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So I made up a story about having three guns pulled on the the other night.

I never said I was cool.

By I never said I was cool.
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Mercer

Mercer

Posted
Posted
I fail? That back peddling picture has the peddles going forward! Ha, That's a pretty big fail right there.

 

 

If you've ever seen the seat on a unicycle you would be able to tell that one is backpedaling.

The front of the seat curves up like that while the back is flattened out and wide.

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I never said I was cool.

I never said I was cool.

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If you've ever seen the seat on a unicycle you would be able to tell that one is backpedaling.

The front of the seat curves up like that while the back is flattened out and wide.

 

So not only are you the president of the DAO fan club, but you're a unicycle enthusiast too?

 

That's like homo squared or something...

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Vulcan5

Vulcan5

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So not only are you the president of the DAO fan club, but you're a unicycle enthusiast too?

 

just stop please...

 

 

apparently you have no idea what the fuck goes on in this forum other than the DAO threads so apparently you're just looking for some worthless e-fame...

 

 

GTFO FAGGET

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Vulcan5

Vulcan5

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I started college really early: at 13, back in fall 1992. Needless to say, when the web came on the

 

scene I was all over it. Before that I was fapping to shit from Usenet and Gopher. I remember putting my

 

old 286 and its 2400 baud modem to work in the late eighties, but back then I wasn't that interested in

 

porn yet.

 

But and so once I got my BITNET account at Penn during a summer program in '91 it was game fucking on. I

 

am here to tell you 17 years later that the copypasta on /b/ pales in comparison to what was on

 

alt.sex.stories. And as a 12-year old I cannot think but that this had some effect on me. Let me explain.

 

I'd pretended to be a lesbian online back in the days of CompuServe as a preteen and I'd managed to find

 

some sick stories and even a few pics back before the early Mosaic days (back then it was mostly

 

alt.sex.binaries FTW). But any retard could see that more and better was yet to come. And Mosaic opened

 

up a whole new world.

 

Looking back, I remember the first time I saw scat. It was in the main computer center at around 10 pm

 

on a Friday night (I lived in the Quad on campus). I was there with another dude who would probably be a

 

/b/tard nowadays and we stared at the screen slackjawed. But and so it was a picture of a woman who

 

literally had a shit-eating grin. When I saw this I thought that was the worst thing on the Internet. I

 

was wrong.

 

Later on came the day when I saw a man fuck a chicken. During my math lab (I was taking a CCH calculus

 

class, not the classical kind). I couldn't quite look, but I couldn't stop looking either. Fuck doing my

 

MAPLE assignment, I was hooked. Yet I knew that this was still just the tip of the iceberg.

 

At this point it might help to mention that kids in college are granted a bit of leeway by their fellow

 

students. Generally an avuncular interest is taken in their emotional development. Liquor is generally

 

not offered, but parties are (or they were to me, anyway). You see certain things that you might see in

 

high school too, but they resonate a bit more when adults (to put it loosely) are participating.

 

Anyway, the end of my freshman year (I had gone part-time for a year) I had started taking grad classes.

 

The age gap between me and my fellow students had only grown wider. After they'd gotten to know me,

 

though, some of them took me under their collective wing. And one day early in my sophomore year a few

 

of the grad students apparently thought it would be funny to play a little joke on me.

 

One of them (I'll call him "Alpha" here because he was one of the few alpha male mathematicians I've

 

ever met - though he wasn't very good: I actually had to help him with a lot of problems about de Rham

 

cohomology that semester) was a real sick fuck, a man I looked up to then and still do today. Anyway, he

 

suggested that I walk up to some of the younger coeds (who, mind, would be some four or five years

 

older) and proposition them while he and his buddies looked on from afar. Lulz (he didn't use the term,

 

of course, since this was quite a few years ago) would ensue, I was assured. He promised they'd make it

 

worth my while, and I figured I'd go along with it.

