Stories

The story of Bigby - a man of passion and excess.

I once had a notorious friend, Bigby, who was ceaseless in his debauches and each debauch was relentless in its vigour.  There was not one weekend where Bigby was not covered in his own vomit – or the vomit of a whore or two – from excessive boozing and eating.  The man could eat a horse and gave not two fucks when he spewed the whole lot back up all over himself, or all over one or more unsuspecting victims – usually his friends, or a whore or two or more, if not helpless strangers.

These excesses were not contained solely to the weekend – his drinking, whoring and fighting often spilled across the entire week, such that there was no difference between Monday and Friday in his personal world.  We cannot omit his capacity to enter a bar, befriend several people, and within the hour have had a full blown argument and fistfight with the lot of them.  If it were not this – he would hold a contest, to prove his superiority in some odd domain of debauch.  He would contest that he could piss the farthest, or shoot his fuck further than any other man in a public wank contest, or spew a gush of vomit bigger, better, stronger and further than anyone else, or even launch the biggest turd.  He was usually right about his superiority in all these domains.  His attributes, by some odd quirk of nature, all lay in the realm of filth and debauchery.

Bigby was a complete and utter pervert.  He indulged in every sexual deviancy and was a proud registered sex offender – he loudly boasted about this fact as if it were a badge of honour.  He chased after old women as he did little girls (and boys), indecently exposed himself to all and sundry, bid strangers to indulge in mutual masturbation with him (and sometimes they did – his argument was it pays to ask!).  He would steal underwear of clothing lines, engage in voyeurism as quickly as exhibitionism, he would prostitute his body to fat old men, and lusted upon every kind of whoredom and pornography.  He was glad to receive a turd in his mouth as he was keen to deposit one in the mouth of any willing participant (sometimes he’d simply launch a turd on the face or into the mouth of one of his friends who had passed out in a drunken stupor).  His deviancy combined with his passion for violence, fighting, vandalism, public disorder and indecency made him a rather incendiary and ‘interesting’ character to be around.  And it was for this reason everyone endured him – they simply couldn’t resist the cabal and mayhem he caused, contemplated, extolled and encouraged – and certainly many an orgy or gang fight or some odd session of debauchery combined with wreckery were due to his cajoling as he fuelled his friends with drink and sexual lust.  Sometimes he’d add Speed and Ecstasy, if not a little cocaine, to his debauches, to aid everyone and give them courage for the next act in the play.

How could you not wish to spend some time with this man at least one evening per week?  If not the entire weekend or the whole week itself?  You were guaranteed to live a more invigorating, well rounded and fulfilling lifestyle.  A lifestyle that most certainly deviates from the norm expected of us – a clean criminal record, a tight 9-5 work schedule, never late, always on time and always keen and smiling – happier than a Soviet Slave and as organised as a Chinese or Japanese salary slave (to state or corporation – both are feasible in the democratic West).  I learned much from Bigby, and developed further – by standing on the shoulders of giants so to speak.  And this is what Bigby wanted – his friends to debauch further and to greater extremes than he, to reach new heights – for he knew his time would come to pass, thanks either to the prison system of the Police State we all so gullibly ‘voted’ for or perhaps, his own natural death – live fast die fast, but with intensity.

This philosophy and worldview, his wishes that I have just unveiled, he confessed and confided to me on a long weekend of debauchery deep in the Scottish mountains.  Far in the highlands, where little single lane roads deteriorate into dirt tracks that weave into the pine forests, we debauched in a small caravan he had as a retreat from the sterile and ‘moral world’ he so hated.  There we were, several of us – on the binge once again.  Sadly the weather was bitterly cold, the mercury down to -10 Celsius, and the air out side still and frozen and the ground white with frost and hard snow.  We decided to retreat to a village hotel for warmth, succour, and more booze – which all ran out or froze solid in the caravan, due to the stove dying (which also meant no high saturated fat fried breakfasts we so dearly loved).  Furthermore, there were no whores deep in the forest – and we all tired of our gay sex frenzies, which withered with our erections – a hard penis does not like the freezing cold.

