You Men Eat Yer Dinner, Eat Yer Pork & Beans. I Eat More Chicken Any Man Ever Seen

 It were lucky I ran into Dirty Jude this afternoon cos my ballsack was ready for bursting.

I saw her standing two places ahead of me at the local petrol station. She had in her basket a box of Malteasers and a pair of new silk tights. She still looked fine did Dirty Jude. Pushing 60 I'm sure, but you could shave a good few years off her figure on account of her having no kids, ergo she could pass for late 40s no worries.

I snuck my way up behind her and stuck my hand between her legs. She jumped with a Monroe twitter and gimmie a big smile when she saw it were yours truly, Danny Pongo.

 - Hiya, Danny. Long time no see, chick. What you been at? And how's that moonbat ma of your's?

 - I'm still duckin & divin, you know me, Dirty Jude. And my mother, she's got herself involved with some holy hollers that pedal their madness down in Cornmarket.

 - Yer ma's a headcase. You wanna come for a drink with me, hot stuff? Talk over all our yesterdays?

 - Lead the way, Vaseline Sheila -

 - Oh fuck me! Haven't been called that in a while!

She took me to The Point on the Upper Newtownards Road, which is where she's from. She ordered a big jug of Sex On The Beach and two straws. We sat, most of the afternoon, perched over that one and 3 more after, noses nearly touching, talking about our very passionate sexual affair when I was all of Sweet 16.

 - Guess we've yer ma to thank for introducing us. I remember the first time I met her, at that PTA meeting she brought you to. You were only around 9 or 10. I was the principal's secretary, and he'd me there taking notes. I remember after yer ma comin up to me cos we were wearing the same top...she said 'Yer wearin the same top as me. Go home or take it off', and I shot back, ' Go home yerself, and take that wee boy with you. Having him out at this time of night. No da and very little ma I think,' I said to her looking down at you.

 - I remember that, Dirty Jude. I remember looking up at you. You had black fishnet stockings on. I could see right up your skirt.

 - That's right. I remember you telling me that when we started dating. Called them my lucky stockings after that.

 - I remember that like it were five minutes ago. You'd legs like Bo Derek and a do like Bonnie Tyler. I wanted to climb up those fishnets and crawl inside yer womb.

 - Ahh haha! You were a dirty wee fucker even at that age, then?

 - Always, Dirty Jude. Never keep a good dick down.

 - Then yer ma invited me round for a game of Buckaroo that Christmas. There you were, ripped, with yer undercut, wearing a Nirvana T-Shirt. You were dick on a stick, hon.

 - Yeah, sweetheart -

 - And you knew it.

 - Yeh...

 - I turned 41 that following January.

 - We were both on the crest of our sexual peak, cos I turned 17 one month later -

 - That's right sweetpea! February 14^th...Not since Jesus bein born on Christmas Day did a person so suit a date of birth!

When we both ran outta dough we decamped to her house. We weren't even in the door before I had her on her back on the stairs, her soggy gusset round her ankles, me up & down like a piston, arse in the air, knees in the carpet, fucked her fast deep and hard, reckoned my dick coulda knocked holes through walls, the horny fast violence of every single stroke.

Afterward found us on her hammock in her conservatory. I brought up her penchant for role playing back then...

 - Remember we fucked for a solid two days, and I was all like: 'I'm bored of just coming and coming and having these boring man-orgasms. I wish I knew what you felt every time you came, -

 - And I told you I could make you know what that felt like.

 - You educated me in how the male g-spot was located up the arse.

 - You were like a jittery virgin to begin with.

 - Yeh.

 - So I spiced up proceedings. Suggested we play a little dress-up...

 - You put me in yer babydoll and suspenders, -

 - And I got my da's old dance hall threads from outta the roofspace.

 - Hat and all with the feather in the brim.

 - You were fucked off yer face that night.

 - Yer uncle brought us some nice weed over.

 - That's right...and you were lying on my big bed smokin a rocket and I came in the room wearin' me da's exotic dance hall threads, packin my big black latex strap-on, -

 - And you were all like, 'Where's my money bitch?'

 - And you were all, 'I don't have it, daddy!'

 - And I said, 'Well you know what happens when bitches don't bring me my scratch?!'