 

Now, the day before I had experienced a rather epic wank session that culminated in viewing some fairly

 

outré material, even by my standards. I had actually printed up the pictures so I could fap to them on

 

campus in the bathroom between classes. I decided to work this stuff into my pitch to the chicks,

 

because they'd probably just think it was a joke. I figured the grad students would have my back if

 

anything went wrong, and if it went right then I might meet the girl of my dreams.

 

So right after I agree, I see an obvious freshman walking my way, about six inches shorter than me (I

 

was pretty tall, especially for my age), decent body, pretty but not in an obvious way. So I go up to

 

her and mumble "Wanna...uh...have sex?" in front of the grad students. They struggle not to lose it. She

 

does a double-take, then looks at me sideways. Asks me what I'm doing there. I tell her. She pauses,

 

then takes my hand firmly and starts leading me in the direction she'd been walking in before. A peal of

 

laughter rang out behind me.

 

It was warm and the girl was wearing denim shorts and a t-shirt. She had sun-bleached brown hair, green

 

eyes and a few small blemishes, not bad. She looked a little bit like a young Courtney Thorne-Smith. As

 

we walked I took this all in and didn't really think about what could go right. I thought for a moment

 

that she was going to tell my parents but then I realized that was retarded and that there was nobody to

 

tell. Then she asked me again if I was a student. I flashed my university ID. She seemed to make a

 

decision then.

 

I thought again of the stuff I'd seen on the web the night before. I thought real hard. I tried to

 

imagine her doing it. With me. I started to say something, but my voice cracked. She looked back at me:

 

we were in a parking lot by now. I faltered and she started leading me again. We got into her car. I

 

still remember it: a white '91 Corolla with Mardi Gras beads hanging from the rearview.

 

The sunlight refracted through the beads and they lit up, casting colored shadows across her face. (I

 

couldn't help but remind myself that the index of refraction for the beads was probably about the same

 

as for glass or water, which struck me as odd somehow right then.) She touched the steering wheel and

 

let out a little yelp: it was late spring and the inside of the car was hot. I looked away from her as I

 

put on my seat belt and tried again to work up my courage.

 

But I chumped out again. Even asking her if she wanted to have sex was something that had required a

 

tremendous amount of will on my part, and I was already emotionally exhausted. She turned to me again

 

and said "You sure you're 14?" and I just nodded weakly. She put the car in drive and we left the

 

campus. Without thinking, I started to mention that I had a class in an hour. She just giggled and put

 

in a Radiohead CD.

 

The drive took like 5 or 10 minutes. En route she asked me what my major was and I said math. She

 

laughed, saying "of course" and put her hand on my knee at the same time, then just concentrated on her

 

driving. She told me her name, said she hadn't decided on a major yet but that it sure wouldn't be math.

 

She asked if I could tutor her and laughed again, but gave me a winning smile at the same time. I slowly

 

began to realize that she was trying to put me at ease. It didn't matter that I had approached her. She

 

knew I was in over my head.

 

She lived in a small three-bedroom house just off campus, not far from Spruce. Her roommates were

 

supposedly away until that night. She opened the front door and I followed her in and put my backpack

 

down on a couch. There were beer and tequila bottles on the kitchen counter and pizza boxes on the

 

coffee table. She and her roommates had taken lots of Polaroids from their parties and put them up in a

 

hallway near the front. She told me she'd be in the shower, and to relax and make myself comfortable. I

 

didn't know what I had gotten myself into. My heart was racing. I was sweating.

 

At this point I was really thirsty and nervous. Clearly at least a beer was needed. I went to the fridge

 

and found some Jello shots and washed them down with some Pepsi. That did the trick. Then I started

 

thinking again about what I'd seen the night before.

 

I heard the shower turn off and then heard her asking if I was OK. I answered with a weak "yeah" and

 

moments later she came out in a Tweety Bird robe and told me to take a shower myself while she took care

 

of a few things. I left my backpack in the living room and went into the bathroom. Locked the door.

