Wednesday, 24 August 2016

1977: The Taste of Things to Come




The return to school in September (how I hated all those "back to school" posters in the  shops - I knew it was coming I didn't need to be reminded of it) saw a break in seeing A, as I coped with the very different requirements of studying three main A-level subjects as against 9 O-levels.  There were no more romantic walks along the towpath as I took her home after archery.  The weather wasn't co-operating as regards archery anyway, The balmy summer of 1976 had dissolved in the rain.  September and October were awful; cold, wet and stormy. In addition, schoolwork was taking all my spare time.

As I mentioned in my last chronicle I was finding that I was doing really well in English and History while studying the new subject of Economics.  The school thought that another O-level might be useful so I took on Religious Studies (despite not being at all religious) as well.  This turned out to be a dense and challenging subject.  In addition, I had really wanted to do Art A-level but was told it wasn't academic enough for me.  I was the best artist in the school, though, art editor of the school magazine and designer of most of the posters for school events, so the Art teacher got me special dispensation to do Art A-Level without taking the classes but I would have to do all the projects in my own time at home. We also had to do General Studies A-level.  I was then told, at the end of the first term that I should do S-level English and History as well.  These were extra papers designed for people who were likely to get an A grade and who might have a shot at going to Oxford or Cambridge.  My school was one of the top three, academically, in the country;  I think in my year we had around twenty boys get into Oxford or Cambridge.  What all this meant was that there was enormous pressure from the school to do well academically and so I was getting huge amounts of homework  I was doing three to four hours a night and doing more at weekends.  A was going into her O-level year and was nearly as busy. 

A started to telephone me every few days but it was difficult having a conversation in the middle of the house, so our conversations tended to be about school  "We just need to get more time together in your bedroom," A had whispered one evening, her parents obviously out of earshot. There didn't seem any prospect of getting time in A's house (which I had never been to).

Half term was at the end of October; a week's break from school.  We had arranged to meet on one surprisingly sunny day at the archery club on the Monday. Unfortunately it was very windy and we found shooting quite a challenge, especially as we had to keep putting our coats back on between shots.  We decided to give up on a bad job and A helped me get the target back into the shed at the sports ground.  Having manhandled the big straw target back inside we looked at each other, standing in the gloomy shed. There were windows but they mostly had stuff stacked against them.

A made a grab for me at the same time I made a grab for her, as a result we both contacted each other awkwardly and I tripped on the leg of a target stand and ignominiously toppled onto the floor. Embarrassed and in some pain I soon forgot about both as A knelt down on the rough wooden floor and started to unzip my trousers.  I helped with my belt and she tugged my jeans and pants down to my knees. Her frenzy started to get me stiff, especially when she pulled her knickers down and put them up on one of the shelves. "Cock! Cock! Cock!" she gasped, straddling me. See grasped my erection and actually rubbed my glans up and down her sopping pussy.  Was she going to actually...?

But no, she sat down on me and began her frantic pussy rubbing against my cock. I was, mentally, still adjusting to the whole scenario when she came really quickly.  "Christ!" she gasped.  I had never heard her use anything like strong language before. She wriggled backwards a foot or so, so she was astride my thighs and took hold of my cock.  She started to rub it up and down.

"Harder! Faster!" I said.  We had never done this before but I was now so turned on that I started to come almost immediately.  Despite masturbating every night, thinking about A, I shot a huge load straight up into the air. A kept rubbing and my follow on spurts flew everywhere, including over her unbuttoned school raincoat. Not content with that she leant forward and started to lick my still rigid cock. She put her lips around me and started licking my glans inside her mouth.  Amazingly, her attentions kept me stiff and soon she was applying herself in her increasingly skilled manner.  I couldn't believe it when I came again, only five minutes after my first ejaculation. She pulled off me and smiled at me, still massaging my penis until I asked her to stop as it was just too sensitive at this point.

