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- a member for 16 years, 0 months and 2 days
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- has posted 19 stories and 29 replies on question of the week
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» Cringe!
The Screaming
Several years back, Ms. Witch-Finder General lived in a large apartment just off Tottenham Court Road. It was ex local authority housing and the lucky lady was paying only 25 quid a week to live in luxury with all of Central London at her doorstep. Needless to say we lived it large, rolling in in the not so small hours 5 days a week when she wasn't away.
However, just downstairs from her lived The Screamers.
I had never met the couple, but my missus regularly baby-sat for their 12-year old, which will give you a vague idea of their age. However, I had heard them. Regularly.
Every Friday and Saturday evening when we were getting ready to go out, like clockwork The Screaming would start, unmistakably the sound of vigorous coitus drifting up from the open window below. For an older gentleman, he certainly had a fair bit of stamina and she was very vocal in her support. Occasionally , we would compete with them, trying to shag for longer than they did, and would celebrate with a cheer when we 'won.' This later became more creative with us trying to match their often fairly 'lively' bedtalk with more unlikely and imaginative interjections of our own "Grease up the dwarf'" was a good'un as was "Use the whole fist! Now!"
------wavy lines to indicate the passing of time----------
A few years later I was living with the missus in North London and working in a film studio quite a way out of town. One week, I was temporarily without a car, so the young lad we had as a runner / work experience / general shit-monkey kindly offered to run me back to Central London on the Friday night. Being the amiable soul that I am, I suggested I buy him a couple of pints for his trouble, so it that was why I found myself droppping into his flat where he still lived with his Mum and Dad for a cup of tea and a chat.
Just off Tottenham Court Road.
In the flat below my girlfriends old flat.
And trying to make polite conversation with a woman who I had once shouted "Keep sucking the Donkeys Cock!" at.
(Wed 3rd Dec 2008, 13:51, More)
The Screaming
Several years back, Ms. Witch-Finder General lived in a large apartment just off Tottenham Court Road. It was ex local authority housing and the lucky lady was paying only 25 quid a week to live in luxury with all of Central London at her doorstep. Needless to say we lived it large, rolling in in the not so small hours 5 days a week when she wasn't away.
However, just downstairs from her lived The Screamers.
I had never met the couple, but my missus regularly baby-sat for their 12-year old, which will give you a vague idea of their age. However, I had heard them. Regularly.
Every Friday and Saturday evening when we were getting ready to go out, like clockwork The Screaming would start, unmistakably the sound of vigorous coitus drifting up from the open window below. For an older gentleman, he certainly had a fair bit of stamina and she was very vocal in her support. Occasionally , we would compete with them, trying to shag for longer than they did, and would celebrate with a cheer when we 'won.' This later became more creative with us trying to match their often fairly 'lively' bedtalk with more unlikely and imaginative interjections of our own "Grease up the dwarf'" was a good'un as was "Use the whole fist! Now!"
------wavy lines to indicate the passing of time----------
A few years later I was living with the missus in North London and working in a film studio quite a way out of town. One week, I was temporarily without a car, so the young lad we had as a runner / work experience / general shit-monkey kindly offered to run me back to Central London on the Friday night. Being the amiable soul that I am, I suggested I buy him a couple of pints for his trouble, so it that was why I found myself droppping into his flat where he still lived with his Mum and Dad for a cup of tea and a chat.
Just off Tottenham Court Road.
In the flat below my girlfriends old flat.
And trying to make polite conversation with a woman who I had once shouted "Keep sucking the Donkeys Cock!" at.
(Wed 3rd Dec 2008, 13:51, More)
» Cougars and Sugar Daddies
Ok, this may be messy.
I was working part-time with a brilliant bunch of people, always up for a big night out, whatever day of the week. Naturally I was making very little money and spunking what I did on various boozes. One of my very occasional fellow part-timers was a beautiful tall, pale, willowy (ok, skinny) blonde from the midlands who was 16 years my senior ( I was 21). Naturally, I'd get flirty with , let's call her P, when we went out but I knew deep down she was way out of my league. As time went by, I realised she was working fewer and fewer days and always seemed to be ill, but those days she worked, she always seemed to be working alongside me. We'd chat about the world and its' injustices, but never anything personal as that just didn't seem right, seeing as we were meant to be dealing with members of the public as well. I did notice that she wasn't hitting the boozer anywhere near as much as she used to, so we could never really get any further.
One afternoon, I was working with P and just thought, Sod it...why not? and asked her to a party my flatmates were throwing that week. Amazingly she agreed and asked of she could bring her mate, a fairly successful (financially if not artistically) actress.
Damn Right.
The party was pretty mediocre, and I noticed the object of my desire was sticking to the soft drinks, thus, so I thought, lessening my chances from little to none. However, with the absolutely bizarre come-on line of 'Do you want to see our sauna" (don't ask) somehow everything fell into place. After a few minutes of dicking about with the thermostat, and pondering the etiqutte of removing clothing in the sauna (Yes, really. Don't ask,) she settled the matter with the immortal line "Look, sod the sauna, let's just have sex."
Bloody Nora!
...
The next few weeks were a bit of a blur, I must have slept about 3 hours a night on average and lots about 4.7 litres of man-goo, but inevitably came the 'it's not you, it's me.' speech.
But this was different.
It was the 'I've been given 6 months to live' speech
Holy Shitting Christ.
Suddenly it all added up, the long absences from work, the concern about how she was from my colleagues, and I had never been told and never guessed quite how seriously ill she was. She lay in my arms and cried for hours about how every ones attitude towards her as a sexual being had changed after she had been diagnosed with cancer 2 years before, that she was too far gone for chemo, and that she understood if I wanted out.