 

Looked at myself in the mirror. I couldn't believe what was happening. I told myself I had to follow

 

through, that I had to go for it.

 

Now I don't know if any of you are underage b& but I remember that I was pretty fast in those days. So I

 

figured I should churn one out beforehand to play it safe. And then I wished I had a rubber. But I

 

figured "fuck it" and as the shower started I thought about her and the pictures and fapped a fast one

 

and cleaned up.

 

When I turned the shower off, I heard her rummaging around through some drawers. I said "I'll be out in

 

a minute" and my voice cracked again. I could start to feel the Jello shots taking hold, and I started

 

to relax a little bit. Let me tell you it was good fucking timing because otherwise I'd never have had

 

the nerve to do what I did a little bit later.

 

So I grabbed a towel and left my clothes in there, figuring I'd just roll with it. I walked out into the

 

hallway with the Polaroids and stopped when I saw one of the grad students--that sick fuck Alpha--on the

 

couch, talking to the girl. She was standing with one leg bent, arms akimbo, a towel on her head. I

 

couldn't hear what they were whispering.

 

Anyway Alpha noticed me first. There was actually another grad student there with him that I hadn't seen

 

from the hallway. All three of them were looking at me now. I started to speak, but Alpha got up and

 

walked over to me. He put an arm around me and walked me over to the couch, saying, "This is for you,

 

big guy."

 

So Alpha starts talking to me about how he and his buddies had pooled their money and got me a call

 

girl. The catch was that they wanted to watch me fuck her. They seemed to have built this up as some

 

coming-of-age ritual in their minds when really they just wanted to watch me getting laid. I looked at

 

her and she just raised her eyebrows a bit and smirked knowingly.

 

Now at this point I got real nervous fast, and I guess it was obvious to all of them. I stopped thinking

 

about doing weird shit and started thinking about getting the fuck out of there. But the girl put her

 

hand on my shoulder and said it was OK, there was nothing to worry about. She said she was clean and

 

worked as a call girl to pay for tuition, she wasn't dirty and this wasn't dirty, and I should enjoy it.

 

She said she'd fucked in front of other people and it was hotter anyways. She said I'd like it.

 

By now I'd had a chance to collect my thoughts. I figured I knew these guys pretty well by now. And I

 

started thinking again I might as well go for it. I knew what I wanted and I knew it would probably blow

 

their minds--including the girl. It'd serve them right: after all, a call girl was pretty cool, but it

 

was also kind of condescending. And I hated that shit.

 

Now in those days I had to fap a lot, especially being around all those hot older college chicks.

 

Otherwise, I'd've been a walking hard-on. So I actually had the printouts in my backpack. I said "fuck,

 

let's do it" and clapped my hands. My backpack was right there. I unzipped it and pulled out the

 

pictures I'd printed up the night before and showed them to the girl. I didn't say anything, just

 

lowered my head a little while raising my eyebrows. Questioning her. Daring her.

 

Her eyes narrowed and she turned slowly from the pictures to look at me, a little incredulous. The grad

 

students couldn't see the pictures, which was how I wanted it. She seemed to have figured this out on

 

her own, and I could tell she was concentrating. After a couple of seconds she just whispered "yeah, we

 

can try that" and she walked over to a closet and started looking through it. She seemed a little dazed.

 

The grad students were clearly fascinated, but I wasn't going to spoil the surprise. I stuffed the

 

pictures in the backpack and put it on the couch again. By now she seemed to have found what she was

 

looking for in the closet. She said "come here" and when I approached (the grad students' feet seemed to

 

be glued to the floor, thankfully) she asked "will this work?" I looked in the closet and was pleasantly

 

surprised myself.

 

Then I looked at her and I realized that she must have known about this sort of thing already. (How? It

 

didn't seem like she'd done it before, and she was suddenly as nervous as I was.) And that on the most

 

fundamental level she understood me. At that instant we shared something beautiful and terrifying. Time

 

slowed somehow. I took her hand. The other grad student asked from the living room "what the hell are

 

you guys doing? Are you going to show us or what?" She smiled at me. We put it in a Gap bag from the

 

closet and I said "Come and see" as she led me to the bedroom.

