A wild horn appears!
When the artist formerly known as Mr Maladicta and I first moved into our flat, the first thing we did was to change the awful, stained, creased beige curtains, because they were a) vile and b) useless. Me being me had a certain artistic vision in mind and decided on all red for the lounge and blue for the bedroom, so I pop into the upholstery-and-pretty-things shop in Ashford and buy the nicest (and cheapest, incidentally) ones I can find.

When I get these curtains home, they turn out to be more or less completely transparent, gauzy things. Fuck it, says we, we've got them now and as we live on the ground floor, we rarely open the curtains since all the chavlings that walk by like to peer in (we have contemplated electrifying the window frames since they like to walk past and bang them, the little cunts).

A couple of months later, we are watching a DVD and, as things do when you first live together, one or other of us gets the horn and things progress. It was about 9.30 at night, in the middle of winter, and in the heat of the moment neither of us remember that the curtains are eversoslightly see-through, and that we live in a ground floor flat. Sofa-based sexytiem ensues, and continues for some time.

Beyond the obvious fluffy feelings the following day, I think nothing more of this until after work, when waiting for the bus home, whereupon the slightly odd (for Ashford this is nothing; you could remake Dawn of the Dead in our neck of the woods, there are that many mutants) lady who lives in the flats opposite gleefully informs me that she can see right into our living room, and cackles afterwards. Fucksocks.

I should add that this did not deter us from repeat performances, and that Mr Maladicta will not apologise for his length.
( Maladicta, Thu 28 May 2009, 17:49, Reply)