Got something to say or just want fewer pesky ads? Join us... 😊

Register Log in

Who is NSC most famous poster











Meade's Ball

Meade's Ball

Well-known member
Jul 7, 2003
13,653
Hither (sometimes Thither)
For her 7 least successful years, Sally Gunnell and I had a mystical bodyswap mix-up. I was semi-drunk when I slobbered my desire to be the esteemed, manly, beast-faced Gunnell, for as long as bad luck from a shattered mirror lasted, to the wish machine, and of course didn't imagine it in the slightest would happen. What puzzled me most, and was only explained in code in parts of her autobiography, was why she chose me to be an example of bulbous and generally enfeebled masculinity that she ought to try being. Perhaps, I thought, she'd discreetly experimented on me at some stage to determine whether my personality might make her body a continuing winner, for her to then return in time and take all the glory. If that were so, how wrong she was. As Gunnell my annual income was less then £25,000. On at least 2 early in-Gunnell occasions, I feigned laryngitis to avoid public speaking, so sure inside that I'd sound as gruff and manly as I do in my form, and be somehow skinned and sucked out from the broad-shouldered lady I was now inhabiting, my psyche held in a lab somewhere, shooting electronically around some wet metallic dish as governments battle to insert me into the malicious Putin or the piggish maniac Kim Jong-Un to bring about slight world order and romance the innocent, in a politicised, globalised Quantum Leap style. Of course, after a little research, I find that Gunnell does sound quite a lot like me, so I was able to stride around with a tiny little more confidence to perform her public tasks.

I'd say it was around 2 years in that I truly became her, lost myself in her, over-enjoyed some rummages in my now-trimmed hirsute privates at orgies I thought I'd best attend to find a way to let other men in me, began to use her skills as a burly hurdler, wrote my nightly diary in a manner she once did, and loudspeakered at unremarkable openings of barbers and newsagents and toy stores in my area just to make ends meet. It was around then that I successfully hunted myself down, her as me. I guessed she'd have been able to mirror my exploits equally by then, so in the recesses of my transformed personality, with the aid of hypnotherapy and a teaspoon of magic mushroom juice, I located memories of the original me and what I might get up to. There I was, in The Quays pub in Holloway Road, London, far older than i last remember myself being in there, uncomfortably stuffing in my gullet a vast jacket potato with cheese and beans, with a side order of sausages. I looked on hatefully at myself for giving up the vegetarianism that has always been a standard, and enviously too as the Meade's Ball I subconsciously remembered reached so lovingly to one of the just about internally thawed grilled tubes of pig-eyebrow-beds and hoofnails, salivating over its skin's soon piercing with canines that looked expensively chiselled and not as I recall. Meade's Gunnell refused to speak to me for around an hour, even begging for The Quays security to remove me, but of course I waved a gold medal and signed a few autographs and had drinks for myself and myself bought freely for the night. As we grew deeper into discussion, he/she and I felt the connection and plotted for our betterment until the wish was finally undone. For the next 5 years I carried out my duties in female form, goodly refusing to make a considerable profit from my doings, whilst Sally me very kindly refound her grit and determination to turn the body I was to rejoin into a professional machine that unstoppably rivalled colleagues I was previously the devout underling to. When I was me again I was ever so lean, but, of course, quickly demoted from general manager to immovable buffoon, as i still be there now, as my general characteristics helped make some god awful decisions both morally and financially to really hinder the business' progress. An apology and a loose faith from those on high deeply downwards kept me on, whilst sections of her biography explained a retirement from the track depression that took over her so and kept her so in hiding all the while "she simply wasn't the person she remembered growing up to be" and had her career reborn. I feared some months later her involvement in those many-bodied sex-nights i'd so needed, but i saw no uproar or scandal in the cheap press for as long as i checked, so hopefully her name remained as unblemished as the parts i'd looked to leave in good and healthy condition in spite of their consistent ravaging.

I think of her now and then, and wonder if any minute part of me lingers in her, or sometimes clambers over her soul, but i am best to imagine not. Perhaps we now just swap and share dreams. Just as we do birthday and Christmas cards, and little else. I'm there for her if she needs me though, and i hope she knows that.
 


Worthingite

Worthingite

Sexy Pete... :D
Sep 16, 2011
4,965
Chesterfield
Meade's Ball said:
For her 7 least successful years, Sally Gunnell and I had a mystical bodyswap mix-up. I was semi-drunk when I slobbered my desire to be the esteemed, manly, beast-faced Gunnell, for as long as bad luck from a shattered mirror lasted, to the wish machine, and of course didn't imagine it in the slightest would happen. What puzzled me most, and was only explained in code in parts of her autobiography, was why she chose me to be an example of bulbous and generally enfeebled masculinity that she ought to try being. Perhaps, I thought, she'd discreetly experimented on me at some stage to determine whether my personality might make her body a continuing winner, for her to then return in time and take all the glory. If that were so, how wrong she was. As Gunnell my annual income was less then £25,000. On at least 2 early in-Gunnell occasions, I feigned laryngitis to avoid public speaking, so sure inside that I'd sound as gruff and manly as I do in my form, and be somehow skinned and sucked out from the broad-shouldered lady I was now inhabiting, my psyche held in a lab somewhere, shooting electronically around some wet metallic dish as governments battle to insert me into the malicious Putin or the piggish maniac Kim Jong-Un to bring about slight world order and romance the innocent, in a politicised, globalised Quantum Leap style. Of course, after a little research, I find that Gunnell does sound quite a lot like me, so I was able to stride around with a tiny little more confidence to perform her public tasks.

