31 July 2010
Little in life is as fragile as the male ego and although it sounds amazing to have numerous females clamouring for your attention, i can well imagine how intimidating (and draining) it might be to have them all simultaneously demanding complete and immediate satisfaction...for no matter how talented and resourceful a chef may be he can only make one sausage go so far.
I suppose the secret would be to pace oneself and curb those greedy impulses as does the much envied Sheikh in all his wisdom, taking but one wife a night and rotating them in turn...and if the woman has a headache on her shift then she'll just have to wait another month while the husband merely shrugs his shoulders and scoffs a tray of Turkish Delight instead.
28 July 2010
That glorious afternoon she entranced me, conquered my heart, stirred my passions to a frenzy and steadfastly devoured every hard-boiled egg in my hamper; she sat in silence looking more divine and desirable than i'd ever seen anybody look in my entire life yet totally oblivious to my almost hypnotic trance as i gazed at her through a hazy mist of unrequited yearning.
Without a single word of kindness or affection towards my tortured soul, she worked her way through the pork pies with a grim determination and lashings of mustard, consumed all the pickled onions without a second thought and savaged the scones beyond all salvation.
In vain i tried to conjur witty conversation but found myself unequal to the task, my tongue tripping over itself at every turn in my nervousness while darling Desdemona held what might be termed as either a dignified or an ignorant silence, beguiling me with the close proximity of her captivating beauty.
It was when rounding off her repast by attacking the strawberries that my heart truly became her eternal slave, popping them in rapid succession between her cherry red lips...sweetly seductive lips that i so passionately hungered to taste for myself...
...utterly spellbound, i watched in awe until she leisurely concluded the picnic by completely draining the Ginger Beer and letting forth a mighty belch which frightened a distant flock of crows into taking sudden and terrified flight; i don't suppose i'll ever meet another girl like dear Desdemona again.
25 July 2010
Not having personally encountered and grappled with a pair of Tap Pants, i sat down and considered the matter fully, determined to leave no stone unturned in my quest and no knicker drawer unrummaged.
My first thought was that they might be an especially convenient type of undergarment which dropped to the ankles with the slightest friendly tap on the bottom, thus saving a great deal of time and effort in Talking them off the lady in question.
And then i mused that they may be mystical lingerie with which one can tap into all sorts of unkown and unseen energies or passions, an underwear equivalent to Ley Lines perhaps.
They could also have something to do with actual taps, as in bathroom taps, insinuating a link to leakiness, excessive moisture or constant dripping, incontinence pants maybe, an option which i discarded immediately as wholly unromantic and quite unappealing.
Finally i discovered that they are another name for French knickers, often made from lace, silk, or satin derived from shorts that tap-dancers wear in practise but we are gravely warned to beware as From a distance, one could mistakenly identify tap pants as a half slip...so now i know all about them and instead wonder what one might do with such a treacherous thing as a half slip.
22 July 2010
All of a sudden, i was confronted by the wholely unexpected vision of the Reverend Felchpott chasing the church organist, Miss Gussetpickle, up and down the aisle and in and out of the pews with a very wild look in his eyes that could be described as nothing short of lustful.
The pursued spinster was shrieking like a cornered vole, crying Get thee behind me, Satan! as she scampered to and fro with her petticoats billowing, to which imploring ejaculation the inflamed Reverend retorted, Aha! So that's how you like it, is it? You saucy wench!
I stepped forward from my position of concealment with a tactful cough that brought the pair of them to an immediate, embarrassed standstill and the realisation gradually dawned upon me that what i had interrupted was not unseemly harrassment but a private game designed to whet the percolating appetites of both parties.
What do you mean by bursting in here during private organ practise? demanded the cleric in an attempt to restore a little bearing and dignity, his eyes blazing and his cassock still twitching spasmodically.
But before i could answer, a piqued Miss Gussetpickle had flounced past me with a furious glare, her cheeks flushed either from the chase or perhaps from a deep irritation that i had interrupted their little game before they could reach its logical conclusion...whichever the reason, i silently vowed on the spot never again to come between a man, a woman and a cumbersome organ.
