Decided to start a new post with some of my random experiences of encountering females burping.
This one is of someone I only ever met once, but she had a very lasting impression of me. You’ll see why when you read the story…
1998 - The Birthday Girls Lager Burps Before Night Out
My mate Tony has persuaded me to join him for a night out.
It is his girlfriend’s friends Birthday, he is the only bloke going, and so he wants me there for male company and moral support.
He picks me up and we arrive at the Birthday girl’s flat where the party is in full swing, the sound of music and loud female voices heard from outside the front door.
Once the Birthday girl opens the door the noise becomes a great deal louder, shrieks of dirty sounding laughter emerging from somewhere in the flat.
I’d been told that the Birthday girl was a single mum, so when she opens the door the person that stands in front of us comes as quite a surprise.
I guess she might look like a harrassed young mum during the week, but tonight she looks like a leggy stunning blonde dressed to kill in a mini-dress and sexy strappy heels. A very short mini-dress as I discover when she turns around and leads us into the kitchen, the clingy white fabric clinging to her buttocks so tightly that I can see that the hemline ends not far from her arse cheeks. The generous amount of bare thigh that emerges is smooth and slender, her legs almost endless, enhanced no doubt by the five inch heels of her heels.
In the kitchen she grabs three bottles of lager from the fridge, opens them, passes one each to me and Tony, and keeps the other for herself.
She wears generous amounts of make-up, but you can tell behind the mask of it that this is a common council estate single mum. But a very slutty looking one, and I wondered if it was just her appearance tonight that made her appear that way, or if she was a full time slut.
The answer comes when she shouts out from the kitchen to her equally cheap and tarty looking friends in the lounge “I’m gonna get myself a good womb broom tonight girls!”.
Her crude comment invites laughter from the lounge, and she follows it up with “Yay! I’m going to find some good cock, I ain’t 'ad any for ages!”.
I stand there agape at the brazen vulgarity of this dirty young mum.
But if I was shocked by her lewd language, I was about to become even more shocked.
She goes over to the kitchen table, and with a little jump sits perched on the end, shuffling her neat little bum around to make herself comfortable and then, to my amazement she parts her legs slightly and swigs her beer.
Even just parting her legs slightly the way she did, her thighs a few inches apart, her dress was so short that a triangle of lacy looking yellow material was visible.
Me and Tony both stand there in front of her, and I don’t look at Tony but I imagine he is looking every bit as shocked as me - just standing there in this young tarts kitchen as she sits on her kitchen table with her legs apart swigging her beer practically showing us right up her dress.
After chugging her beer she lets out a gassy burp, just opening her mouth up and letting it out with some force, an impressively loud and nasty gassy rumbling sound filling the kitchen.
The she just takes the bottle, and starts chugging away again.
I stood there embarrassed now. In the minute since we’d arrived in her kitchen, she’d made crude comments about her plans to have a one night stand, flashed her knickers, and now let out an obnoxious sounding burp right in front of us, which she completely ignored.
One of her mates arrives in the kitchen, greeted by the Birthday girl letting out another gassy sounding burp, a deep rumbling one that she visibly forces out for maximum effect.
Her friend takes no notice, does a little dance towards the fridge, grabs two bottles, opening them and passing one to the Birthday girl saying “Come on, drink up!”.
Encouraged by her friend she does drink up, downing the remainder of her beer in four greedy glugs, and reaching across the table to put her empty bottle on the sink she opens her legs up even more, giving us a quick full view of her lacy underwear, before sitting back and letting out yet another burp.
She then starts on her next beer, having downed the last one in the space of about a minute, during which she had let out three very rude sounding burps with absolutely no shame or hesitation at all.
Her friends all join us in the kitchen, four more tarts filling the kitchen with a heady mix of perfume, the small room filled with legs and boobs.
With her friends in the same room it seems to encourage the Birthday girl to be even more ill-mannered, as she now makes a point of burping, jutting her head forward as she rips them out as loudly as possible. Every twenty seconds or so the room filled with the excited chatter of the young women, along with shrieks of laughter, is also filled with the big obnoxious burps coming from the Birthday girl still sitting on the kitchen table, still showing the little yellow triangle of her underwear.
She then slides off the table, giving us our second generous display of her underwear in the process, and now standing up she releases a finale burp, probably her fifteenth burp or so since we’d first arrived in that kitchen less than five minutes ago.
“Come on then girls, lets go out and get ourselves some cock!” she says loudly.
“Yeah!” says one, which invites whoops of agreement from the others.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make do with your cock!” Tony’s girlfriend says to him.
“I’ll make do with his cock too!” says the Birthday girl.
“Hand off you, I know what you are like!” Tony’s girlfriend replies.
