Here’s some pictures of my The Sims 2 characters.Jillian is one of my favourites, she’s cheeky but also very straight and innocent. Alas, she finds life in the city is a lot trickier than she ever expected. This pic shows what can be done with lighting and a bit of post-production colour balancing. I’d love to have a hairdo like that for a change, but where to wear it (apart from a production of Hairspray?) This lady really is called Gladys, she lived in a cosy flat above her shop in my parents’ neighbourhood. The lady in period costume is meant to be a ghost but I couldn’t quite make her transparent. Kevin is a student who lives in an old house, cheap rent because people say it’s haunted.
Category Archives: Stories
A long-established swimsuit and underwear company began the trend with their leopardskin-print men’s bathers. (Just what is it about the leopardskin pattern that’s supposed to be sexy? Did guys of previous generations like to play Tarzan at the beach?) Later their designers used the print for daring underpants, and over the years their range expanded to other animal skin prints, even snake skin, in various colours.
Suddenly the shock value become fashionable with the young bucks, and they produced bathers in fish scale patterns, and octopus tentacles in livid blues and greens. These were hot sellers, at least for one summer. Next season one designer dreamed up gooier patterns for the teen market. Graphic patterns of flayed musculature had a short vogue among the rich and decadent, even appearing in the dormitories of the most select boys’ school. Then it was armour of shiny insect-like segments, and the previous year’s octopus was reinvented as a stylized pattern of suckers-and-eyes. A season later these had become a mosaic of glaring eyes, and simple worm segments in maggot white or verdigris blue.
“Our boy’s bought himself some new underpants, of all things. With his own pocket money, too.
“Leopardskin, or something like that I suppose. It’s supposed to be the latest thing among the teenagers.
“Worse than that! They’re in a segmented pattern like some grisly graveworm.
“What’ll they think of next?
“That’s the fashion. They have them with little beady eyes on each ring, or two big staring eyes, anything to look horrific.
“Maggot britches”, exclaimed a disdainful young miss. But something analogous was devised for girls too young to wear the voluptuously flowering underfashions of the over-18s or the grownup girdles embroidered in patterns that hinted at the womb within. That year, girls’ undies featuring roes masses, toad spawn or even an embryonic face were scary reminders to any swain who succeeded in glimpsing them. Hexagon-tiled fabrics with wasp faces glaring from some cells, or mosaics of fanged mouths, gave an even blunter warning.
“You wouldn’t want to touch them for fear of getting bitten.”
“Well, we’re not supposed to be touchable in our undies, are we?” was the unanswerable retort, justifying a flirty fashion as a protection of virtue.
By the spring, variations on the fad had reached the outer suburbs. A stand at the Agricultural Show had racks of T-shirts in last year’s snake and insect patterns, while guffawing lads around the novelty stall dared each other to buy the plump white worm balloons that even had short orange antennae.
This was the story I found in a tattered old diary. I don’t know who the writer was, and of course I’ve changed the names here.
I was lucky to be working for Mrs Anson, who was a widow and one of our town’s biggest businesspeople: she owned two shops and a half share in the pub.
She demanded a lot of me, as her maid and secretary on call for most of our waking hours. But I had a nice room at her house, good wages and was soon taken into her confidences. When a dishy young farmhand called late one evening I couldn’t help knowing he was her secret beau. The sounds that came from her room were no concern of mine.
“Young men! ” she frankly exclaimed the next morning as I made her bed without commenting on the wetted sheets, “They’re more trouble than they’re worth. Cheryl, if you take my advice you’ll steer clear of boys – until you’re ready to marry Mr Right, of course.” But she wasn’t giving up on her new boyfriend. She smiled as she told me, “I need to teach Doug a few things, Cheryl. He took me by surprise with his ebullient but, umm, premature passion on our first night. You should have seen the look on his face when I told him I wasn’t safe. Now he’ll do anything I say to avoid becoming a father, for instance wearing something on his penis thick enough to slow his ejaculation ’til a lady is ready to share the ecstasy.”
“Sorry, Mrs Anson, I don’t follow you.”
