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Girls’ night

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Last night Glenda and I had our girls’ night out at a pub on the other side of town. This venue looked like cougar country, but we’re neither in that class yet. I catch the eye of a young hunk, tanned so that his face is darker than his blonde hair. But I start to think I might have been too daring when he comes over to join us. I give him a little smile, and we introduce each other to him the way we always do with a guy. I get more interested when I see his earnest grey eyes, and the calm firm way his hands move. Steady hands are always a turn-on for me, and I’m just imagining how he might hold a girl.

He’s surprisingly well spoken for this neighbourhood, and for a guy who wears tattoos. We say the obvious about him being a stranger around here, and he says he’s over from Adelaide for the spring races. “Don’t talk to me about the races, after what I lost on the Melbourne Cup,” I exclaim. I’ve been told I’m attractive when I pretend to be a bit shitty, wonder if it’s true.

But Glenda is the one he has his eye on, even though she holds her hands in a position where he can’t help seeing the rings on her left. “My hubby is a trucker”, she drops into the conversation. Is that a warning, the guy must be wondering? “He’s off interstate at the moment,” she adds. Is that flirting? I nudge her under the table. Anyway, the three of us joke around.

While Rick (our new mate) is off at the bar, Glenda and I exchange a look that speaks volumes. I try to talk sense to her. “Some guys will never risk getting a single girl knocked up, figuring how much they could end up paying and for how long. But they won’t have that worry with another bloke’s wife. If she has a baby, who’s to say it isn’t her old man’s?”

“Big prize to win, nothing to lose”, Glenda says as the nearest poker machine boils over and splashes out its gold.

“Yeah, but I wonder if they see it that way. Is getting a kid such a big deal for most guys? Or do they just think married women are safer and easier?” I have the uneasy feeling that she’s ready to pay the jackpot – we only have these nights out when we’re both yearning for male company, then we end up guarding each other’s virtue.

When Rick returns we somehow get talking about threesomes. I want to see his reaction to an idea. “No, no, silly. Not one guy and two gals. I mean one woman, her husband and another guy.”

“Now, that’s evil,” he says. After all, I should remember he’s younger than me.

“But, Rick, wouldn’t the situation be really intense, emotionally, for both men?” He’s thinking, or just smiling to be polite. “Specially if they know the wife might have an egg waiting.”

He might be blushing, but we can’t tell. “God, he’d want to be careful. The other bloke, I mean,” is all he can say.

“Bet you’re always careful, Rick. I mean, you don’t have any kids back in Adelaide, do you?”

Now he’s laughing again, “No way, Honey! And don’t want any, either.” He discreetly slips the Trojan packet from his top pocket and shows it like the badge of a secret society.

“I guess I’d be safe, then,” Glenda murmurs.

She holds out her hand as she looks up at him, asking demurely, “Can I see that?” He’s only too eager to hand it over for inspection, but freezes when she savagely rips it in half and tosses the rubber away across the floor.

“It’s okay Rick,” she laughs at his stunned expression. “I want to go on to another place, can you give me a lift? And see me home, of course.”

“I’d be glad to, Ma’am,” he replies gallantly.

“Cos I still trust you’ll be careful. And that’s not a promise, it’s a dare,” she ends up almost whispering.

“Well, time for me to go. I gotta pick up my kids from Mum’s place and get home,” and then I’m standing up, leaving Glenda and Rick to decide what to do with the rest of the evening.

TTC Blinkies

Some Sims pictures

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Here’s some pictures of my The Sims 2 characters.

Jillian came to live in our street with her grandparents, from a small country town.

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.

Last dance at the debs’ ball in our local town hall.

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?)

Gladys arose slowly, remembering the night before.

This lady really is called Gladys, she lived in a cosy flat above her shop in my parents’ neighbourhood.

Kevin realised he was not alone

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.

A Story from 1940

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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).

Outer suburban romance

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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.

the morning after