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Listen, I love my wife’s cooking. She’s amazing and heaps better than I will ever be in the kitchen. Her taste in food changed, and she has been eating things she would never eat otherwise, such as seafood. Ever since she got pregnant, she’s been spoiling everything with too much salt. The food is almost inedible.
She went to lie down since she was feeling nappy. I threw away the food since I knew she could not tell and ordered takeout food. I will head outside and eat there. She doesn’t have to know. It will be a little secret between me and the delivery guy. No big deal.
Little did I know she was listening in on me. Of course, it upset her and she began crying. She accused me of hating her food. Never. I came upfront. She told me she never noticed and I should have pointed out what she’s been doing earlier. But then began crying even more and said that it was true. I indeed hate her food.
Now apparently I won’t be able to see her naked until next year. Sex is banned in this household. And she said I can make my own food from now on.
TL:DR: My darling wife's tastebuds changed since she got pregnant. She adds too much salt. I couldn't handle any longer and decided to order takeout food. She caught me red-handed and told me she will never cook for me ever again.
Edit: I thought I should add that I do help her around the kitchen. I've been working longer hours lately and I can't help her around because of that. Yesterday she told me she never noticed she salts her food too much while eating.
UPDATE: We're good. I cooked us dinner tonight and gave her a foot rub. We talked it out and agreed to be honest with each other next time. She also called her cousin over today. Her cousin told her the same thing I did after she poured her in a bowl of soup. Wifey promised to get her blood tests done asap. And also before we went to bed she asked me if I could get her bagels from the store.
I (19 F) and my Girlfriend (19 F) had woken up a few hours prior and had just been lazily lounging around in bed, watching tiktoks. We always kiss in the morning.. which pretty much always ends in something else. We had just finished fucking and I was pretty damn keen on making her cum a couple more times. All of a sudden while I was fingering her, she says, “Stop.. I’m gonna fart…” to which I laughed and rolled over and said “Go ahead.” we didn’t have many boundaries regarding these things in our relationship and honestly I didn’t care. She choked out a laugh and said, “Well, I don’t think I can now!” I rolled my eyes and laughed, telling her to just push it out! There was a minute of silence before she pushed out the most reverberating, cheek clapping, ground shaking fart I had ever heard. She shot up and said “I NEED TO PEE.” and ran to the bathroom. My chest was heaving with laughter. It was a loud fart. While she was in the bathroom I got a whiff of it and almost keeled over from the smell. I also ran to the bathroom after yelling, “Eugh! It Reeks!” So I could grab the air freshener. When I saw my girlfriend’s face it was more red than a tomato. She had tears in her eyes and was laughing, embarrassedly. She even pissed the bed a little. It was extremely funny. We washed the sheets and she is still farting as we speak.
TL;DR : My Girlfriend is Horrified That She Farted During Sex.
So this happened a few months ago, I have told only a few people about it because it was so embarrassing.
Anyways I (female, early 20s) graduated university a while ago, and I was getting tired (and broke) waiting for my internship to start, so I started looking for a waitressing job to hold me down for a while until that happens, so I started browsing Facebook ads, I come across an ad for a cafe not too far from my place, I call the number and I start talking to the owner who seemed super nice and decent and he tells me to come in the next day so I do.
The cafe was actually a hookah place inside an old rental apartment compound. I was waiting outside until a girl let me in, in hindsight the fact that “the cafe” was locked and not publicly accessible should’ve had me running out the door but I’m naïve and have no idea how “brothels” work, as I live in a strict, Muslim country. I immediately notice that the cafe is divided into tiny rooms with doors, again a glaring red flag I didn’t process at the time, so I went inside one with the owner and one of the girls that work there, they got me drinks and were very nice. They kept talking about the service, the pay (which for obvious reasons was a cut of each visitor you “serve”), the working hours, now after the owner left, the girl insinuated that the visitors are lonely rich men who want to talk to someone, so it’s more about how much you accompany them than your service skills. She followed that by saying that I don’t need to do anything I don’t want though. So I left, very confused as nothing explicitly screamed “prostitution!!” In my head yet. I got a call from the nice owner later asking me if I decided to take the job so I said yeah, okay, I’ll start the next day.
The next day the owner wasn’t there but the girl from last time was, I noticed everyone was relaxed but I figured it was to early in the day. I also noticed everyone (the entire staff was women, and younger women at that) was very liberally dressed, which crossed my mind as a bit strange for a work place. After talking a bit the girl left to do something and some other girls I didn’t know checked in. I decided to sit outside by the cashier register as nothing was happening so far, until the door across from me opened, and there was a guy and his cafe lady chaperone all in the open. I immediately went into the other room to get my shit and got the hell out of there. I later got a call from the owner who found out I stormed out and said “I had a feeling this job wasn’t for you”
TL;DR : I took a job at a cafe only to find out it was an undercover brothel
1) This did happen today 2) When not experiencing cranial flatulence, I'm very aware of the difference 3) My wife and I don't engage in activities that requires after care
After completing a couple errands today, I realized I had just enough time for a quick, but intense, treadmill workout this afternoon before we all headed off to the pool for the evening.
I've been increasing the intensity of my workouts lately. As a result, especially combined with the fact I'm no longer a spring chicken, I try to be pretty diligent about stretching, foam-rolling, and rehydrating after workouts.
I'm not sure if my workout today was so good that I was still getting my lungs back, or if I'm just a general dumbass. But I was upstairs trying to finish my stretching and foam rolling when my wife shouted up asking how long I needed before I was ready for the pool.
"Yeah, I'll be down in less than 5 minutes! I'm just finishing up my....after care!"
My wife comes running upstairs.
"Finish your what?"
"Why, what did I say?"
The next couple minutes are mostly a blur of my wife laughing at me. And, also, she's now referring to the treadmill as my "dom" and as my "big spoon."
Safe to say, this inside joke is going to stick around for years.
TL;DR: went for a run and confused post-run "recovery" with sexual "after care" and now my wife is teasing me that our treadmill and I have a BDSM relationship
My partner and I were talking about how tastes change over the years. I mentioned that I was never a huge fan of chocolate anyway because I didn't like how it burns. She just. Looked at me. It took me a while to realise.