 

Her bedroom was small, but it was surprisingly classy. Like an oasis in the house. No posters, just a

 

few decent watercolors of plants that she'd probably done herself. A decent matching bedroom set, modern

 

cherry. A few bottles of perfume and some cosmetics, one of those old Bose Wave CD players and a few

 

CDs, mostly jazz. A few plants. It was the sort of bedroom a yuppie might have, not a college freshman.

 

By now she had put her bag on the bed, and it had tipped over and revealed its contents. The grad

 

students were just outside coming in. Alpha said "All ri-" and stopped cold when he glanced at what was

 

on the bed. It was just a videotape, but it was the packaging that had grabbed his attention. The other

 

grad student looked at it and said "That isn't real..." He kept looking, faltered, then raised his

 

widening eyes to me: "Are you fucking kidding me?"

 

At that point she told both of them to please leave. The other grad student said "what the fuck? We paid

 

fo-" but Alpha silenced him with a flicker of his eyes. She turned around, opened her nightstand drawer,

 

and counted out a few twenties, it seemed like $200 or so. She handed the money to the other grad

 

student and stared at him wordlessly. Both of the grad students looked at me. Alpha just said "fair

 

enough", looked me in the eyes calmly, and gave my shoulder a little punch as he walked out. The other

 

one followed him out, disgusted twice over. I heard them leave through the front door. She smiled at me

 

and took my hand.

 

I will return to this moment, but the narrative will be more coherent if I skip ahead with a few jumps

 

first. So bear with me.

 

I didn't see any of the grad students the next day: our classes only met three times a week, and I was

 

recovering that day anyway. So by the time I went into a class two days afterward, word had gotten

 

around. I had been apprehensive about seeing them again, but she'd told me not to worry. Even if they

 

talked about it, nobody would take the tape seriously, she'd said. And she was right. When I walked in

 

the classroom and waved goodbye to her (she'd come along with me since she had a class nearby, but she

 

ducked out and walked away quickly before anyone could stop her) the guys just about jumped out of their

 

chairs and started high-fiving me. A moment later the professor walked in and just winked at me, then

 

started drawing a commutative diagram. The events of two days before faded into legend.

 

Alpha and I became genuinely close friends after that. I eventually found out that he came from money

 

and he said he was going to quit after he got his MS and start learning the family business (they had a

 

big sea freight company based in Long Beach). We talked about a lot of things, but never about what had

 

happened that day, or about the tape.

 

The rest of that year, I basically spent about three days a week in the dorm, and the rest with her.

 

This pattern continued for a while: I couldn't exactly move in with her without letting my parents know

 

what was going on (she told her friends that I was 17, and that seemed to mollify them--I was pretty

 

tall and obviously wasn't going to high school--though they still cracked jokes about her robbing the

 

cradle). We swore to keep our history a secret. I graduated two years before her, and we used my NSF

 

fellowship (I was staying for grad school) to rent a small place while she finished (she hadn't had any

 

clients since we'd met).

 

Alpha was best man at our wedding, which we held right after I defended my dissertation on algebraic

 

K-theory. The bachelor party was actually very subdued: I still couldn't drink legally, and by then all

 

my friends had come to know better than to do wild stuff with me around. We postponed our honeymoon

 

until that summer, when she'd finished her master's thesis in political science and we had a little time

 

before my postdoc at UCLA and her classes started at RAND. Our life together was wonderful.

