America is shit.
Shit culture, shit sport, shit food, shit cars, shit television and shit lager. I’ve just spent 3 and half weeks walking around in shorts and flip-flops, drinking expensive watered down lager, eating crap food, visiting theme parks and spending quality time with my family. And now my cock is dripping and my balls feel like they are going to explode. Americans are too cheery and positive for my liking – everything is ‘awesome’ and ‘a blast’. They are fat fuckers also – they put cheese on everything. No wonder Elvis ended up like he did. Cunts. So, I’m glad to be back in the UK, where the roads are a mess with traffic, the weather is shit, the M1 is a carpark with roadworks, there are speed camera’s everywhere, everyone is a miserable fucker, good customer service is an alien concept and nobody is telling me to ‘have a nice day’. I’m back home.
So I’m stood in the foyer of my son’s school and I’m listening to some public sector lifer, Guardian reading type going on about how an education founded on Catholic principles is important – and I’m thinking yeah right, that’s exactly what I had and look how fucked up I’ve turned out. And there’s a picture of Pope Francis on the wall which I’m studying and It’s a nice picture of him and he looks all holy like, and I smile and think that’s not a bad look if you’re Pope an all. And my eye is caught by some scripture about vocation and how Catholics believe we are called by God to carry out a task or role, our vocation is what God is telling us to do with our lives – and that sends a shiver down my spine, because I believe in God but my calling has been to make money through the efforts of others and use that money to fuck hookers. I drive back home with that worrying thought in my head.
And as I drive back home I’m in the car listening to ‘Gunga Din’ by The Libertines and I reckon that Pete Doherty has got it right in that song – I’m working from home all week and I start the day off trying to be diligent and hard working but by about 11am that has all but evaporated and I’m on Adultwork and thinking about which hooker I should visit. Oh fuck it, here I go again…
…..And I’m driving over to Pinxton as Fay-Marie is working, but there’s also a brand new girl working today who I’ve never seen before called Bella and I think ‘fuck it’ I will give her a try and the receptionist has already told me ‘she is my type of girl’, so she knows that I’m a deviant and pervert and poppers fiend. And when I pull up outside, there are 3 blokes with their heads under the bonnet of a Rover 200 and I’m thinking fuck me they’ve got no chanced there – and they clock me going in, but I don’t care. And I book Bella for 60 minutes of filth and whilst I’m in the bedroom waiting, I’m already on the bed wanking myself over a scruffy porn mag that looks well used and so do the women and sniffing poppers and waiting for Bella to enter the room and I must look a right sight when she comes in as I’m already well on the way to being fucked up and I’m sat there wanking my cock like a maniac.
She enters the room and she looks fucking awesome and she is tanned and has nice enhanced tits, dark hair and a tattoo down her back and she literally looks like she has stepped out of the Playboy Mansion – up there easily with the best I’ve seen in a 30 year punting career. So, she sits down on the settee and asks me what I’m into – and by this stage, I’m already so fucked up that I can hardly transmit the words which are forming in me head into coherent sentences via my mouth. But she gets the drift by the look on my face and the saliva dribbling down my chin and she is already on the bed in skimpy pants and bra and she is rubbing her cunt over my thigh and pulling my mouth open and spitting into my mouth huge gobs of saliva and her tongue is right down my throat and it feels nice and warm and wet and as she moves her mouth away, there are large strings of saliva dangling down and I’m thinking this is looking promising. And then she is holding the bottle of poppers against one nostril, with a finger over the other nostril and telling me to sniff and she is giggling and keeping eye contact and telling me how she would not touch me unless I was paying her for this and I am well and truly fucked up and the room is spinning wildly and for a moment I see the picture of Pope Francis and he is shaking his head at me and I’m fucked up and I’m back in the room and Bella has me on all fours and she is doing a great job of pulling and teasing my balls and cock from behind and she is bent down spitting on my cock and biting and sucking on my balls and telling me to take it. And then, I’m on my back and Bella is giving me an incredible blowjob, taking my cock all the way down her throat and dribbling spit everywhere. And then she has a vibrating toothbrush and she’s using it on my cock and then it’s on her clit and I’m licking her cunt like an imbecile and she’s spurting into my mouth and on my face and then the toothbrush is in her mouth and I like that and she is the dirty type. And then she’s bent over and I’m eating her arse out enthusiastically and noisily and she is reach back and forcing my face into her arse with one hand. And then she’s back on my cock – licking, sucking, biting, spitting, taking it all down – and I can’t take any more and I’m wanking myself over her face and spunk is flying everywhere and this is 4 weeks worth and it feels satisfying and nice. And the room caves in and fuck me. And she looks at me and asks whether I’m ok and I ask her to ring an ambulance – and for a moment she thinks I’m serious, but I just tell her I need a moment to gather myself. Whilst I’m getting ready I give her another inspection – she is well fit and I know I will be back.
And then I’m outside and walking to the car and the 3 blokes are still fiddling with the Rover 200 and scratching their heads one of them looks at me and I nod and smile and think I’ve had more fun in the last 60 minute than you pal – and you’ll never get that wreck started. And as I drive out of Pinxton, past the ex-Council houses with shit tips for gardens, boarded up pubs, stone cladding, St.George flags, Satellite dishes, broken fences, ex-miners with ‘taches walking like ghosts in a dream and dangerous dogs I put ‘The River’ on by Bruce Springsteen and I think this is strangely aligned – If Bruce was British he would probably come from Pinxton. If you work in a factory or mix cement, Bruce is your man.
And then I’m driving down the A38 into Mansfield and I think I’m driving back into civilisation – and that’s an indication of how fucked up in the head I am I reckon. And I meet up with my good friend BigRockCandy in the pub for a quick drink and relate to him my experience that afternoon and he looks at me looking like a ghost, blue fingers, lips etc and my hands are still shaking and he laughs and must think I’m a right cunt and I recommend Bella to him and we have a chat and talk about LucieBee who I am planning to see shortly. It’s great to be back…..
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