What I Handed In as Coursework.

A moan broke the silence. In the room the bed lay in the middle, double bed. There was a metal barred headboard and white sheets. Around the room were various candles, providing a dim light. A beam of sunlight passed through the gap in the closed blinds, illuminating the deep red carpet.
‘Open,’ said the man, the woman obliging. He roughly stuffed her own knickers in her mouth, causing her to moan again. The bed rattled lightly as she pulled on the ropes binding her to the headboard. They were tight and the harder she pulled the more they dug into her wrist, but she revelled in the pain and constriction. He gently caressed her exposed breasts; she arched her back, other senses accentuated by the blindfold over her eyes. Next he sharply pinched her nipple, satisfied by the moans of the woman.
Smiling to himself, the man slowly kissed her breasts then moved down, kissing a line down her body until he reached her clit, where he toyed with it with his tongue, to a series of moans. He did this for another minute, her moans becoming more urgent, until he slipped a finger into her and she screamed as she came, the finger an unexpected stimulus which pushed her over the edge.

He noticed how wet she was, and smiled as he slid his dick into her whilst sliding himself up to meet her face. He pulled out the gag and kissed her, his tongue soaked in her juices. She hungrily ran her tongue over his, yearning for further degradation. He thrust into her, hard, she groaned. ‘Harder.’ She begged.
‘Beg me.’
‘Please,’ she said urgently.
‘Please what?’
‘Please fuck me hard in my pussy,’ she said, cheeks burning into a deeper shade of red as she did so. He obliged, thrusting hard. A fast pace built up, she came without permission after a few minutes so he stopped. ‘No!’ she cried as he slid out of her. ‘You came, clean my dick.’ He said this whilst moving up her body with his knees until his slick member was centimetres from her face. He bent it to meet her searching lips, and she greedily forced it into her mouth. He grabbed the back of her head and thrust, she gagged on it as it hit the back of her throat.
He pulled out and she gulped air in, then he thrust it in again. She choked on it again but this time rolled her tongue over the surface of it as he thrust, saliva running down her chin. ‘Much better,’ he said coldly. He moved back down her body, noting as he slid back in the considerable increase in wetness.
The man resumed the thrusting, harder each time, until she was screaming in ecstasy and pulling the ropes binding her ankles and arms so firmly the bed threatened to crumble in the wake of such force.
The man was close now, he quickened his pace, moving in fast bursts to make her climax repeatedly; he’d been with her for so long that he knew what she needed to come now. As he came he kissed her and they lay, bodies slightly slick with sweat and kissed, tongues playing with each other lightly as they both shared a satisfied grin.

He quickly untied the ropes on her hands and slipped off the blindfold, her eyes shining brightly at him as he looked into them. They lay for a minute, holding each other. ‘How was that?’ He asked.
‘Top three.’ She answered.
‘Hmm, good, we really splurged out with the candles,’ he said, gesturing round the room. ‘I’m surprised we didn’t set something on fire.’
She laughed, ‘can we go again?’
‘I need to recharge,’ he joked.
‘You’ve got 10 minutes,’ she warned, scooping a magazine from under her side of the bed.
‘That’s fine,’ he agreed, closing his eyes and letting the post-sex drowsiness take him. When he blearily opened his eyes a few minutes later, she was still there, hair obscuring his view of her face. Texting on her phone.
‘Who’re you texting?’ He asked curiously.
‘Just a mate,’ she answered without betraying any emotion.
‘Ah ok,’ he said, smiling.
She didn’t smile; she flipped her phone shut and put it under her pillow. ‘Again?’
‘Definitely.’ She rolled onto him and kissed him, he didn’t wonder why she was already wet. Later he’d check her phone for the time and she’d snatch it from him, defensive of what was there. But for now, she wanted sex again.

