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A cautionary tale for the male

THIS IS AN ACTUAL CUSTOMER REVIEW ON AMAZON.CO.UK
FROM A MAN AFTER USING VEET HAIR REMOVAL CREAM FOR MEN.

After having been told my danglies looked like an elderly Rastafarian I decided to take the plunge and buy some of this
hair removal cream as previous shaving attempts had only been mildly successful and I nearly put my back out
trying to reach the more difficult bits.

Being a bit of a romantic I thought I would do the deed on the missus's birthday as a bit if a treat.

I ordered it well in advance and having worked in the North Sea I considered myself a bit above some of the characters writing previous
reviews of the product and wrote them off as soft office types...Oh my fellow sufferers how wrong I was.

I waited until the other half was tucked up in bed and after giving some vague hints about a special surprise I went down to the bathroom.
Initially all went well and I applied the gel and stood waiting for something to happen. I didn’t have long to wait.

At first there was a gentle warmth which in a matter of seconds was replaced by an intense burning and a feeling I can only describe
as like being given a barbed wire 'wedgie' by two people intent on hitting the ceiling with my head.

Religion hadn't featured much in my life until that night but I suddenly became willing to convert to any religion to stop the violent burning
around the turd tunnel and what seemed like the the destruction of my meat and two veg.

Struggling not to bite through my bottom lip I tried to wash the gel off in the sink and only succeeded in blocking the plughole
with a mat of hair.

Through the haze of tears I struggled out of the bathroom across the hall into the kitchen, by this time walking was not really possible
and I crawled the final yard to the fridge in the hope of some form of cold relief.

I yanked the freezer drawer out and found a tub of ice cream, took the lid off and positioned it under me.
The relief was fantastic but only temporary as it melted fairly quickly and the fiery stabbing returned.

Due to the shape of the ice cream tub I hadn’t managed to give the old 'starfish' any treatment and I groped around in the draw for something
else, as I was sure my vision was going to fail fairly soon.
I grabbed a bag of what I later found out was frozen sprouts and tore it open trying to be quiet as I did so.
I took a handful of them and an tried in vain to clench some between the cheeks of my arse.

This was not doing the trick as some of the gel had found its way up the 'chutney channel' and it felt like the space shuttle
was running its engines on full power behind me.
This was probably, and hopefully the only time in my life, I was going to wish there was a gay snowman in the kitchen which should
give you some idea of the depths I was willing to sink to in order to ease the pain.

The only solution my pain crazed mind could come up with, was to gently ease one of the sprouts where no veg had ever gone before.


Unfortunately, alerted by the strange grunts coming from the kitchen, the 'other half' chose that moment to come and investigate and
was greeted by the sight of me, arse in the air, strawberry ice cream dripping from my 'bell end' pushing a sprout up my arse while
muttering “ooooohhh that feels so good”

Understandably this was a shock to her and she let out a scream, and as I hadn’t heard her come in, it caused an involuntary spasm of shock in myself which resulted in the sprout being ejected at quite some remarkable speed in her direction.

I can understand that having a sprout fired against your leg at 11.00pm at night in the kitchen probably wasn’t the special surprise she
was expecting, and having to explain to the kids the next day what the strange hollow in the ice cream was, didn’t improve my status…so
to sum it up,

VEET REMOVES; Hair, Dignity and all self-respect !!!!

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Roland Out!