 - I said, 'You rape 'em wise?'

 - That's right, stud...and I took my suit off, climbed in beside you, pulled yer babydoll up and peeled yer thong off, round yer nice round arse, Danny, -

 - Slid that big black dong up there, -

 - Don't forget, spat on me hand and rubbed it all round yer hole for lube, -

 - Then slid it up there,-

 - Fucked you nice and smooth, -

 - I called you daddy, -

 - And I was all, 'You gonna come bitch, you gonna come...'

 - And fuck did I come. Most dick climaxes are over in the blink of an eye...seriously...just like that. I come in a woman and she's shaking and moaning long, long after I am...

 - But I learnt you how to come like a woman that night, Danny...

 - That you did, Dirty Jude...That you did...

I started stiffening up again. She slipped her thong off and I stuck my finger and thumb up her hole.

Still my Back Door Man, lover...

 - “The men don't know; but the little girls understand.”

Dirty Jude did that Monroe twitter again, then yielded sweetly...

I'm Standing In The Wind But I Never Wave Bye-Bye...But I Try

Mother got in very late the other night. She had this freak Nirab, leader of the big shot Christian sect, with her.

- Just away to the little girls' room, - went mother, me cringing.

Nirab came over and plonked himself down on the arm of the chair I was sitting in.

- Yer ma's hot stuff, - he went.
- Don't be getting any ideas. Anyway, I thought you were a man of God? Didn't think you lot went in for sins of the flesh?
- We've all our temptations and shortfalls, Danny. Especially us ones that're drawn to the divine...ha! That's a good one isn't it? I think I'll use it on yer mother, hey? What do you think...'Mildred...years I have sought the Divine, but I'm never closer to it that when I am by your side.'...What you think, Danny? - He went, licking his chops.
- I think you better get out before I tell my mother the sort of man you really are!
- Don't be darft! Your mother knows the sort of man I am. She wouldn't be after me if she didn't.
- I know your sort...Jim Jones, Charley Manson, Jesus...fuckin do a few parlour tricks and say yer the Son Of Man and you get to snake any girl that crosses yer path! 

I was getting red in the face.

Mother reentered the room.

- What you yelling at Nirab for, Danny? - Whimpered mother.
- He's a fuckin pervert, - I went.
- I know. And ain't it grand?! He's sexually very adventurous!
- You ever seen a woman squirt before, Danny? - Went Nirab, his rheumy right eye red and glinting.
- Yeah, master of it, - I went.
- Yer ma doesn't leave much to be desired you know, in the bedroom. See that tattoo she got on her ankle.
- Oh yes this lovely dolphin on my ankle, - went mother cooing. - That fucking witch Sam Cameron stole that one on me.
- Well I have a theory, - went Nirab rubbing his chin, faux academical like. - I have a theory that women with tattoos take it up the hole...

I got up and went to the front door.

- Mother, I'm going. I got what I came here to get and I'm leaving.
- Thought ye'd like to join us? - went Nirab.
- Fuck off, Jonestown!

At this mother threw her head back and laughed like a loon. - Go get the lube and the shitewipe, woman, - went Nirab, loud enough for me to hear.

On the way down mother's drive I keyed Nirab's car and broke a windscreen wiper off.

I prayed that on his way home, driving up the motorway, it would start pouring and having no wipers to clear his window to see where he was going and nowhere to stop he'd plough headfirst into the back of an articulated lorry at not an inconsiderable speed and die instantly.

I sat listening to records at home and dropped the last of the acid I'd creamed off the Jewish Hippies.

I reflected on mother's infatuation with Nirab, putting this one on to colour my surmisings:

I Saw Your Eyes And You Touched My Mind

This afternoon in the off licence, standing right at the end of a very long queue, I begin to fantasise about murdering the sad looking frazzle haired old lady way up ahead at the till. I would kill her, I thought, by pouring the bottle of gin she were purchasing down her neck. It wouldn’t be hard. She’d have not much strength in her to begin with, being old and a chronic lush. The only resistance I would get, I thought, would be the involuntary body spasms issuing from her in short and decreasingly less powerful bursts as her lungs filled with London Fog.

