The thing with rent boys or slaves or anyone in your bed having sex for any other reason than because they want to, is that when it's finished, it's really finished. There's no slow come down, no period of detachment from emotions, no flaccid cock kissing or holding. If you're lucky there'll be a shared cigarette on the bed and then they're up, pulling on their pants whilst blabbering on about the most mundane things as if nothing ever happened. Brian was no different, only his blurb was about how they were changing collection times at the post office and discussing restarting their Saturday service. As he smoothed his hair down in the mirror, he even mentioned something about an extra penny being put on price of a first class stamp. There is something very cold, very calculated and very tragic about watching someone leave in that way. It reminds me of a memory that I can't quite remember.

Apart from adolescent postboys in red stretch jeans and paraplegics in dragon embroidered kimonos, the week has brought news regarding Verity. In a letter she addressed to my mother's (for reasons of confidentiality) she says she is fine, and apart from an awful lot of bitching, women's prisons aren't violent or dangerous places. There are no shower unit lesbian attacks and no cut-throats hanging around the landings ready to give you a mastectomy for a packet of cigarettes. In fact she says it's quite boring. “It is what it is. You're locked up for 23 hours a day and all there is to do is sleep!” The letter also contained two V.O's (visiting orders). That means John and I can now book a visit and go and see Verity before she is released next month. I have not told John about the V.O's yet and am not sure I even will. I think that maybe I need to see her alone

The only other news of any worth is that Morrison's are doing a huge product clear-out and so some time next week I will head down there with my vintage Casio FX-450 calculator and do a bit of a trolley dash. With any luck I'll pick up a dozen or so Leek and Onion Quiches and maybe even a 24 pack of Creamy Chicken soup. I just hope that my fellow bargain hunters keep their cool this year and the event doesn't spill over into violence and sabotage as it did in 2009. I cannot say I was totally innocent of any wrong doing, but she did elbow me in the ribs first.


  1. Ah the joy of the Morrison's Clear Out Sale!

    Everything Must Go!

    Including All Dignity!

    Before I found The Lord I was known to cause physical and mental damage to any man woman or child that got between me and a Catholic Family Size box of Creamola Foam or Campbell's Tomato Rice Soup.

    Happy Days...

  2. I find the same thing with rape victims (well the ones that I don't murder immediately afterwards)...most of them can't even be arsed to give me so much as a cuddle or wipe the sweat from my forehead. One day I SHALL rape someone and afterwards we shall spoon whilst they cup my balls and tell how much they liked it....

  3. @ Abigail: Oh you wait for this years Trolley Dash... it's gonna be some spctacle. Think Wacky Racers! X

    @ Quiet Richard!: You're back and I see a new post over at yours. I'll leave a little comment soon. That's the thing with rape, they jsut don'tappreciate the efforts you go to! But you rapists are crazy, why do you always pick the unfuckable women? It's like being let loose in Morrisons for an hour, "Take whatever you like", and leaving with a rotten lump of pork! be sure to tell us all about your next... body fat to flesh ratio too! X


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