Random

Received an email earlier today from somebody who is enjoying the blog (I love hearing it, it’s fuel to my fire).

He wondered why everything I wrote was to do with sex or virgins. Um, this is probably because that’s what I am. That’s what I know. Sex from the point of a view of a virgin. Though, recently, I spend so much time thinking about it, I often feel shagged out. The site of another cock/pussy might just tip me over the fleshy edge.

He also said that we shared ‘similar beliefs’. That this surprised him, because he thought he was the only one who thought that way. Welcome to the slag group!

In fact, I’m pretty positive there are thousands, millions of people who are just as sexually famished as I am (we’re talking both physically and mentally you understand). So many questions, coming out of our ears, spurting out with our come, questions questions questions!

Of course, the purity of fucking itself is something which we must never lose in our flurry of questions. Sometimes, and I DO believe this, we should simply DO as opposed to battle profusely with our million questions. And then, after the act is complete, after we have exited the stage from the right and fallen into a deep sleep (or made our way back on the Piccadilly line), we can evaluate what just happened, and our evaluation will be weighty, bursting with the experience of being fucked by some random stranger.

Ah, fucking a stranger. This one act has always struck me as being THE act of self realisation. For, once it’s over, you feel like somebody had injected you with happy liquids. Was it really you who did that? Fucked some random on the last carriage of the train? Was that whore really you??

Yes it was. Yes it was!

Now, you do realise, I have slept with a stranger before, have fondled and groped a stranger before, and it was awesome, though there was no fucking. Fucking wasn’t necessary. Now, how many people can say that? That fucking, during sex, isn’t necessary?

A show of hands please…