It also did not help the all of us almost died, Bigby especially, the evening prior, when after a long drinking session at a small pub at the edge of the village, we meandered up the dark dirt tracks, through the forest, and got hopelessly lost.  The freezing temperatures half sobered us, but Bigby sauntered off the track, certain he knew another way, and lost all of us.  Three hours later, we found him deep in a ditch, half dead with hypothermia, encrusted in frozen vomit all over his face, hands and chest, mumbling incoherently.  He argued he stumbled into the ditch and simply could not get back up due to his terrible drunkenness.  He did not care that he almost died as he would have died living as he liked to live – his only regret inexorably being he could not do it a little more, thus he was still glad of our assistance, and agreed the caravan was no longer a feasible retreat.  The next morning, Bigby, as red eyed as all of us but covered still in vomit and mud – recommended we depart for boozing pastures new.

We sauntered to the hotel, and our filthy and dishevelled, half drunk countenances, raised a few eyebrows – but a village hotel always welcomes paying guests.  Furthermore, the young women, sex starved and bored of the men, always lavish new cock from the outside world – especially if it has bundles of cash (no questions asked about private finance as the state requests to know).  Bigby showered and cleaned himself up, as we all did, with the sole purpose of attracting women, as there was an evening buffet full of guests and the village sluts were already congregating in the hotel lobby – offering us their wares.

Sadly, we all made complete fools of ourselves at the buffet, encouraged as usual by Bigby.  Within the hour we drank several bowls of purple punch, we did fuck a few sluts roughly in the toilets – and some were to follow us to our rooms later on.  Bigby soon got into a few loud arguments and became terribly violent when nobody wanted to accept his challenge in a ‘who can piss the furthest’ contest.  Fistfights ensued, somebody vomited (I was so drunk I can’t remember who – but it was a big enough gush to cover three guests, who all spewed in return, making quite a mess messier), cops were called, cops were payed, calm was restored, and we staggered to our rooms.

Three of my friends were fucking two whores in their room, whereas I shared a room with Bigby, who by now was blind drunk and shouting incoherently at the ceiling.  Fucking and bucking a myriad of curses until he passed out, as did I.  At around 3am I was awoken by a huge groan as Bigby vomited passionately over something, somewhere, but so exhausted was I with drinking, fighting and fucking that I passed out.  In the morning I awoke to the most horrific smell of vomit, which compelled me to rush to the pot and spew a gallon of purple fruit punch into the pristine white bowl.  When I emerged from the bathroom, my eyes witnessed the horror that was Bigby’s common morning appearance.  He stood, red eyed, with the entire right side of his face and body encrusted in dark purple punch vomit, dried in from the heating in the room.  He looked sick and exhausted.  “Jesus Christ Bigby, are you alright?  Look at yourself man!” I exclaimed.  But he already saw himself in the full length mirror on the wardrobe door – which he proceeded to stumble into head first, shattering the mirror and cutting his forehead.  As he stumbled around the room dried vomit and blood smeared everywhere, and he proceeded to spew loudly three large gushes of fresh vomit, soaking most of the room and himself.  He stumbled to the toiletpot and yanked his trousers down and fell onto the seat, where immediately a loud and stinking gush of diarrhoea blurted noisily from his farting anus, sputtering into the toiletwater like machinegun fire.  The smell made me spew once more, all over the toilet door and between the hinges.  Bigby slipped off the pot, smearing shit all over the seat and floor, and made a perfunctory effort to wipe his dirty bum – after three wipes he gave up.

Bigby’s bed was covered in purple spew.  Dried vomit on the pillow and bedsheet and down the side of the bed right onto the floor – and the mess of the room – meant we faced an expensive bill for damages, which Bigby immediately insisted he was not willing to pay – this being “good money being wasted that can be spent on more drink and whores somewhere else!  Come on to fuck man!  Let’s go!”.  Bigby did have the decency to cover the vomit with the duvet, such that the housemaids would be in for a nasty surprise when they came to change the linens.

And with that, after banging the door of our friends, we all immediately got the hell out of there, still covered in vomit and looking and feeling terribly hungover, retching with nausea.  The two whores were left naked in the other room, door ajar – Bigby fondled them in their drunken stupor, and unable to get an erection due to the evening prior excess, pissed over them before stealing their clothes.  We all got the first bus to the next village, but for safety’s sake, proceed to a second village further afield, where after dousing ourselves in a freezing stream, we were ready for another night of drinking, fighting and fucking.

