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I am open mouthed

  Sat 4th January 2020

To Lancaster. Sitting around with Kirsty and our girls makes me miss the companionable ease of family life, whilst I remember how suffocating I found it when it was there all the time.

I saw Kitty and Wendy for an hour or so, before Kitty got back to her coursework and Wendy had to return to The Little Dictator. The nostalgic memory of our open-ended drunken, druggie evenings, and everyone's restricted timetable, made it feel a bit forced. Too upbeat, making the most of it.

It was the girls' birthday on Christmas Eve, and Melanie, my youngest, had arranged a gig with her band, upstairs at The Job and House Price. She came down in her boho gig gear, reached to remove a lump from her breast pocket, and produced a die-sized nugget of dope. "Oh gosh," she said, amusing everyone with the quaintness of her phrase. Her band was tight; well-rehearsed sudden endings. I danced uneasily, not wishing to appear aloof.


On 27th we all decamped to Middlesbrough. My Mum's house was stiflingly hot, and getting even one window open took considerable negotiation. One or two of my rellies look de haut en bas on our side, but the nieces and nephews are intelligent and interesting.

I excused my self and went outside to ring Kim. We had planned an evening together. I left a message. "Get that's man's cock out of your fucking gob and ring me back about tomorrow." Kim turned up in her Bridget Riley dress: her curves, and Riley's.

When I got back, my well-meaning, kind, irritatingly unserious brother, whose relentless self-deprecation is actually a form of egotism, said "what? You've been to the Rocket? That's a bit rough isn't it?", because a teetotal Christian Bible literalist knows more about my former local than I do.

I was pleased to see Eric, puffing away in the doorway. He's an ex-Royal Engineer who when I was briefly homeless last year gave me advice about how to dig a sheltering trench for oneself in the nature reserve.

The ex-landlord shook me firmly by the hand, searching for my name. We all cheered when the barmaid smashed two glasses. I had a game of pool with Nora, who's got this severe haircut and lovely tits. Reading my mind, Eric advised "I'd fucking steer clear of her if I were you." The men were flummoxed by Kim's sexiness and her confidence, the women envied her, and I got the kudos of the assumed boyfriend; three types of error.


New Year's Eve, I went to Trina's. After the airlessness of my mum's, I could breathe, in her restfully plain little house in a neighbourly suburb. The butcher, who fancies her, once minced any chance he might have had by saying, as they were alone in the shop one afternoon, "let's go out for a drink. Start as friends, and see what happens."

Later, I tried a more direct approach, prompted by some combination of drinks that one only has at Christmas. We found ourselves standing up, close to each other. "I don't suppose you fancy sex do you?" "No, I don't see you in that way any more."

I thought that was it, but in a similar state of inebriation the following evening, she revisited the topic without any prompting from me. "Yesterday you asked me if I wanted sex with you." "Yes I did." "I'll have to think about it."

"No Trina, if you have to think about it it's not going to work. I was a bit pissed and just wondered if you fancied sex, there and then, that's all." She insisted on having to think about it. As we said goodnight, we started snogging, an open-mouthed, cock-hardening kiss, before repairing to our respective bedchambers.


I had a date on Friday. I described it to Wendy thus.

It was OK. We're going dancing next Friday but she said she'll probably get off around midnight, which might work ok because then I can have two hours without having to worry about her. Chatty, easy to talk to, got an MA, middle class. Pleasant enough, but the search for a dirty, clever druggie will continue methinks. But possible friend material, and I could do with more than Hayley down here.

I sent my date a closed-mouth text, saying that it was nice to have meet her and that I was looking forward to seeing her on Friday.

I've now decided to tell her that I've invited someone else along, having previously mentioned it to Hayley.

6 comments

Comment from: daisyfae [Visitor]

stopping by to catch up, and wish you a happy new year. i am fascinated by your ability to navigate through the various strata of society - often in a single evening. may the year ahead bring you a good balance of stability and adventure!

Tue 7th January 2020 @ 03:03 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

Thank you DF and Happy New Year! Yes, I can pass in several different spheres of social life. It’s one of my very few useful abilities.

And the very best to you for the twenties!

Tue 7th January 2020 @ 06:57 Reply to this comment
Comment from: Scarlet [Visitor]

I agree with Daisy - just reading your post left me socially exhausted.
Happy New Year, Mr Looby!
Sxx

Tue 7th January 2020 @ 09:01 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

And to you, la premiere jardinienere du Devon X (I like you, but not so much that I can be bothered with diacritical marks)

Tue 7th January 2020 @ 20:57 Reply to this comment
Comment from: kono [Visitor]

Families are the cruelest of jokes, to paraphrase Genet. I was stuck with the in-laws on Chrimbo, thank Jah for the advent of the weed vape, gives me the freedom to sneak to the loo and get high as fuck!! Shame we don’t live in the same city, judging by our social skills we’d be master criminals!! Good stuff as always!

Fri 10th January 2020 @ 16:29 Reply to this comment
Comment from: looby [Visitor]

So so wish I had one of them. Fortunately my house is pretty easy going but I don’t like stinking the place out.

And oh yes, you and me could absolutely wrap it up round here, I am certain of that. We can get nto markets that the chavs and the wreckheads who take too much of the free supply, can’t.

I thought you were going to adapt Eliot, (about April, in The Waste Land) not Genet.

See! We’d have them eating out of our palms! :)

Fri 10th January 2020 @ 16:41 Reply to this comment


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


M / 55 / 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

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