"You came twice!" she said, leaning forward to give me a kiss.  I told her that it had been totally amazing and we agreed we needed more time together during half term. I wondered if I could get my mother to agree to her coming over to stay again. We pulled ourselves together and I realised that my clothes were filthy from being on the floor and my duffel coat was spattered with drops of semen.  A brushed down the back of my coat.  We were both sweating heavily, as although it was quite a cold day we had soon heated up inside. .A's knees were covered in grime too. We stepped back outside to lock the shed only to find E, the club member who was our instructor approaching the shed.

"Been having fun?" he asked our disheveled selves. We both must have looked tremendously guilty and I know I blushed, as he laughed. "Isn't archery good?" he said. I gave him the key and A and I hurried across the field towards the road.  Just as we reached the sports club entrance she stopped dead and told me she had left her knickers on the shelf. She said she had to get them back and I said she should leave them but she was worried her mother would notice when she did the washing.  I said that she would not notice one pair of missing knickers but she insisted on going back.  I saw her speaking to E outside the shed as I waited by the entrance. Then she went inside for a few seconds and ran back to me.She said he had told him she had left something inside and she had gone in and put her knickers on.

"I am so ashamed.  We can never come here again!" she said, looking distraught. I reassured her but worried myself that he would tell my mother at work.  But he didn't, or at least if he did my mother never said anything.

Sadly, that was our only sexual interaction in the Autumn term, as we couldn't arrange another stay over.  The second half of the term we had to limit ourselves to sending each other increasingly erotic letters and having the occasional cup of tea and a jam doughnut at the ABC cafe in the town on a Saturday.  My mother had actually increased my pocket money so I could "buy things for your girlfiend."  However, these cafe visits were usually when one or other of us had been taken into town by our mothers, so sneaking off for a snog was out, just leg rubbing under the table.  Occasionally, I would walk along the towpath to town but the weather was usually grim.

"I have done nothing but think about your cock!" she wrote, in a letter dated December 10th, 1976. "I lie in bed and get all wet and play with myself."   This was an admission; she had never said anything like this in person. I must have written back in a similar manner as I have a letter from her dated 19th December which said: "I wish I could watch you wanking while you think about me and spurt your spunk everywhere.  Except if I was there I'd suck you off and swallow it!"

The Christmas holidays arrived but we couldn't meet as her family had relations over for Christmas but she came over to my house in the New Year. My mother had taken my sister to the January sales in Kingston and made a point of telling me she would be out until about six, when she would come back and cook dinner.  A's mother dropped her off late morning well after my mother and sister had already left.  I was worried that A's mother might ask to see my mother but she was in a rush and didn't even get out of her car.  I shut the front door behind A and we were immediately in each other's arms, kissing passionately, me sliding my thigh against her groin through her thick wool skirt. After some time we pulled apart and looked at each other, grinning.

I wanted to strip her off there and then but she wanted a cup of tea and my mother had even bought some jam doughnuts which sealed the deal for her.  We sat in the kitchen and talked about the tremendous storm we had had over the weekend; many people had actually been killed, it was so bad and she said that a big branch of a tree had come down in her family's garden.  Our tea became  a sort of game, with her having more and more cups.  We both knew what we wanted to do but now we had the luxury of time we wanted to build anticipation. At one point she stood up, hiked her skirt up and pulled down her knickers. She put them on the table in front of me, provocatively.  I told her I wanted to sniff them.  She told me to go ahead and I said I wished I could keep them.  She said she had taken them off because she was so wet they were getting uncomfortable.

After about four mugs of tea and three doughnuts she stood up and said she needed the loo.  She went upstairs to the bathroom and I went in the cloakroom downstairs, the tea induced pressure on my bladder having forced my erection to subside after the knicker removing incident. She didn't come downstairs so I went upstairs, hoping to find her naked,  She was still clothed when I went into my room, looking at some of my drawings in my art folder. At school I was well known for my pen and ink work which I had done a lot of for the school magazines and posters.  These were usually Science Fiction or fantasy influenced.  I had done a series of fairies which she really liked. These were naked apart from floral headdresses.  "I want you to draw me like that!" she said.