Politics and Landmines: This title is deceptively interesting

I'm not voting, thought I'd say that. All the banter is funny enough and the posters, but at the end of the day it's all politics, and I think I actually care more about the specific shade of cream my wall is painted: In fact, I actually do because I took a chunk of it off and I need to repaint it or I lose my security deposit. Anyway, choosing a prime minister is like choosing the best way to be executed, or the best skin affliction to contract, or the best Lil Wayne album; whatever you choose, it's awful anyway. So although I may say I support the Lib Dems, I actually don't give a shit and he's not getting my vote.

In other news, the ankle I fell on got X-rayed, and I was told I'd ripped all of the tendons in my ankle. Except for my Achilles, I'd only pulled that. So now I'm limping found like Captain Blackbeard after the nurse decided she needed to ensure I knew my tendons were fucked by doing the nursing equivalent of gagging me and punching me in the ankle. Now I can't walk again, after going to A&E. I walked to A&E and limped back. Bonjour, Irony, ca va?

Anyway, I went from Ashton to Ormskirk again, 4 hours of train service based molestation involving "on time" meaning 30 minutes late, and Liverpool Lime Street meaning Stairway to Mount Olympus. Once home I'd forgotten that my room floor was not a clear space to hobble across, rather there were pan-lid landmines on the floor for me to hurt my foot on and clothes strewn so much a fel-runner would pass on the opportunity.

Also, I left my hair-straigteners in Ashton. Whilst fully aware that saying that sounds incredibly feminine, I'm going to stand by it, because, well... fuck you. Only three weeks left in Ormskirk and I don't want it to end, but I do need to get all this work out of the way. Work to do.

Will post more when I've done work.
JW

All Is Well

I woke up today, after 16 hours of sleep. Well, mostly sleep. There must have been about twenty occasions where I woke up and had to painfully position my foot as I rolled over. But I don't mind. at 7pm when I woke up, the pain had mostly gone, and I was able to limp around merrily chair-crutch free. I mainly just say around and ate remains of last nights pasta from the pan by my bed, but I feel much better. I can even move my toes.

Tomorrow (Wednesday) I'll tidy my room and maybe even take down a couple of pieces of work I need to do. Certainly I feel much better, I may even limp down to the gym and do some upper body stuff, even though I've had to take ibuprofen which is poison when you're developing muscle, but my ankle being the size of a tennis ball, I had to do it.

Thursday will be busy. I'm meeting some class peoples for some food and then heading to the class, maybe slot in the gym in between end of class and Alpine (a bar). That should go well; Alpine. I don't fancy dancing in this state, plus in the extremely unlikely event a woman wants me to penetrate her my right foot still won't bend very well.

Ah well, I can dream.
JW

Man Down!

I am wounded; my foot is dead to me. That's right, worse than stepping on a land-mine, I have twisted my ankle. I was playing football, and went down on it like a ton of bricks. The same ankle I sprained a couple of months ago which wasn't fully healed. Excellent, that will only take 2 weeks to heal up.

At the moment I'm stuck in bed, as I can't move my foot in any way or even move my toes for that matter. I can only hope that tomorrow it's better or I'm going to the hosipital to complain over nothing.

It's funny that when you have a pain, you yearn for the times when you were fine, when there was no agony, but when you're fine, you don't feel any happier for not being in pain, or at least not for long if you do.

Anyway, I'll stop complaining. Actually, no, I won't, I don't have to. That's the glory of the blog. I just want my foot back, I can't do anything, the pain is making me irratable and snappy and I'm getting the urge to rip my drawers out and go Hulk on my room. It's not just the pain. I'm incapacitated, unable to do simple tasks like cooking a meal, (although I managed to cook a carbonara, hopping around the room cursing) even just going to the bathroom I have to hop, or use my chair as a makeshift crutch.

On the upside, I'll be stuck in bed all day tomorrow which gives me no excuse not to complete my work. Although, let's face it; I probably won't get my work done anyway. Such is the refined art of procrastination.