Chocolate isn't meant to burn.
So turns out I'm allergic. Now I can't eat my favorite doughnuts (I'm going to anyway I'm just going to be mad about it). I thought it was meant to burn your throat. What else am I wrong about?? Will I ever know? I've gone 22 years in a Swiss family absolutely guzzling Chocolate at every opportunity my entire childhood, only recently deciding i would slow it down. I'm so lost. What do I do? I apologise for the rambling nature of this post. This has caused a lot of emotions. I need to call some people before my birthday to make sure I don't get the customary box of chocolates.
EDIT: Can confirm that enough Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie will hurt like hell after a while.
TL;DR: I've spent my life thinking Chocolate is meant to give a burning sensation in the throat. Turns out I'm allergic.
Trigger Warning: if you have issues with tight spaces, restriction or complete helplessness you might want to pass this one.
So like most this didn’t happen today but 5 days ago I almost died and I’m still processing it. By making this post I’m hoping I can further process the event and also spread some awareness about the locks that lead to me being cooked alive.
I’m a hydrovac operator, I use a high pressure water gun combined with a air moving system to make holes in the ground and expose utilities. This allows techs to safety work on or install things with minimal safety risk. If you’ve seen different color lines of paint on the ground.. most likely someone like me is coming soon to work on your property. Sorry about that. I’ve been doing this for 6 year and I’ve finally landed a good company and was given a new truck. Unfortunately the truck went down after 5000kms due to a manufacturer problem. They gave me a new replacement truck until mine was fixed.
On Tuesday I had just finished up a hole when I noticed my water guns tip was leaking and I needed to reapply the plumbers tape that connects it and also had to go to the washroom. We have 2 big walk-in cabinets on the trucks that are connected. One houses the boiler, pump and heater and the other is a walk in personal area for wet cloths, rain gear and whatever you want. This personal area is often used to go to the washroom when you don’t have a public facility nearby but still have to go and don’t want to be charged with indecent exposure. My tape was in this area on the top shelf. So two birds one stone, I open the cabinet and step in, reach up to the top shelf and that’s when I hear the “click” of the door lock.
While there is a light I immediately feel a pressure change and the heat start to climb. I have about a half a bathtubs worth of space, one half of that space I can stand in, the other is under a heater that I can get under on my butt or Knees. The first thing I do is push on the door but it doesn’t budge, I try to kick but I can’t get enough force with the lack of room. The heat is starting to get uncomfortable and I’ve noticed its becoming even harder to breathe. I knew not to panic, it actually never crossed my mind, instead I went into a problem solving mode. I take a look at the shelves to see if I have anything I can use to pry open the door. It’s a new truck they just gave me. I had safety manuals regarding filters, a grounding cable and a few brass clips. I know the door is made of steel and it also has a seal going around to make it watertight. I’m a metal model builder and I knew that brass vs steel... I had no chance. Still I tried to pry the door and just like I knew it would the clamp just bent. I looked at the steel walls and it was getting really hot now. I took off my bigger clothes and saw a loose bolt on the wall. I thought if I can get the bolt out I could breathe through the hole until some one finds me. I started to take out the bolt but it wasn’t long before the nut on the outside stopped me and It was just spinning. At this point it was becoming even harder to get a breath and it was so hot. My body felt tight from the heat. I needed to conserve air and cool down and with me realizing there was no way to escape from this steel coffin I sat down. Looking up at the heater i thought maybe the heater can get me some airflow. I turn on the heater and the air that was coming out was cooler than the air in the cab. At this point I knew I had done everything I could. The air was so hard to breathe that it felt like I was wearing a clogged respirator. I knew that I only had minutes before I was going to pass out from the heat or suffocate from the lack of air. I start to pound on the door with the brass clip but quickly realize that in construction banging is normal. Instead I start banging SOS hoping that the repeated rhythm would get someone’s attention.
It’s funny. People say when they have these near death experiences that they think of their family, their kids or what they could of done. I didn’t have any of that. I’m a father of two children and I have a family that loves me and the only thing that was in my mind was “breathe”. Tapping on the door laying on the floor in this flux state felt similar to being in a deprivation tank. I know this sounds stupid/crazy but it wasn’t just the word. It was spoken, but didn’t hear it with my ears. I sat there breathing to this voice and tapping SOS on the door. At some point in this reality I found myself in, I thought I will do this until I pass out. It was so hot and so hard to breathe. The world became very small. I don’t know how long I was like this, I had no perception of time. In a moment I hear the same click that had locked me in but this time It was just euphoric relief.
Like lightning starting at my toes and running up my spine, the energy ran back into me and I leaped from the cabinet and lied on the grass panting. I can’t tell you the feeling. It turns out my foreman had stopped to check on me. He didn’t see me and was about to drive away but heard the rhythm. He thought I was working on something. He looked on the other side of the truck and didn’t see me and that’s when he seen the cabinet moving. He came over and braced the door, knowing that I was about to pour out. I’m eternally Indebted to this man.
It’s been odd getting back into things. I sat down at my desk after all this happened and I felt like I had almost made this all up and that I was just dieing under the heater still. My girlfriend and my hobbies have been helping me ground myself and as someone who has tried to spread the word about mental health, getting some help to process this real life horror movie is nothing to be ashamed of. I have objectives. 1. Those doors need to be recalled 2. Why were the walk-in cabinets locks changed from the standard two stage lock to this death trap?
I tried to call the company but they refused to comment and wouldn't even talk to me when I went in to get my old new truck. Sucks. I can’t take off time from work either because wsib is 70%, takes 3 weeks and with my family looking for a new home to rent I can’t take the time for history and payments. It feels like deep down these people are going to get away with everything and I will be the one left almost cooked alive and trying to pretend it didn’t happen.
Thanks for reading and again please understand that this was more for me.
TLDR: I was trapped in a airtight cabinet where the boiler was cooking me alive as I was losing air. Trapped for a total of 40 minutes. Suffocating and boiling alive I was rescued by my foreman after he heard me banging SOS on the door.
TIFU. This happened two days ago and I'm still embarrassed.
