Gay Nazi Sex Vicar in Schoolgirl Knickers Vice Disco Lawnmower Shock!
« Yew treeUnseen »

Things to do whilst wearing clothes

  Sun 11th December 2011

Rutland Arms

I was an hour late for Mary-Ann due to our creaky railway system. Tannoyed hectoring of an exciting promise of luggage being "destroyed by the security services", who "tour this station, twenty-four hours a day"; late running trains. The train was full of an unpleasant culture of football. I asked the girl standing in front of me (nowhere to sit) if I could borrow her phone to tell Mary-Ann I was running late.

Seeing her before she did me, sitting in a cold tile-plated "cafe" on the station, I felt sorry for making her wait. Given the past few days' turbulence courtesy of Little Miss God of Loughborough, I'd practised something to say to her as my first sentence.

As soon as I saw her disappointed and worried face I wish I hadn't said "Mary-Ann. There is one more big problem." I ploughed on. "Yesterday, with terrible timing, I came out in these cold sores. So we'll have to be inventive." She smiled with flirty relief. She took my arm and said "Where are we going? Rutland Arms?"

The Rutland Arms' stained glass was glintingly Christmassy. Many women there, always an indicator of a good pub. Proper cider, the tannic pucker of apples. "No," she said, as I stroked my hand around the small of her back. You don't move your body. You just move that arm."

"Are you more a visual person or a tactile one?" she said, which is like asking a man "which do you prefer, pornography or me?" By deft deployment of my jacket, I snuggled my hand discreetly against her cunt ("I like having your hand there"). Later I took her hand, formed it into a claw, and scraped her nails along my forearm. "You can do that as hard as you want."

Outside Sheffield station she wrapped her coat around us and took my hands and put them onto her. A group of teenagers spat behind us. "There's something about your silent attention to my tits that I find very erotic," which made me feel as though I had started watching my own pleasure.

I had an hour to wait till my train and I went to the pub on the station and chatted to a 73-year-old ex-miner. "How are your lungs?" "Just these last two years. I can't walk more than a hundred yards." A young woman with gleaming perfect teeth did a performance of laughing. "Tactile," I thought.



Mon 12th December 2011 @ 08:49

Oops,I got confused.

I thought the section with
“Cook your food, in the nude
Rub your feet, nice and sweet
I’ll do anything, I’ll do anything
To keep you comin’ my way

was a separate post, which to me was a bit disconnected and meaningless.

As far as the rest goes, I am flummoxed.

To screw or not to screw, that is the question.
Wheteher ’tis nobler to risk the H. Simplex
The slings nd arrows of a depleted immune system
or to completely be ubergefucked because of sex; to die.

Mon 12th December 2011 @ 08:58
Comment from: [Member]

Oops, I’ll make it clearer. If it confuses a school timetable supremo, it’ll confuse others too.

The inability to kiss did give a little extra tantalising pleasure to the afternoon I must say, but some things are not good to share.

Mon 12th December 2011 @ 09:14
Comment from: heybartender [Visitor]

Excellent. I suspected you’d work this out.

Thu 15th December 2011 @ 04:32
Comment from: [Member]

Yes, it feels like we’re getting all the problems sorted out early on. Thanks for your other comment too. I can *intellectually* see the opposite position, but I still wouldn’t go contacting anyone in real life to blab about something she had written on her blog.

Right, quarter to two on a Thursday afternoon. According to an old Lancashire custom, it’s time for a sherry!

Thu 15th December 2011 @ 13:45

Form is loading...

looby, n.; pl. loobies. A lout; an awkward, stupid, clownish person

M / 60 / Bristol, "the most beautiful, interesting and distinguished city in England" -- John Betjeman [1961, source eludes me].

"Looby is a left-wing intellectual who is obsessed with a) women's clothes and b) tits." -- Joy of Bex.

WLTM literate woman, 40-65. Must have nice tits, a PhD, and an mdma factory in the shed, although the first on its own will do in the short term.

There are plenty of bastards who drink moderately. Of course, I don't consider them to be people. They are not our comrades.
Sergei Korovin, quoted in Pavel Krusanov, The Blue Book of the Alcoholic

I am here to change my life. I am here to force myself to change my life.
Chinese man I met during Freshers Week at Lancaster University, 2008

The more democratised art becomes, the more we recognise in it our own mediocrity.
James Meek

Tell me, why is it that even when we are enjoying music, for instance, or a beautiful evening, or a conversation in agreeable company, it all seems no more than a hint of some infinite felicity existing apart somewhere, rather than actual happiness – such, I mean, as we ourselves can really possess?
Turgenev, Fathers and Sons

I hate the iPod; I hate the idea that music is such a personal thing that you can just stick some earplugs in your ears and have an experience with music. Music is a social phenomenon.
Jeremy Wagner

La vie poetique has its pleasures, and readings--ideally a long way from home--are one of them. I can pretend to be George Szirtes.
George Szirtes

Using words well is a social virtue. Use 'fortuitous' once more to mean 'fortunate' and you move an English word another step towards the dustbin. If your mistake took hold, no-one who valued clarity would be able to use the word again.
John Whale

One good thing about being a Marxist is that you don't have to pretend to like work.
Terry Eagleton, What Is A Novel?, Lancaster University, 1 Feb 2010

The working man is a fucking loser.
Mick, The Golden Lion, Lancaster, 21 Mar 2011

The Comfort of Strangers

23.1.16: Big clearout of the defunct and dormant and dull
16.1.19: Further pruning

If your comment box looks like this, I'm afraid I sometimes can't be bothered with all that palarver just to leave a comment.

63 mago
Another Angry Voice
the asshat lounge
Clutter From The Gutter
Eryl Shields Ink
Exile on Pain Street
Fat Man On A Keyboard
gairnet provides: press of blll defunct, but retained for its quality
George Szirtes ditto
Infomaniac [NSFW]
The Joy of Bex
Laudator Temporis Acti
Leeds's Singing Organ-Grinder
The Most Difficult Thing Ever
Strange Flowers
Trailer Park Refugee
Wonky Words

"Just sit still and listen" - woman to teenage girl at Elliott Carter weekend, London 2006

Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
The Rambler
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained

  XML Feeds

Build your own site!

©2024 by looby. Don't steal anything or you'll have a 9st arts graduate to deal with.

Contact | Help | Blog template by Asevo | RWD CMS