My (now) ex girlfriend cheated on me 4 times in our long distance relationship. She confessed this in a silly letter:
Dear Robert, I have to break up with you. The distance between us is too far. I also have to confess I cheated on you 4 times since you have left and that isn't right for either of is. Sorry. Please return my picture to me? Thanks, Nadja.
Admitted, I felt like shit for a while, but I really wanted to come out on top in this issue, so I went to all my mates & friends and collected all pictures I could get; sisters, girlfriends, aunts, cousins. I stuck the ones of the pretty ladies, together with hers, in an envelop. 57 pictures. I sent a note with it:
I am sorry, but I can't remember who you are. Please take the right picture out and send the rest back. Ciao. Robert.
I (w/27) must confess that I have a small supporting role in a German television series. Now and then it happens that somebody recognizes me on the street, never mind that my part is so small that they don't know my name or can't quite remember the series. Then, mostly they say something like "I know you from somewhere," or "aren't you on TV?" When it's a male accompanied by girlfriend or wife I respond without fail "sorry, I only do porn movies."
When my wife and myself went to bed last week we started to touch each other under the blankets, kissing and hugging. I was getting really horny and thought she was feeling the same as this was clearly sexually tinted. In that same moment she says to me: I'm not interested in making love, all I want is for you to hold me. "What?" was my immediate response.
Of course she had to sue the magic words: "You just don't understand the emotional needs of a woman." I gave in and no sex was to be had that night. The next day, my wife and I went window-shopping in the city center. She tried 3 very pretty and very expensive dresses in one of the local shops. When she couldn't decide, I told her to take all 3. She looked at me like she was seeing cows fly, but, motivated by my understanding words she stated she would than also need a pair of new shoes, which unfortunately would cost around 200 Euro. "No problem, of course" was my response.
When we passed by the jewelers department she went in and came back with a gold and diamond bracelet. You guys should have seen her. She was deliriously happy. She probably thought I was off my chuck, but she didn't care. I must have ruined her whole psychological understanding of the male when I said yes again. She was almost sexually aroused at this stage. With her prettiest smile she said: "Let's go to the check out." I had real trouble not to laugh when I said to her: "Sorry Honey, but I think I have changed my mind, I don't want to buy all this stuff after all. She turned pale at this, and even another shade paler when I added: "All I want right now is being hugged." When she was almost exploding with rage and hatred I added, as the final strike: "You really don't understand the financial needs of a man, don't you?"
When I was six, my father died of cancer and we, my mother, my two sisters and I, had to make it on our own. It wasn't easy to start with, but life went on and it was good. That is, until my mother met another man; I had just turned eight. He was a carpenter and, as often happened in his line of work, had two fingers missing on each hand. That did not make a trust-inspiring impression on a kid at the first meeting. I was afraid of him and very standoffish. It may seem like it's childishly naïve or mean to let oneself by upset by such things, but fairly soon it turned out that the first impression hadn't been wrong. His external appearance wasn't nearly as hateful as his interior. He was married, and, because his wife had money, he didn't want a divorce (thank God). But he wanted my mother anyway, and so she gave in to a three-way. To top it all, he was a terrible despot, saw himself as the head of the family and always took the seat at the head of the table as if rightfully his. That this presumption could hurt him sometime apparently never dawned on him.
There were a lot of arguments with my older sisters, with a lot of shouting and even some physical stuff. I never said anything about it. I was a quiet child who had not emerged from himself yet, in part to avoid stress, of course. Because of the way I acted, I was "good child" as far as he was concerned; one evening he opined that I should call finally call him "Pop". But I refused, and told him, in these exact words: "You can kiss my ass." An expression that I never used, but felt it was justified under the circumstances. He started yelling instantly and my mother actually took his side, so I had to go to my room.