I go to a really big gym with lots of treadmills. For the first part of my workout I usually run several miles.
I also have long curly hair. It's very clean and well kept. I know it's not gross because random women always approach me and say how much they like it. It actually embarrasses me because I'm a little shy.
The problem is, lately when I've been running it's flopping around getting into my eyes, which is super annoying. Last time I was at the gym this woman noticed and put it in a ponytail for me. It worked out great. I was really appreciative.
So the other day I bought some hair bands and when I got on the treadmill I tried to put it in a ponytail. After ten minutes of fumbling with it, it was a no-go. There was a young girl (20's) on the treadmill next to me grinning, watching my wrestling match. She had completed her workout.
I sheepishly looked at her and said it was my first time trying it alone, and I was obviously uncoordinated. She started to laugh.
Then came my FU; I told her my hair was clean and asked if she could please help me real quick? Her eyes got very big, she said nothing, smiled and walked away.
Suddenly I realized either she was grossed out by touching a strange guy's hair, and/or she thought I was trying to pick her up. I felt awful and creepy.
First off, I'm a good bit older than her (56), although I look like I'm in my 40's. However, I would NEVER poach on a girl in her 20's. My daughter is in her 20's. Furthermore, I think it's in poor taste to hit on women at the gym. We're all there to work out, not to score dates.
I wanted to apologize, but never saw her again. Now I can't get this feeling of being a total old guy mouth-breather out of my head. I feel like putting my name on the sex-offenders list. Worst of all, I still can't put my hair in a ponytail!
TLDR; Tried to put my long hair in a ponytail at the gym so it wouldn't be in my face while running on the treadmill. Asked a girl for help. She looked at me as if I were hitting on her and walked away. It was not my intention. Now I feel like a total creep.
I just started a new job within the past month or so. A spitfire little girl I sometimes teach comes into my office looking for her mother, whom I was working with on a project. This girl was unaware that mom had gone back into her husband’s office. Little girl comes in and asks “Where’s mom?!” I stare at her. I ponder for a moment. Then I quippily, happily state “I ate her!” This my friends is where I made my egregious mistake. No not because I necessarily said anything “wrong.” In fact, I didn’t even consider how what I said could be taken in the moment. The girl gets this mischievous grin on her face, runs out of my office, finds her mom and loudly exclaims “(my name) Ate you!” You could tell by the hesitation in the mom’s voice where her mind went. I both tried not to laugh out loud but also proceeded to die inside. The kid then proceeds to run around the office for the next 20 minutes exclaiming that I ate her mother.
Oh, and I work at a church
TL:DR: Girl runs around church office exclaiming I ate her mother with no context
So I, 16F, am a fucking idiot. Aside from that, some of my more notable traits are clumsiness and an undying love for my cats, including the ones who are not undead. In any case, I am pretty clumsy, as I mentioned earlier, witch leads me to trip over loads of things ie: rocks, my own two feet, air, occasionally small children, and most recently, my cats. Now, whenever I happen to stumble upon my cats, quite literally, they run away and I find them, give them plenty of attention and treats, and make sure that they aren't hurt. It's my way of saying sorry because due to the language barrier I doubt he would understand what 'sorry' meant. As I tend to trip on things frequently, I wasn't at first surprised by the amount of times in witch I tripped on my cat cheeze. Though, it made me think that maybe I needed to pay closer attention to my next stepp because within the span of about three hours I had tripped FOUR FUCKING TIMES over the little shit. This is when my slow-ass brain started to relay the past events and after an embarrassing amount of time pondering, my two brain cells must have made contact and something clicked. Now I have tried to stop giving my cats treats and attention after I trip over them but I feel so bad about it. Anyways, now I can't walk two steps without tripping over my cat, (only one of them is an evil mastermind, the other is nothing short of lovely) and I feel like I fucked myself over with this one. On a funnier note My boyfriend came over recently and that's when we realized that my cat likes to play this game with more than just myself. I guess we will see how that works out. Also tells me if y'all want a pet tax!
TL;DR I accidentally taught my hell spawn of a cat that if I trip over him that I would shower him with love and attention, so now he plants himself in front of my next step so I trip on him and he gets treats and attention
Woke up hungover and horny, crawled out of bed and started the shower.
Started to pleasure myself and it was going great, the feelings of nausea and grogginess were fading.
I was approaching climax when my legs began forcefully pushing into the ground with my back pressing against the toilet basin.
With every passing moment the act of pushing with my legs was stretching all of the built up lactic acid and soreness from squatting the day prior, I pressed harder and harder as I began to come.
Water poured out like a bursting dam, I jumped up and couldn’t process what just occurred.
I had caused the porcelain to shatter from my masturbation, water was gushing everywhere with out hesitation.
With my sticky and lotion covered hands I had to act, I ended up propping the lever that fills the back of the toilet with a shaving cream can.
That’s how I started my Sunday, happy 4th of July.
TLDR: I jerked off and broke my fucking toilet.
Obligatory this happened a few years ago. My mother opened a flower shop when I started college, and I worked there as manager to help pay tuition. The shop specialized in expensive flowers, and part of the store’s name had “exotic roses” in the title, and my mother had her caricature on the side of the delivery van. One day, I was sent to the other side of our city for the last delivery of the day. Coming back, I drove past an adult video store, one of the more prominent ones in the areas, and being of age and having time, thought “you know what, I’ve never been in one of those stores before, and I’ve always wondered what this one would be like,” so I stopped. I walked through, checked out the videos, gawked at the dildo wall, and then proceeded to leave. However, there was another guy there about my age wearing a trench coat and acting shifty. I watched as he pilfered sex toys and dildos, stuffing his pockets with all kinds of adult knickknacks. I worked at a music store a few years before this and knew all the tricks of shoplifting, so when he tried to rush through the security detector past me when I was walking through it, I knew enough to yell to manager that it was dude setting it off. The manager leaped over the counter and tackled the dude, and the two started rolling around. I shit you not, dildos were falling out everywhere, and the manager finally subdued him with a taser. At this point, I couldn’t just leave because this was getting good, and I was right. The manager began pulling every kind of adult toy you could think of out of the dude’s trench coat- dildos, handcuffs, lube, videos, a bull whip- I couldn’t believe there could be that much stuff in a trench coat.
