Heartland

Debaser wrote:

emilystrange wrote:3 minutes of squelching noises

You did it twice the first time then?

rian wrote:

Debaser wrote:

emilystrange wrote:3 minutes of squelching noises

You did it twice the first time then?

_emma_ wrote:
Well, mine lasted for a whole week! Bedroom - bathroom - fridge - bathroom - fridge - bed - over and over again, for the whole week, until we did it right.
Oh how I wish I was able repeat such a thing nowadays!

_emma_ wrote:
... over and over again, for the whole week, until we did it right.

_emma_ wrote:Oh how I wish I was able repeat such a thing nowadays!

Francis wrote:19. Prostitute. Does it count if you don't actually come?

emilystrange wrote:FAR too much info...

emilystrange wrote:ummm ..... not 'blow by blow', no.

emilystrange wrote:FAR too much info...

One rainy Sunday afternoon I wrote:Having returned early to re-sit the exams I had failed, I had a few days to kill while I waited for the others to arrive. I decided to buy some dope. I really wanted some mushrooms, but couldn’t find any in the local parks. Everyone in Leeds knew where to get dope, though I must have been really desperate as I’d never dealt with a dealer before, let alone on my own in Chapeltown. This decision was to lead to the most embarassing moment in my life and my deepest, darkest secret.

I don’t know how I knew where the Hayfield was, but I got there without asking directions and I doubt if I took a taxi cos I was a poor student and we walked everywhere, except up and down Woodhouse Lane because we knew which buses to catch. There was no-one around outside. There was supposed to be. I wandered around aimlessly, wondering what to do. Things weren’t going according to plan. The plan which I had convinced myself would simply entail buying some quality ganja from a couple of laid back rastas running a stall in the Hayfield’s car park. I’d come a long way. I wasn’t gonna wimp out now. I was a man and I was gonna prove it. I went inside. To my amazement, relief and disappointment, there wasn’t a black man in sight. It could have been any pub in Woodhouse on a weekday lunchtime, only it was emptier and there weren’t any students there. Except me. I fronted it out. Bought a pint, sat down, drank it and left. So where were the black guys? There must have been a room at the back for those with the password. I wandered around a bit more and then I found them. Loads of them. All milling around outside the bookies. Now I knew how G had felt the day he arrived at our school. Fancy living with this all your life. They obviously didn’t.

I wandered about a bit more and finally plucked up the courage to approach a friendly-looking rasta who was leaning over the railings next to the zebra crossing near the bookies. I casually lent over the railings next to him and asked him if he knew where I could get something to smoke. He told me to pass by the pub later on that day, about 8pm. You mean you haven’t got any on you? What about the bookies? They must be selling it in there? Why else would it be so popular? I didn’t say any of these things of course. I thanked him and walked off. Sh!t. You mean I’ve got to come all the way back again tonight. In the dark. And go through this all over again. Sh!t. You couldn’t spend all afternoon in a pub then. Well, some pubs maybe. But not guys like me. At least not in the Hayfield.

Exactly why I was walking back along Harehills Avenue towards the zebra crossing is still not clear to me. I definitely didn’t know what I’d find there and certainly didn’t go there looking for it. But why I was wandering around there when I should have been on my way home remains a mystery. I can only imagine that I must have crossed the road from the bookies and discovered Potternewton Park. Still looking for a high, I probably scoured the place for mushrooms, didn’t find any, came out the other end and walked back up to the main road. As I did so, I noticed three lasses sat on a wall up ahead of me. The middle one was quite fit, long dark hair and nice legs. She caught me looking, so I fixed my gaze on something less interesting 100 yards away and carried on. As I passed them, she asked me if I was doin’ owt. At least I assume it was her. The voice sounded like it belonged to her rather than the other two. In the millisecond that I paused to look round, I realised this wasn’t my dream come true but an offer in return for payment. I kept on going as the blood rushed to my head.

I was disgusted. Did I look like a pervert? I was shocked. Did I look like someone who had to pay for it? I was mortified. Did I look like a virgin? But by the time I got to the end of the street, I was hooked. I had twenty quid burning a hole in my pocket. Surely, that should be enough. I walked round the block. Quickly. Sh!t. They’d gone. As I walked past the house I couldn’t help but look at it. One of them, but not the one I wanted, was hanging out of the window above the front door talking to some guy below. He didn’t look like a pimp. More like Billy Mitchell off Eastenders. I carried on. I walked round the block again, slowly this time. She was still at the window but the bloke had gone. Here goes. That path was a bloody long one. Inside. Phew. God, what a dump. She’d shouted to come on up, and then met me halfway. I asked her how much. It was something like a tenner for a hand job, fifteen for a blowjob and twenty for a full strip. I assumed the latter included sex.

The hallway looked derelict, but when we got in her room it was unbelievable. Indescribable. Like the inside of a sheikh’s tent. Exactly how I’d expected a whore’s boudoir to be. Perfect. Shame the sex wasn’t. She started to undress. I rushed to join her, practically snapping my cock in the process. As I tried to take my trousers off without falling over, she said I didn’t have to leave my clothes on the floor as there was a commode in the corner. Must have had a cleaning fetish. This turned out to be a common female trait. I mumbled something about not having done this before. You don’t say. She told me to sit down next to her and proceeded to put a durex on me. I remember watching Claire Rayner doing this on TV with my parents. I don’t know which was more embarassing. I went to kiss her. She didn’t do kissing. For a fiver less she’d let me stick my cock in her gob, but not my tongue.

She lay back, keeping one leg over the side of the bed, rubbed something between her legs and signalled it was time to begin. I awkwardly climbed on top as she guided me in. At least I think it was in. It felt different from being out, but not as good as being in should have felt. The combination of lubricant, latex, years of shagging on her part and years of w@nking on mine proved too much. After a couple of minutes of banging away with my head down, she’d obvioulsy had enough. I asked if we could change positions. No. I wanted to suggest it might help if she moved a bit or even made some noise, but I thought better of it. She offered to finish it off by hand. This didn’t work either. She was saved by a knock at the door downstairs and disappeared.

She must have gone to the corridor window, cos I didn’t hear her go downstairs. I could hear voices but I couldn’t make out the words. I sat there waiting. What for? What else was I supposed to do? Would we start again when she came back? I don’t bloody know, do I. I heard her coming back. She’d lit a cigarette. We obviously weren’t going to carry on where she’d left off. She said I’d better leave cos the police were here. Holy sh!t, you’re fncking joking aren’t you? I grabbed my clothes and asked her where the drainpipe was. She said it was OK. If I was quick, I’d have time to put my clothes on and go out the front door cos they’d be in her mate’s room for a while. One star jump and I was dressed, one leap and I was down the stairs, flying past the guy I’d seen before, back outside the door again. He shouted upto her something about me being one of her John’s. Sh!t, sh!t and treble sh!t. What a nightmare. And I’d lost twenty quid. And I still had to come back later to get some dope. I was having a really bad day.

What the hell.

Sexygothâ„¢ wrote:Where'a vom smilie when you need one?

randdebiel² wrote:

Sexygothâ„¢ wrote:Where'a vom smilie when you need one?

I'm going to be a smiley-specialist on this board

hallucienate wrote:I refuse to be outdone

Whipped purple sulky wrote:Mercy! Mercy!