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  Wed 25th July 2012

Warning: it gets a lot less innocent below the cat picture.

A bit of space

Two annoyances, before the main feature: I keep getting emails from my ISP saying I've exceeded my usage allowance. The house has used 110GB this month so far. I know little about internet usage but it sounds like a great deal to me, and that's added £55 pounds onto my internet bill. It's certainly not me. I'm not here half the week and I can't believe my odd hour of youtube runs it up that much. It's him downstairs.

I am constantly postponing asking the owner of a local brewery to be sponsor or a guarantor against loss for our Dickens event. Despite having been asked to deal with this a fortnight ago I haven't done anything about it. I don't like asking people for money. This afternoon, there was a demanding ten minutes of what I hoped was plausible lying today when I bumped into Neil and Kev in the pub whilst trying to luxuriate in the recovery from my time on the boat with Trina.

But never mind. Neither of those are going to figure in the filthy text I'm going to send Trina in a bit.

"Where are you going?" asked Jenny, as I made to leave after getting them their lunch yesterday. "To G---," I said. "To see Trina." "Is no-one going to look after us? Are we going to be left here all alone?" she said, self-mockingly, importuningly, tilting her head towards me. "No, it's alright. Mummy will be here in a couple of hours."

Trina met me off the bus and we donned wellies to tramp along the towpath to her narrowboat. We were volubly chatty for a couple of hours, working our way through a couple of the bottles of wine. She suggested we should getting lunch, or whatever meal it is you have at 3pm, ready. She had on the white bra I like, underneath a loose thin blueish top which slanted down towards her tits like an envelope (there must be a more correct term for that cut), and jeans. "You get everything ready and I'll just stand behind you," I said. I didn't think it was that funny a remark but it sent her off into laughter and kisses.

On a narrowboat every movement is considered. We set up a rickety little table and had a carefully poised lunch, including a Garstang Blue cheese which smelt of urine and would give Bleu d'Auvergne a match for delicious intensity. "Well, I think we should go to bed," she said, with a welcome abruptness.

I love our undressing. I like how selfish I can be. I was naked before she was, wanting her to notice my hard cock while I slowly arrange her tits to my visual delight. "Bra on, or off?" she asked. "On," I said.

Afterwards, we dozed into sleep. She got up before me and busied herself with more drinks. I came out of the bedroom in my T-shirt and trousers. She was wearing a dark blue sundress. It was elasticated and ruched across her tits and what should have been an unflatteringly A-line of figure-hiding material below them. I came up behind her and delighted in putting my fingers against her nipples and tits and stroking her underwearless body underneath it. We sat on the sofa with a bottle of rosé on the little table. "Excuse me," I said, unbuttoning my fly and undressing myself and taking my cock at its base. "Could you suck my cock please?"

"Phew," she said, coming up. "It's hot down there." I put her fingers onto it and placed mine on top of hers. But there was an untouched bottle of rosé and there are priorities, and we started talking again. Politics, family, exes. We stood up to go to bed again, kissing, and she said "Can I say this? I know I'm a bit squiffy, but I love you to bits."

We were just laying down, getting into bed and a spider started abseiling towards the pillow. I shrieked "Werrr!" and jumped out of bed. She wasn't that bothered, and flapped at it with her bra. "No, no," I said, "it might drop on us." It had retreated to the ceiling. I took my tissue out of my pocked and scrunched it to death.

It took me a little while to recover, but I did. Her kissing was different. She has this exciting way of kissing, withdrawing, saying "No, looby, not yet." But now she opened her mouth wide and put her hand behind my head, pushing me towards her. It was even more exciting and I pushed her legs wider with my knees and stuck my cock in her with little more preamble.

She snores with stentorian volume, keeping me awake and leaving me utterly tired in the morning. We had cereal and strawberries for breakfast, and then I suggested a little nap, having told her, as diplomatically as I could, that she makes a rasping noise to banish all sleep. She took it well and it was laughed about, and we did have a lovely kissy doze (during which she started snoring again), but I can foresee separate beds for sex and sleep.

I went round to Kirsty's as we had to sort some things out with the girls. Jenny showed me her elaborate rehearsal schedule for Preston Guild and Fiona was angling for a game of football in the street. But I fell asleep on the settee and woke up half an hour or so later to find Kirsty washing up with her banging house soundtrack on. As I went to leave, Kirsty said "Shagged out?" "Yes, a bit." "Come on looby, if we fiftysomethings can do it so can you."


Comment from: Homer [Visitor]

Bloody hell looby, can you warn us in advance if there’s going to be fellatio?

Anyways, re the broadband, unless your lodger is constantly streaming TV or films just CAN’T be right - most households use less than 10gb/month. I would get your provider to check it out because that’s just ludicrous.

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 07:28
Comment from: furtheron [Visitor]

Ignoring all the rumpy pumpy (you lucky bastard!)… 110 GB is massive. I have two internet rapacious youngsters living at home at least 3 computers, some Internet TV via iPlayer and various other internet wireless gubbings (I’m an IT professional btw that is a technical term if you don’t understand it…) and even in height of holidays with everyone home rarely hit 40GB. Someone is either watching porn 24x7 in HD or something else but that is honestly more than a small business would consider they need.

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 10:08
Comment from: [Member]

Well that’s a good way of letting the cat out of the bag :) I consulted my Literary Editor about the passage to which you refer and we decided it had to be included for metonymic clarity in conveying the progress of our relationship. (Cough).

But a warning has been added and I’ve passworded it now–obviously too late for Google Reader but it’ll put some sort of cloak, or at least a flimsy gauzy veil, around it.

Thanks for your help people with the internet usage–something’s obviously not right here.

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 10:24
Comment from: [Member]

so glad you killed the interloper… he was asking for it!

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 12:10

Well, you certainly know how to work blue. I’ve always thought that giving a blow job has to be a bloody unpleasant task to perform and is, therefore, the most generous act in the sexual arena. I can’t imagine doing it, which is probably what kept me from same-sex experimentation when I was young.

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 12:27
Comment from: [Member]

UB: We have to differ there. I don’t know, never having done it, but I think it’d be exciting and pleasurable. The only thing is it’s got to physically comfortable, for both parties, and it was a bit humid on the boat the other day so it might have worked better in a different position. I don’t think she thinks of it as a favour though (although what’s wrong with favours?)

DF: I’m trying to work out what you mean. I don’t know to whom you’re referring. Clue?

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 17:20
Comment from: [Member]

clue: multi-legged aerialist

was trying to assure maximum curiousity from readers without the password!

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 22:58
Comment from: [Member]

Ah yes him! [Feel very annoyed with myself for not getting the reference].

Thu 26th July 2012 @ 23:48

I got your email about the password, and it wokrs obviously as I’m able to leave a comment, but i cannot see the main post, just the comments. Any ideas.

So I can only make comments based on the other comments which are, quite frankly, suggestive of a post that would melt tungsten.

Blow jobs?
Wireless Grubbings?
Was that favours or flavours?

I can only say that I hope you had a very pleasant time, and also say that I’m surprised you’ve enough enregy left to type replies to comments. Well done and keep taking the vitamins.

Mon 30th July 2012 @ 19:37
Comment from: [Member]

Not sure what’s happening there then–I’ve emailed it to you.

Tue 31st July 2012 @ 10:23

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

M / 56 / 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
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