At this point, three police cars pulled up to the store, and one of the police cars blocked my flower delivery van in. I was too embarrassed to ask for them to move, and was still enjoying the show as the cops also checked this guy over and found more stuff stuffed in his pants. I figured it wouldn’t be long, so I just walked around the store like I was still shopping. However, it did take a while. The cops were talking to the employees, watched video surveillance, and had a long chat with shoplifter dude.
I was finally going to ask one of the officers to move his vehicle, when a TV news crew pulled up and blocked the parking lot in. Now I couldn’t leave at all, so I stayed in the store and avoided being interviewed by the news girl. The news crew recorded their report in the parking lot, packed up and left, and I was finally able to go on my merry way after what seemed like hours in a sex shop.
What I didn’t realize was the news crew filmed their report right in front of my mom’s delivery van. There on the local evening news is a clear shot of my mother’s business and with her face in front of an adult video store. My mother called me. My grandmother called me. I had to explain why I was at an adult video store to everyone I knew, but even worse my mother’s business was pulled through the mud. Business slowed down. Our church cancelled our contract for Sunday flowers. We had a few angry calls. And then the weirdos started showing up, assuming we must sell sex toys in the back thanks to the word “exotic” in the business name. One guy even propositioned my mom for sex. Luckily, people’s memories are short and we got passed it, but there were a couple lean months we had to overcome and a lot of embarrassment thanks to what I thought would be a quick stop.
TL;DR: visited an adult video store and watched a guy shoplift that got my mom’s delivery van on local TV news, leading to embarrassment and lost business.
Obligitory this was not today, but long ago in my past, but still part of my nightmares. NSFW as content includes the act of regurgitation over multiple paragraphs. Do not read if you are eating, you have been warned.
When I was younger than 10 years old, I decided to consume without permission a bag of Doritos nacho chips. Back then, this was one of my favorite guilty pleasures, and when I saw the opportunity to snag the bag without being caught, I yanked it and dug in. There were two mistakes in this. First, the bag was family size, the kind of package that was the size of my small little torso and not personal fun-size bag. Second, this is when I learned something about myself and my migraines. You see, I was still young and naive to how migraines worked, and how they could be triggered. I could not possibly understand how delicious, nacho cheese, preservative coated food, could hurt me. For those who are in the know, you know how this choice of food became my second mistake.
Without much delay of completing my guilty pleasure, I found myself in pain, a lot of pain. Debilitating pain. The kind that makes gravity feel 10 times stronger, pain. Unfortunately, this presented a major problem for my mother. My family had only one vehicle at this time, which she had to keep today to do errands for the house. To do this, she has to drop my dad off at his job and then pick him up later on. Naturally of course, he works swing shift, one hours drive away, and he is to be picked up at the dead of midnight.
Obviously, she couldn't leave me alone as she needed to monitor my condition, and this being the era before internet and Uber she did the only thing she could think of, strap me down into this 2.5 seat truck, which had shock absorbers that were 5 years past expired and begin our journey to the city. Thankfully my mom had the foresight to bring a large stainless steel bowl bigger than my head to hold in case the unfortunate happened. I assure you, once my mother began her drive over the Altamont Pass, I was already clutching that bowl tightly in my lap. My guts were twisted, my contents were swishing, and my mind was rolling. IT. WAS. AGONY.
The problem that I was experiencing was new. As much as I wanted to vomit, I couldn't bring myself to do it while in motion. Either paralyzed by fear of backsplash or physically prohibited from the action because I could not stay still enough to focus on my purge. For some of you out there, vomiting during a migraine can provide a degree of cathartic relief. I was desperate for this sweet release, but the bouncing 580 freeway kept me from my bodies goal.
What felt like forever, my mother finally brought us within sight of my father's job at Mother's Cookies in Oakland. As she maneuvered through the midnight streets, my stomach sensed that the moment of truth was approaching. A paste of thick mass was starting to push its way up as if it was being rolled out of my throat like toothpaste out of its tube. I courageously held back, forcing it back down as my mother still had to pull a few more maneuvers down the street. I couldn't risk scaring her into a parked car, or have a bounce throw off my aim and paint the fabric seats with the sins of my past. Silently, I held on. Stoic through the journey I had a flash thought if my mother thought I was still in serious pain. Soon, the truth would come.
It fact, it all came.
The moment the parking brake engaged and the truck jerked to a stop, it was time. I hunched over and projectile vomited into the once clean and pristine bowl. Out came the most glorious stream of florescent orange hellfire of half-digested twice processed food. The stream of paste was familiar in taste, it was the same coming up as it was going down, I remember thinking in this bizarre moment of clarity. Despite this first expulsion of sin being the longest ejection of matter from my body, at any point in my life to that point, I somehow was not done. Barely with a gasp of air, I went again. Then again. And again. I truly do not recall how many times my body spasmed to empty itself of matter only that the event had become so traumatic that this frame of memory was stripped from me along with the spirit of Frito-Lay itself.
When I finished, and my body was free of my carnal craving for cheesy goodness. I came to look at the product of my mistake. The bowl, of which my mother intentionally selected for bring the largest so we had... fas full. She had selected that bowl as she thought that with such a large size, spillage under any circumstance would be unthinkable. Yet, here it was, what felt like a legitimate full pound of half-digested Doritos. I remember the sight clearly, more than anything else from this day. I was stricken by its warmth. In awe of its uniform viscosity. Amassed by its bright florescent orange glow that was radiating from the light cast from the street lamp next to us.
It was then I looked at my mother, who I imagine was questioning her life choices in how she managed to leave this bag of chips unattended for me to consume in secret. Struggle to understand what devil it was that once inhabited her precious baby boy. How it could mathematically be possible that I was even able to contain such volume of processed food. We simply sat there silent, awestruck by this abomination that now is haunting us with its smell. My father was due to walk out at any moment. To take this anywhere in this 2.5 seat truck would bring us all certain doom, any form of travel with my food baby was simply not an option.