"What, with wings?" I asked, already sensing a new experience.

"No, naked!  All real artists do that!" I told her that my Art teacher had told me that I needed to get away from my small, detailed "finicky" illustrations and my Christmas project was to do big bold drawings in charcoal on large sheets of  paper.  I wasn't allowed to do anything small or detailed.  I had drawn the view from my window and a couple of still life pictures but it was not the sort of drawing I enjoyed.

"Right!  You can draw me now!" she said and started to take her clothes off. Even though my mother and sister were out I remember going straight to my bedroom door and closing it, just in case.  "How do you want me!"  On your back with your legs apart, I thought, thinking of Men Only.

"However you like", I said. It was the first time I had seen her completely naked in the daylight.  The only other time she had kept her knickers on.  Now I got my first sight of her fluff which was curly and a light brown colour.  It was quite sparse as was the hair under her arms which was even paler; almost blonde.  Her bust looked bigger than when I had seen it in the summer and it occurred to me that she was still developing physically. She was fifteen and I would be seventeen in just over a week's time. The tan she had after her summer holiday was well and truly gone.  She stood with her hands on her hips looking quite confident.  I told her that she looked quite magnificent and she beamed in delight.

She pulled my chair from the corner of the room and sat down on it and from that point she became a drawing exercise.  I positioned her so that she was sitting across the chair resting her elbows on her knees.  I had done (clothed) figure drawing at school but we only had each other to draw.  I soon discovered that I could reproduce an anatomically accurate figure but I always left the faces off as I didn't think I could get a good likeness.  However with A I reckoned I could attempt something in profile.  I did warn her that it wasn't going to be a portrait but a figure study.  I sat on the bed with my paper clipped to my drawing board and set too; getting the main structural lines in first: head, spine and legs.  I kept hearing my Art teacher;s voice.  "Fast! fast,! Don't take too long,  Big strokes!"  I spent about ten minutes on it and showed her.  Fortunately, she approved and then posed for another one, kneeling on my orange (I had chosen it myself) carpet. My confidence increasing, I did about six or seven pictures in an hour.  The last one I was confident enough to have her standing up against my built in wardrobe double doors.  This was the most difficult pose to do as the proportions had to be spot on or it was immediately obvious.

This was the first time, of course. I had done a life study but since then I must have done hundreds. of drawings of naked women.  Almost all were of current girlfriends but in several cases they were girls who were not yet but soon became 'girlfriends'; the artist/model relationship soon becoming something more.  An article in one of the newspapers a few years ago said that a survey had found that artists had more sex than any other profession!

Despite having scoffed three out of the four doughnuts A wanted to stop for lunch.  She didn't want to get dressed again so I lent her my dressing gown which was a rather odd bottle green velour number.  Enticingly, she didn't do up the tie but kept it undone giving me little glimpses of her body as we pottered around in the kitchen making ham sandwiches.

After lunch we went back to my room and I asked her if she wanted to pose for any more drawings. "No I want to kiss and lick!" she said and stepped over to start removing my clothes. After I was as naked as her, once she had shrugged off my dressing gown, we stepped back and looked at each other.

A asked if I had a full length mirror.  I replied that my sister did and she shot out of the room with me in pursuit.  She stood in front of my sister's mirror and made me stand next to her.  We regarded ourselves.  She did look very delicate next to me.  I was nine inches taller than her and she was very slim. She took hold of my semi-erect penis and started to rub it, watching herself all the time.  She told me to turn sideways on to the mirror and then knelt down in front of me and put her mouth over my knob.  She started to fellate me while watching herself in the mirror.  "I'd love a film of this!" she said, popping off me.  There was, of course no opportunity to make a sex tape in those days. I was slightly concerned about this whole scenario, however much I was enjoying her oral attention. When I wasn't looking at our reflection (it really was fascinating), looking at the top of her head or her lips sliding wetly up and down my shaft, I could see my sister's old teddy bear staring at me, disapprovingly, from her bed, next to the mirror.