I'm going to try and sleep soon with the hope that I'll be able to limp to the gym sometime this week. Also with the hypochondriac side of me thinking my ankle is broken or I'm going to lose my foot. Excellent.

JW

People

Fortunately for nobody, I am socially inept. This creates much humour when I meet people, because I have absolutely no clue what to say beyond "hello" and "my name is...". Having no idea what to say, I usually just wing it, and spew forth a garble of words which make a nice little collage, which spells out "Mental". Decent people seem to be able to get around this, but it's not a brilliant first impression. If I was to rate it on the scale of first impressions, I'd put it below soiling oneself and above BO.

It gets better: smalltalk. Unless it's funny, I don't do smalltalk, it's horribly dull and I'm uncomfortable asking such menial questions. It's a shame it's needed really, there's no in between gap from familiarity to friend, or there is, but involves being stuck in the Andes in a crashed plane. Without events happening it's hard to make conversation with somebody you hardly know.

Even better than that is the obliviousness of whether or not somebody wants you around, I take everything as a hint to shuffle away to a dark corner, which is probably right, but I don't know. I hate imposing myself upon people, because I do garble, in some random direction, sometimes about nothing, or at least the hope is I say nothing.

I'm rubbish meeting people, take today for example; a respectable woman whom I had just given the finger to for shouting abuse from her car caught up with me and I forgot to say hello. Damn. She wouldn't even hit me, I called her bluff, just stood there. In fairness I had just been running, it's hard to be sardonic when blood is diverted elsewhere. This is handy in other areas of course, but not when somebody is trying to make you look foolish. Didn't help I was fighting the urge to laugh in her face at the pettiness of it all, I did not fight that urge too well. Ah well. Who cares? Ooh, but I did think of the line "You just want me to sit there and take it? Well usually I do just sit there and take it when there's a woman involved, but we're in public." Unfortunately, I devised this (debatably) witty anecdote an hour later.

Another day tomorrow: Sunday. Expect ninjas on rollerskates and explosions. Or nothing, it's sunday after all. On sunday all the old people are praying and polishing their Kalishnakovs, so the town shuts down. If the gym isn't open I'm getting my excercise by climbing in through a roof hatch.

JW

War (and religion)

Everything is a constant battle. It's a fact. Well, it isn't a fact, but it should be, because it's true. Think about it, your relationships with your friends are a constant battle, if you withdraw, your relationship can fade. Same logic applies to weight, if I stop excercising for 2 weeks I go tubby mode again, and I don't like tubby mode, nobody likes tubby mode. Tubby mode is the guy at a party who goes around telling people he's drunk and that he's met them before. Not me, the mode. I don't do that, I have some semblance of control and awareness when I'm drunk.

Anyway, back to the title. War. People might disagree, but I think it makes sense, that to do anything, there's a constant battle: money, love (in the sense of relationships, not that hippy crap), health, hygeine, etc. Even your fingernails. Hell, if there was a God, and people argued God wanted peace, I'd be throwing this arguement out faster than they could say "bless you". Imagine that, your fingernails grow, don't cut them, give up, end up in the Guinness World Book of Records and have fun masturbating. I don't think less of people who believe in religion, in fact, I'm a little jealous that they are happy believing that a higher power will always be there for them. The only higher power here for me is electricity, that stuff is cool, lightning bolts too - only if you blow up a power converter or similar, but still...lightning.

Not that I'm complaining, I'm not unhappy knowing there is nothing out there, I'm just saying it must be nice for people to believe in God...and for children to still believe in Father Coca-Cola Christmas.

I did get wondering what happened to the Greek gods, and why nobody believes in them anymore. The Greeks were a highly civilised race, and so there must have been some sort of logic and reason for the worship, at least on par with "the burning bush told me to do it".

I like the challenge of a constant battle though, there's a bit in Rudyard Kipling's If which reads;

'If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

Which pretty much sums up my attitude on the whole thing. Always fight.
And that's my blog about religion... I mean conflict. Whatever.