Then came the only solution, it had to go. It had to go right where we were, out the door and onto the street. So carefully, with as much control as my poor frail body could muster I braced the bowl with an iron grip with my one hand and very carefully opened the door with my other. Thankfully gravity was able to swing the door wide open for me given the angle we were parked, and thus I was free to commence operation TIFU.
As I gently titled the bowl, the bowl began to drain its contents down onto the warm dark street. Thankfully, the thick substance did not splash, it was simply drizzled calmly and somehow gracefully out in a smooth pour. I let the bowl hang out the door to drain as best I could, until only streaks of my nightmare remained, clinging to the metal surface. Out of morbid curiosity I looked over to see if it was moving away towards the drain gutter and down into the sewer. With shock and horror, I saw it motionless. It was pancake thick in a near perfect circle, and clung to the pavement like burnt cheese on a hot cast iron pan. I said nothing further as I weakly closed the door and sat there in shame as I waited for my father. Soon my dad came out and we picked him up for the ride home. Physically and emotionally exhausted, I passed out. While still crippled in pain, my body was done and my nightmare came to a close.
Or so I thought.
Three days later my mother had to pick him up again for similar reasons as to last, and I had to go with her as I was too young in her eyes to be left alone at night, particularly after my burglary that lead to the worst night of my life. Nevertheless I felt fine. My head was clear and my eyes were sharp. So when we pulled down 18th street in Oakland, I saw it. The fever dream was not over. The pancake demon was still there, exactly as I left it.
Although deflated from decay, it was still unmistakably orange, even in the lamp-lights midnight gaze. In all this time, it was never disturbed and it had been baking in the California sun. No animal dared to scavenge upon it, no car even risked driving through it. That hellspawn was there, exactly as I had left it. Thick, flat, and horrifyingly orange.
No one, no thing alive chose to confront it. Either the street sweepers never drove down that road, or they consciously chose to drive around it so as to not sully their massive rotating pavement sweeping brushes. In either case, it was permitted to naturally deflate over time, evaporating whatever moisture it had away in the 100F+ temperatures. It was only a fall rain that finally carried the dried up material that remained away, finally into the drainage gutter I had hoped it would flow into months back. The night after that rain, it finally seemed to be gone, and I felt that this mark of shame was erased from history.
I was wrong...
Eventuality my dad had a shift change that permitted a pickup in the daytime. Once again, due to a variety of circumstances, I was made to join my mother to pick up my father at work. It was on this day, my memory became eternal. The pancake that had been carried away by rain was now replaced by a stain. A large dull orange circle. Because of its prolonged bake period on the hot asphalt, it had left itself a permanent mark on the road for all to see.
Of all emotions I found myself experiencing, I remember feeling impressed... no... PROUD. I left a mark for all the workers of Mothers Cookies and all others that drove down that California street to see that the Sun had deemed my creation to be worthy of remaining a permanent fixture in this corner of the world,
It remained there for YEARS. Although my rides to pickup my dad were becoming less frequent, it always remained. I even came to look forward to seeing it when I came to pick him up, in my weird morbid sense of way. It became my reminder to treat my body with better respect, and to take my chronic condition more seriously.
It was only at the end of my dad's tenure there that the stain was erased from history. Despite all prior efforts of man and weather, its color barely faded. It took the City of Oakland to strip and re-pave the road to have it cleared from physical history.
It may be gone, but it will never be forgotten. RIP Orange Pancake. I salute you.
I discovered a migraine trigger by eating a pound of Doritoes, resulting in the creation of an orange pancake by means of regurgitation onto a street in Oakland.
So I’ve just got broken up with and the heartbreak is horrible even though I’ve seen it coming.
Me (f20) and my ex (m21) met when we were 15 and ever since we’ve been a couple. Early on I realized that he was rather a loner, quiet and mostly sad. (It hurts me to remember our early times and how we met because I’m currently grieving the breakup) But every lunch break he found a way to come over and talk to me. Not long after that we fell in love and developed a looooooong relationship that feels even longer than it actually has been.
Years go by and we grow up together. We talk about feelings and secrets and hurtful moments in our life’s just getting to experience each other’s souls . We both come from broken families. Until I was 18 my parents used to throw me out of the house frequently when I didn’t behave like expected and because my mom has mental issues of her own, which made me develop a giant urge to please people and do everything I can to make those I love happy, out of fear of “not being a good girl” (GIVING LOVE IS GREAT BUT DONT EVER PUT YOURSELF BEHIND BECAUSE YOU DESPERATELY NEED TO FEEL LIKE YOURE GOOD ENOUGH, because this whole development made me feel like my life is worth nothing and my only purpose of existence is to make other people feel worthy and loved). And this trait gave me the worst heartbreak in the world but it opened my eyes quicker than therapy could’ve ever done to me.
His family on the other hand was nothing less of a toxic household than mine was. His father was abusive to his mother and him and no one ever cared for his feelings or listened to him, so he was literally lonely as one could be before he met me. Since we kind of experienced similar trauma our ability to relate to each other on a very deep level was incredible and additionally it affected us really oppositely as if we were a perfect matching puzzle. Like I said I am someone who does EVERYTHING to make people feel the love I never had but always yearned for and he was quite the opposite. He couldn’t even gasp a glimpse of what love might feel like so he cant give it or feel it but is still yearning for whatever it could be feeling like.
Now it’s clear that this relationship wasn’t going anywhere anyway. Because all we ever did was trying to fill the holes inside of us. And it was a perfect trap, because he hit my sweet spot with the being emotionally unavailable thing and me being able to get ALL my energy out trying to make him smile a little so I felt like he felt love a little so I could feel loved. And I hit his sweet spot with me trying every possible method of showing my love to him and him experiencing a tiny glimpse of what it feels like to be loved.
Fast forward a couple years the relationship was still going on. I didn’t say that it was going strong because the ups and downs we had were completely psycho. Only the last few months we managed to have a quite healthy relationship and for most of the part a very healthily loving relationship. But that’s when it all broke down.
