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  Thu 14th July 2011

Going to try to get this down quickly before the delayed effects of the cider kick in.

There's a new cider producer opened up in Lancaster and I invited Seriouscrush and her boyfriend out to try it. It's on in a pub by the canal. It was a luxuriantly sunny evening. Seriouscrush turned up alone. "He's coding, and when he gets into that it's bad to stop it."

She wore pale brown flat leather lace-up shoes, scuffed. Pale lime green socks with a ribbed pattern in the weave. A voluminous dull purple skirt to calf length with an unmade hem. On top, her estuary colours: a jacket in mud green with overlapping sleeves; a scooped neck vest in the same colour. She's got lovely tits; a tiny bit of black bra when she leaned forward. I tried to glance down when propriety allowed, half hoping that she'd notice. September 2007: "I don't mind it when you look at my tits actually."

We chatted about the funny bits in Don Quixote, the hopelessness of trying to eat out in Lancaster, the pleasures of copyediting, lying because you can't be bothered explaining the truth. There was something funny and she leant back, her beautiful face and tits, her fingers, that I wanted to be mine, sliding through her dishevelled black hair and onto the table. "You should so be my girlfriend," I said. For a moment she glanced up with recognition before hearing the last word, then corrected herself. "I thought... when you said that, I thought you were going to say 'my editor'."

We stood up to leave. We went outside, by the canal, facing each other. "Right, it's been a pleasure Seriouscrush. See you soon." I felt a little death happen of everything I wanted to do.


And the tragic/comedy part? That’s probably not the last time something like that will happen. It’s part of the human condition!

Thu 14th July 2011 @ 22:58
Comment from: [Member]

Is it? I don’t want it to happen very often.

Thu 14th July 2011 @ 23:02

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