I managed to persuade A to go back to my room before I ejaculated all over my sister's rug. A lay down on my bedroom floor.  Soon we were on the floor kissing and caressing every bit of skin we could reach. Writhing around like two eels in a bucket.  We really enjoyed the freedom of having a large space on my carpet on which we could manoeuvre, although a couple of times I got carpet burns on my knees and elbows.

My mouth had been all over her perky breasts; licking kissing and even nibbling her thimble-like nipples. She pushed my head down. "Lower. Kiss me lower!" she said. I worked my way down to her belly and stuck my tongue into her belly button which made her giggle. "Lower!" she urged. Did she mean...? I kissed her sparse curls. I could smell her thick scent. She opened her thighs and started to gently rotate her hips, lasciviously. "Please!" she begged. I had no idea what I was doing but gazed at the pink parts emerging from her fluff and just dived in; sticking my tongue out like a blind man with a white stick, not really knowing what I was going to find. What I found was musky, wet, salty and not dissimilar in taste to the prawn cocktail we always had before Christmas lunch. Whatever, I liked it. I liked all the fleshy bits that you could flick with your tongue. What I really liked was that touching different bits seemed to provoke different reactions from her. A gasp here. Fast staccato breaths there. And wetness everywhere. Juice running down my chin. White, creamy juice dribbling from her livid entrance over the fleshy bridge of her perineum.  I licked it up and then wriggled up to give her a kiss, repaying the sperm-wet kisses she had given me by letting her taste her own juices. "Back down there!" she urged after a few seconds.

I happily wriggled back down her, parting her outer lips with my fingers as I lapped away at her delicious cunt. Her hips still grinding madly as I licked away.  It was becoming something of an effort to keep in place.  Her slim, but muscular, thighs started to clamp my head and I had to prize them back apart to stop being crushed by those dancer's legs.  My fingers could feel the bunched tendons at the top of her inner thighs. I was licking up and down her folds now and she was still wriggling about, one hand on my head the other playing with one of her erect nipples. I looked up at her but her eyes were closed. My erection was pushed against the rough carpet and I could feel myself building. I wasn't even really moving my hips that much but I started to come on the carpet; the sensory experience alone bringing me to climax. I kept licking, despite the root of my tongue starting to ache, as her breaths were getting faster. Then she really clamped my head and stopped moving. I felt a wash of juice from her all over my lips and tongue. I felt her thighs relax and looked up at her. She was grinning broadly at me. I wanted to lie on top of her but was very wary of my semen. "Just one sperm can make a woman pregnant" our biology teacher had told us in our one sex education lesson the previous year. I didn't want my seeping prick to get anywhere near her minge. I knelt up between her spread legs, unable to keep my eyes off the apex of her thighs, She was wet, pink and swollen.  White goo continued to dribble from her entrance.  "What happened to this?" she asked, flicking my flaccid prick with her fingers.

 "I came on the carpet!" I admitted. She laughed and sat up to look.  It was quite a large wet patch. We decided to have a shower and enjoyed all the soapy slipperiness of our skin as we rubbed against each other. I was soon stiff as a pole again and she dried me off and took me back into the bedroom where she made me lie on my back while she played with my cock and, especially, my balls which she seemed fascinated with. They had tightened up sufficiently, as she rubbed my cock with her hand, for her to get my whole sack into her mouth.  I came all over my belly and she licked every drop up.