 

One day, though, about a week after we'd returned from our honeymoon, I found a package on our front

 

door. There was no return address. I opened it and looked inside. Inside there was a videotape. I had

 

seen the same videotape, six years ago, on my wife's bed that fateful day. I actually passed out at this

 

point. When I came to, she was crying. I looked down and saw that I was in a hospital bed. She said

 

"thank God you're okay" and stammered something about how scared she'd been. Apparently it was a day

 

later: I'd fallen onto our coffee table and lost a lot of blood before she'd come home. She'd called the

 

paramedics and seen the tape afterwords, then passed out herself.

 

I asked her then who else could have seen the tape. She said that a cop had knocked down the door for

 

the paramedics but this had woken her up, and she'd managed to close the package and shove it next to

 

some boxes we were packing for our move before they got to us. She'd told them that she'd had a panic

 

attack after calling 911 and they seemed to have been satisfied by that. Nobody else had seen anything.

 

But that left the nagging question of who could have sent it in the first place. When I was released the

 

next day, we took a look at the package. The handwriting looked familiar, but I couldn't place it. Then

 

I noticed the postmark. It was the same as the letter awarding me my postdoc: it was sent from the UCLA

 

post office. I looked at my wife and told her not to worry, but I was plenty worried myself. She just

 

nodded weakly.

 

I was supposed to move the next week, a week ahead of her, and we didn't talk about the tape until after

 

the cab came to pick me up. I just told her "I'll take care of it". She sent me on my way with a kiss

 

and slipped my ticket into my sportcoat with a wan smile. I couldn't sleep on the plane, even though I

 

had gotten an upgrade to first class. I took a cab to our new apartment and slept fitfully on the floor

 

that night.

 

Early the next morning I checked my mail at the Mathematical Sciences building. There was a note in the

 

same handwriting as the package (which I'd brought to my apartment in my checked bag). It just said "Go

 

past Kauffman Hall to Sunset and turn right. [XXX] Udine. I'll be here." My heart was pounding in my

 

chest. I called my wife and said "It'll all be over soon", then hung up before she could say anything. I

 

went back to my apartment and picked up the package, then set off past the student center and Kauffman,

 

then along Sunset. Udine Way was about a mile from the math building, and the walk gave me a chance to

 

think and collect myself. I started to formulate a theory.

 

The address on Udine was a house. A really nice house. I was a little surprised, but not much. It was

 

still early when I got there, around over 9,000 or 8. I knocked on the door. A maid answered: I was

 

expected, and would I please have a seat in the drawing room? She led me there, across marble tiles and

 

into a room decorated in a Baroque motif accented with a few subtle touches of modernity.

 

A couple of minutes later I heard footsteps approaching. Alpha came in and smiled. I laughed and we

 

shook hands, and he asked me to follow him to his study. Baroque again, but the touches of modernity

 

were more obvious here: a G3 desktop and a Dell stood out. He told me to have a seat and gestured at a

 

Louis XIV chair. I was finally there. I handed him the package. He smiled and took out the videotape.

 

I heard the muffled, panicked grunts and scuffles; the throttled howls of agony and pain, and I did not

 

need to open my eyes to know what was transpiring on the screen. Alpha called for the maid and the sound

 

from the tape stopped. I opened my eyes just as the maid appeared. Alpha nodded at her and she turned

 

around briskly and left. I heard her walking away. The tape had been paused. I tried to think about

 

something else besides what was on that tape to keep from getting any more aroused. Soon after some

 

footsteps drew nearer. My wife walked in, with moist eyes and a pleading smile. I looked away from her. I couldn't stand up.

 

She spoke in a gentle voice that made me think of waves over smooth stones. "We have to stop. It's not

 

right. Those are actual people. We're responsible." I looked back at her, too baffled by her presence to

 

process her words. "Alpha knew about both of us from the beginning. That's why he brought us together."

 

I couldn't believe I'd laughed when I'd seen him. I felt nauseous and tried to remind myself that he was

 

my best friend, and that that was real.

 

"How?"