“That’s just as well, dear. So I’d like you to go to that funny little pharmacy round the corner, not the one we usually use, and ask for what they call prolongers or sustaining condoms. Can you remember that?”
“Not that shop run by the undertaker’s wife? In the lane behind the church?” said Mrs Tattersall, the know-all housekeeper when I returned with a plain package. “ They say she sells cheap condoms – so that later her hubby can offer the poor girls something much more expensive. Abortionist and undertaker, the two jobs go together, don’t they?”
“I’d rather trust these than the red rubber frangers that men buy at the barber shop,” Mrs Anson answered with dignity.
“Frangers! Rhymes with bangers,” Mrs T tittered.
“Short for frangible, n’est-ce pas?” French usually brought Mrs T to baffled silence, but today she was wound up with reminiscence.
“Oh, it used to break my Harry up when I called him Popskin Frankfurter. Our mums would tell us to wash with vinegar afterwards. But you had to be quick! We said half a lemon was better, as long as it didn’t slip out.”
I didn’t like this kind of talk, it was going too far in making fun of things I still thought romantic and maybe even sacred, even though I hadn’t tried them.
Six months later I had gone part of the way with Andy, across the seat of the farm truck that his boss let him use on Saturday nights. He was eager, and ebullient too I guess, but I hope he wasn’t being premature when he moved on from normal kissing to exploring as much of me as he could reach with his lips.
The next time Mrs Anson went down to Sydney she visited her corsetiere for the latest in the black silk and lace that she favoured. And she brought me a present, my first corsolette all in one piece of pink satin from the shoulder straps to the four garters to clip to my best stockings. “I’ll wear it for Sunday best, and maybe for special dates,” I giggled.
“Your date armour,” she laughed. “I bet your young man would have a hard time gaining entry.”
After a few more dates with Andy, I must admit we were going straight to heavy petting. And sure enough, one night he sheepishly brought out one of those thick rubber sheaths. At least he turned away to put it on, lest the sight of it in the moonlight scare me or something. We cuddled again, I almost burst out laughing at his rubber-encased sausage so heavy on my tummy. I had to touch it to make sure it wasn’t getting up to mischief, didn’t I. But his kisses and caresses were so sweet, as ever, my dear lover. He longed to slip it into me, I longed for that forbidden connection too. At last, I fended him off by saying archly, “Darling, I’m always scared to blow up a balloon. You know how they go pop?”
I kept stroking it, and suddenly he shuddered and I heard a funny “squelch… squelch … squelch!” inside that thingy. Just for a sec I was disgusted, then forgave him. He hid his face, must have been as embarrassed as me.
“Aww, no harm done,” I murmured as I ran my fingers through his hair and nibbled his ear, glad it was too dark for him to see how I was blushing. I hardly dared think of what that silly rubber gadget now contained. Although, as Andy calmed down and it became loose and baggy on him, I did wonder cheekily about what might happen if it spilled. Would the spermatozoa (I know that word from the medical book, but still can’t pronounce it) still be alive after it had cooled? What if a woman was so crazy for a baby that she poured them into her womb before her cruel husband could pour them all down the sink?
But a week later I was actually took his male organ right into my mouth for a moment, as long as he promised to behave himself. That was after I’d dared him to lick what we called the ‘man in the boat’ (he took forever to find it, it’s not as if he had very far to search!). It was past 11 when I got to my own bed that night, still glowing but starting to cringe at what we’d done now. Was I getting to be as bad as Mrs Anson?
The other fragment seems to date from a year later, when Cheryl and Andy were engaged but he has to leave. Of course, there was a war on.
We couldn’t have the lovely church wedding I wanted, but were lucky enough to have a rushed ceremony the day before Andy’s embarkation leave ended. Even if we hadn’t, I’ll admit (since no-one might ever read this) that I would have given myself to him as his bride and taken the ring on trust.
“I want to have your children,” I said to him more than once that evening. We both wanted a big family when the war was over. And we didn’t dare say it, but we both thought: what if he doesn’t come back?