To take my mind of my morbid fantasies as they were making me queasy I began to think how hard it would be going back home to Kimba. I would have to crawl grovelling back to her. I hadn’t been back in four days and four nights, leaving her as I did in the garden: legs spread and bleeding out all over a Minnie Mouse beach towel.

I was getting for her in the off licence 6 blue WKDs. They were her favourite tipple, the blue ones, and those along with a copy of Viz would get the ball rolling on me-making-things-up to her.

I walked up my street then with a jaunty zing in my gait and turned into my house, nearly walking right through the front door like a ghost so as not to disrupt for one second the vigour in my rhythm.

And just like that into the front room I went and who should be on the floor getting bummed by a skinny little spide with a star shaved into his step, but Kimba, light of my life.

All around there was lube and on either side of the writhing pair a couple of rubber dongs. In the air hung a smell of chlorine or cum.

The skinny little spide hopped to his feet and went to square up to me. He was terribly skinny. His ribs were sticking out so that I could count every one and I’m positive I could see, through his sickly translucent rice paper skin, his weedy little lungs hanging there in his chest like a granda’s scrotum. He looked like someone just walked outta Belsen and straight onto a porno set.

- Who the fuck are you? Asked the Holocaust Spide, hopping from foot to foot.
- I’m Danny Pongo and this is my house and that is my woman you’re sodomising on the floor. Now get out before I cut your throat!
- Or you’ll do wha’? said the Holocaust Spide, the eternal refrain of him and those like him. - I’ll break your fuckin’ jaw, - he said.
- Oh yeah, - I said. - You’re as hard as my granny’s shite. Now fuck off! - I said, karate chopping him right on his little fishbone ribcage.

The little bastard collected up his shop-bought ripped jeans and his Tommy Hilfiger shirt and his gold chain and ran out the house.

I looked at Kimba. On the TV Neighbours was on.
- I s’pose I deserved that, - I said.
- You did, - she said, in post coital lazy purrs.
- Ok then, well why don’t you get up. That songs on. On Neighbours. Angry Anderson. We’ll have a slow dance -
- I fuckin hate that song. Put Flock Of Seagulls on the record player and NO slow dancing!

Lube And Poppers A Must

I came home this morning – entering the house a little sheepishly after noticing the massively pregnant figure of Kimba floating there behind the frosted glass of our front door – standing side on, looking, due to the frosted glass, like a comma spontaneously combusting, rendered by Edvard Munch.

I sat at our rickety kitchen table and slowly moved my eyes over all the phone numbers and tags people had meticulously scraped in with a knife or squeaked on with a felt tip. To break the ice I asked Kimba to make me a bowl of cornflakes.
- Let me smell your dick first, - she said.
- Nah, - I said. – What for?
She got down on all fours and crawled under the table. She got my zip between her teeth and pulled it down.
- Just tryin’ to make it sexy, babe, - she said.
She pulled my dick out and held it in the palm of her hand for a second or two. She breathed in and out in quick succession then smelt my dick.
- You’re dick smells like shit, - she said.
- Dunno how that could be, - I said, trying determinedly to take my mind off things the way terrorists under interrogation used to do in the ‘70s, by focusing on something else in the room – in my case trying to memorise the mobile numbers on the table.
- Who you been sleepin’ with, Danny?
- No one. I’ve been in Bogdan’s these last few days. –

Little did she know, I thought connivingly, that me and Bogdan, when we’d no fanny to hand, would take turns on each other in what he liked to call the ‘Daisy Chain’, whereby I would anal him (or vice versa) while giving him a reach-reach around wank, while he would be reaching behind (a reach behind, I suppose) wanking me off, while I, with my one free hand would be rimming myself and trying to reach my male g-spot, while he, with his one free hand, would be left to tickle his own balls. It was an invention we both conceived of one night we were doing coke and had the horn a weaker.

Lube and poppers a must.

I had thought I’d sprayed myself with Bogdan’s Lynx before I’d left, but obviously it hadn’t done the trick. Kimba popped her head between my legs and looked up at me tearily. I scrambled for an answer to the questions those moist anime eyes of hers screamed out. But, instead, being the jinny I am, I chose escape to being caught out so I told her that she needed to get out from under the table and sit up on a chair to hear what I had to tell her. Which was, the ordeal she was going to have to face at the hands of Mistress.

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