The one thing I had my heart set to do, during my visit down south, was to spend a bit of time warming a seat in a proper cigar bar
One evening we ended up at the big casino that lurks on the bank of the Yarra river.
Turned right and walking through the door, and we were swamped in a crowded shopping precinct which must have been the ‘family friendly’ face of the casino, and it was jammed with people.
We found the bar and were instantly transported to a quiet place where soft conversations mingled with the blue cigar smoke wafting around the low ceiling.
I noticed that a decent breeze was keeping my smoke alight so there must have been an efficient aircon whisking the smoke away.
She had an elderberry and champagne cocktail, He had ten year old Taliska Scotch.
My companion was attractive, and smart, and could squeeze out a cute chuckle, with nice lips, round of bosom, and she was funny.
There was one of those ‘out of phase’ periods where I couldn’t remember any details, but we both ended up in bed, half undressed…
And then the momentum faded.
Has anyone else been stopped in their tracks by another person’s history?
At the train station I’d met a previous boy friend (he had his front teeth when she had gone out with him.)
She’d let slip that recently she’d made a random pickup in a club…
And also got laid at a party last week.
I couldn’t bring myself to dive under the waist band of her jeans (alright, that’s a lie, I did some half hearted delving but her knickers held tight against her hips by some sort of super elastic, as was the impressive binding of her bra.)
We had a nice kiss and cuddle and grope, but I don’t think either of us were completely satisfied.
Say what you like about intimacy and gentleness, but there is nothing quite like finishing off the night with a jolly good pounding, a few screeching moans, and maybe a small blasphemy yelled at the head board.
Where is the halfway point between clumsy virgin and town bike?
To find a woman who knows her way around the paddock (for our international readers a ‘paddock’ is what we call a football field) but doesn’t have carnal knowledge of the entire home team (and the visiting team, both sets of training staff, and the lad who runs the hotdog stand?)
Not that either extreme is a bad thing. I’ve known some gracefully ignorant virgins, and quite a few of my current friends have slept with half the city.
These are all wonderful women, who I have little lust for.
Why would a woman would reel off a list of previous plumbers…
or wax lyrical about her progress through the members of the surf lifesaving squad…
or let slip that she had had a kid when she was at High School and had put him up for adoption?
I reckon it’s a test to fathom the depth of feeling of the current tradesman who is ‘seeing to the plumbing.’
‘If he’s still here in the morning, then he must like me a bit?’
Speaking of which, we had breakfast in a café hidden away in one of Melbourne’s ‘lanes.’
There’s a shot from our table in the accompanying video (the compiling of which has taken me a week and so I’ve ‘multi parted’ this blog entry to fill in the time.)
One evening we ended up at the big casino that lurks on the bank of the Yarra river.
Turned right and walking through the door, and we were swamped in a crowded shopping precinct which must have been the ‘family friendly’ face of the casino, and it was jammed with people.
We found the bar and were instantly transported to a quiet place where soft conversations mingled with the blue cigar smoke wafting around the low ceiling.
I noticed that a decent breeze was keeping my smoke alight so there must have been an efficient aircon whisking the smoke away.
She had an elderberry and champagne cocktail, He had ten year old Taliska Scotch.
My companion was attractive, and smart, and could squeeze out a cute chuckle, with nice lips, round of bosom, and she was funny.
There was one of those ‘out of phase’ periods where I couldn’t remember any details, but we both ended up in bed, half undressed…
And then the momentum faded.
Has anyone else been stopped in their tracks by another person’s history?
At the train station I’d met a previous boy friend (he had his front teeth when she had gone out with him.)
She’d let slip that recently she’d made a random pickup in a club…
And also got laid at a party last week.
I couldn’t bring myself to dive under the waist band of her jeans (alright, that’s a lie, I did some half hearted delving but her knickers held tight against her hips by some sort of super elastic, as was the impressive binding of her bra.)
We had a nice kiss and cuddle and grope, but I don’t think either of us were completely satisfied.
Say what you like about intimacy and gentleness, but there is nothing quite like finishing off the night with a jolly good pounding, a few screeching moans, and maybe a small blasphemy yelled at the head board.
Where is the halfway point between clumsy virgin and town bike?
To find a woman who knows her way around the paddock (for our international readers a ‘paddock’ is what we call a football field) but doesn’t have carnal knowledge of the entire home team (and the visiting team, both sets of training staff, and the lad who runs the hotdog stand?)
Not that either extreme is a bad thing. I’ve known some gracefully ignorant virgins, and quite a few of my current friends have slept with half the city.
These are all wonderful women, who I have little lust for.
Why would a woman would reel off a list of previous plumbers…
or wax lyrical about her progress through the members of the surf lifesaving squad…
or let slip that she had had a kid when she was at High School and had put him up for adoption?
I reckon it’s a test to fathom the depth of feeling of the current tradesman who is ‘seeing to the plumbing.’
‘If he’s still here in the morning, then he must like me a bit?’
Speaking of which, we had breakfast in a café hidden away in one of Melbourne’s ‘lanes.’
There’s a shot from our table in the accompanying video (the compiling of which has taken me a week and so I’ve ‘multi parted’ this blog entry to fill in the time.)
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