JW

Emo-mode

I feel awful, this maybe because I've been on a 30 hour drinking session and have eaten 4 burgers and a mini-pizza in 2 days. In fact, I'm pretty sure that's a main cause of why I feel so bad. I don't usually drink to such excess, but there was a pool award thing and I had to go.

Long story short, I'm alone in my room shaking like mad with my heartbeat doing at least 120bpm. It's grim. In the morning (3pm) I'll feel better, but for now I feel absolutely terrible. It's also good that I spent the night chasing phantom friends around and having no idea where people are.

Ah well, I've gone emo for once, in the morning I'll facepalm at what a douché I've been writing this garbled stuff. In fact I'm surprised there wasn't a poem about my throbbing heart (no pun intended, although chest pains have started) or how I'm a sheep who's lost its flock or some crap.

Hopefully I'll go to the gym tomorrow, that's always a pick-me-up. It's also a brilliant reason to justify paying that £21 a month to the gym. I'm not donating it, give me some services, mother-lockers. Mother-lockers? Oh god, that was awful, I'm so ashamed I wrote it I'm not going to remove it as a prime example of how unfunny I can be.

JW

Wake Up

No, not the song in the Matrix by Rage Against The Machine, just the actual act. It's 3pm, and my alarm went off at 1pm. I have snoozed it since then, that's 2 hours of snoozing once every ten minutes, 12 snoozes. Christ, why is it so hard to get up? And no, that's not a quotable erectile dysfunction admittance.

I hate waking up, sleep is just too much fun, it's pure escapism. I lack the willpower to actually wake from my slumber to the extent that I'll have conversations with people and still be asleep, because I'll say things like "I'm putting my pants on now" and have no memory of saying them. Clearly my autopilot knows the score. Lie and you sleep on.

Because I wake up at 3pm most days it's sort of bad that I never attend my 10am lecture on a monday, this happens often, I've been to maybe four seminars since january, and it's hitting me now when I have work due in and NO IDEA WHAT TO DO.

It also helps when you're lying in bed, and your flatmate comes in from work with her loverboy (for want of a better word) and breaks the silence with undeniably unrestrained moans, coupled with the bed touching her radiator leads to what sounds like a massacre on a construction site. Well at least it's brief, the 40 minutes of pillowtalk afterwards is irritating, as these walls are clearly not two bricks thick.

Should I have sex in this last month of uni, I'm making sure it's noisy, whips, ballgags, headboard hanging off touching the radiator. Bon appetite. Also, I'll do it at the insane time of FIVE AM so you lose an hour of sleep too. Thanks.

JW

Post this to over 9000 people or...

Chainmail, the scourge of the internet, the original scourge anyway, now it's like a hookers throat there's that much bacteria splurged across the web. Douchebags still do it, they say "post this to 5 friends and you'll meet your true love on friday...THIS REALLY WORKS!" Yes, although statistically, it could happen, you'd have to be pretty stupid to actually think "OMG I SHALL DO THIS, WAIT FOR ME, MY LOVE, 3 MORE POSTS!" but then again, yes, people on facebook can be utterly fucking retarded to the extent you wonder how they ever managed to swim as sperm.

The better chainmail is the "[Horrible shit] happened to (usually) little girl, she's got mad Jesus skills and came back from the dead, now I have told you this, you will die by her hand, for her underdeveloped 6 year old muscles will allow her to easily overpower you and strangle you in your sleep. Unless you post this to 6 people. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!one!11eleven!" I'll take my chances. Even if it was the Ring video...it's a 6 year old, I'd be more scared if a carebear turned up with a frown on its brow.

Although, maybe it's all a big conspiracy, there is no illness, just fools who did not heed the little loli's warnings and have made the list. The government shit brix and decided they needed to cover up this genocidal little girl, lest the horrible truth get out.

Or not, as the case definitely is.
LULZ
JW