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Monday, 30 July 2012


Cue a weak joke about confusing Dulux with Durex.

He was Chase Brick, a 32 year old painter/decorator, and she was Natasha Window, a 23 year old art student. Even though he was introduced first, it is she who forms the focus of this erotic and highly sensual tale. Theirs is a story of love, lust, sex, greed, paint, substance abuse and jumping on the literary bandwagon...and it starts like this:

"Oooo!" Natasha cried in delight. Her room in the halls of residence was actually quite nice, unlike the others in her block which were tired and in desperate need of a new coat of paint. Sometimes Natasha felt like she needed a new coat of paint, which is a clumsy metaphor that won't be adequately explained or justified for several sentences yet. At 23 years of age, Natasha qualified as a mature student, though this only related to her in terms of the UK education system, because as a person she still had a lot to learn about life. Life AND love. Natasha wasn't a virgin, but she often pretended to be in order to get men to take advantage of her, as she harboured deeply explicit rape fantasies that occasionally bubbled over into violent tirades against feminism and the price of toiletries.

Natasha had two great passions in life: sex and art. The first one has just been hinted at, but now the second one in that list of two things gets mentioned in more detail in order to build up a degree of backstory and possible motivation as to why she might feel attracted to the aforementioned Chase Brick, although this is probably obvious. Yes, Natasha loved art. Particularly - wait for it - painting. She studied all the great painters, and hoped one day to gain employment as a restorer at the Tate so that she could legitimately touch  the great works of art with her delicate and sensual fingers. Art art art.

Anyway, the first few months at university passed by in a giddy blur of excitement as Natasha made new friends, got drunk, slept with those friends, made more new friends, discovered it's difficult to get pissed all the time on just a student loan when she still had textbooks and materials to buy, and sunk into a minor malaise as she realised in an unrealistically short space of time that there HAD to be more to life than sex and art.

Enter Chase Brick. He was handsome in a council estate kind of way and as such immediately caught Natasha's eye. Or maybe he caught hers. In any case, when they first saw each other there was a clear and inexplicable exchange of sexual tension that made the other people nearby feel deeply uncomfortable. Chase was repainting the common room on Natasha's floor, as he had landed a contract to repaint every halls of residence in the city Natasha was in, which hasn't been mentioned yet for no reason at all. Due to this substantial contract, Chase was looking at an equally substantial amount of money. Natasha had heard this story, so felt attracted to both Chase's face and his wallet, which bulged in his trouser pocket like a lumpy penis.

"Mind the wall, love," Chase warned her as she entered the room. "It's wet."
"So am I," she replied, with an unnecessary wink.
"Steady on," he said.
"I'm tired of going steady," she replied. "I want to go full throttle."
"I'm only a painter-slash-decorator, love," Chase said, "I'm not smart enough to get what you're hinting at."
"I've noticed you around," she said.
"I'm painting-slash-decorating all the halls of residence in this city," he said.
"I know. I find you very attractive."
"Are you quoting a pop song at me? This all feels very familiar."
"Will you go to bed with me?"
Chase spluttered and spilled some paint. "You're a bit forward," he said. "Luckily for you I find that erotic and not terrifying like some men might."

And that was that. Where Chase Brick was a Jacko from Brush Strokes in the common room, he was a Picasso from real life in the bedroom. Which is to say he had some weird concepts of what sex should be like. He went through Natasha Window like a fist through a hedge, or perhaps a football through a greenhouse. Or even a stone of some sort through something made of glass. He put his penis in her vagina, and other parts of her body, but mostly her vagina because it felt the best in there.

"You're so formidable," Natasha moaned. "My foof is a canvas. Paint it with your cock!"

Chase could last for hours, which was impressive and exciting the first few times, but soon became boring and exhausting. "Sometimes all I want is a good quick dicking," Natasha said, "not to compete in the Sex Olypmics."
"I can't help it," Chase said. "I drink heavily and it makes me last longer, for some reason."
"Wait. You're an alcoholic?" Natasha pulled away from him, unsure what she should make of this new and terrible news.
"At first," Chase replied with shame on his face. "But I only liked the strong stuff. I kept drinking things with a higher and higher percentage value, until I ended up on meths, which is easy to get hold of since I use it clean my paintbrushes."
"So that's why your teeth are remarkably clean, yet your breath smells weird..."
"It is." Chase held her tentatively at arms length. "Can you love a man with such a personality quirk as needing to drinking meths? And occasionally turps."
"I'm not happy about it," Natasha said, "but I'm desperate for the kind of love you show me so I'll put up with it."
"That's the spirit!" Chase said, and they both laughed at his pun.

