These are the words of the Gapanaut.
I suffer from endemic lust. I am plagued by an addiction. As a self-styled hornythologist, I indulge in frisky gropes and wily tickles on the G spot, ovary meddling, have intertwined with many a twat, glad into gullies, and plumbed the depths of many a slut. As a canny arseologist, I have excavated tons of tunnels which were secret until I discovered them. Being a solicitous sadist, and after cries to be “gentle with my membrane’, I did not plunge into the abyss, this devouring darkroom – no, not me. I’m not the sort of chap to ravage reclining cows, even when they deserve to be ravaged, which often happens after unseemly outbursts of dirty words.
Sometimes I’d prefer to do something else, like playing Scrabble.
But I feel I am on this planet for a specific purpose. So, despite my artistic leanings, I must accept I am the ordained guardian of female genitalia, admittedly, a tough number, but we all have our crosses to bear.
I moved here during an incognito snowstorm. Nobody saw me and I saw nobody. I hadn’t been here long before the neighbourly savage arrived to introduce herself. She was wearing a preposterous kimono.
“I’m on Twitter. I seek to make the world a better place. Fuck this, fuck that – we’d all be better off without that fucking lot.”
Being a tolerant person, I made allowances for the gaudy getup and moronic prattle of this jarring Paddy.
“Up the workers!”
Now that upset me. There was something mannish in this unnerving scatterbrained creature. However, beneath the atrocious outfit, I could see she had affable nipples. As for the muff, I hoped it were homogenised. A shag on my doorstep! Ah, this was the life, but of course, life is a risky business, isn’t it.
Orgasms were in the offing, virtuoso of course, but I’m sure she’d make out somehow. Irreversible orifices : I was all for those. I intended to give this effort a hearty poke.
“I’ve just had an operation”
Who cares! Take off that out-of-place artifact and get fucked.
“I used to be a woman.”
And on Twitter too!
I like to climb mountains. There’s nothing like it. Climbing helps one’s mind and I am an uphill thinker.
I also like to climb alone. I feel more free with me, the whole me, and nothing but me. And one would expect this craving for solitude to be easily satisfied by immersing oneself in the wilderness. Not so!
Not if one is being pursued – yes, pursued – by another.
Seeing what was coming, I quickened my pace and looked for a place to hide, something hard to find on a treeless crag. Worse still, my pursuer turned out to be a damn sight fitter than I was, caught me up in no time,.
“Hi. I thought you might need company.”
Speak for yourself, bitch. My whole day was going to be ruined by this slovenly hippy who vainly imagined I’d be after her snatch.
Take a look at yourself, woman! It makes me wonder what these scrubbers see in a mirror
“I’m sorry, but I’m meeting someone”. – I’d like to have said, but obviously couldn’t and damn well didn’t. But my quick mind saved me.
People don’t know this, but I have crafty bowels, and now was a time to be disgusting.
I drew on my latent anal power and released a shocker.
Ugh indeed! After some formidable vomiting, this fair maiden turned tail and fled, downhill to the valley below.
I have been asked to say a few words about this man. I too am pretty old and maybe my memory isn’t what is was, but here is what I remember.
His thundering whisper, or, equally, his whispered shout – it was hard to
tell the diiference.
On the golf course, his dawdling rush up the fairway. As for sex, he enjoyed wholesome smut. About him, there was an air of agreeable unpleasantness, which could have been put down to his mellowed cruelty or tyrannical tolerance of others, especially women who spoke of his grubby beauty and serene agitation.
I think many appreciated the abrasive kindness, the wayward consistency and in particular the arduous simplicity of this methodical idiot, characteristics you don’t expect to see in this likeable violent man whose frenzied calm matched his sleazy honesty. As for his life style, I don’t know which impressed me most : his opulent poverty, or his impoverished wealth.
Whichever it was, his life could be summed as a triumphant failure.
I have a kept woman. Sorry. I keep a woman. I can’t get rid of her.
I have been very silly. I told her things.
“I want you.’ I’d said.
“You’ve got me!” she’d replied.
Plus her debts. She has needs. Her ‘shelves’ soon get empty.
I don’t mind the underclothes, in fact insist on what she wears. In fact,
money isn’t the object. The problem is….
She’s started to cling. The body still gets me, but…
The weeping. She’s started to weep. A clinging weeper. A kept wept clinger I’d like to sweep under the carpet. But I am compromised. Christ, I want to hit her!
Later, I arrive home, all miserable. The wife asks is there anything wrong.
I’d love to confide in her. I trust her. She doesn’t cling. She hardly ever weeps.
As for fucking…
“No, darling. It’s nothing”
We were playing umbrage and I had a bad hand.
I knew it was a setup. The boss told me to get up and get the ketchup
Was all this being recorded? No, the tape was on all pause, common usage and onion.
Yesterday at the local criminal urinal, there’d been a brutal tribal killing, some sort of ritual, a blind man wearing a turban, this murder being followed by a hasty burial.
All this disturbed me greatly and I upset the salt cellar all over the ketchup.
“What the heck! That aint cute!” said boss who looked ready to puke.
Just at that moment, a note was pushed under the bottom of the door;
“Pick it up, useless. Read it.”
I told him it was in braille
“Braille? BRAILLE?” boss started to rail.
Me? I just turned pale.
Turban was on the trail….
Are primitive people clean?
This is a difficult one to answer as there’s been a lack of research in this field. However, it wasn’t in a field that I conducted my investigations. Yes, you guessed it : I went into the jungle !
At first, it was hard going to find a primitive. Times had changed and so had people. But I was lucky. I caught one fishing at the side of a lake. He looked slightly alarmed, hadn’t seen a clean, that is a really clean, person before.
Because he didn’t understand me and I couldn’t him, we – the camera man and crew – were forced to take drastic measures to check his anus. Since this project was my project, inspection was left to me.
I was a bit worried at first he might try to fart me away, but fortunately, he took a shine to me. I thus completed my task to my satisfaction.
Now, we are married.