That's when the hate started. I was only eight years old but felt pure hatred in my heart. So I decided he would be punished. Really punished. In our kitchen we had as seating a padded corner bench; there was always a small box stuffed with toothpicks on the table. Revenge would be easy, since I knew that the fat carpenter, without looking, would let himself fall onto the seat. My mother was fixing supper; I pretended to play with the toothpicks, but took one and stuck in the middle of the corner seat's padding, exactly on the hated guy's spot. I put the other toothpicks back in the box, went to my room and waited. My mother called us to the evening meal; I stayed in my room, listening. There was a fairly loud crack, followed instantly by a roaring yell. As you might expect from a kid, I had wanted the toothpick to stab him right in his butthole. But it missed. He had drilled a hole into his right testicle instead. He bled a lot, and my mother called the emergency medic.
He swore a blue streak and immediately accused me, but he couldn't do anything because of the pain. My two sisters couldn't wipe the grins off their faces anymore, and from that day on I was their hero. The right testicle was removed in the hospital.
I never saw this man again. I know it wasn't the right thing to do but, to this day, I'm not sorry about it. He deserved it. I never again in my life was violent or caused any other human being harm; but I'm convinced to this day that he was a bad person, and I'm glad that as s child of eight I found a way to let him know what I thought of him.
Okay, so I cut myself a lot and I actually find some pleasure in it. I've been single for like forever, so I started to experiment. One day when I cut, I felt so fucking turned on. I'm starting to think that what I am doing is sick, but I'm not sure. I'm cutting almost every day and I'm smiling about it. A year ago when I was about to go down on my girlfriend, I dug my nails into her skin so deep it bled. I licked up the blood and she looked at me like I was crazy. She left that night and never talked to me again. I feel so fucking trapped.
I work as a janitor in a 5 star hotel. An Arab sheik with his delegation (about 30 people) announced his stay last year, so the whole hotel was decorated and changed around to make sure he would feel at home.
They even brought in a guy with a compass to figure out the direction of Mecca to mark it with an arrow in every room because Arabs pray only towards Mecca.
When they arrived, they had a busload full of luggage, so I was asked to help out to transport it inside. I didn't mind, I was hoping to get a good tip. Tough luck.
The old guy gave me nothing! Of course, I couldn't let that go after having to haul his entire luggage for an hour. Owing the master key, I waited until the sheik had left the house and than went to his apartment and turned around his Mecca arrow. I have the funny idea he would have my head if he would figure out he prayed with his ass to Mecca.
A few years ago, I was on an airplane. I decided that it was in my best interest to jerk off in the bathroom. This was before The Hangover, so I felt very accomplished for an original idea. I wasn't caught, and there was something awesome about being surrounded by so many people who had no idea what I was doing. I don't regret it one bit. I guess I'm almost part of the mile high club.
Yesterday I found a wallet. Naturally, I tried to contact its owner, it wasn't about stealing it or anything like that. The address was there but because it was out of the way, I called the owner's bank and asked them to give the guy my number. Until noon today, the thought kept nagging at me if I shouldn't just take the cash out. It was only 45 Euros, it's not a fortune, but who couldn't make good use of it? But from the wallet I knew the owner had children and that he wasn't well-off, so I didn't do it. The phone rang today and the young man promised to come by soon. I considered once more: someone might have extracted the cash before I found the wallet. But, no, that would be a pretty shitty thing for me to do. When he came to get his wallet then, he was really unfriendly. He didn't even properly thank me. Just shook my hand and rushed off. And he didn't even look into the wallet. Fuck, I should have taken the money! Moral of the story: if someone gives you back your wallet whole, at least say thank you! Asshole!
I work as a waiter in a restaurant and in order to keep track of who ordered what and has to pay at large tables (8 to 20 people), I write everything on a separate piece of paper for each guest. And since I don’t know their names, I always come up with names like blockhead, horse face, Gucci slut, bar slut, and more.
This summer, I (m) wanted to fly off to vacation with a couple of former school buddies. I kept asking and asking when we would all drive to the travel agent together to book it. They kept giving me vague answers, that sometime, soon, we would. When I then asked them about it again at one point, they told me that they'd already booked 2 weeks before – just for the two of them. They "supposedly" had forgotten to tell me. Fine. Right away the next day I drove alone to the travel agent and was still able to book something for myself. Booking a single cost about 300-400 Euros more. Same flight there, but a different hotel and return flight than those two fools.
