Monday, 20 November 2017


"Okay, if you'll just sit there," I said vaguely, indicating a desk, "I'll get to you in a second. Fill this out, please?"

I handed her the paper to fill out.

"Hey, so, yeah, I didn't know this was happening today."
"You didn't know you were coming here? You should have been notified."
"I was. Today."

"Oh, that sucks."

I vaguely wondered whether my client would call me unprofessional for using the term 'that sucks'. She didn't comment, so I took that as good sign.

"So, yeah, I totally need a pen."
"Hella," I said, passing her a pen.

I surprised even myself for using the word 'hella'. I only really picked that up from my girlfriend, and have no idea what it means. Then again, I also use 'Zounds!', and I got that from Christopher Marlowe. Again, my client didn't comment.

"I got you a present," she said. "Happy birthday."
"Thanks," I said automatically as she handed over the stack of Post-Its I'd accidentally left on the desk. "It's what I've always wanted."
"I know. I'm awesome."
"You are."

Slowly but surely, I'm beginning to engage with people.

Friday, 17 November 2017


Wow, it's been a hot minute since my last post. Whatever that means.

It has been a while, in any case. Much has happened; our house move is still an ongoing process, insofar as we have moved, but my life is now more of a concept consisting entirely of boxes and bags of miscellaneous bullshit I'd forgotten we own. I'm just a flitting idea now, rather than an entity.

My libido has been held back a bit by the fact that I've been suddenly given a lot more work to do, the room isn't as nice to touch myself in when there's still a looming pile of Things To Sort, and I'd lost the power cable for my external HD, which is where all my soft porn is. Perhaps more crucially, although my imagination and my hand are both still operational, I had an accident the other day which - as well as producing some very impressive marks on my thigh - put my right hand out of action for a day or so; specifically the index finger, which had a huge blister forming, making me have to balance a pen between thumb and middle finger when writing longhand.

I'm still typing mainly using my middle finger, since I got used to it.

Masturbation hasn't been impossible - I've had some opportunities to do so and taken advantage thereof - but it has been difficult. Fortunately, however, I have had some spectacular orgasms as a result.

One thing I haven't done yet is take a shower here. I think I have a phobia - whether the fact that it's an unfamiliar bathroom, or the fact that there are two single girls living upstairs and I don't want to appear just wearing a towel, or that I've just been too damn tired (which is probably the real reason), it hasn't happened yet. This occurred to me post-orgasm earlier in the week, when I suddenly realised that I was composed mainly of dry skin, and that I should indeed take a shower. In fact, I really needed one.

Yesterday afternoon I had a three-hour break between shifts at work. With nothing to do that wouldn't cost money - and safe in the knowledge that going home would have been a case of getting there, turning around and going back out again - I took a punt and headed to my parents' house to take a shower.

SH was empty when I got there, apart from Willow (who I fed), so I undressed with relative impunity, threw my pants, socks and T-shirt into the washing machine, and entered the bathroom.

My parents have a shower enclosed within a glass capsule, so it's perfectly possible for one to stand directly beneath it, turn it on and wait for the water to cascade over your naked body. So, of course, that is precisely what I did. Up went the lever, there was a faint gurgle, and then the rain burst into life, covering me in seconds.

I can't explain the sound I made - it was something between an expression of relief and ejaculatory bliss. It was so simple - warm, clean water sliding down my chest, back and stomach (and making all my fresh wounds sting) - but so relieving and satisfying. I grabbed a random shower gel (one of my sister's, I think), lathered up and let the jet wash it all away. Chest,  stomach, legs, feet, crotch, back, even my arse - it all got cleaned. I spent a lot of time on my face, used shampoo and conditioner in my hair (I suspect also my sister's products), and marvelled for far too long on the visual of everything spiralling down the drain into oblivion.

Washing away all manner of sins.

I stood there in the steam for a while, then stepped out onto the bathmat, wrapped a towel around myself, blow-dried my hair, commandeered some of my dad's clothes, and strapped my shoes back on. I said goodbye to Willow, hauled my bag over my shoulder, and set off into the autumnal dusk.

I still have my worries, and I'm still anxious about money, overworked for what I do, and with a mountain of boxes to sort out... but at that moment, scrubbed clean and properly dried, fresh as a daisy and just as powerful as the mighty oak, I felt like everything was all right. I could do anything.

Thursday, 9 November 2017


It was the middle of Freshers' Week and I was throwing shapes on the dance floor in the middle of our student union bar.

Note: "throwing shapes". Nothing I do on a dance floor could ever really be described as "dancing".

Not for the first time since I'd arrived at university a few days earlier, I found myself surrounded by beautiful women in various states of inebriation. Given the huge student body we had, I hadn't committed myself to learning many names... but I'd do so once my course had started, I told myself. None of the people in student hall with me were doing the same course. We may not even have that much in common. I learned a few names, nevertheless.

After a while, I realised that I was dancing in close proximity to someone I vaguely knew from the flat below mine and one other boy who I'd seen around with a different girl on his arm every night. I wrote a blog post about him later that term with liberal use of the C-word to describe him, which gives you a fair idea of exactly how I felt towards him. At this point, I didn't know anything but his name.

