mine could be bottled as perfume. As for scratching that was healed years ago and wasn't cause for alarm. My kids have quality time, as soon as I've read the paper, between 6-30 and 6-45, every night, well; most nights. So there!
I have patiently watched these discussions for some time now and have poste only one reply but I think the time is ripe to chip in.
Am i the only person that thinks its time Queen ifb stops whinging on about men. She isn't funny in fact she doesn't come across as even very intelligent or perhaps she's just a frustrated bloody lesbian. You all treat her as some kind of goddess and she's just a conceited bore.
There's nothing like being stereo-typed is there!
Before I became holier than thou I was desperately tring to lose the virgin `status` more for the experience than than the `status` . It sounded such fun.. However I was always wanting my cake and eating it, It had tro be deep and meaningful , with respect and she should understand that I cared about her needs. When I became a bit more self-knowing I realised I was just as desperate as the next male virgin. I am too embarrassed and don't feel the need to share my first two or three experiences, their too extraordinairy and tragic, I don't need your pity or your laughter. Although I did share with a radio 1 audience of 2 million the loss of my virginity, but that was when I thought it was mildly amusing.
Then I got religion realised that sex was sacred and waited till I got married, it was flipping worth it too! So there!
Mississippi, Thanks for the invitation!
Of all the postings it has now been my pleasure (or otherwise) to read on ABC undoubtedly the one just above by Hugh Wystan has annoyed me the most. In fact, it's the only one that has annoyed me.
If this is meant to be a serious posting then may I humbly (?) suggest Hugh that if this is all you've got to 'chip' in then you 'chip' off somewhere else and take your blatant prejudices with you.
One of the components of intelligence is humour and if you can't appreciate the fairly well-signposted tongue-in-cheek humour in iFB's stuff then the one who isn't very intelligent is certainly not iFB but your own goodself. Elsewhere I've stated pretty categorically that I'll respect anyone else's opinion however much I might disagree with it. Well, there's an exception that proves every rule and your it, Hugh. I cannot find even the slightest trace of wit, humour, good grace or brotherly love to redeem what you said. I have no respect for your opinion whatsoever.
Why do you presume to know the sexual preferences of someone you've never met except via electronic communication? Why do you presume that another person's sexuality is any business of yours unless they choose to make it so? In any event, speaking generally and setting specific cases aside why do you presume that being a lesbian and being frustrated are one and the same thing? Most of all why do you presume anyone would be interested in reading such fatuous s**t? I've censored it myself which hopefully leaves enough characters so that even you can work out the word I typed was *hi*. Why do you presume it is OK to be so downright rude? Would you speak like this to someone you were in the same room as? If not, don't bloody well do it here. If so, kindly leave the room.
I can't speak for others but in answer to your question my guess is the answer is 'Yes, you are the only person who 'thinks' what you 'think'. I'm using the word 'think' here very loosely obviously.
If there are any women, lesbians or otherwise, who truly believe men are like the stereotypes we use in jest then they've obviously got their ideas of maculinity from blokes like you. And that comes from an old-fashioned, un-reconstitued, male chauvinist who will happily admit to being closer to iFB's very funny stereotype than is healthy.
Sorry to get all serious on ya folks but some things are beyond a joke - even to me.
And iFB - if this offends you because it looks like I'm doing the male thing protecting the helpless female, I apologise unreservedly. I know that you can look after yourself but I'd say exactly the same to Hugh if he'd been that rude about anyone on the site, even mississippi who we all know can give as good as he gets and then some.
John L
You've stolen my thunder. Thank God it's not only me that found Hugh's contribution THE most offensive, unnecessarry and unprovoked personal attack on any individual I have witnessed during the two months I have enjoyed on the forums.
I suggest that if he has waited so patiently to "chip in" only to post such vitriol that he makes no further contribution whatsoever.
Sorry for stealing your thunder mate. Almost as bad as that Prometheus bloke who stole fire from the Gods. Something horrible happened to him to do with a load of eagles and his liver. Ask Andrea - she knows all about it.
