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The girl on a train

  Sat 6th February 2016

After the latest tawdry episode between Trina and I, I suggested we clarify matters by not having sex any more. I said that we should rescue the good bits, like going out dancing. But no more sex.

"Well, we'll see," she replied. Dancing is easy. Rescuing it means a bit more. Starting with [dance music event later this month] x". Hang on, hang on, I don't want to "rescue" it. However, the new regime seems to be working fine. I am glad for her, pleased that she is starting to accept what I can offer, three-a-half years into trying to bend it into something more, during which I have not helped matters by having sex with her. It's a relief not to have her presence in the bed. Overnight, the desire has entirely disappeared.

Met Wendy for a couple of bottles of Prosecco today. Multicoloured top in that maddeningly apparently transparent fabric. Wendy, take your bra off. Your tits would look lovely under that top if you weren't wearing a bra.

We talked about lying and its role in the presentation of various versions of oneself. She said that she was a bit of a delinquent at school (the same school in Morecambe at which I finished off my patchwork quilt of a secondary education), never doing a single piece of homework and refusing to sit any exams. We both got into University by dint of Adult Education evening classes.

I watched her go upstairs, raking my eyes down her lovely figure, wishing I had permission to do it overtly and often. "Erm... you know that packet of sparklydust we've been using? Can I have it?" I laughed out loud at her nerve and slid it under her purse. We kissed goodbye on the street, a moment's competition for her lips.

She texted. "Lovely afternoon looby! See you soon xx." "It was indeed. And in the interests of never denying anyone a sincerely meant compliment, you just get more and more gorgeous." Got in, took some more sparklydust, and spent a couple of hours wanking thinking about her, via a long and detailed fantasy involving sitting next to her on a train and making her shift her dress up high across her bare thighs and running my fingers along its hem.

I wonder when all this of this will collapse. My life feels like an experiment. Just one card at the bottom to fall over, and down it'll all come crashing. Such are my rug-addled thoughts at half past four in the morning with techno and a Huddersfield Contemporary Music Festival sweatshirt on. I'm never sure whether they're representative of lucidity, or just tripe.


Comment from: furtheron [Visitor]

I could run a masterclass on creating, spinning and maintaining a suite of façades to make you the object of everyone’s desires. However the madness that took me too is legendary.

Do I still do it? A little bit but frankly just being boring old me may not make me that interesting or attractive to anyone but it sure is far easier living in my head than the old days.

Mon 8th February 2016 @ 11:46

Has it been three and a half years? Good Lord. I’m reluctant to believe it disappeared overnight. I’ll believe it when I see it. It usually requires a little more space. It’s a good thing you’ve got Wendy as a distraction.

Call me nuts but I think a woman with a shirt on and nothing underneath is far more enticing that a woman who’s topless. It’s like unwrapping a Christmas present. She is aware of your mad intentions, isn’t she? You’ve made them clear to her?

Mon 8th February 2016 @ 11:58
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Furtheron: This is why “be yourself” probably ranks as the most stupid bit of advice I’ve ever heard, second only to “be honest” :)

I love flirting, but it’s always with the aim of converting the try.

Exile: Well, yes, actions over words, true, but we last had sex on 20th February. No relenting, or desire to do so, yet.

And I agree about the shirt. Wendy’s…. erm, well, yes, let’s not go into too much detail but she would look maddeningly sexy like that. One day!

Mon 8th February 2016 @ 17:48
Comment from: [Member]

That’s incredible. Sex with Trina seems to have transported me to vistas as yet unknown – into the future in fact!

What I mean is, that our last episode of unholy congress was on 20th January.

Mon 8th February 2016 @ 20:20

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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.

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The Comfort of Strangers

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