Gay Nazi Sex Vicar in Schoolgirl Knickers Vice Disco Lawnmower Shock!
« Rochdale, town of sexA Tune A Day »

You're fucin dumped

  Tue 27th September 2016

I met Trish for the first time in Manchester on Friday. Afterwards I went to Wetherspoons and wrote a postcard to Kim (larger version if you click on it).

It is an absolute joy to be fancied. I have lost count of the times I tensed with frustration and the imperative to be accepting of it, on being told at the end of dates that I am "sweet", "clever", "funny", and the other sickening backhand translations of sexual rejection; then having to force a smile of un-meant thanks. I thought perhaps I had some strange deformation that everyone was afraid of telling me about, and that this was it, the permanent sexless friendzone, just at the time when whoever is controlling my brain in the vat seems to have deliberately turned up my Dionysian drive vexatiously, to see what would happen.

Trish fancies me. A gorgeous, well-dressed, funny, postgrad educated, foul-mouthed, sexy, desirable woman fancies me. At last, at the age of fifty-two, I am having long phone calls round midnight and making reckless suggestions about a future that hasn't started, with a woman I hardly know; talking a mixture of autobiography, comedy filth, softly spoken phone sex, drunken blather (she drinks as much as me and is often to be found abed at odd hours in the afternoon), and easy pauses whilst the sex circulates in my head.

She pays me barely believable compliments, without the off-the-shelf post-date clichés that most women bandy about. These lovely sentences of hers vary in their focus on my personality, my looks, and how I communicate with her. "You write beautifully" (I write postcards to her, photograph them, then email them to her), "but you talk like shit. It's great." I love her texts, and regret that my old phone has the storage capacity of a sheet of A5.

Fuckin sick of waiting for you text me. You're fucin dumped

You just want to Squeeze my nipples, you fucnin perve

I cant chat in drunk

Just seen your message.You shallow bastard!

can you imagine us together? We'd be pissed all the time

I can't speak my mouth is full of your cock

I'm a bit crap really. Like you, funny, intelligent. But lost my way

I've just woken up wishing you were [...]

In some ways it isn't very promising. She smokes, and lives too far away, in a town outside Manchester. She's said all along she wants someone close enough to call in at the drop of a hat, not someone at the end of a two hour train journey which costs £23 return. She seems a bit reluctant to travel, which is a particular pity at the moment as both the lodgers have moved out so we could have the house to ourselves.

I'd prefer someone closer too, but I've been through all the women in Lancaster on the site. Trina has been asking me for four years to take my profile down; I took it down the same evening I met Trish.

No feedback yet


Form is loading...

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


M / 58 / 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
Crinklybee
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
Guitars and Life
Infomaniac [NSFW]
The Joy of Bex
Laudator Temporis Acti
Leeds's Singing Organ-Grinder
The Most Difficult Thing Ever
Quillette
Strange Flowers
Trailer Park Refugee
Wonky Words

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

5:4
Bristol New Music
Desiring Progress Collection of links only
Golden Pages for Musicologists
Lauren Redhead
NewMusicBox
The Rambler
Resonance FM
Sequenza 21
Sound and Music
Talking Musicology defunct, but retained


  XML Feeds

Social CMS
 

©2022 by looby. Don't steal anything or you'll have a 9st arts graduate to deal with.

Contact | Help | Blog skin by Asevo | Multiblog engine