P
pillow
Guest
spurned my only two friends in the world so now its just me and this screen.
19 YRS OLD TODAY and STILL not shining in the public eye.
i might aswell talk to myself in a corner!anyway, here i plunge....
imagine youre walking home from an evenings entertainment,
youve been at a wonderful morrissey gig.he was on top form.
it starts to rain,theres a rumble of thunder,
before long youre soaked through.
its running down the waste band of your tastefully faded jeans...
and down your leg.
suddenly a red jag swerves past you,
SPLASH!!!!
oh how awful!your hair is ruined!who could be so thoughtless?
the car stops,
the door opens,
guess who it is?
he looks into your eyes and blushes,
you can see rain drops gathering in his eyebrows,
and glistening on his upper lip.
he licks them off slowly with that infamous tongue....
and sighs:
''oh im so sorry,let me at least give you a lift,
or perhaps you would join me for coffee?
its so late,
and a pretty little thing like you should not roam alone at night.''
such a deep voice,it gives you shudders from head to toe...
was that your imagination playing tricks or did he just make a pass at you?
and why is he looking at you like that?
like hes looking in the window of an expensive cake shop.
you get in, perching on the chilly leather in a trance.
of course you said yes,
how could you say no?
hes very close to you in the car,
every time you breath in,
you can taste him.
been at the salt and vinegar crisps again morrissey,?
you get out onto a gravel drive way ,
walking towards a large victorian town house,
his hand touches you lightly on the waist,
was that warm breeze the wind?
or his excited breathing on your neck?
you notice,
that his
cargo pants,
are looking three sizes too small,
around the crotch.
how mysterious!
you think about this as he takes you by the hand and leads you up the stairs.
your hand gingerly
slips between his thighs,
in an exploratory fashion.
he slaps you away,
but not very hard.
so you do it again,
firmly this time,
and he just puts his head on your shoulder and growls:
''dont do that unless you really mean it.''
''ah-ha''you think,''no doesnt mean no after all''
suddenly he grabs you by the ears and gasps:
''do it to me now!
im worried ill change my mind before we reach the top,
theres 4 more flights of stairs,
so just take me here,
on the landing,
im as ready as ill ever be,''
oh,and one thing:
everywhere else is lovely
but dont touch my hair!
he lies down on the brown thread bare carpet and wriggles out of his cardigan.
takes off his blouse,
pushes down his cargos to reveal a small pair of pink acrylic bloomers.
entrancing!
he turns over onto his front and rolls them down slowly,
slowly...
over his buttocks,
down his thighs,
around his ankles,
they float down the stair-well and disappear...
morrissey arches his back and says something weird about wanting you to stick stamps all over his naked body,
what?
sure,what ever you want morrissey,
[you would do anything for the dear old fruit.]
he rummages into his quiff and takes out a small booklet,
which he presses into your hand.
how could you refuse?
you begin to lick stamps,
and press them upon him.
he lets out a small moan,
and bites down on the rug,
youre now licking and sticking stamps so fast,
you think you might pass out.
its all worth it,
just to see him writhing on the floor,
with nothing but stamps hiding his shame...
suddenly morrissey convulses like hes going to break in half and.....
you wake up on a monday morning to find youre face down in a pool of old yoghurt and the ceiling is leaking on your head.
19 YRS OLD TODAY and STILL not shining in the public eye.
i might aswell talk to myself in a corner!anyway, here i plunge....
imagine youre walking home from an evenings entertainment,
youve been at a wonderful morrissey gig.he was on top form.
it starts to rain,theres a rumble of thunder,
before long youre soaked through.
its running down the waste band of your tastefully faded jeans...
and down your leg.
suddenly a red jag swerves past you,
SPLASH!!!!
oh how awful!your hair is ruined!who could be so thoughtless?
the car stops,
the door opens,
guess who it is?
he looks into your eyes and blushes,
you can see rain drops gathering in his eyebrows,
and glistening on his upper lip.
he licks them off slowly with that infamous tongue....
and sighs:
''oh im so sorry,let me at least give you a lift,
or perhaps you would join me for coffee?
its so late,
and a pretty little thing like you should not roam alone at night.''
such a deep voice,it gives you shudders from head to toe...
was that your imagination playing tricks or did he just make a pass at you?
and why is he looking at you like that?
like hes looking in the window of an expensive cake shop.
you get in, perching on the chilly leather in a trance.
of course you said yes,
how could you say no?
hes very close to you in the car,
every time you breath in,
you can taste him.
been at the salt and vinegar crisps again morrissey,?
you get out onto a gravel drive way ,
walking towards a large victorian town house,
his hand touches you lightly on the waist,
was that warm breeze the wind?
or his excited breathing on your neck?
you notice,
that his
cargo pants,
are looking three sizes too small,
around the crotch.
how mysterious!
you think about this as he takes you by the hand and leads you up the stairs.
your hand gingerly
slips between his thighs,
in an exploratory fashion.
he slaps you away,
but not very hard.
so you do it again,
firmly this time,
and he just puts his head on your shoulder and growls:
''dont do that unless you really mean it.''
''ah-ha''you think,''no doesnt mean no after all''
suddenly he grabs you by the ears and gasps:
''do it to me now!
im worried ill change my mind before we reach the top,
theres 4 more flights of stairs,
so just take me here,
on the landing,
im as ready as ill ever be,''
oh,and one thing:
everywhere else is lovely
but dont touch my hair!
he lies down on the brown thread bare carpet and wriggles out of his cardigan.
takes off his blouse,
pushes down his cargos to reveal a small pair of pink acrylic bloomers.
entrancing!
he turns over onto his front and rolls them down slowly,
slowly...
over his buttocks,
down his thighs,
around his ankles,
they float down the stair-well and disappear...
morrissey arches his back and says something weird about wanting you to stick stamps all over his naked body,
what?
sure,what ever you want morrissey,
[you would do anything for the dear old fruit.]
he rummages into his quiff and takes out a small booklet,
which he presses into your hand.
how could you refuse?
you begin to lick stamps,
and press them upon him.
he lets out a small moan,
and bites down on the rug,
youre now licking and sticking stamps so fast,
you think you might pass out.
its all worth it,
just to see him writhing on the floor,
with nothing but stamps hiding his shame...
suddenly morrissey convulses like hes going to break in half and.....
you wake up on a monday morning to find youre face down in a pool of old yoghurt and the ceiling is leaking on your head.