My face was flushed, I was excited in a way that made me sure I had an egg waiting for my husband. I was ready to take the plunge, while we had the chance. Oh, this would have been so perfect if he didn’t have to leave now.
We had the use of a room, the wedding guests were all next door finishing off the drinks. Yes, even I had been drinking, and on the point of tears again and again – whether with happiness or sadness I still can’t decide.
“Darling, I want your baby. Now. So you’ll have us to think of, us to come back to.” I knew my man, and I knew this was an offer he couldn’t refuse. An offer of life.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to manage?”
“I’ll be fine, dearest. I have to leave my job with Mrs Anson, anyway. I’ll go back to my parents’ place and wait for you to collect me. Or us. Next year, the war can’t go on longer than that, can it?”
“Cheryl, my own sweetest heart,” Andy murmured as he carefully undid my white dress, “Ï want this to be perfect for you.”
“It’s perfect ‘cos you’re mine.” I wasn’t used to strong drink, and laughed when I stumbled in getting undressed. Andy had drunk more than his usual limit, and he was getting a little clumsy too. We both fumbled for what seemed like hours with the clips and hooks of my undies, as our hearts pounded. At last we were cuddling naked on that big double bed.
“Remember the first time I did this?” he asked and gave me a throbbing kiss between my legs. I threw my head back, stretching like a kitten as he carefully found my most sensitive part with his tongue. Only he started laughing, and that tickled. Now I was impatient to feel him inside me; I knew it wouldn’t hurt ‘cos all those times we’d petted in the truck had already taken care of my maidenhead.
“Honey, it’s my turn to do that to you,” I said. I knew he had to be harder before he could penetrate. I kissed his bare organ and took five of his seven warm inches into my mouth. Excitedly, I felt it firm up and twitch against my tongue. Well, this couldn’t be a sin, not now we were married. I embraced my husband’s penis with my lips, my mouth, my whole being, and already dreamed of the precious baby we both wanted so urgently.
“You’re my future, Cheryl. Whatever happens.” There was so much we couldn’t say, but needed to. I thought of the crops of crosses that sprouted in France after the last war, of the lists of gilded names on the little war memorial in my home town. No, not Andy, please Lord. I held the future of our family that my love had entrusted to me, as I slowly licked the head of his penis and caressed his balls.
Suddenly Andy tensed and strained as if he was desperately trying to hold something back. Then I felt a warm squirt of something like runny, salted porridge. Oh, I could have died of horror! Was this my husband’s precious seed? No, it mustn’t be! I wanted to scream, but had the presence of mind to keep him in my mouth as four more big squishes followed. We’d lost the chance now to make love like we’d hoped and planned. Perhaps we never would, now.
I almost wept as I looked up at his flushed face, he was so disappointed and embarrassed. Maybe there was time to start again. But we were both tired and emotional, and Andy was already out of bed. I did some quick thinking as I took two steps toward him, praying that he’d understand although I couldn’t speak without spilling our precious load. I gave him my most imploring look as I pointed to his mouth, then to my womanly parts. Then I embraced him tightly and pressed my lips to his in a deep kiss. Mercifully, his tongue stayed out of the way as I passed that all-important mouthful into his.
Coming up for air, I squealed “Andy dear, don’t swallow!” For a dreadful moment I thought he was going to spit it out. “”No! It’ll be alright! We can still, you know, get it in. You understand?”
Then I lay back on the bed with my thighs wide apart, and held Andy’s head steady as he gave me that familiar deep kiss to my birth canal. My heart missed a beat when I felt wetness dripping to waste in the bedding. But somehow my hero huffed and squeezed some right inside as I stroked his cheeks encouragingly. Then there was nothing left to say as I lay still to give his seeds their best chance to make it all the way. Just our hands clasped gently.
I don’t know how their story ended, but hope so much that Andy came safely home to Cheryl and their child. (The pictures are mine, I don’t really know how these people looked).
She turned to face him, in front of the kitchen sink. The simple white T-shirt over her track pants made her bosom seem even bigger; well, she had put on her sports bra to make the most of it. Without prompting, Darryl remarked “I really liked that curry, thank you, Joy.”