"Wouldn't it be nice," she began.  "To be married and just spend all day doing this?"  Oh, no, I thought.  Danger, Will Robinson! Dobs and I had discussed this on the train home before Christmas. All girls want to get married and have children and then your life is over, he maintained.  Parents don't do it, he had said.  My parents certainly hadn't been close.  I never saw my mother and father kiss or hug and before he died I know my father and mother argued all the time.  My mother was actually relieved when he had gone.  I was not yet seventeen.  I didn't want to get tied down.  I said nothing and she did not pursue that line of thinking.

I did some more drawings of her and she actually posed lying on my rug with her legs spread wantonly, like the girls in Men Only or a Klimt drawing (except I hadn't seen a Klimt drawing at that point).  It was gone five, so we reluctantly got dressed and awaited the return of my mother and sister.  That night, A slipped into my bed again and we both made each other come.  I realised, lapping away at her hot core under the covers, that I really, really liked bringing her to orgasm.  I actually enjoyed it more than receiving pleasure myself.  "It is always better to give than receive," they always used to say at church at Christmas.  I always thought that this was nonsense but now I had been converted.  Not to religion.  My father once said to me (and he didn't talk to me a lot) that religion was invented by primitive man to explain the world around them and that it had no place in the twentieth century.  I later found that my father's religion was the same as mine became: women.  My uncle came to see me at Oxford once and when he saw all the pictures of naked ladies on my wall observed that I took after my father. "The only important things in life," my father said on another occasion, "are music, art, food, wine and women.  Which are all basically the same thing!"

After our wonderful January interlude it was back to school,  The first week I took my art folder in for my regular appraisal by my art teacher and the details of the next project I had to work on. He was pleased that I had done the big charcoal still life drawings, liked the view from my window, and in particular a series of trees and fallen branches (brought down in the storm) that I had done right at the end of the holiday when I had gone into the park on a rare sunny afternoon.

"Oh this is excellent!" he said. Stupidly I had not taken my pictures of A from my art folder; mainly because I didn't have anywhere I could conveniently keep them safe. "You are lucky to have such a delightful model!" he said, turning over the next one.  My friend, O, who was also in the art room that lunchtime was over like a shot.  O was the second best artist in the school but, I hate to admit it, a better painter.  We had become friends during O-level art classes the previous two years.

"You did these from a magazine!" said O, looking at a picture of A lying on her stomach.

"These were done from life, not a magazine.  You can tell." said my art teacher.  "Unmistakably!"

"Really? asked O, looking at me.

"They're of a friend," I said, lamely.

"Quite a close friend, obviously!" said the Art teacher turning over a drawing to reveal the one of A lying on her back with her legs apart.  "It's like a Klimt!" he said.  I didn't know about Klimt.  He disappeared into the art room store cupboard and came out with a book on Klimt, amazingly.  We weren't allowed into the art store cupboard which was actually a room full of all sorts of interesting looking books and art materials. . I did recognise some of the famous paintings but hadn't been aware that famous painters did such graphic images.  Especially, seventy five years previously.  As we left the art room, O, of course, wanted to know everything about A.  There was only one question on his mind.  The key question.  The ultimate question.  "Have you done it yet?" It, It. It.  Still the holy grail.  Still the unattainable.  It!  No,  He looked disappointed.

"I have licked her pussy," I admitted as we walked downstairs.  He went into a sort of paroxysm of excitement, frustration and wonder.

"What does it taste like?"

"Prawn cocktail," I answered.

"I don't like prawn cocktail," he said, looking glum.

I reasoned that perhaps different girls tasted differently. He wondered if anyone tasted like Spaghetti Bolognaise.  Maybe Italian girls, we decided (they don't, as I discovered about seven years later)..