 

She started to speak, but Alpha raised a hand. "I'd gone to use a computer in Rittenhouse: there was one

 

with Netscape open. I just wanted to do something quick, so I figured I'd just use it instead of logging

 

in at another box. It was open to the Los Alamos preprint server, and I knew you went there a lot: you

 

were always talking about physics being geometry and this cool site where you could look at all the

 

latest stuff. I figured it was probably your session. I remember looking around to see if you were

 

nearby and opening your bookmarks. I was interested in you! You were just a kid, and everyone was

 

fascinated by you. So I looked. That's when I found out. I already knew about her."

 

"How?"

 

They looked at each other, wondering who would answer. I knew enough. Knew he'd slept with her first. I

 

imagined him finding her videotape and watching it. I wondered how she'd explained it to him. Wondered

 

what he'd thought. I didn't want to know about it, and they clearly didn't want to tell me. All that

 

mattered was that however imperfectly, we three understood each other, and always had. The fear I'd felt

 

was replaced with a dawning sense of dread, though.

 

"Why?"

 

"Because I knew both of you were really good, decent people. I thought each of you deserved a chance at

 

happiness and I knew how hard it would be for you to find it with anyone else. I paid close attention to

 

you"--he looked at me--"and told her about you. If you hadn't shown her the printouts, she'd've taken

 

the tape out anyway. I didn't think about the long-term consequences then. But now the two of you have

 

to make a choice. Together."

 

I looked down, ashamed. I couldn't bear to face either of them. "We're not hurting anyone."

 

She came over to me, knelt in front of me, and looked up. "That's not true. Those people are

 

suffering - some of those people are dying! - and we're part of it. We have to do what's right. It's the

 

only way we can really be free." I buried my face in my hands. She was right and I knew it. She put her

 

hand on my knee and kissed me on the cheek as she stood up.

 

"Why now? Why not then?"

 

Alpha shrugged, faltered, then took a deep breath. "Honestly, I'd considered telling someone instead of

 

doing what I did. But that would have ruined your life. You had so much potential. I couldn't do it. I

 

made a choice of my own: to give you a chance at happiness and at having a good life, even if it meant

 

that you might actually follow through on" - he gestured at the TV - "that. And I think it was the right

 

choice now. You've done well, and your life is still in front of you. But now you're old enough to truly

 

understand moral sacrifice. I can't let you keep doing this. I need your word: that'll be good enough

 

for me."

 

"What if I say no?"

 

"Then I'll stop this myself. I'll call the Feds. I know you. If you can stop, you will. And if you

 

can't, then you might start actually doing this stuff yourself instead of just watching it and acting it

 

out. I can't live with that."

 

"How do you know I'll keep my word?"

 

"I don't, really. But I'm your friend. I know you're a good person. I believe you can stop this. But I

 

can tell when you're lying. You're a miserable liar." This was only too true. "I'll be keeping in touch

 

with you. And if you break your word, I'll know. And I'll call the Feds."

 

"What other choice do I have?" Alpha just shrugged again. I looked at the TV, then at my wife. She was

 

transfixed by the paused image. I thought again of our first time together. How we'd come at the same

 

time watching that tape, then collapsed into each other, terrified of the future and of each other.

 

Seeking a kind of solace in each other. Seeking ourselves in each other.

 

I managed to get her to look away from the TV and at me. "What about you?"

 

"I've made my choice. Alpha's right: we have to stop."

 

The three of us were silent for about half a minute. I knew because I looked at my watch the entire

 

time. It seemed like hours.

 

"Can we have this one last time?" I was asking both of them. Alpha sighed and started to leave without

 

looking at either of us. He said "I'll give you an hour" in a dead voice as he left the room. But it

 

wasn't like the first time. She looked away from me and crossed her arms. I got up and moved to touch

 

her. She flinched, then melted into me. We both cried.

 

"God help us." I don't know which one of us said it, but neither one of us believed in God. I kissed

 

her, gently, then passionately. She sniffled and started the tape again.