19 July 2010
Our brief conversation had been initiated by her carelessly brushing against my butternut squash and dropping the fine head of cabbage that she'd been clutching, both of us hastily stooping to retrieve our precious vegetables and making sudden, slightly nervous eye contact close to an intimidatingly healthy display of courgettes.
Whether it was the heady aroma of seasoned onions that caused my passions to stir, i know not, but for a fleeting second my only thought was to hold her and kiss her; but i didn't.
The surrounding abundance of Mother Nature's earthy produce might have influenced her senses likewise for i could have sworn that i glimpsed a flickering desire within her eyes and hoped that she might hold me and kiss me; but she didn't.
I'm leaking, she announced in a confidential whisper, that's what the cabbage leaves are for. Nice and snug inside a bra, old wives tales and nursing mothers, you see.
You're....leaking? Ah...i see...lactating.
She nodded and smiled, still holding that wretched cabbage to her bosom, that most fortunate of cabbages which was obviously destined for far greater things than the mere mundanities of boiling or steaming.
Lactating like a good 'un...yes, sir...are you peckish at all? Perhaps you should nibble on a cabbage leaf, they're really very good for you.
16 July 2010
But as i say, the thought of some unkown predatory female driven by an unquenchable desire for submissive male flesh holding me within her dark lair lights a blue touchpaper in the imagination making it a far more attractive proposition even than being rescued by five cute, girly super heroes, lovely as they all are.
Why don't they give this amazing woman her own show? Every week she could claim another set of victims, from what i'm sure would be a very willing male public, and do battle with a resident team of girls who'd hopefully be wearing brightly coloured, skin-tight lycra costumes perfectly designed to display their feminine super powers in all their glory.
As in all the best comic book tales, we do not know the true identity of The Uber Cougar and hopefully it will never be revealed to us because that would spoil the whole thing, the fact that she remains anonymous heightens the impact enormously.
Each prisoner sees her as whoever he likes, whoever his personal fantasy cougar might be, which in my case would be Lucy Lawless...who it would be an absolute honour and privilege to be abducted and tormented by, especially if she was in her Xena, Warrior Princess outfit...the mightiest and most majestic Uber Cougar of them all.
14 July 2010
He often listened with a sympathetic ear and fishy-smelling whiskers to my romantic troubles and was never short of sagely wisdom and advice such as his favourite expression, There's plenty more naughty fish in the sea, young whippersnapper...or maybe it was Plenty more fish in the naughty sea?...no matter, i knew well enough what the seasoned old goat meant.
As a weatherbeaten and vastly experienced fisherman of many years standing, he was bound to know a thing or two about catching fish and also how best to see out a raging storm, both of which surely applied likewise in metaphorical fashion to the turbulent seas of romance and their inherant perils in obtaining a good catch at the end of the day.
Thou'll want a wench with a gen'rous, broad beam who in't the sort to repel boarders at the drop o' a lobster pot, he once remarked beneath his customary rum-soaked breath as his beady old eyes roamed over a passing young lady with an especially handsome figure, A nice bit o' snapper like 'er yonder'll soon 'ave yer whelk from 'is shell an' gobble 'im up afore the tide turns...by God, she'd soon shake the barnacles off a souls bottom, wrigglin' an' jigglin' all night long just like a blimmin' conger!
He yet lives even to this very day and is still to be found dispensing nautical words of wisdom with impenetrable meanings and liberally laced with colourful sea-going references to anyone who'll listen, although he's now so aged and befuddled as to conclude every scaley fillet of advice with the bizarre exlamation I swear 'tis so or my name in't Wrinkleforeskin Cockbeard!
11 July 2010
Pray take pity on a poor lost girl, good sir, a girl who is not only chilled to the bone but who has suffered the great misfortune of encountering a scoundrel who nonchalantly befuddled my senses with sweet talk and deceitfully cajoled me out of my knickers against my better judgement...and then made off with them.