Sadly Bigby was not a man to stay in any one place for too long – and made clear to us that some day we would wake to find him no longer there.  It was our choice if we carried on “living the lifestyle, living the dream” – and after that second village, left to ourselves, we drank a toast to Bigby, whom we knew was now elsewhere, spreading his message, his lifestyle, his living dream.  And we drank, fought and fucked ourselves into and out of several police cells over countless months.  Still all of us raise a toast to Bigby, a man of spirit, a man who was his own man – not a man of the state, of morality, of some workplace or church or social convention – but a man of his own passions and verve.  And thanks to him we all freed ourselves from a dead dream – that dead dream being the norm life too many people ‘choose to live’.

Choose life my friend ;) 


Gorgeous ass but has the face of a battered drunk.


I do love my supermarket shopping trips – for during such excursions I get to leer upon the myriad fine asses, crotches and bosoms of the countless women shopping and working at the said establishment.  My wife doesn’t mind – as it gives her a little peace from the constant groping and fondling she has to endure.  Sadly – I am even more heated after the shopping trip than I am prior – meaning my poor suffering wife has to endure even more sexual torments at the behest of my wandering hands, eyes, lips and tongue.

On one particular shopping trip, my eyes feel ever so deeply ‘in love’ with a true fine ass.  That said ass had a neat little size 8 waist, which despite its slender size had a very distinct hourglass figure – something quite rare below size 10 hence my reason for often preferring a ‘little extra’.  Despite the obvious lack of voluptuousness this dolls ass was as round and sumptuous as any plum pudding, a beautiful flare on the thighs only pronounced her round bumcheeks and little neat waist even further.  The sweep of her back was enticing and athletic – but not skinny as seen on a ballerina nor excessively muscular as found on a tennis player.  If ever a man sought perfection – truly this was it.

It did not ease the pained lust painted upon my countenance when she bent over to pick up an item – this sweetheart was a store worker and wore black trousers that tightened against her bumcheeks giving highlight to the cleft such that one could very easily imagine the beauty of the anus coming into view followed by the rear of her vulva, as the beautiful slender back arched at the lower vertebrae  ensuring her flared hips gave extra girth to now quasi-bared bumcheeks that were waving ever so slightly before my yearning eyes.  The cleft of her bum – clearing parted beneath the tight trousers – led my eyes down to that little triangular region which, even when not bared, evokes an aggressive wave of lust in a man already befuddled by the fineries of flared asscheeks and thighs protruded by a tightly arched back.

Alas, when I went to a shelf to get a view of this beauty from the front – I could not have been more disappointed!  Despite having such a fine rear view, a derriere that could easily be the envy of the world of women – her bosom was unremarkable, the V of her crotch pretty but indistinct, the flare of her hips barely perceptible from the front, and her face…  Oh such disappointment!  Her face was rectangular, she had big buggy eyes and an enlarged forehead, a hairline that looked like the receding line seen on some 35 year old men, her cheeks seemed oddly swollen – no doubt due to a lack of bone and muscle topped by saggy skin and little fat to give balance or bounce.  Her mouth was small and very unremarkable, thin lips, a long dull nose, a squarish jawline that had a small knob for a chin.  Her face, quite unlike her unbelievably beautiful ass, looked like that of a battered drunkard you might find living on the streets of some large city.

I walked away aghast from this odd spectacle, and told my wife, who was deeply amused at my consternation, that despite such a fine ass the whole affair was deeply disappointing.  But despite all things, if offered, I would still happily fuck that odd creature – hindwise preferably – at the back of the shop if she so deigned to debauch.

The moral of this story is clear – one cannot have it all, all of the time – sometimes one receives a fine ass, or a beautiful vulva or bosom, or a beautiful face (usually followed by a terribly ugly vulva that resembles a bacon sandwich, if not sagging breast like those found on an old woman).  And one must make do with what one receives – in this instance, a very beautiful ass indeed.  As a man must accept this difficult reality – so should women.  And be confident about their bodies – and take advantage of the beautiful parts they have, and make best of if not hide those parts that lack beauty or are just to ugly to beatify.  We can still all make each other happy!