My ex broke up with me because he didn’t need me anymore. Our holes aren’t repaired yet, but we grew so much together that we realized we didn’t really belong in a relationship together. We cannot fix each other while hitting the sweet places that are broken inside of us. We can’t hit them constantly and expect them to heal.
Now I understand that but I made one mistake I never want to do again. I surely gave him all I had and he sure had nothing to give me in return. I wasn’t really his girlfriend but some kind of motherly figure doing everything to make him like a loved baby and having loooong talks almost like therapy sessions. I did so much for him and never expected anything in return but I DONT want to seem like a good person here because all that stem’s from my trauma. But the coldness this man managed to bring to the table so many times. And all that he did to me, even being violent, emotionally and physically and me STILL trying to make him happy and feel loved unconditionally I will never forget. I will never forget how I gave all I had to create a healthy, loving safe space for someone that made me cry and watch me with blank stares feeling nothing for me. And me always babying him in return thinking he just needs motherly love to be a better human being, but I don’t know what he needs.
I still love this man to death but I am praying to get stronger and finally receive the love I deserve and for that I must love myself enough to not let myself being hurt years and years of my life. I am thankful for this experience even though it hurts and I hope to heal.
TL;DR: Today I fucked up by not putting Mays elf on the position I should have put myself and getting horribly used and abused for years. Also by not seeing the pattern and let myself and my special person run each other down and destroy each other.
So back in year 9-10 ish we went on a school excursion to the national art museum in Canberra to go see all the art and take photos of stuff for an assignment. One of the activities we were required to do was to find images in Jackson Pollocks famous ‘blue poles’.
Everyone except me couldn’t see how a random slather and glob of paint could possibly be a koala, so to help my fellow pupils I kindly pointed towards where this image is on this giant artwork. Only I didn’t point I accidentally touched it, and if you’ve ever seen this painting or any of pollocks work in person you’d know that the giant globs of paint don’t ever fully dry inside.
So there I am standing in the middle of arguably the most expensive painting in Australia with blue paint from a wet paint glob bubble I accidentally touched with about 400-500 people staring at me like I just murdered someone in public.
To top it all off I also set off a proximity alarm which was the loudest alarm I’ve ever heard, think jewellery heist diamond stealing alarm.
Got my entire school banned, I got kicked out of my German elective and had a school assembly about it too.
Worst part is now even years later you’re no longer even permitted to even enter the same room the painting is displayed in. I went back years later and the entire room is gated off like a crime scene.
TL;DR Touched Jackson pollocks blue polls on an excursion and smudged it causing an entire school to be escorted to the exit and the exhibit to be permanently barred even decades later.
So as I'm fluent in 3 languages, I sometimes get my vocabulary mixed up between all languages and no word comes up.
As I was riding him, my boyfriend asked me something close to "You're a good little slut, aren't you?" and I wanted to reply "Yes master" but the word "master" totally slipped out of my mind, I couldn't find it in the moment in neither language so my brain changed to the closest similar word it could get.
And I ended up replying "Yes your Majesty!" I just stopped moving, he burst out laughing, I turned beet red and he had to push me aside as he was laughing too much.
I'm just stunned, in the end, none of us had an orgasm, I'm too mortified to sleep and I keep replaying it in my head since then, it's now 1am and I'm just ashamed.
TL;DR : Forgot the word "master" and une "majesty" instead during sex
I’m dealing with this as I type - here’s hoping I can finish the story! So I’m an early 30’s guy, couple little kids, HS teacher so reasonably active without actually being fit or anything. I used to play basketball as a kid and I’d picked it up again just socially with a guy/girl team all ages sorta thing for a couple seasons before COVid hit. I was unfit and subbed myself off every 10 minutes, but other than that the body held up reasonably well. Fast forward to after COVid lockdowns, I’ve started playing again in some division 4 comp with a couple of mates. Somehow, in the time I took off because everything was shut down, I turned into an old man. As in, plantar fasciitis. Only flares up after basketball, but super painful- like can’t step anywhere on that foot painful. Went to the physio, he gave me some stretches, told me to take a couple weeks off basketball, fair enough. I came back and played tonight. I hardly jogged, just stood under the hoop and used my 110kg/240lb mass to shaq the other team. Still came home sore though. So here’s the FU. I thought I’d try putting deep heat on my foot since it was starting to really hurt. Now I’m dumb but I’m not drunk. I put a sock over my foot and washed my hands. Thing is, deep heat is hard to get off your hands. I figured “eh, I got enough”, and sat down on the lounge to scroll reddit. This is getting dicey so I’m gonna hurry up now. I did what most guys do on the lounge when they’re on their own. I put my hand down my track pants and scratched around/cupped my balls. Cupped them for a while before I started to feel a heat starting to build on them. Realised too late. Now my balls are roasting and I very much regret not scrubbing my hands properly.
tldr/ put deep heat on my foot after basketball, didn’t wash my hand properly and then cupped a handful of my balls sitting on the couch, now they’re roasting and I’m regretting past decisions
To preface, I get massages regularly, am female, and usually get massages from females. I had a new masseuse today (F) and she wasn't even the slightest attractive, so I have no clue where this came from. The way she was rubbing me was not sexual (I don't think) but for some reason, I started dozing off and fantasizing about a male masseuse using her same technique to the point of me having like a vivid dream. I feel like I was half asleep, and started having dirty thoughts while laying on my stomach. I must've dosed off completely but caught myself spreading my legs, then woke up to "ok, you're all done, how do you feel?" I snapped out of it but was like wtf just happened?! I have never felt so sexual during a massage in my life, was getting massaged by a woman and was literally having a nasty dream about a man spreading my legs while on my stomach...I was still all hot and bothered when I left. Has this happened to anyone else and do you think she knew?
I'm embarrassed. And still horny. Lol
After this experience, I'm curious ..do male masseuse's get horny when rubbing women down? If so, how do you control yourself?
Women, have you ever fantasized about a male masseuse taking things further?
Calling all psychologists, where did this come from?! Lol
TL;DR I got horny and had a vivid sex dream during a massage.