Glad you agree anyway. Wouldn't want to be a lone voice crying in the wilderness.
Cheers.
like a goddess - perhaps you are green hugh?
a sort of hughie green in the nether world of vomit around the toilet bowl.
how was the humour lobotomy?
clearly successful.
Moving on - I'm still interested in the question I put to Mississippi. (He gave me his answer, but I want to know what others think).
Which gender is happier ? Personally I don't think that men have been tricked or lulled into contentment to replace their loss of status. It's certainly an odd time for men and its not clear what we're supposed to be - but I would only think about that sort of thing maybe once a week, whereas the pressure on women to be Superwoman seems from the outside to be much more frequent. I don't really have to worry about looking good (which is very fortunate for me )
I think women have it worse in the modern world than men.
From over here, it seems to me that having the opportunity never to have to work was a pretty golden time. (I know this is over-simplistic, what is important is the choice - but a lifestyle that made a certain proportion of women happy has been removed as an option)
ball scratchings fish?
a whole new pub food concept.
Andrew..... I don't think. pause. that there is a definitive answer.
It depends upon the relationship.
My instant response was " of course men have it tougher now...... women have the upper hand"
but....... I know of many many relationships in which the woman is still expected to act as second fiddle to the male despite the fact that she could earn a damn sight more if she went to work. It's a kind of caveman instinct and is evident across the so called ABCDE class range.
I've been quite shocked at how some men I know treat 'their' women. Intelligence and earning power has nothing to do with it. I believe it is all to do with the way you are brought up and the way you think of women and has little consequence on 'modern times'.
arseholes never change.
A womans lot has definitely changed over the last 20 years but as to who is happiest?
In the frozen food cabinets, there used to be (and may still be, for all I know) a product called Birds Eye Cod Balls. Surprised me, for obvious reasons, but it must have surprised the unfortunate cod even more. No wonder they're dying out. Maybe that's what's being scratched??
Used to be a street vendor in Cadaques (which I used to visit often - Cadaques, that is, not the vendor) who very proudly sold squid, prawns, mussels and duck's balls.
Never tried 'em, but the squid was nice...
Duck balls and chips, anyone?
Camel's balls, on the other hand (which I have honestly, truly eaten) are delicious, if a bit tough...
Er, Um, Andrea sweetheart, these camels balls you were chomping on, were they by any chance, er..... still attached to the camel !
This is a trifle delicate but this WAS a meal you were eating? Not a perversion of the Wiggins kind I hope!
You weren't in 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre' , not a bit part maybe?
(gets up and locks the door, draws the curtains and lays the shotgun by the mousemat)
Nope, the camel and his balls had most definitely parted company.
And yep, it was a sort of meal I was scoffing (in Morocco it was, somewhere down in the desert).
And nope, I wasn't in 'The Texas Chainsaw Massacre', although part of me, mainly my teeth, was partly in bits...
The last few posts has just reminded me that a friend whom I haven't seen for some time, when making arrangements to go out, would always say, 'Meet me outside the pawnbrokers and kiss me under the balls!'
a tourist in madrid developed a taste for sweetbreads, and dined daily on the succulent globes which his hotel boasted came fresh from the city bull ring
at the end of the week he remarked how that day’s lunch had been especially tasty, despite the portions being smaller than usual. “ah”, explained the waiter, “sometimes the bull wins”
Yes, The W is for Wystan and the H is for Hugh. We seem to have sad little boy in our company who has seen fit to lampoon my forenames and use the Forums for his childish abuse of one of the finest writers on the site. How intuitive of Ivoryfishbone to model her humourous parodies of male shortcomings on that very contributor, though I suspect he himself has no balls to scratch, whilst Ms Fishbone has balls to spare, in the sense of being brave and resolute in not stooping to the level of this guttersnipe. He (the sad child) will hopefully pursue his vocation in his nearest sewer, whilst the estimable Ms Fish will continue to entertain and amuse us for a long time yet.