She smiled cheekily, “What with all the time I spent cooking, if you hadn’t said that you might have ended up wearing it!” Then they were both laughing, and hugging each other round the waist. Paul came up and put his arms round his mum and the stranger. “Okay, lets make it a group hug.”
Joy finally got her son to his bed, letting him leave his light on for a while. She had left Darryl in the living room while she quickly changed for bed.
“He’ll drop off to sleep soon,” she said, returning to cuddle closer on the sofa. He soon turned his attention to her, kissing and chatting with his back to the television. She remarked on his new tracksuit, clothing enough on this warm spring night.
When Paul was at last asleep, they tiptoed to her room. “Shh, we don’t want Bugalugs coming in to see what we’re doing,” Joy said as she closed the door. Darryl pressed her hand in reply as she led him to her bed. “Oh, I didn’t mean we can’t talk quietly,” she whispered, “like this.”
She shed her gown and stood by the window in a short nightie that bared her broad smooth thighs to his appreciative caresses. After another kiss, Darryl paused to get out of his tracksuit, like an athlete ready for action.
“You drove up here like that?” she almost laughed aloud, rolling her eyes. He was naked except for a jockstrap.
“Yes, dear.” She did laugh, muffledly, at the way he said that word and his embarrassment at her question. Then they lay on the bed and abandoned themselves to slow luxurious cuddles. At first Joy’s avidity almost unnerved her less-experienced lover, for her frank interest in his body and the response of her own sometimes seemed to leave no room for himself. She would stare fascinated at anywhere but his face, or close her eyes to concentrate on a specific area of touch. Darryl tried to keep calm, but was getting aroused. They both were. He knelt astride her plump body and bent his head to kiss her mouth. When he made to straighten her nightie which had ridden up her hips, she mistook his intention and, with a sigh of resignation lifted it up. He helped her lift it over her head, and dropped it on the other side of the bed.
“Now I’ve gotta turn the light off, pet. You don’t mind?” She was suddenly selfconscious of her size and the stretchmarks on her tummy.
“Of course not, it’s more private.” Darryl’s athletic support held the only things he was still a little embarrassed to let a woman see. Now his hands explored her shoulders, down to her waist, back up to her breasts; his legs embraced hers, he was intensely aware of her body in the darkness. Her size excited him, she was a generous double armful of soft, talcum-scented young mother. “I’m not putting too much weight on you, am I?”
“No, you’re fine.” Joy said nothing when he let his hardening penis out of its elastic pouch and it rested on her bare belly. They both knew there was a condom ready on her bedside shelf. His hands returned to her breasts where they stayed tracing the convex curves while not yet daring to trespass on her areolae. Her right hand absently stroked his penis, holding it as if to make sure it didn’t get into mischief. He felt it getting longer and firmer.
“Darling…” he whispered, just to enjoy the word.
“Mmm?” She restrained her left hand, which had started to cup his two warm eggs.
Having to continue, he said “You’re so good to me.” She lifted her head to kiss him softly, and felt his penis jump in her sweaty hand. Rather than risking what her Mum would call a premature exclamation, she let go but blushed to think of its heavy load dangling over her. Darryl reached clumsily to the shelf.
“Can you find it, love?”
“Whatever you’re looking for,” she laughed quietly and won that little game.
“Got it… should I wear it now?”
“Better. If you don’t, I might end up wearing it!”
Joy let him roll on the sheath, just tactfully feeling that it was there before guiding him in. As his penis slid up her birth canal, Darryl suddenly clasped her imploringly. She knew he had something to say, but let him choose his time. A proposal in this position would be just too funny, but she hoped for a declaration of the tenderness that they both knew was growing.
As usual, they rested after penetration for a few deep breaths while their heartbeats steadied. Now Darryl chose this moment, when Paul’s mum had again accepted him as her man, to indulge his own inner child by asking in an intimate whisper, “Darling, the first time we made love, I was afraid I’d get too excited and ejaculate too soon for you.”
She almost giggled at that, but let him continue.
“I don’t do that, often, do I?”