She filled her halls of residence with loud "Uhs" "Ahs" "Euuooaahhs" and other sounds created by sharp intakes of breath. She filled 95% of every conversation with talk about Chase. She filled the hours she wasn't with him with rude and sexy thoughts about what she'd like to try with him. Soon, it got too much for her new friends.
"Don't get me wrong," said her best friend Valerie. "I'm happy you've found 'true love' with Chase. He seems like a nice guy, even though he's always a bit scruffy and doesn't look like he had a proper college education..."
"But he's well off, in the trouser department." Natasha replied dreamily. "I'm referring the size of his willy and the size of his wallet. Both of which he keeps in his trousers."
"He doesn't keep one of those things in nearly enough from the sounds of it," Valerie commented. "It's getting a bit mental now. I know we're all mad and crazy students who like to party and take drugs, but we also like to sleep a hell of a lot, and that's impossible when you're refusing to bite your pillow."
"I can't help it if I'm enjoying myself. I like to be loud and show my appreciation. Sex is an art form, Valerie, and as you know I have a great appreciation of art."
"It's not just that. It's the constant talk about Chase. I know your work is suffering because of it."
"I get what this is," Natasha said. "It's the conflict that forms the dramatic tension in this particular story."
"What are you talking about?" Valerie spluttered. "This is me being a good friend and telling you to calm down. You and Chase...maybe it'll last past your time at this university, but it might also burn out quickly. The light that burns twice as bright lasts half as long, remember."
"It's sweet that you care, given that we haven't known each other that long," Natasha said, "but I firmly believe that Chase and I have a future together as bright as Dulux's range of summer colours. The only thing I can see stopping it is if he drinks himself to death, has a freak accident involving paint, or his dick drops off."
"So you only love him for his penis?"
"And his charm, wit and money."
Valerie pulled a face that might have been exasperation. "I have to get to class. I strongly urge you to take it easy with Chase. There's still so much you don't know about him."

This conversation stayed with Natasha for a while. What Valerie had said was true, she had to admit it. Chase was always on her mind, if he wasn't always on top of her in bed. Or behind her. Or positioned at an awkward angle. Finally, as they lay together one night in her bed, she asked, "Why can't I stay the night at yours? And you never talk about yourself. Do you have any brothers and sisters? What dreams and aspirations do you have? Do you only like me because I'm hungry for sex and you're happy to act as an all-you-can-eat buffet?"
"Those are some heavy, important and adult questions," Chase replied sagely. "And it pains me to say this, because I really want to ram my engorged meat stick up your fairly tight chuff and what I am about to say might put you off the thought of those two things coming together."
"You've lost me," Natasha said, her eyes roaming his naked body like a backpacker lost on the moors. "I really, really fancy you. The meths thing is a worry, but whatever else you have to tell me, I know we can get over it, the same way I got over my fear of anal."
"Okay..." Chase took a deep breath and stared at Natasha's wonderful tits. "I have a shameful secret. And it is this:"


Thursday, 19 July 2012


Hello, normality! THIS has been keeping me mega busy for aaagggeesss but now everything should be getting back to normal I can finally focus on writing again. Hurray!

In what little spare time I've managed to scrounge these last few months, I've been working my way through various films I've never seen, or not seen in a long time. Unsurprisingly, most of them are from the 1980s. I don't know what it is, exactly, but there's something about films from that time period that have a certain charm few films nowadays can recreate - and even with the ones that do it's often because they replicate the 80s, rather than offer anything technically 'new' (case in point: The Expendables - a thoroughly enjoyable action film that offers a nod and a wink to the 80s but takes place nowadays).

I'm also getting back into Mad Men. I can't sing the praises of this show enough, but then I don't have to because I think everyone knows by now how good it is. Some films make me wish I lived in that universe (like Dazed and Confused), some TV shows make me wish I lived in them (like Mad Men). How is it possible to pine for something you never experienced? Good writing. A nostalgia born of other media, or fond recollections belonging to those who lived through those times/experienced those things. There's technically nothing stopping me from starting the day with a scotch, or sleeping with my passably attractive secretary, except the fact it's not the 1960s and that I don't have my own office or a secretary. But a man can dream...

Here's to the future!