Roundabout
Got my twelve-year-old hands on some premium jazz mags in the morning at school. Spent the next three hours imagining all the naughtiness inside. At dinnertime was too randy to eat and decided to slink off and find somewhere to practice my ever improving self love technique. So, as you do, I decided to go and have a wank in the middle of a roundabout near my school. I should stress that the roundabout was one of those massive ones with a ring of bushes and shrubbery and other such twatage round the perimeter. So I'm thinking I cant make it too far on accounts of all the blood rushing from my legs and settling in my young rod of power at the though of getting stuck into a nearly new copy of fiesta, so I'll nip over there and be hidden by the topary. After dealing with the maniac Northampton dinnertime traffic, I found a nice secluded space in the centre of said roundabout, spread the few mags out in front of me, and proceeded to pound my pud like my life depended on it. A few minutes later, spent and feeling quite pleased with myself, I had a bit of a revelation... People at street level couldnt see my proclomation of self love, but... I looked up and off to the right of me to the offices of British Timkin (big building, make ball bearings or summit else a bit dull), and on the third and fourth floor were about a hundred office workers gathered at the windows, about five people to a window, just sort of... frozen there. Each and every face had a look of horrorified amusement. Personally, I was quite happy with my lunchtime performance. But it was a pretty long walk zipping the wee fella away, gathering up my nudie lay-dee mags, and pretending like nothing had happened.
( SpankyHanky, Fri 26 Jan 2007, 16:54, Reply)