I'd say it was around 2 years in that I truly became her, lost myself in her, over-enjoyed some rummages in my now-trimmed hirsute privates at orgies I thought I'd best attend to find a way to let other men in me, began to use her skills as a burly hurdler, wrote my nightly diary in a manner she once did, and loudspeakered at unremarkable openings of barbers and newsagents and toy stores in my area just to make ends meet. It was around then that I successfully hunted myself down, her as me. I guessed she'd have been able to mirror my exploits equally by then, so in the recesses of my transformed personality, with the aid of hypnotherapy and a teaspoon of magic mushroom juice, I located memories of the original me and what I might get up to. There I was, in The Quays pub in Holloway Road, London, far older than i last remember myself being in there, uncomfortably stuffing in my gullet a vast jacket potato with cheese and beans, with a side order of sausages. I looked on hatefully at myself for giving up the vegetarianism that has always been a standard, and enviously too as the Meade's Ball I subconsciously remembered reached so lovingly to one of the just about internally thawed grilled tubes of pig-eyebrow-beds and hoofnails, salivating over its skin's soon piercing with canines that looked expensively chiselled and not as I recall. Meade's Gunnell refused to speak to me for around an hour, even begging for The Quays security to remove me, but of course I waved a gold medal and signed a few autographs and had drinks for myself and myself bought freely for the night. As we grew deeper into discussion, he/she and I felt the connection and plotted for our betterment until the wish was finally undone. For the next 5 years I carried out my duties in female form, goodly refusing to make a considerable profit from my doings, whilst Sally me very kindly refound her grit and determination to turn the body I was to rejoin into a professional machine that unstoppably rivalled colleagues I was previously the devout underling to. When I was me again I was ever so lean, but, of course, quickly demoted from general manager to immovable buffoon, as i still be there now, as my general characteristics helped make some god awful decisions both morally and financially to really hinder the business' progress. An apology and a loose faith from those on high deeply downwards kept me on, whilst sections of her biography explained a retirement from the track depression that took over her so and kept her so in hiding all the while "she simply wasn't the person she remembered growing up to be" and had her career reborn. I feared some months later her involvement in those many-bodied sex-nights i'd so needed, but i saw no uproar or scandal in the cheap press for as long as i checked, so hopefully her name remained as unblemished as the parts i'd looked to leave in good and healthy condition in spite of their consistent ravaging.

I think of her now and then, and wonder if any minute part of me lingers in her, or sometimes clambers over her soul, but i am best to imagine not. Perhaps we now just swap and share dreams. Just as we do birthday and Christmas cards, and little else. I'm there for her if she needs me though, and i hope she knows that.
Click to expand...

That was one of the greatest stories I've ever read on here!!

Although I should warn you, I did a similar thing with Kriss Akabusi, and I have vague recollections of a night with Sally that involved a dark room, 5 Latvian dwarves and a tapir. I'll never know if that was you, and I'm not sure I'd want to. But if It was, then I thank you. Ugly, yet breathtakingly beautiful. I'll never forget it x
 




OzMike

OzMike

Well-known member
Oct 2, 2006
13,282
Perth Australia
Concert in the park 2014.jpg

Regularly playing to crowds in excess of 1500!
 


Dick Knights Mumm

Dick Knights Mumm

Take me Home Falmer Road
Jul 5, 2003
19,736
Hither and Thither
Meade's Ball said:
I think of her now and then, and wonder if any minute part of me lingers in her, or sometimes clambers over her soul, but i am best to imagine not. Perhaps we now just swap and share dreams. Just as we do birthday and Christmas cards, and little else. I'm there for her if she needs me though, and i hope she knows that.
Click to expand...

Beautiful man.

That does explain why when I see her on Steyning High Street and I greet her with a cheery "Mornin' MB" - she does look a little perplexed. But you and I know MB lingers.
 


Box of Frogs

Box of Frogs

Zamoras Left Boot
Oct 8, 2003
4,751
Right here, right now
Infamy, infamy......
 












HovaGirl

HovaGirl

I'll try a breakfast pie
Jul 16, 2009
3,139
West Hove
Hornblower said:
That's me. You'd have to be pretty ancient to remember Darts though.
Click to expand...

One of you was at school with my brother. And I absconded from my 18th birthday drinkies at the Bird's Nest to pop over the road to The Richmond when you had a great gig there as Rocky Sharpe and the Razors.
 






















You must log in or register to reply here.
Albion and Premier League latest from Sky Sports

Share this page


Top
Link Here