The girl from the floor below me, who I'll call Loll, was someone I also knew by sight. She was a little tipsy (as was he), but she was dancing fairly steadily, so certainly not outright drunk. I, of course, was sober. I wasn't reticent to dance with Loll - she was, from what I'd seen, a nice young lady - the main problem was him. Perhaps he saw me as a bit of a threat. He clearly had designs upon Loll, but then she seemed to be more interested in me.

"I'm having a good time," she said, leaning in to shout over the din.
"So am I!" I yelled back. "I've never really been clubbing before, this is new to me! I love to dance!"
"I'm having a good time dancing with you!" she trilled. "Because I like you!"
"I like you too!" I said obliviously. "You're fun! And you're a good dancer!"

I did a 360° turn at high speed for want of something else to do.

He muscled in to separate us a bit, but he didn't say anything, choosing instead to shoot me a look both furtive and challenging.

Loll brushed him aside and leaned across to flash me a smile. Even in the dark of the club, her teeth were dazzling.

"Have you got a girlfriend?" she whispered in my ear.

Here we present a problem. I did, in fact, have a girlfriend. Engaged, actually. This was the first week of university and I'd come secure in the knowledge that I was attached and committed. I also knew, by that point, that she was cheating on me, or at least was heading that way. I didn't say anything about it, not even to her, but I did know. I was sure that this was just a phase and that we'd end up together, me being the forgiving type (and having forgiven her three previous indiscretions), but here was an opportunity for me to do the same thing.

I hardly need to mention that Loll was, herself, very attractive. She had long, dark, shiny hair and mysterious eyes. We became friends in the coming few weeks and I used to go clubbing with her, pretending to be her boyfriend so nobody would come on to her; she liked the security, and I liked the attention. Everyone thought I fancied her at that point - I thought she fancied me. 47, TMF and all my friends who read my LiveJournal seemed to think the same way - TMF asked me if Rebecca had seemed jealous. Now I look back at it, there's probably a reason she didn't.

In any case, the very concept of doing something with somebody else was a little exciting. Despite what one heard about Freshers' Week, I wasn't really expecting to have sex. Maybe I could have snogged her, and then maybe that would have led somewhere. At this point, I didn't know. I'd have other potential leads in this club... none of which would lead anywhere, either.

The beds in our student hall were very comfortable, and I hadn't had sex for a while, and...

"Yeah," I said back. "Yeah, I've got a girlfriend. Engaged, actually."

Fucking hell, ILB.

Despite the flash of something between disappointment and relief that darted across her face, the awkward semi-flirtation continued from that point. We carried on dancing together, and there were a few moments which might have been sweet - she pointed at me, and then herself, and then smiled a bit, before doing some more dancing - but I did feel a little awkward about the whole affair. Obviously I wasn't going to cheat with Loll. Obviously. I wasn't intending to.

Maybe I could buy her a drink, though.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he said, noticing some of my discomfort and jumping in between us.
"Uhm... okay!" she replied, taken a little aback. "I'll be back, okay, ILB?"
"Sure, fine, no problem," I mumbled back. "I'll just be here, er, dancing. On my own."

Three hours passed and, as I made my way out of the club to the strains of Mad World, I noticed them in the corner - empty glasses littering the table next to them and locked together into one of the messiest kisses I've ever seen.

I went back to my room hating him, sat down on my bed and cried until morning.

Wednesday, 1 November 2017


It was 9:30pm and I was on the late bus home from work. I chanced a look at the clock as we mounted the crest of the hill with the church at the top, near where Einstein lives. I'd missed Only Connect and Have I Got News For You, again. I'd have to mainline iPlayer when I got home.

My BlackBerry was out of battery; my iPod, I'd left at home. I'd also packed all of my books for our impending house move, and had forgotten to put one in my work bag. I'd decided to entertain myself by watching the cars out of the window, and following the trails of the raindrops as they spattered against the glass.

I was freezing.

I hadn't put a jumper on when I left for work earlier that day. I'd just decided upon a cotton shirt and a thin, waterproof macintosh, reasoning that that would be enough. I even had the fan on at work, the room being full of warm bodies. But here I was, only three or so hours later, sitting on the bus and feeling colder and colder...

...and that's when my nipples, erect with the cold, made contact with the cotton of my shirt. I yawned, stretched, and felt the thin fabric dragging against my chest.

My libido sprang to life and wouldn't stop hitting me in the head until I did it some more.

I spent the rest of the journey in a sort of exquisite torture, making small movements with my body so my nipples could brush against my shirt. As time went on, the friction made them grow harder and firmer, and my penis began to stir too, with nothing but the haze in my head and the physical sensation growling through my thorax to prompt it. Though, admittedly, such a small sensation as it was, it was enough. I had no distractions - nothing else to concentrate on.

With just my heartbeat, laboured breathing and the continuous rustle of cotton on skin, I sat on that cold, dark bus, and turned myself on without so much as touching myself.

I stopped the bus near my house, disembarked along with rock-hard nipples and a pulsing, firm erection, and met with a wall of rain as I started to stomp home. Three steps, maybe four, and I certainly wasn't hard any more.