Unfortunately, the art teacher, Mr D was not as circumspect about my drawing activities as I had hoped.  The art assistant, Mrs S, who came in to help art classes a couple of days a week, stopped me in the corridor outside the chemistry labs "I gather you have been doing some life studies?" she asked.  A few, I admitted.  I wondered if Mr D had told the whole staff room (he had, it turned out).  She then admitted that she had thought about posing for a life class for the A-level students.  "You could come along too."  I later realised that this may have been a bit of a come on.  Mrs S, however was in her late fifties, with weird, dyed orange spiky hair and a figure like...well, she didn't really have a figure,  She had a body like a sack of irregularly sized root vegetables.  We all liked her, though, because she was quite naughty, used to swear in class and often made off colour remarks.  We later found out that she and the art teacher were often at it in the storeroom.  O claimed to have heard them once after school.

I confessed to A that she had become quite famous in the school which, fortunately, she thought was amusing.  During the Spring half term she and I ran into Dobs and his girlfriend S in town.  We went to the ABC for tea and felt quite grown up.  Even S knew about A's naked posing. "Would you be able to draw me?" she asked, over an Eccles cake.

"No!"" said A and Dobs simultaneously.  Oh well.

During the long Easter holidays A came to stay for a couple of days as her parents had to go to Glasgow.  Her mother had decided that I was a polite, well-behaved boy and that because everyone in my house was female, other than me, it was a good safe environment. A told me this the first night as we lay next to each other in my bed playing with each other.  I was rubbing her clitoral hood (my father had a book which had illustrations of all these vital things so I was now an expert) and she was stroking my erection. We were both very comfortable and I made her come with my fingers alone again. She made me come soon after and we cuddled up together, drowsily.  Too drowsily.

"Good morning you two!" said my mother. I opened my eyes and panicked.  There, between me and the wall was A, blinking, as my mother opened the curtains.   "If you want to come to Kingston we need to leave in half an hour or we won't get parked!"  Although we both wanted to spend time naked we had the luxury of three days together and we both needed things from the art shop.  Getting a lift from my mother would save the bus fare so we had agreed, the previous night, to go with her on her shopping trip. "I hope you two know about precautions and all that!" said my mother, looking completely unphased by the situation. "I expect you do all that at school!  Do you have any Durex?"

"We don't do that!" I said.

"We were having a cuddle and fell asleep!" said A.

"How sweet!" said my mother.  "Thirty minutes!" She left my bedroom, shutting the door behind us.  A and I looked at each other and laughed in relief.  A said that would not have happened if it had been her mother.  She said she would have to ask my mother not to say anything to hers.

After we had got back from Kingston, my mother cornered me in the dining room.  She told me not to be embarrassed if we were having sex but I had to use a Durex because A was underage and there would be big problems if she got pregnant. I reassured her that we were not.  She said she was going to buy me a pack just in case we changed our minds.  I knew what condoms were but I had never seen one.

I related all this to A that night as we sat in my room.  My mother had told me that she didn't mind if A slept in my bed that night. She also promised not to burst in on us, again.  She genuinely hadn't known A was there that morning. I was sitting up, naked, on my carpet, my back against my bed. A was sat on my lap, astride me, massaging my cock.  She started to rub my glans between her labia.   I looked down at myself sliding up and down in her folds.  She wriggled and then stopped.  She had let go of me but my very tip was lodged in her entrance.  Just held in place by the top of her opening. She looked at me.

"Shall we?" she asked.  I thought about it and realised that all I needed to do was push forward a little and I would be inside her.  She cupped my balls and tickled them.  Unfortunately, a combination of that, thinking about It and the sight of my fleshy column connecting our two bodies made my balls convulse.  Oh no!  I had to quickly pull out before spurting all over her belly.

"Oh!" said A.  "Bugger!  Perhaps we better get those Durex!"

On our final night we carefully avoided any cock/pussy rubbing and stuck to our usual sucking and licking.

A day after A went back home, she rang in the evening.  She told me she had to see me urgently as she had been speaking to her mother and father. I asked her what it was.  "Bad news!" she said. We agreed to meet the next day along the towpath where we could talk privately.  This all sounded very ominous.