Now your average 21-year old can't deal very easily with that sort of heavy-duty emotional weight dropping on them. I was your average 21-year old. We agreed to call it a day after one last night of tears and sweaty biology. Then I did the bad thing.
We both went out together with her mate, the actress who was 'only' 6 years older than me, and one of my best friends. As we had cabbed it back to the actresses flat, it was fairly clear that some horses were being changed mid-stream. Yup, we both did the dirty on each other with our best friends in the same flat on the same night, and amazingly I'm still with the other woman to this day.
When the end came for P over 12 months later, both me and the missus were at her hospice bed watching her hover between reality, the land of morphia and the big sleep. She died on a foul and rainy spring day while we had gone down the pub for lunch and a couple of pick-me-ups.
(Fri 5th Dec 2008, 11:16, More)
Ok, this may be messy.
I was working part-time with a brilliant bunch of people, always up for a big night out, whatever day of the week. Naturally I was making very little money and spunking what I did on various boozes. One of my very occasional fellow part-timers was a beautiful tall, pale, willowy (ok, skinny) blonde from the midlands who was 16 years my senior ( I was 21). Naturally, I'd get flirty with , let's call her P, when we went out but I knew deep down she was way out of my league. As time went by, I realised she was working fewer and fewer days and always seemed to be ill, but those days she worked, she always seemed to be working alongside me. We'd chat about the world and its' injustices, but never anything personal as that just didn't seem right, seeing as we were meant to be dealing with members of the public as well. I did notice that she wasn't hitting the boozer anywhere near as much as she used to, so we could never really get any further.
One afternoon, I was working with P and just thought, Sod it...why not? and asked her to a party my flatmates were throwing that week. Amazingly she agreed and asked of she could bring her mate, a fairly successful (financially if not artistically) actress.
Damn Right.
The party was pretty mediocre, and I noticed the object of my desire was sticking to the soft drinks, thus, so I thought, lessening my chances from little to none. However, with the absolutely bizarre come-on line of 'Do you want to see our sauna" (don't ask) somehow everything fell into place. After a few minutes of dicking about with the thermostat, and pondering the etiqutte of removing clothing in the sauna (Yes, really. Don't ask,) she settled the matter with the immortal line "Look, sod the sauna, let's just have sex."
Bloody Nora!
...
The next few weeks were a bit of a blur, I must have slept about 3 hours a night on average and lots about 4.7 litres of man-goo, but inevitably came the 'it's not you, it's me.' speech.
But this was different.
It was the 'I've been given 6 months to live' speech
Holy Shitting Christ.
Suddenly it all added up, the long absences from work, the concern about how she was from my colleagues, and I had never been told and never guessed quite how seriously ill she was. She lay in my arms and cried for hours about how every ones attitude towards her as a sexual being had changed after she had been diagnosed with cancer 2 years before, that she was too far gone for chemo, and that she understood if I wanted out.
Now your average 21-year old can't deal very easily with that sort of heavy-duty emotional weight dropping on them. I was your average 21-year old. We agreed to call it a day after one last night of tears and sweaty biology. Then I did the bad thing.
We both went out together with her mate, the actress who was 'only' 6 years older than me, and one of my best friends. As we had cabbed it back to the actresses flat, it was fairly clear that some horses were being changed mid-stream. Yup, we both did the dirty on each other with our best friends in the same flat on the same night, and amazingly I'm still with the other woman to this day.
When the end came for P over 12 months later, both me and the missus were at her hospice bed watching her hover between reality, the land of morphia and the big sleep. She died on a foul and rainy spring day while we had gone down the pub for lunch and a couple of pick-me-ups.
(Fri 5th Dec 2008, 11:16, More)
» Customers from Hell
Retail and Therapy
Ah the joys of working in retail. Combining the skills of psychiatric analysis, confidence trickery and kick-boxing to ensure maximum turnover and minimum physical abuse.
I worked in a cool independent record shop in the olden days when there were record shops. They've all been replaced now by a combination of itunes and drop-in centres for lonely disfunctional single men.
A few of our choice punters...
The man who had bought a Bob Dylan record 8 years previously and wanted his money back "Because he had gone deaf"
The charming punter who tried to push me out of the way of the record racks while I was trying to stop an epileptic swallowing his own tongue.
"Mr Licky-Licky" A freak who would lick the covers of CDs he liked.
The Jazz Cunt. The name says it all.
(Fri 5th Sep 2008, 12:26, More)
Retail and Therapy
Ah the joys of working in retail. Combining the skills of psychiatric analysis, confidence trickery and kick-boxing to ensure maximum turnover and minimum physical abuse.
I worked in a cool independent record shop in the olden days when there were record shops. They've all been replaced now by a combination of itunes and drop-in centres for lonely disfunctional single men.
A few of our choice punters...
The man who had bought a Bob Dylan record 8 years previously and wanted his money back "Because he had gone deaf"
The charming punter who tried to push me out of the way of the record racks while I was trying to stop an epileptic swallowing his own tongue.
"Mr Licky-Licky" A freak who would lick the covers of CDs he liked.
The Jazz Cunt. The name says it all.
(Fri 5th Sep 2008, 12:26, More)
» Workplace Boredom
Fire Trouser
At my last place of work, it got so quiet sometimes, we used to play Fire Trouser.
The aim was to fill the turnups of your co-workers jeans with lighter fluid (which we often used for cleaning bits and bobs) and set fire to it without them noticing.
(Thu 8th Jan 2009, 14:39, More)
Fire Trouser
At my last place of work, it got so quiet sometimes, we used to play Fire Trouser.
The aim was to fill the turnups of your co-workers jeans with lighter fluid (which we often used for cleaning bits and bobs) and set fire to it without them noticing.
(Thu 8th Jan 2009, 14:39, More)