05-08-2002, 07:34 PM
The release of the build up of gas is somewhere up there with sneezing for us creative types.
I find that after a good feast on pickled eggs and
pickled onions I can delight my young children by releasing the build up of wind through a slightly opened but still tight anal sphincter and watching
the appreciative look on their faces as I make the long low but strangely squeaky trumpeting last for a good minute or so.
Or I might choose to amuse them and their mother by suddenly jumping up and yelling "Oh my god!!! What is that noise???" and then letting it all out in one tremendous buttock-reverberating blast. Great fun is had by all.
So, last evening when I found myself at the green baize playing a few hands who should come to the table to play next to me but this simply gorgeous apparition of a blonde goddess. She was dressed in that fashion which encourages men around the table to start thinking of (in my case) Mrs Golightly who lives a few doors down from us and who has a moustache and body odour. I dont turn my mind to Mrs Golightly out of pleasure but because when this gorgeous young thing sat beside me I needed something to prevent my old boy from nudging my side of the table six inches off the ground. Suffice it to say though that me and Arrancha (for that is her name) soon got on splendidly and seemed to bring each other luck...or so I thought.
We were laughing and joking and since I had had a good cold ham dinner with pickled eggs and pickled onions just a couple of hours earlier I
thought I would amuse her by doing that latter party piece...i.e jumping up and shouting "Oh my God!!! Was that a bomb??" and then
letting out one of my best ever trouser trumpets.
Of course the more experienced among you have already guessed the denouement...the horrible
denouement...and incidentally the end of any chance I ever had of handling Arrancha's breasts.......yes...... I am afraid I followed through.
It was awful. I sensed immediately from the stench and the stunned silence that my
amusing diversion had gone badly awry. In short, dear friends, I had done a dirty sausage in my new Farrah coal-gray slacks.
So there is a cautionary tale for all of you. If you wish to impress a beautiful lady with an amusement involving the release of a build up of gas keep a tight sphincter and go for the long drawn out whistling sort of flatulent sound. It is easily controlled and you can increase the amusement by stopping and starting it in a rhythmic fashion, perhaps like that wonderful old football chant.."da-da-dada-da dadadada-England!"
I find that after a good feast on pickled eggs and
pickled onions I can delight my young children by releasing the build up of wind through a slightly opened but still tight anal sphincter and watching
the appreciative look on their faces as I make the long low but strangely squeaky trumpeting last for a good minute or so.
Or I might choose to amuse them and their mother by suddenly jumping up and yelling "Oh my god!!! What is that noise???" and then letting it all out in one tremendous buttock-reverberating blast. Great fun is had by all.
So, last evening when I found myself at the green baize playing a few hands who should come to the table to play next to me but this simply gorgeous apparition of a blonde goddess. She was dressed in that fashion which encourages men around the table to start thinking of (in my case) Mrs Golightly who lives a few doors down from us and who has a moustache and body odour. I dont turn my mind to Mrs Golightly out of pleasure but because when this gorgeous young thing sat beside me I needed something to prevent my old boy from nudging my side of the table six inches off the ground. Suffice it to say though that me and Arrancha (for that is her name) soon got on splendidly and seemed to bring each other luck...or so I thought.
We were laughing and joking and since I had had a good cold ham dinner with pickled eggs and pickled onions just a couple of hours earlier I
thought I would amuse her by doing that latter party piece...i.e jumping up and shouting "Oh my God!!! Was that a bomb??" and then
letting out one of my best ever trouser trumpets.
Of course the more experienced among you have already guessed the denouement...the horrible
denouement...and incidentally the end of any chance I ever had of handling Arrancha's breasts.......yes...... I am afraid I followed through.
It was awful. I sensed immediately from the stench and the stunned silence that my
amusing diversion had gone badly awry. In short, dear friends, I had done a dirty sausage in my new Farrah coal-gray slacks.
So there is a cautionary tale for all of you. If you wish to impress a beautiful lady with an amusement involving the release of a build up of gas keep a tight sphincter and go for the long drawn out whistling sort of flatulent sound. It is easily controlled and you can increase the amusement by stopping and starting it in a rhythmic fashion, perhaps like that wonderful old football chant.."da-da-dada-da dadadada-England!"