Apologies for joining this thread so late. I have been pondering my own first sexual experience, then pondering my last. My first was in 1933 on the Orient Express, somewhere near the environs of Leyton. She was sixteen, only sixteen and I loved her so-oh-oh but she was too young to fall in love and I was too young to know. Now i'm too old to know what happened next. What does happen next? My last experience d'amour was when Nursie gave me a bed bath. I think she noticed my winsome grin because she threw the flannel at me and shouted 'Wash it yourself'. I did, but it wasn't the same. In love there is always pain. And a pink flannel, if you're lucky.
Been away for a few days and I come back to all this. Didn't I tell you where this thread was leading? Can't believe it took us quite so long to get there.
Well, first things first - that Keynsham thing. It was the address of a bloke called Horace Batchelor who advertised a football pools system on Radio Luxembourg about once every ten minutes. Keynsham, Bristol if my memory serves. Stick me coconut in the post will ya, Roy? Would you mind using a jiffy bag - don't really want to receive a soggy A4 envelope full of coconut milk. Cheers, mate.
Now that other stuff.
One sunny Friday evening in June 1964 I was minding my own business quietly mending a puncture on my Raleigh Speedster and dreaming of Wolves winning the European Cup when girl next door (aged 14, me 15) appeared at my elbow. She was a girl of few words and without any unnessecary preamble got right to the point. 'I'm a virgin and I don't want to be.' Being a bit of a smoothie, charmer type bloke (you've probably noticed) I immediately replied 'Well, come round tomorrow morning then, about 11:00' when I knew my folks would be up town shopping. It was a kind of ritual for my folks back in those days was the Saturday morning shop. Well, she did (come round) and we did (the act) and that was pretty much it, really. Don't know about girl next door but I can't claim it was that earth-shattering for me. A bit like masturbating with somebody else in the room if I'm perfectly honest. Foreplay was an unknown concept and I though clitoris was an anagram for solicitor. It isn't , by the way - there's an 'O' missing just to save you working it out. Taught to do it properly (well, at least better) a few months later by a more experienced woman (aged 16) who'd lost her virginity in the field the back of the Swancote Country Club to someone who later became a pretty famous DJ and TV personality. She was thirteen at the time and was a true child of the sixties if you catch my drift. I spent quite a while wondering why girl next door picked me seeing as how although we'd lived so close to each other since we were little nippers the closest previous encounter had been the odd game of Postman's Knock. Hands up, who remembers that and how easy was it to cheat lads and get to snog the girl you really liked till your lips were fraying at the edges? Then a mate of a mate told me I'd been chosen on account of the rumour going round that I was vastly experienced in these matters. At least I knew the bit about the rumour was true because I was the one who started the it. Nothing wrong with a bit of self-publicity in moderation - just ask Richard Branson and/or Posh Spice.
Can't believe all these blokes who are claiming sex needs to be tied into love and affection. Are you sure you're not just trying to appeal to ladies, lads? The truth is most teenage lads will shag anything that moves. And it doesn't have to move very much at that. Sorry to be so damn inelegant but I'm a believer in honesty before everything. Even now, when I'm old enough to know better, one of my fantasies is to meet a complete stranger on a train, exchange nothing but a few meaningful glances (definitely no words) shag each other senseless in an empty carriage then go our own ways without more ado. Does this make me a bad person or just someone who is likely to get thrown off the 6:15 from Wolverhampton to Birmingham New Street?
Well done, mate! You do indeed win the coconut.. did I mention that it was pick your own?
In answer to your last question - yes, you'd probably be flung out headlong at Coseley. It would be kinder than leaving you marooned in Tipton, anyway. (No insult intended! I taught there for long enough.) You could always try monopolising the loo, if it's working. It's the only private place on modern trains.. but those old locals with no corridors! Plenty of chances between stations, with only the occasional lineside snooper to scandalise. Ah, what memories.
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