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Sexy sex lessons
Sexy sex lessons
I remember kissing and kissing my pretty 7 year old cousin under the dining room table. And kissing. I was 9. This went on for about 2 or even 3 years (I might write something about this in another post)
I remember the librarian with very long shiny red nails. Back home I went straight to the toilet and imagining her long nails holding my cock. I wasn’t even masturbating. Just imagining. My cock immediately stood straight to attention and up ‒ “what the?…. is this?” - came cum spurting all over the library book on my lap. I was 12. I went back to that library 4 times in 1 week to get my books stamped by those nails. Page 56 of the book was stuck to page 57 permanently (no it wasn’t ‒ I just made that up)
I remember my sexy sexy auntie’s black stiletto’s in the hallway, lined up high and proud and just hot and waiting to go
I remember her steepling walk, the sound of those spike heels clicking hard against granite
I remember the swishy slush sound of her seamed stockings
I remember her sitting right close next to me on the bedroom floor with her long nails on my knee
I panted with excitement inside
My cock was rapidly raising its mast
I had to get up quick and rush straight to the toilet……..
I remember her calling me my favourite nickname, that only she could, and how thrilled to my skin it made me feel
I remember her with her tongue down my lucky uncle’s throat (at a Xmas party)
I remember him with his hand deep up her short skirt
I remember them dirty dancing up a wall (the same Xmas party)
I remember my moms tut tut look of utter disdain (my auntie was her younger sister)
I remember having to dance under my sweaty fat Grans armpits. And then she kissed me on the lips. Twice.
I remember curly-blonde Dutch girl Annalise de Witt taking me off to the Cut (the Canal) and wanting me to finger, gently, her little nubs of titties. So I put my hand deep up her skirt, with, at the same time my tongue going straight down her throat ‒ and she slapped me (no she didn’t ‒ I made that up….she kind of expressed disdain…lets put it like that….pushed me away like I was a dirty naughty little doggie)
I remember going into the sweet shop to buy my usual Twix and there was a new woman behind the counter.
She had very long scarlet nails and dangerously high high heels
(She looked like a sexy fat version of Karen Carpenter)
And the nubs of her titties were sticking out inside her (extremely) tight black cotton top. It seemed like every time I went in there those tits were pointing out at me and asking me to touch them.
I wanted so much to reach out over the counter and put those nubs in my mouth
In the days/months/years to come I spent a lot of time in the toilet. There was always much noisy irate banging on the door and my moms disdainful voice shouting through “What on earth are you doing in there”?.... (she knew of course……the joyless sad little woman)
I bought a lot of Twix that summer……
It’s always been my chocolate of choice……
11/9/2005 5:50 pm
I am becomming convinced you are Warhol to my Lou Reed, or maybe Lil Joe in Flesh. But although your posts are brilliant, it's just a load of tricks, brilliantly written. It's a kind of Franz Ferdinand - too clever for it's own good. Tell us how you became such a word|
maestro. What relationships really shaped you. Not librarians with long nails, please. I obliquely referenced you in my last post. I remember having beautiful women on my bed room wall and my beautiful mother teasing me about them. Topless girls out of the Sunday Times magazine, wearing next to nothing, made up like Nefertiti, sitting on rocks with only grey and pink in the palette.What Freud would make of it I don't know, but I think she knew, in her mother love, that I was in love with my beautiful Italian 14 year old neighbour. I think Angela's mother knew too. Listen, there is no philosopher ever (believe me, I've looked) who can tell you where thought comes from, not to mention erotic thought. That's another Blog.
We could have a celebrated opposition. Oasis and Blur, Beatles and Stones, that somehow define each other. Bobby and Jan?
I'm saying, the painful truth might just get you the woman you deserve. Trust.
11/10/2005 5:38 am
It makes my nubs(which are gloriously sore from a lovely session in the ,You guessed it, Woods)tingle with delight.
11/11/2005 7:05 am
you are a word maestro, but bobby, warhol was sexless, jan is anything but. |
11/23/2005 9:03 am
did you leave?|
11/24/2005 9:53 am
Wow, you remember a lot|