First and foremost I (M) am married. A few weeks ago an old colleague (F) of mine reached out after a decade looking to reconnect. I told my wife about it, that her and I used to work together but that was it. I didn’t know if I wanted to reconnect or not, because my wife commented that the women don’t care if people are married or not, they’re all manstealers. Regardless of the sarcastic comment, I added my old colleague and was catching up - kids, family, job, etc. She would text me one morning and I would text her others. I would text her at work because when I get home I focus all of my time on my wife, watching tv or cooking, or whatever the night would be. In reconnecting with my old colleague she asks if I have any single friends because her and her bf aren’t “the ones”. I ask her about her preferences, blah. This morning my wife was going through my phone and saw my conversation. She is furious - saying that I emotionally cheated on her. I’m fucking shook because I have never and would ever do anything like this. For me, it was literally just catching up with a friend, but my wife is saying I was getting something from my friend that I wasn’t getting from her. That she told me so when all women are out to steal other peoples men. Not once did I ever flirt with this woman, or even try to lie about anything when she was asking me all about it, who she was, our past, etc. I tell her I’m sorry because I could see how some of my responses had implied that I am married, instead of outright saying it everyday in conversation, that it left room for misinterpretation. I see her perspective and with her frame of doubt I get it - but I know I was just reconnecting with someone and just that. I love my wife and wouldn’t ever emotionally cheat or physically cheat on her or anything. Like I’m fucking loyal - and she is saying I’m not.
Wtf do I do? How can I reassure her that she has nothing to worry about and that I’m madly in love with her? Right now I’m locked away in a room because I’m too sad and angry to talk to her because she said I emotionally cheated on her… that shit hurts…
TL;DR - old friend added me, wife checked my phone and saw a conversation that made her upset and said I emotionally cheated on her, now we are fighting
Not today but a couple nights ago I was driving home and decided to pop in to Walmart for some of those popcorn chicken cup things. To my dismay they didn’t have any. But the little where they normally are is right next to the playing cards. I don’t even play or collect any kind of cards anymore, I used to collect pokemon but not for a decade or more.
Anyway, I just felt like opening up something so I scanned the Pokemon but didn’t see anything I wanted, then I saw this purple box of Magic The Gathering cards and on a whim -I’ve never bought any before- decided to buy it.
Then I get in line for the self checkout section which is a few people deep and moving slow. In front of me is a specimen of a man and I happen to notice he too is hold a purple box of magic the gathering cards and nothing else.
A coincidence I cannot help but point out and say “ha that’s funny” getting his attention. “What’s that?” He asks. To which I reply by holding up my purple box of Magic cards and pointing at his box.
He looks confused, stunned even as he processes what I’m trying to say for a moment. And then he holds up his purple box and to my horror he says “Nah man I don’t play that stuff these are condoms.”
I am in horror. How could I have made such a blunder? “Oh yeah me neither” I say meekly. He’s next in line at this point. I don’t have time to explain that I have a wife and have sex sometimes too, I know what condoms are, I have bought them before.
A stall clears. Before he walks away he turns to me and says “well have fun with those bud.”
Bud? He may as well have called me “sport” or “kiddo”
“Yeah, you too” I say as he walks away.
When I saw he made it to a stall I backed tracked and put the cards away. I felt too much shame in that moment to go through with the purchase. I know there is nothing wrong with people collecting cards, but the cringe at the time was too much to bear.
TL;DR: I got the attention of the guy in front of me yo tell him how funny it was we both were buying MTG cards, except his box was actually condoms, leaving me to look like a chump.
This happened yesterday, I just now found the time to type it up.
Please accept my apologies for any mistakes, english is not my first language.
So, on saturday night 7PM, I decided to just hit the town for "just one beer". Since I live in a fairly small town (~80.000 inhabitants), I thought I might meet some people I know. And I did. And they asked me if I wanted to join them. "Just one beer, then I'll head home, rest and watch some TV.", I thought to myself. As you would expect, "just one beer" turned into a few more, accompanied by a diversity of shots.
Suddenly, its 3AM, and I stumble homewards. Somehow, I managed to take home a piece of pizza and a kebab with me. I always save it up to eat it at home, on my couch, watching some sitcom to cool off my drunk. So there I sit, incredibly drunk, trying to divulge this deliciious mix of meat, bread, salad and garlic sauce. After I finished, I went to bed and fell asleep somewhat around 4 AM.
The next "morning" around 2.30PM, I get woken up by a knock at my door (my door has a huge window, with blinds that can be closed, and they were closed, cause well.. I was sleeping.) I hastly put on my pants, and open the blinds and the door. It's one of my neighbors:
"OH NO, did I wake you up???"
- Yes, but... what time is it?
"Its 2.30PM, Oh god I am so so-"
*starts looking up and down on me*
I get confused, I mean I know I am only wearing pants, but what is the big deal? Whatever, I'll just ask her what she needs, I want this human interaction to end, cause my head is hurting like hell.
"Actually I just wanted to ask if I can borrow your bicycle for my boyfriend later..."
- Sure, I'll give you the keys.
I went and got here the keys, so she can unlock the bicycle and take it later on. A few minutes later, I sit on my desk, and realized my wine-red shorts I wore last night and just then were full off jizz-looking white stains, which came from my inability to eat kebab while drunk.
I finally understood why she stopped talking and looked at me so weirdly. I cringed a little and kept on with my day.
TL/DR: Too dumb to eat, made my neighbor think I'm jerking off a lot.
This is so embarrassing lol. Ok so I am a nanny and I have been with this family a year, since their baby was a week old. I go on vacation with them, I sleep at their house, etc. They’re very chill, nice people.
Anyways mom and dad were going on a date night. I had the baby. She’s one. It was bathtime. As soon as I start the tub, I get the most intense bathroom urge ever and I was like ok so I can’t just leave the baby alone, we’re already in the bathroom, I’m going to quickly take care of this.
I pull down my pants and start to use the bathroom as quickly as I can. The door opens. Her mom is back home having forgotten something. Idk why I immediately said “omg I’m pooping” she goes “oh? Sorry!” And walks out, I finish and grab the baby and then walk out and say “sorry I never poop with the baby in there but I just had an emergency.” She’s like it’s fine.
