Fun With Custard

In the days of my youth, I was much more adventurous than I am now. While an average day lately might see me pull my pud once or twice, my vigourous youth makes me look like a crotchety old nun.

When I was a young lad, of around 16, I was frequently left alone by my transient parents, who would often rove around the country like vagabonds. This suited me just fine, because wanking my doodle was best done in private, in the kitchen.

Well to cut a short story long, I preferred to jack my baton in the kitchen. Whether slapping my balls against the cold fridge or salting my glans for that added ZING, I was in culinary heaven.

Now to move from theory into practice, it all started one morning when my parents had been gone for about a month, no doubt drunk in a gutter somewhere.

I walked into our large European style kitchen, and surveyed my prey. My word kitchens make me hot. In any case, a nice large tub. This was the custard tub, damn, yellow stuff, how yummy. I decided to whip up a batch of hot lumpy custard, for the purpose of yellow love.

Once the custard was made (this isn't a cooking class), I proceeded to let it cool. While it was in the chiller, I inserted a cucumber into my anus to stretch me out a little and get me ready to live a little.

Cucumber in place, I removed the now cold custard from the fridge. Almost incontinent with anticipation, I placed the custard on the floor.

Humping that custard was like nothing else, I could feel its sloppiness, it felt like a confusing mix of yin and yang, I shall call it yipsy.

As I approached my zenith, my ultimate climax, I heard a car door slam, quickly popping off my load into the custard, I threw it back into the fridge and took a shower. My parents had nearly caught me! They later ate the custard with my load in it! How gross, I felt terrible, but that didn't stop me humping every cake, scone and bowl of tuna left out.

My parents must have imbibed litres of my seed. Now I live in blissful regret, like a sailor.