"You didn't speak to A's mother about us?" I asked my mother, accusingly.  She assured me she had not.  Were A's parents going to stop us seeing each other? I didn't sleep very well.  Next day we had both started off from opposite ends of the towpath and met about half way.  A smiled at me and gave me a lovely kiss.  Then she burst into tears. I walked her to a bench.  She was now sobbing uncontrollably. I put my arm around her until she calmed down a bit and asked her what the matter was.

"Glasgow!" she snuffled.  "Fucking Glasgow!!"  I had never heard her swear like that. A explained that her parents had been up to Glasgow as her father had just got a job there and they were looking for a flat to live in temporarily,  They were going to be selling their house down here and then buying a house up there.  They had agreed that A could sit her O-levels at her school and then she and her mother would move up to Scotland in June.  It was now mid-April. A would be gone in two months leaving me and all her friends behind her.

She wrote to me that same day.  "Thanks for being so nice.  You are so nice to me.  I should have said it but I thought I would blub again but I love you so much!"  Oh dear, I thought.  I hadn't really thought about love.  I was very fond of A but love?  Love was a girl's thing and usually preceded weddings and other horrors.

I thought we might have a period of extra closeness before she left and we wrote to each other but she was deep into concentrated revision and we hardly saw each other.  If we did meet up in the town she would inevitably burst into tears.  It became that I couldn't face it. as I didn't want her setting me off.  That would have been too much.  In fact we never had a formal goodbye.  Everything conspired against us arranging a proper farewell.  I was doing my mock A-levels.  A's letter arrived postmarked Glasgow but I didn't even open it until after my exams.  I wrote her a short but affectionate note.  We continued corresponding but, by the Autumn, letters between us had dried to a trickle.  In her last letter she had written that she had met a nice boy and I shouldn't not pursue other girls just because of her.

 A was gone from my life.  What would I do now?

13 comments:

  1. Very much enjoying this series, thanks! I do hope you kept A's letters and the pictures you drew of her!

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    1. Indeed, I have all her letters. She took quite a lot of my drawings. I think I know where some of them are..

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  2. Aha, I just knew somehow that the end of your relationship with A wouldn't be an actual break-up, just one of those bloody life-getting-in-the-way things (he says, from his own bitter experience!). It seemed such a wonderful thing the pair of you had.

    This series continues to be my favourite part of your blog(s)!

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    1. Glasgow might as well have been on the moon as far as going to see her was concerned.

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  3. I have been reading 2-3 times each post in complete fascination, thinking about it sometime during the day and all...I'm a fan of autobiographies, so this very much my pint! (Not to say my cup of tea).
    This kind of things is always portrayed in movies in a very corny way (not here at all!), and the ending indeed seems like taken from a movie!

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    1. Thank you, Glad you are enjoying them! Working on the next one at present

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  4. Very much enjoyed it but one possible typo: I think that art assistant Mrs S turns into Mrs F a few sentences later (or am I misreading it?).

    I guess you'll need a good line edit before you put out the e-book (assuming your ambitions stretch that far; based on the work to date it's definitely good enough to publish).

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    1. She was indeed Mrs S. That is what comes of writing some of it on a laptop! I can't say I had thought of publishing it! If a few people enjoy it that is enough!

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    2. Anyone who can copy and paste the text into a Word document can use readily available free software to create a perfectly presentable e-book, so if you don't publish it some pirate probably will! It might be a nice download to offer on Venus Observations to answer the question "who is Agent Triple P?" Or you could even put it up on Amazon and charge real money: the mixture of nostalgia and sex could be quite appealing to those of my generation.

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  5. This is my favorite Chronicle thus far, the disappointment of your friend O at learning that pussy tastes like a dish that he doesn't care for was hilarious. I also laughed out loud at the description of your art teacher's body as a sack of irregularly sized root vegetables.

    I was sad to learn that the randy Miss A relocated before you had an opportunity to give her a proper shagging. Did you ever meet her again?

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