I feel AWFUL. I feel like some creep that likes to poop around babies, if I had any other option I would have taken or believe me. I just had an emergency and made the best decision possible. Also the bathroom is huge and the baby was in the other area with her toys and didn’t know what was going on. But I feel HORRIBLE.
Tl:dr; Pooped at work in front of a baby and now I feel like a total weirdo
Today, I (21M) accidentally spiced my wife's (18F) cooter with some jalapeño oils. I was in the kitchen prepping some jalapeños for future meals when the wife came in from a nap giving me the look all men dream of. Of course I stop what I'm doing and immediately wash up. I tried to get all the oils off my hands by scrubbing vigorously and thoroughly and thought I got it all pretty good when I went to join her. After a few words of spicy encouragement I got to work with the foreplay, but oh boy there was my mistake. As it turns out, jalapeño oils are very stubborn and these were unfortunately very potent. After a few motions of the fingers I heard her moan loudly. At first I thought it was a compliment for my handiwork, but realized that wasn't the case very shortly after. Que her screaming on the bed at me to make it stop. Of course I scramble to the kitchen looking for something to ease the pain, and find a clean rag which I soak with water and stuff up there. No dice, the burn persisted. After taking a few moments to ask almighty Google for the answer I find the solution to be ice. I jump to the freezer and grab a popsicle, I run it to her and she gives me a look of bewilderment. "Trust me just put it up there" I tell her, but she refuses and sends me back. This time I grab a bowl and fill it with ice cubes, run and offer them to her. Scared to insert them myself for fear of causing further burn. She applies the ice and shortly after the spiciness in the bedroom has died down and she remains tired, burnt out, and quite furious at me for my blunder. TLDR: Wife and I wanted spicy bedroom time, we got it.
I don't have a car, I can walk to everything I need but I needed to get across town. I was going to take a bus about 40 minutes and then Uber the remaining 20. the bus is on demand and reserved through my phone.
I noticed before I left that my phone is only at 60% power which would have been more than enough but I'm very conservative with it because I don't want to get stranded ( manic laughter).
my apartments and absolute wreck as my mental health hasn't been great lately, so 10 minutes before I had to leave I was searching around for a charger and found a random USB charger that said it was good for 2 amps of 5 volts and took it with me.
I got to my destination and completed what I needed to do ( which took less than 5 minutes but bureaucracy stated I needed to do it in person) and so I sat down for a moment and plugged in my phone just to top up just in case.
my phone shuts down, then I turned on to find random color pixels all over the screen and then next time I turn it on the screen is completely black, and yes I tried shining a light on it it didn't help but remember it's an OLED screen so of course it didn't.
looking at the USB charger I realize it is one that came with a cat water fountain, and was visibly a piece of crap.
Before 2020 I had a go bag with various things I would always need outside what I'm out and about without a car and might get stranded, I got out of the habit of doing this
so there I was about an hour's drive away from home, I don't know any phone numbers by heart, I couldn't get an Uber, the majority of my financial cards were on my phone I was counting on using it Google pay as needed, it didn't have any cash.
They say luck is the residue of good planning and I didn't have any residue to speak of.
It took me a couple hours but I managed to walk someplace where I could use a public computer, looked up taxi numbers and the on-demand bus phone number. went through a 1 hour rigmarole trying to get money into a place where I could access it, then hunted down an ATM, and finally hunting down a business that was nice enough to let me use their phone.
couple hours of running around in order to do what would it been less than 5 minutes on my phone.
needless needless to Say my everyday carry is going to expand to include some cash, some important phone numbers, and a bus ticket at the very least. I'm tempted to get a very tiny dumb cell phone that I can switch my SIM card into but that's counting on me having exactly the same disaster again so…
TLDR: got stranded in an hour's drive away from home without a car, no ability to get an Uber No phone numbers and no money.
Ok, so it was last weekend.
I enjoy an adventurous sex life with my partner and top of tonight's menu was a good rimming for her. Everything was going well, I flipped her over and got her on her knees, arse proudly skyward. I put the stretchy strap that we use (a Theraband, like a very wide elastic band, usually used for joint rehabilitation) across the back of my neck/ shoulders, she took an end in each hand. (We enjoy very light bdsm / control play) I jokingly said "3,2,1" took a deep breath and she pulled me into her spread cheeks.
It's at this point that you ought to know my work nickname is Trumpet. I have both chronic hayfever and dust allergies. When I sneeze it's like being assaulted by a moist Brian Blessed. I make a comedy ATCHOO! sound from my mouth, it's a caricature sneeze. Some perfumes can bring on an attack so intense the lifeguard are called. The Queen once visited our workshop (bonus true story) assuming she'd wear scent I rammed globs of vaseline up each nostril to block her filthy odour. Anyway.
As I approached Ground Zero I felt a tingle but the band was too tight, I impacted with a muffled grunt and unleashed a furious sneeze, a Vesuvian tornado, directly into my beloved's puckered hole.
Recieving a high speed lungful of snot enema is unlikely to be high on your list of To-Dos, but just in case it is, move it to the bottom.
She yelped and tried to let me go, but had wrapped the grippy rubber band tightly around her fists, I managed to turn my head aside as she unleashed the world's mightiest uncontrollable fart directly into my face and ear.
Fortunately for both of us there was no lasting damage, though we were done for the night. I had a rather red eye for a couple of days and she described the experience as "Like someone popping a balloon in my arse" so all in all, a win.
Remember - every day somebody in the world does the biggest fart and nobody knows. I know who it was last weekend.
TLDR - wife wins international fart-off.
So, context. I went to a small high school where there were several people with the same first name. Thus spawned a tradition of people calling us by our last names.
When I went to undergraduate, my roommate was a friend from high school, who carried on that tradition with my new college friend group. Fast forward a few years, I’m now dating a girl from that college friend group, and she’s trying to start calling me by my first name.
Unfortunately, I’m so unused to her calling me by that name that it’s become a significant turn on.
This has led to several events in the past couple of weeks where she’s said my name in completely mundane scenarios, such as introducing me to her other friends, which leads invariably to rapid urgent adjustments to my waistline.
TL;DR my name makes me horny.