Now they have the nerve to ask if I can give them a ride to the airport on the day of departure. The plane will be taking off shortly before 5 a.m, which means that there will be no trains running. It's about a two hour drive to the airport, and the pair lives 25 km in the opposite direction. When I raised the subject of gas money, all I heard from their side was, "Can't you make an exception? We're really short of cash. Please, we don't have any other way to get to the airport." I was already boiling inside, but I answered: "Well, all right, I won't be a hard ass about it." I hope they don't find their own transportation – I've had enough of their shenanigans, and I'm not going to play the fool any longer. That's why I'm not going to pick them up, but let them stand around at home while I drive to the airport alone. I'm hoping they miss the flight. If they ask why, I'll simply say "I forgot."
I was preparing lunch when I (w/27) got extremely horny. Since neither my partner nor anything else suitable was readily available, I used the cucumber. I was planning to dispose of it immediately when my partner called that he was bringing his mum (a real dragon of a mother in law) for lunch. Side dish was cucumber salad. Correct. With THAT cucumber. My self-control was extremely challenged trying not to laugh during lunch. I couldn't hide it completely, so my partner asked me later what was going on. I told him the whole story while suffering from a conniption that brought tears to my eyes. Thankfully he took it humorously. I'd love to tell the whole world.
My wife and I had a little mishap a while ago, which must be confessed. When we brought our 8 year old daughter to school the other day, and we said goodbye to her in front of the school, amidst many other parents who were making sure their kids were safely dropped. My wife asked our daughter, who was about to leave without saying anything, why she did not get a good bye kiss. My daughter answered, in front of all the parents: "I am not going to kiss you, Dad's sausage was in your mouth last night."
Man, our neighbors two houses down are getting on my nerves in a major way! It has just barely gotten warm again, and they're already putting on garden parties that last into the night. There's no getting any sleep; with the wind just right, the smoke from their burnt sausages on the grill wafts into the bedroom and hangs there all night long. But the worst is, they are such loud a-holes. Neighbors complained, but that only helped temporarily. I have now acquired a strong water pump and downloaded rolling thunder noises from the internet. You know what happened next: last Friday, I turned on the pump, positioned the hose and turned on the thunder with my big loudspeaker. The drunk broads started to scream and everybody ran inside. You could still hear them, but it was muffled. A couple of days later, I met the neighbor in front of the house and he said, thank goodness it rained, we needed it, the ground was fart-dry. I'll let a little time go by, and, if they get loud again, I'm going to play weather god. I beg forgiveness and indulgence.
My girlfriend was on a ski vacation. Back from it, I soon found out, that gotten it on with a guy. Thanks to Facebook, I had the guy's name relatively quickly. Confronted with it, everything was confessed, also that the rat was married. My confession: I send him a bouquet of flowers at home through Fleurop, hoping that his wife would get it. On the card was everything that the swine had been up to. Oh, yes, she did actually receive the bouquet!
After getting bilked on the bill for several computer repairs I did for private customers, I started making a DVD backup up each computer's internet browser cache files and cookies. When a customer failed to pay me on time, a simple phone call to the customer saying that I had their internet history on a disk and would be happy to share it with their spouse got me my money within a day nine out of ten times.
When the missing man, thinking he had balls of brass, cursed at me and said that he didn't care, his wife knew all about his sexual habits. This was true: his videos of himself in women's lingerie included his wife as well. So I e-mailed him a copy of his entire e-mail contact list, asking, "Do all your friends and family know as well?" He promptly paid up as well.
Quite some time ago , I was in a real rush, but had to go to the tanning shop. In some of the shops the tanning bed is standing in the window display and you have to close a curtain before using it. I stripped and lay down. After a few minutes I started jerking off. Relaxed and came. Pretty much simultaneously my tanning time was over and I opened the cover. I only noticed than what had happened. A gang of thugs was gathered in front of the window and whistled, laughed and screamed. I have never in my life felt so embarrassed. I got dressed quickly and left in a rush. The men screamed, shouted and took picture of me leaving.
My boss, vehemently and in no uncertain terms, is forcing me to make a confession, because he has caught me several times reading confessions here. Right, so I now confess: I'm fascinated by what bad or abnormal things other people do. In the future, however, I will cease visiting here during working hours and see to it that I get internet access at home.