Profile for Turn that bloody gramaphone down:
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» Buses
Kneeeee-el for the bus driver, bus driver, bus driver.....
WARNING: This post may contain a high quota of gay.
This story starts with a highly embarrassing situation; the one, and only time I have been stood up. A beautiful young boy of 17 (never fear, I was the same age), I had long desired to pop his middle class cherry. Alas, he didn't turn up, probably thinking twice about meeting a strident, sexually carnivorous semi-chav. I have been known to devour my virgin conquests so he made the right decision.
I digress. He had not turned up, so I was waiting in the tramps-piss soaked bus station in beauteous Bedford. I eventually got on a bus to go home, whereupon alighting the bus the driver looked at me with his kind, kind eyes and asked, "Whats wrong, sweetheart?" As he was obviously more gay than Rupert the Bear pulling aside a set of pink, loveheart strewn bikini briefs for an unseen dogger to enter him roughly and without sympathy, I told him the whole story. His lovely big pink, shiny head nodded along.
From then on, I saw him a few times a week on the buses. He let me on for free, and used to mimic the horrible little chav girls who screeched constantly on the buses until I nearly wet my tiny pants in laughter. I knew everything about his nice bear of a boyfriend, and his love of high camp female singers.
Then he met my best friend, a massive bender.
To give a little background, 1. He has had a full beard since the age of 13. 2. His Irish dad is nicknamed Hatchet because at 17 he chopped a mans hand off with a hatchet (This is long before Lock, Stock). Thats Tinkers for you! 3. He was only 15.
Obviously, this 40+ bus driver would have a passing pancy to this young, hairy bum bandit. Unfortunately, it went a little further. Only a few months ago (bearing in mind he is now 19) he told me once he went into the bus driver's cafe for a weak cup of tea and a jam sandwich and ended up noshing him off in the staff toilets. The bus drivers boyfriend at the time? Off visiting his mum, who was dying of cancer. Classy.
And that?
Is why you should never speak to strangers.
(Thu 25th Jun 2009, 14:17, More)
Kneeeee-el for the bus driver, bus driver, bus driver.....
WARNING: This post may contain a high quota of gay.
This story starts with a highly embarrassing situation; the one, and only time I have been stood up. A beautiful young boy of 17 (never fear, I was the same age), I had long desired to pop his middle class cherry. Alas, he didn't turn up, probably thinking twice about meeting a strident, sexually carnivorous semi-chav. I have been known to devour my virgin conquests so he made the right decision.
I digress. He had not turned up, so I was waiting in the tramps-piss soaked bus station in beauteous Bedford. I eventually got on a bus to go home, whereupon alighting the bus the driver looked at me with his kind, kind eyes and asked, "Whats wrong, sweetheart?" As he was obviously more gay than Rupert the Bear pulling aside a set of pink, loveheart strewn bikini briefs for an unseen dogger to enter him roughly and without sympathy, I told him the whole story. His lovely big pink, shiny head nodded along.
From then on, I saw him a few times a week on the buses. He let me on for free, and used to mimic the horrible little chav girls who screeched constantly on the buses until I nearly wet my tiny pants in laughter. I knew everything about his nice bear of a boyfriend, and his love of high camp female singers.
Then he met my best friend, a massive bender.
To give a little background, 1. He has had a full beard since the age of 13. 2. His Irish dad is nicknamed Hatchet because at 17 he chopped a mans hand off with a hatchet (This is long before Lock, Stock). Thats Tinkers for you! 3. He was only 15.
Obviously, this 40+ bus driver would have a passing pancy to this young, hairy bum bandit. Unfortunately, it went a little further. Only a few months ago (bearing in mind he is now 19) he told me once he went into the bus driver's cafe for a weak cup of tea and a jam sandwich and ended up noshing him off in the staff toilets. The bus drivers boyfriend at the time? Off visiting his mum, who was dying of cancer. Classy.
And that?
Is why you should never speak to strangers.
(Thu 25th Jun 2009, 14:17, More)
» Breasts
Honk-honk!
Several years ago I was given a divine gift. Like some people become suddenly endowed with mystical foresight or spiritual enlightenment without any practise or intention, I became a honker. Squeeze a breast and a sound EXACTLY like a cheap, tinny-sounding car horn parps straight out of my mouth.
In the Egg, a seedy after-party venue in London, I decided to use it to break the ice with a group of stangers. In the garden, I spotted a group of unknown revellers. I wobbled over and very, very slowly... PARP! PARP! I squeezed the bosom of a man. He looked up with bewildered incomprehension, but a look soon dawned across his face; a realisation!
PARP! PARP!
His friends understood too. A cacophony of honks ensued.
Walking to the tube station afterwards I was greeted with soft honking behind me, fading into the distance.
(Wed 12th May 2010, 22:22, More)
Honk-honk!
Several years ago I was given a divine gift. Like some people become suddenly endowed with mystical foresight or spiritual enlightenment without any practise or intention, I became a honker. Squeeze a breast and a sound EXACTLY like a cheap, tinny-sounding car horn parps straight out of my mouth.
In the Egg, a seedy after-party venue in London, I decided to use it to break the ice with a group of stangers. In the garden, I spotted a group of unknown revellers. I wobbled over and very, very slowly... PARP! PARP! I squeezed the bosom of a man. He looked up with bewildered incomprehension, but a look soon dawned across his face; a realisation!