 

Now, this is a story all about how My life got knifed; turned inside out And I'd like to take a minute: just sit right there I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Air

 

In West Philadelphia as a kid I was hazed 'Cuz I was takin' grad classes at Penn in those days Chillin' out fappin' relaxin' all cool And checkin' out pics of chicks eating their stool When I saw a website that was up to no good And found out that snuff films would give me wood I fapped to one little murder and my friend got scared And set me up with a chick whose sick fetish I shared

 

I nervously propositioned her one fine summer day But she took me to her car and we were on our way She gave me a few minutes and a quick fap was the ticket I did some Jello shots and said I might as well kick it

 

The whole thing had been planned way back in the day Turned out she was a hooker but I wouldn't have to pay She took me to her bedroom with porn that was illicit And once my buddies left I knew just where to stick it

 

I stayed for a PhD and when graduation came near I got a postdoc at UCLA and I married my dear If anything I could say that this time was rare But things got intense when I got some mail from Bel Air

 

First class, yo this is bad I was sleepless on the flight and pondered what would pass If this what the people of Bel Air livin' like The future don't look so bright!

 

I walked up to a house about seven or eight After I got a note sayin' yo homes, come by later My old buddy owned the place and I was finally there But I still wasn't quite the Prince of Bel Air

 

Because guess who walked in on that fateful day? My wife showed up and she had some things to say She told me that we'd gone too far, past the limit I tried to deny it and I started to fidget

 

But even though I couldn't watch snuff after that day I figured it was still early and I wanted to play And even though it was bad to get off to maggots I listened to my dick and heard DO IT FAGGOT

 

I fuck her from behind and at the TV I stare There's an infected leg and a knife makes a tear If anything I could say that this porn was rare But I thought "naw, forget it" and blew my load in Bel Air

 

I reckoned I could still see guro with my mate But I knew I'd never watch any snuff again later I staggered; fell back into a Louis XIV chair And relaxed on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air

 

Dad and hot daughter's boyfriend

I feel like my daughter is becoming too slutty, she's only 15 and she's very pretty, but it's being marred by the ridiculous clothes she wears out, all the make up she wears, and how all she ever talks about is boys and the way she looks. I may sound very protective but she's my only child and I really love her.

 

The other day my little girl brought this guy over, and I was really worried because he seemed a lot older (he is 2 grades higher than her at school) and he was rude and seemed to not really care about her that much. It really made my blood boil and got me really angry, when he left the next day I was sitting on the couch watching a bowie concert DVD, and made the decision to not say goodbye or look at him once, but this was really weird, he came over to me, and sat next to me. Now my daughter was still upstairs (he said she was on the computer or something) and my wife was shopping.

 

He seemed totally different from the previous day, and was really friendly, of course I was suspicious and started talking about what a nice person my daughter is (which is 100% true I must say). He moved closer to me on the couch and patted me on the thigh like a football player or something, but then slowly moved his hand further up my leg. He smelt like butterscotch and I'd just noticed how attractive he was (I think how critical I was of him stopped me from picking this up). Now I don't see myself as gay at all, I mean growing up and at uni I was one of those liberal guys, experimented with drugs and both sexes but that had since faded. However this was different.

 

I was really attracted to him, and he was so forward, I pulled him in and kissed his neck then I heard this knock on the window and pulled away straight away. It was my wife she'd forgot the house key, and was knocking on the window to get someone to open the door to let her in...she spotted us as I pulled away and ran to the door, opened it but really I had no chance at explaining, my wife kicked us both out in one of those crushing scenes, what was I to do, where was I to go, I was out on my fanny.

 

So over the bridge from Flushing to the Sheffield's door, he was there to sell make up but the father saw more I had style, I had flair, I was there, that's I she became the Nanny.

 

Who would have guessed that the guy we described was just exactly what the doctor prescribed?

 

Now, the father finds her beguiling, watch out C.C., The kids are actually smiling, such joie de vivre, I'm the ladyboy in red when everybody else is wearing tan. The flashy guy from Flushing, the Nanny named Fran.

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