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  • Good Ol' Fashioned Chatrooms

    14:51 GMT

    Do you remember chat rooms before the advent of the internet?

    Oh sure they were slower, and perhaps not quite what today’s digitally enhanced kids would call instantaneously interactive, but they had a sense of anticipation that has never quite been matched by MSN messenger.

    Do you remember when we had to write down a number of thoughts and feelings on a whole range of subjects, many of which would be of ongoing concerns? Matters that seemed of such importance that we knew that, despite the wait of perhaps days or even weeks before the intended recipient was able to read and process our correspondence, would still be appreciated by the other party.

    Perhaps held onto, cherished, knowing that real feeling had gone into those words. Words that many years later might be stumbled upon in a dusty corner of some long forgotten box of bric-a-brak, and remembered. The feeling held welling up inside once again.

    Letters worked, and their demise for any purpose other than a bill is a sad loss to everyone. It cushions the blow of endless brown tax letters, bank statements and invitations for little needed credit facilities, to see a handwritten note, with perhaps an unusual stamp, or unfamiliar point of origin. Something to look forward to reading as we hastily force a slice of toast down before rejoining the frantic pace of whatever it is that seems so important every day.

    Of course the chat rooms never worked.

    That was just a case of sending mail to an empty room where one sad old gent would read everyone’s messages, and pretend in his head that people were speaking to him because they cared about reaching out and making new friends with anyone.

    Maybe he wrote some notes back, on paper, letting everyone know what a good time they were having.

  • What does she think while he's.........

    19:01 GMT

    I find as I advance in years that I get more distant when watching pornography, a sense of emotional detachment that I hope doesn’t continue to spread into my sex life.


    At the moment for example I’m writing this whilst windows media happily spouts out ‘the passion of the ass’ (really) but as I watch a pretty young girl with too much makeup on be defiled from both ends by some rather overweight unattractive older men, one of whom looks for all the world like a Mexican outlaw, I find myself thinking thoughts that are not wholly contusive to the masturbatory process.

     

    Thoughts such as – does this girl even have a soul any more, or is she just a barren husk staring dead eyed at the world? What does she think as she is roughly penetrated by two men who, under normal circumstances, wouldn’t get a woman into bed without a heroic amount of royhpnol? And, most worryingly of all (for my psyche), what does her poor mother think of what she’s doing?

     

    Of course its possible that the wide eyed heroine of the piece actually enjoys the tenderness that accompanies this near rape lovemaking, and that her peculiar kink is being anally violated by swarthy, sweaty unpleasant looking latino’s twice her age who think it is heterosexually acceptable for two grown men to rub their cocks together as long as it is separated by the thin membrane that separates her vaginal wall from her anus.

     

    And it is to this thought that I cling like a seaman to the last flotsam of the shipwreck as I masturbate furiously.

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