PARP! PARP!
His friends understood too. A cacophony of honks ensued.
Walking to the tube station afterwards I was greeted with soft honking behind me, fading into the distance.
(Wed 12th May 2010, 22:22, More)
» My sex misconceptions
In order to link the adult self with the child
sometimes we make up pieces of information that fit. I have absolutely no idea if this happened or was a strange thought I had as a child which stuck, but....
I remember vividly picking up a postcard off of the mantlepiece when I were but a wee scrap of a thing, and reading that when you are happy it is because the air is having sex with your hand, thus sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. If it was real, I'd like to know what the hell this was supposed to mean as for years afterwards I was scared to touch a mans hand, even my dads, as I thought it could be seen as a 'naughty' place...
I was also completely unaware of my vagina until I was about 11, but noticed the clitoris when I was 10, pressing myself against the art rooms 'top table' of the best artists on which I was placed (now I think it fits well into avant garde performance art, must have been a premonition!). I remember having a feeling akin to wanting to wee, but with an unknown pleasure attached. Which led to me thinking that maybe you have sex up your urethra...
I'm well versed now.
*cherry popped, and never a more apt time*
(Mon 29th Sep 2008, 16:18, More)
In order to link the adult self with the child
sometimes we make up pieces of information that fit. I have absolutely no idea if this happened or was a strange thought I had as a child which stuck, but....
I remember vividly picking up a postcard off of the mantlepiece when I were but a wee scrap of a thing, and reading that when you are happy it is because the air is having sex with your hand, thus sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. If it was real, I'd like to know what the hell this was supposed to mean as for years afterwards I was scared to touch a mans hand, even my dads, as I thought it could be seen as a 'naughty' place...
I was also completely unaware of my vagina until I was about 11, but noticed the clitoris when I was 10, pressing myself against the art rooms 'top table' of the best artists on which I was placed (now I think it fits well into avant garde performance art, must have been a premonition!). I remember having a feeling akin to wanting to wee, but with an unknown pleasure attached. Which led to me thinking that maybe you have sex up your urethra...
I'm well versed now.
*cherry popped, and never a more apt time*
(Mon 29th Sep 2008, 16:18, More)
» Neighbours
My neighbour testified against me in court.
I grew up in a council estate in Bedford, so there was a fair share of scroungers, doleys, pikeys, mongs, skets and pushers between whom there were little pockets of normal people trying to get along. My gay best friend and I used to get terrorised by these barely-qualifying-as-underclass cockends. There was what can be roughly described as a girl living three doors from me. She may as well have been living in my airing cupboard for the visibilty her and her lardy family had on the street. Her dad fuxed cars illegally in the street and her brother was a greasy dullard who punched girls he fancied. Nicola Cells herself (name and shamed to expose the guilty) was a blubber-bellied, trout-faced dirty blonde who smelt of chip fat and HATED me. She testified against me in court when a ginger tartlet beat me up with a group of girls in tow and stole my mobile phone, the day before my A2 exams. Yes, they got away with it all.
My mantra at the time was always, "these girls are losing at life. Soon you will be out of here and they will be of no more concern". I was right- I now live in London, have a degree and prospects while she has two children and pregnant with the third (did I mention she is 20?). Quite rightly, you are probably thinking- why still so angry about this?
Well, you see- though she is no more than a diarrhea stain on my memory, I evidently still enrage her. By a terrible stroke of luck, she has been rehoused in another council estate, and is now living next to my best friend, a wonderful single mum who works harder and is more naturally intelligent than anyone I have ever met. She thought of a wonderful plan to get back at me, and has admitted as much.
Having an affair with my best friends partner. Who is the father of her second child. Which makes me want to scream expletives 'till I run out of breath.
(Fri 2nd Oct 2009, 14:50, More)
My neighbour testified against me in court.
I grew up in a council estate in Bedford, so there was a fair share of scroungers, doleys, pikeys, mongs, skets and pushers between whom there were little pockets of normal people trying to get along. My gay best friend and I used to get terrorised by these barely-qualifying-as-underclass cockends. There was what can be roughly described as a girl living three doors from me. She may as well have been living in my airing cupboard for the visibilty her and her lardy family had on the street. Her dad fuxed cars illegally in the street and her brother was a greasy dullard who punched girls he fancied. Nicola Cells herself (name and shamed to expose the guilty) was a blubber-bellied, trout-faced dirty blonde who smelt of chip fat and HATED me. She testified against me in court when a ginger tartlet beat me up with a group of girls in tow and stole my mobile phone, the day before my A2 exams. Yes, they got away with it all.
My mantra at the time was always, "these girls are losing at life. Soon you will be out of here and they will be of no more concern". I was right- I now live in London, have a degree and prospects while she has two children and pregnant with the third (did I mention she is 20?). Quite rightly, you are probably thinking- why still so angry about this?
Well, you see- though she is no more than a diarrhea stain on my memory, I evidently still enrage her. By a terrible stroke of luck, she has been rehoused in another council estate, and is now living next to my best friend, a wonderful single mum who works harder and is more naturally intelligent than anyone I have ever met. She thought of a wonderful plan to get back at me, and has admitted as much.
Having an affair with my best friends partner. Who is the father of her second child. Which makes me want to scream expletives 'till I run out of breath.
(Fri 2nd Oct 2009, 14:50, More)