And yet again.
I have been asked if I can write a sexy, ‘granny’, sketch of love and lust of pensioners sharing sweat under bed covers whilst visiting the toilet every 5 minutes.
That is not easy. I feel uncomfortable writing about physical contact involving impregnation of penises into orifices. Male or female.
I have been asked if I can write a sexy, ‘granny’, sketch of love and lust of pensioners sharing sweat under bed covers whilst visiting the toilet every 5 minutes.
That is not easy. I feel uncomfortable writing about physical contact involving impregnation of penises into orifices. Male or female.
But – I suppose I can try. I use Rhodie Tony as the experimental scapegoat.
Tony hits his local, ‘The Nagging Whore.’ Orders his usual and after a pint notices that the wrinkled old bag at the bar was looking a lot younger and giving him the eye. Only one as the other was blind.
Tony sidled up, pulled the dame’s pony tail up and was amazed as her face became 20 years younger.
‘I want your sex. I want to spread your legs, discover where people come from and attempt to perpetrate the truth of the origins of man since Adam gave Eve one.’
Well, besides being totally a terrible line for hitting on a wench, the damsel was from Kazakhstan and did not understand a bloody word.
The fact she had a permanent grin of idiocy, not helped by Tony dragging her back to his place by her hair whilst singing a ditty he made up –‘Jiggy- jiggy, Humpty Dumpty, Empty sacky and throw her out the window.’
Upon reaching his damp cardboard box under a fly over of the M25, Tony kicked a couple of tramps who thought they could move in rent free.
This was it. Sex. Lots of it.
In a way she was gorgeous. Neat pair of titties and her gut barely touched her knees. Her woman’s delight was truly a beaver of pubic hair, camouflaging an entrance that was now free.
Stripping her naked, he admired the layers of her buttocks as he eventually found a place to place his member. He grunted, she screamed, the next-door neighbour tramps gathered around chanting ‘Hoo hoo’.
Reaching the pinnacle of ecstasy, Tony emptied his bucket. Collapsed onto the bint, whom he now noticed smelt like a two week old, over date cabbage, looked like she had slept with enough dogs to try and make puppies.
Along with the help of his fellow tramps, she was tossed onto the motorway to be run over by a Ford Fiesta.
And so, ends my experiment into writing about sex.
Tony hits his local, ‘The Nagging Whore.’ Orders his usual and after a pint notices that the wrinkled old bag at the bar was looking a lot younger and giving him the eye. Only one as the other was blind.
Tony sidled up, pulled the dame’s pony tail up and was amazed as her face became 20 years younger.
‘I want your sex. I want to spread your legs, discover where people come from and attempt to perpetrate the truth of the origins of man since Adam gave Eve one.’
Well, besides being totally a terrible line for hitting on a wench, the damsel was from Kazakhstan and did not understand a bloody word.
The fact she had a permanent grin of idiocy, not helped by Tony dragging her back to his place by her hair whilst singing a ditty he made up –‘Jiggy- jiggy, Humpty Dumpty, Empty sacky and throw her out the window.’
Upon reaching his damp cardboard box under a fly over of the M25, Tony kicked a couple of tramps who thought they could move in rent free.
This was it. Sex. Lots of it.
In a way she was gorgeous. Neat pair of titties and her gut barely touched her knees. Her woman’s delight was truly a beaver of pubic hair, camouflaging an entrance that was now free.
Stripping her naked, he admired the layers of her buttocks as he eventually found a place to place his member. He grunted, she screamed, the next-door neighbour tramps gathered around chanting ‘Hoo hoo’.
Reaching the pinnacle of ecstasy, Tony emptied his bucket. Collapsed onto the bint, whom he now noticed smelt like a two week old, over date cabbage, looked like she had slept with enough dogs to try and make puppies.
Along with the help of his fellow tramps, she was tossed onto the motorway to be run over by a Ford Fiesta.
And so, ends my experiment into writing about sex.
No comments:
Post a Comment