I think I’m beginning to know what she is like too, and I like it.
In the confines of the taxi the noise levels from the exciteable, already half drunk women, seems even louder than in the flat. The Birthday girl soon becomes the centre of their attraction, which she seems to enjoy, the theme continuing along the lines of her getting what one of them calls a “Birthday shag” and commenting on her previous exploits, one of them saying “You could always just drag a bloke into the toilets, not like you haven’t done that before!”.
The Birthday girl, rather than be embarrased by her friend bringing up the story, is encouraged by it and says “Maybe I’ll just give some random bloke a blow job in the middle of the dance floor!”.
The conversation soon moves on, and as though not happy that the attention hasn’t been on her for more than a few seconds the Birthday Girl makes herself of the centre of attention the way she knows best - by letting out a big brash burp. She’d brought a bottle of lager along for the ride, so I guess it was inevitable.
“Errrgghhhh…Chelsea!” says one, the first time any of them had even acknowledged her constant burping.
Another turns around and says to the taxi driver with amusement “Sorry…its her Birthday!”.
“Yeah, its alright love” says the taxi driver with a furtive glance in his mirror.
The Birthday girl, who I now know is called Chelsea, just sits there with a huge grin on her face.
A few moments later and we’d arrived in town.
One of the girls clambers out of the taxi and holds the door open for Chelsea, who had been sitting in the middle.
As I wait for the girls to get out I can see that Chelsea makes a very unladylike effort of getting out of the taxi, especially considering her short dress.
I can’t see the results from the front, but it is obviously revealing enough to warrant her friend saying “Fucking hell Chelsea, flash everyone your knickers why don’t you!”.
Chelsea seems to open her legs up even more at that comment as she shuffles her way towards the door, stretches one lovely long leg out of the taxi and leaving the taxi driver with a final departing gassy eruption, the taxi filled with the sound of yet another of her burps, she then finally clambers out of the taxi.
“Sorry!” says the same apologetic girl to the taxi driver, her apology seeming more genuine this time, realising just how rude her friend had been.
The taxi driver says nothing, embarrassed into silence.
I had hoped to spend a bit of time with Chelsea that night, wondering if I could even be the lucky bloke that gets to go home with her, to be her “womb broom”. Thinking about that as we walked to the pub, me and Tony trailing behind the rowdy young women, admiring her arse once again in that disgustingly short white dress, thinking of her sitting on that kitchen table with her legs open, imagining being between them, in no doubt that this foul-mouthed council estate tart would be utterly insatiable and just as utterly filthy.
My thoughts interrupted with a loud shout coming from the women, directed at a group of three blokes lingering outside a pub.
“Oi loads, get your cocks out! Lets have a look at 'em!”.
Chelsea, of course.
The lewd comment, one of many this evening, gets an appraising bout of laughter from the women, dirty laughter than sounds almost cruel mocking the blokes who stood embarrassed not knowing what to say, shocked by this brash leggy young slut.
As it turned out I didn’t get to go home with Chelsea the Birthday girl. Nor did I get to spend any time with her, as she was preoccupied the whole night.
When we arrived the girls all headed straight to the dancefloor, me and Tony finding a table and settling down with drinks. We hadn’t been there long when Tony grabbed my arm to get my attention, and nodded towards the dancefloor with a grin. I looked and there was Chelsea with two blokes, one gyrating from the back of her, the other in front, her sandwiched between them looking like she was having the time of her life as she gyrated between them.
Later me and Tony had braved the dancefloor, persuading one another we should make the effort to dance as we are in a club after all. When I’d returned Chelsea was sitting on the lap of some bloke, her knickers in full view as they sat with their tongues in each others mouths, the lucky bloke with his hand on her smooth long thigh. I realised he wasn’t one of the blokes from the dancefloor, she’d obviously lost interest and found someone else.
After leaving the nightclub we head to a kebab shop, Chelsea with a bloke in tow, having apparently made her choice for her “womb broom” for the evening. It wasn’t the blokes from the dancefloor, nor the bloke whose lap she was sitting on earlier, she’d obviously been busy working her way through the choice of candidate tonight.
When I emerge from the kebab shop clutching a doner kebab Chelsea and her lucky choice for the night are in a very passionate embrace, mouths locked together, him with a hand firmly planted on her arse groping one of those perfectly pert buttocks. I thought it seemed a bit forward until I saw her hand on his arse doing the same. Then she lifted a heel and slid her leg suggestively up his, something that I found extremely erotic.
A taxi arrives and Chelsea gets in, falls into the back of the taxi giving yet another generous view of her underwear, closely followed by the bloke.
And that is the last I ever saw of her.