I gallantly put an arm around her trembling shoulders, uttering words of comfort which eventually calmed her troubled spirits whilst privately wondering if a snowbound girl with no knickers would die of exposure despite my best efforts and most honourable attentions.
That knicker-snatching swine is a rotter of the highest order, i told her with a reassuringly protective and warming squeeze, and regretably you are forever estranged from their homely comfort and modesty but come with me and you shall not only enjoy my protective care and gentlest affection but will also be mistress of the finest, silkiest knickers that it is within my power to buy you.
The girl's smile of sincere gratitude sealed the matter as she tenderly took my hand, permitting me to lead her home which in turn led to a lengthy and mutually pleasant, charmingly agreeable sojourn beneath my humble roof. To aid a damsel in distress is its own reward, of course, but i was heartened to think that while the mysterious man had escaped with her knickers, i had acquired the girl within them.
09 July 2010
Never personally having an Essex girlfriend upon whom to form a judgement, i'm no expert but i do generally like those i see in the media because, generally speaking, they appear down-to-earth, bubbly, fun-loving and warm-hearted which in my opinion are all big plus-points.
Just so you know, my favourite Essex girls would be Victoria Beckham, Rita Simons, Denise Van Outen, Stacey Solomon...and, last but not least in this heavenly feast, the Princess of Brentwood herself, Jodie Marsh.
I say this quite proudly, full in the knowledge that for every good comment you see about Jodie, there are a hundred spiteful ones but you'll hear nothing for her from me but warm praise and admiration even if i did wish she'd not had her boobs inflated and had gone slightly easier on the tattoos...it's her choice, after all.
Although some might say she is partly to blame for Essexism, Jodie Marsh remains one of my favourite daughters of that fair county, misunderstood and largely derided, but think what you will about her, i'm quite fond of dear Jodie who, along with her not so shy and retiring Essex sisters, is a real national treasure and a wonderfully exuberant living work of art upon which i'm always pleased to gaze.
06 July 2010
Unkindly, she may be defined alongside such wayward (but eternally adorable)cousins as Hussy, Trollop and Tart, but the very sound of her name speaks of a lively, vivacious woman who knows how to enjoy life, spreading happiness and pleasure wherever she roams, being much closer to her delightful sisters, Flirt, Coquette, Floozy and Wench, tempting and passionate daughters of nature each and every one.
Strumpet breezes through life with a saucy grin on her pretty face and a carefree heart, she lives for the day and seeks her pleasure wherever she finds it, which to me distinguishes her from other enchanting but slightly selfish and sinful girls; an evening spent with her would not necessarily lead to any untoward goings-on but would undoubtedly be time spent in laughter and merrymaking, living life to the full with a heart full of sunshine.
She is as free as the wind, flitting here and there like a captivating butterfly but always bringing with her a generous portion of warmth, happiness and good cheer, for which she deserves our undying praise and thanks so, whilst we treasure each and every woman that graces God's green earth, we must surely reserve a special place in our affections for that most welcome creature, the Strumpet,to whom i raise my glass and drink a toast to her continued good health and happiness.
03 July 2010
Over the ensuing years, lovely Lucy Pargeter has treated us to one of my very favourite good time gals in the bawdy form of her spiky character Chas, a woman who's prowled the dales like a hormonal alleycat, her passions never far from erupting in either barbarian anger or sheer animal lust.
Her unique fashion sense rarely lets her down from the rivettingly short mini-skirts, leggings and FM Boots to the seriously overwhelmed range of tops and jackets which somehow just about manage to contain her magnificently generous superstructure.
And such a gently angelic voice too...just imagine the nasal whine of a jet fighter with a Yorkshire accent and you'll be close, oh how i love her when she shouts.
But more than all these things, Chastity Dingle is enormously endearing and brimming with humour, her razor-sharp tongue always keenly honed and her dark eyes forever glittering with mischief and barely suppressed naughtiness, all of which recommends her to my deepest affections in the most charming manner imagineable.