“Oh no, Honey. You’re fine.” They both smiled and relaxed. Well, just this kind of friendly caring was good too – it was a long time since a man had sincerely opened up even that much to her.
Feeling secure in making love with Darryl, Joy could let herself get fully aroused in the hope of achieving full womanly gratification. She could get engrossed in running her fingers through his hair, tracing the muscles of his back or testing the hardness of his penis as if each of these in turn was the one vital fact in her awareness.
Darryl came to understand her absorption in details of their lovemaking. It was as if the female animal in her needed to make sure of its life and death choice of the male to father her next offspring. For the first time in his life the corresponding male instincts were rising strong and overt in him, too. Personally he just wanted to play and enjoy the wondrous sight and feel of a woman’s body, her underwear and all that pertained to her intimate life. But something deep in his nerves, dwelling perhaps along his lower spine, was obsessively calculating his playmate’s potential for motherhood. Through his eyes and touch it scanned her full breasts, measured her broad pelvis, drew encouragement from the healthy youngster already in her home.
But they each tacitly understood they had to keep their inner animal under control even as they teased the beasts, leading them on just to enjoy the delicious sensations produced.
Darryl held his breath and concentrated on the feel of her interior. So constricting, yet he was soon oblivious to anything outside those few adorable cubic inches. She bent to kiss him deeply, then paused and shifted her weight. “Do you feel anything now?” She was rocking imperceptibly, but the rhythmic contractions around his shaft seemed overwhelming as they filled his awareness.
“I feel our love, almost like our hearts were going to overflow”. Something else was ready to overflow, but he manfully held back.
“Darls … do you wanna take the rubber off?” she whispered sweetly. He couldn’t answer, but missed a beat in the rhythm of his stroke. She was grinning smugly in the dark, knowing she could make her guy sweat, and went on “Come on, let’s get you out of that silly old thing!” She bounced under him in the bed, tangling her legs behind his thighs as she teasingly plucked at the base of the condom. It was slippery with her juice but she got a finger under the rubber ring only to let it slap back on the root of his penis.
“Hey, Joy!” he gasped, shocked by her action, and even more by his own reaction. For the beast was in control now, every muscle galvanised in a tingling wave that savagely gripped his spine.
This was too much for them both, it had to end.. She gasped “Come on… pour it all … into Mummy’s oven.” Through the red fizz of orgasm Darryl heard her soft contralto giggle as she patted her thighs invitingly.
“Oh…” He couldn’t speak articulately, until on the third fluid pulse he declared “Joy, my joy, I love you.” Here eyes were closed, she was trying not to scream with pleasure, but they both knew she was melting for him. It ended with a soft kiss, her lambent eyes searching his face in the bedside light with a unspoken question, both of them keeping hush to protect their moment.
Darryl awoke before Joy, fooled at first by the sun glowing gold through her big bedroom windows that it must already be late morning. Would he be late for work? The bedside clock told him “7.45”, and he felt abashed. Seeing her still sleeping in the clutter of her private room, as he still lay with his naked legs between the sheets of her bed, he felt he’d done wrong. He was an intruder in this home, he realised with a little shock.
Joy’s brassiere draped on the foot of the bed, her empty briefs on the night table, were discarded wrappings that still advertised the unbelievable pleasures they had contained.
They luxuriated in their familiar routine of kisses, he nibbled her earlobe in the way she loved, then his lips were searching greedily under her chin and down her neck. At last she unclasped her bra, and he adored each of her breasts, kissing the softest underside of each and spiralling in toward her hardening nipples. When she was ready she arched her legs to let him continue his kisses down past her opulent tummy. She caressed his hair as he bowed his head between her thighs to kiss her lips; almost at once he felt the feverish warmth of her clitoris.
They were practised lovers who knew each other well, and it only needed her gentlest touch to guide his penis into her yearning warmth. He shivered with pleasure, this moment always thrilled him almost past control. They rested, then she shifted her hips so his penis was pressing just where she wanted it. She just wanted his shaft to rub gently past her clitoris… he knew to tense up on each out stroke so his hard flesh swelled a bit, and was rewarded by her tiny gasp of appreciation.