Saturday, 17 November 2012

Page 58: Love

Here's a very random little piece that I might one day turn into a parody of Fifty Shades of Grey. Alternatively it could just be left to languish on my hard drive for all eternity.

PS Please be warned that some might find this a bit risqué!


"I'm not sure I'm ready for this." Peter stood in the middle of the room, stark naked, his hands firmly tied behind his back.

Angela watched him, trying to hide her smile. "Stop whining and kneel, slave," she said.

Peter obeyed.

Angela flipped over to the next page of 'Bondage for Beginners'. "It says here you're meant to fawn at my feet."


Angela stretched her legs out and wriggled her toes. "Here they are. Get fawning."

"How am I meant to take this seriously if you say things like that?"

"You're not allowed to do anything apart from what I tell you to do," Angela said, holding up the book. "Here, listen to this: 'The slave must never query the commands of the mistress.'"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Now that's more like it. Okay, it's fawning time."

Peter shuffled across the floor. He pressed his nose against the sole of her foot, gave her a wide-eyed innocent look, and then sucked fiercely on one of her big toes.

Angela squealed and kicked out at him. "No, silly, that's not until page ten."

"Sorry, Mistress."

"We're only on page five. You don't get to suck my toes until you've sworn to obey my every command."

"I apologise, oh glorious Mistress."

Angela sat up and dropped the book onto her bedside table. "I'm not sure this is going to work."

Peter leant back on his heels and looked up at her. "Bored already?"

"I just don't think I can play the dominant mistress. It doesn't feel right. At the back of my mind I'm still worrying about what I need to pick up at the supermarket."

"Fair enough. Does that mean you'll be untying me?"

"I guess so. Cup of tea?"

"That'd be grand, cheers." Peter waited patiently while Angela freed his hands and then turned to look directly into the lens of the video camera. "Well, that was only our first attempt," he said. "We'll try something different next time."


Carrie pointed the remote control at the TV screen, pressed the pause button and turned to the class. "Or so he said," she continued. "In actual fact Peter and Angela have never since tried anything new, and that film was taken over a year ago. So what do we think about that? Anyone?"

She stared out at the sea of blank faces. "Jenny, how about you?"

Jenny's head jerked upwards, startled to have been called upon to answer. She could feel the eyes of her classmates burning into her back and her face flamed crimson.

"What was the question, Miss?"

Carrie sighed. Sex education was never an easy class to teach, especially since the curriculum now demanded they show these bizarre training videos. "Do you have any comment on the fact that Peter and Angela never managed to get past page five of 'Bondage for Beginners'?"

"Er, not really Miss."

"Just anything Jenny, anything you want to say? A single statement, a single word even? Just something to record as commentary given by a member of my class?"

"They were happy as they were?"

Carrie clapped her hands. "Good, Jenny, good. Excellent answer. Write this down, everybody: Peter and Angela were happy as they were. They didn't need the book. Kurt, stop snickering or I'll make you come sit at the front. Okay class, take out your textbooks and turn to page fifty-eight. Today we're going to talk about love."

"Love, Miss?"

"Yes, Jenny, love. It's not talked about very often these days but today we're going to discuss it in depth."

'50 shades of hay' by Rubes

Wednesday, 17 October 2012

A limerick for Pete

Today is a good day for a daft limerick.

There was a young laddie called Pete
Who picked up a girl off the street
He gave her some money
And they did it in honey
And we all think that’s really quite sweet.

Saturday, 1 September 2012

Narrow road

Random poem of the day.

Narrow road
Trees overhead
Silent world
The night is dead
Darkened sky
Ruptured heart
The end of love
Devil’s part.

Tuesday, 12 June 2012

The Girl in the Forest

A random little piece of writing from many years ago. Welcome to the internet, random little piece of writing. Enjoy your time here. I hope someone enjoys you.

The story begins in a far off land full of magic and mystery. Stories usually do. No adventure ever starts in our own repetitive little world. No one would read it if it did.

The first scene of a story is a peaceful one. Nothing has happened for many years and this is all about to change. After many years of unhappiness, an orphan boy will discover he is the rightful heir to the throne. A girl, her dog and a cottage will be whisked off by a freak gust of wind to sing songs with short people. Anything could happen. And probably will...


Imagine you are floating high above the clouds. Above you is a clear blue sky and below, a billowing landscape of white. Watch as you accelerate downwards, passing through the clouds, feeling their soft dampness caress your cheek. Once through the cloud there is nothing but forest below you, the leafy canopy stretching as far as the eye can see.

You pass through the leaves...

... and settle to the ground...

... and observe.

Two figures move through the forest, one running, one chasing. The first is female, her feet bare. She is clad only in a flimsy white dress that sweeps along the forest floor as she runs. Her face is flushed with her speed, but her smile is wide. She passes by without seeing you. Minutes later, the second figure arrives. He looks much older than the girl, and his breathing comes in gasps. He wears what was once a smart suit, but now it is ragged and soiled. There is a gaping wound in his left leg. He staggers into the distance, limping.

Now follow...

It is night. A bright full-moon shines down from a cloudless sky. You are in a small clearing, surrounded by trees. The girl is sitting, naked and motionless, in the centre of the clearing, her arms hugging her knees to her chest as she stares up at the moon. Her only expression is one of fascination. She appears unaffected by the harsh coldness of the night.

He is getting closer, she can feel that, and soon he will be here. She knows he will follow her. They will meet, face to face, at this very spot. Her expression breaks and a girlish giggle escapes from her lips, sounding loudly in the silence of the forest. She stands. Her arms raise and her legs kick, and she begins to dance, around and around the clearing, faster and faster... laughing, singing, crying with joy.

The man has arrived. He stands alone in the centre of the clearing, waiting for the girl to emerge from her hiding place. She has watched him arrive and has circled around until she can creep up behind him undetected. Now she advances, eyes always upon him. Her naked feet pad silently across the cold, damp grass and if he hears her, he makes no sign. She stands directly behind him and giggles in delight at the thought of how silently she has approached him. Slowly he turns. His face is haggard, his eyes bloodshot and tired. They look at each other for a very long time.

She dances once more. She is clothed now, and her flimsy dress swirls in harmony with her motion. Her hands are clasped high above her head and her expression is one of pure joy. She dances in a spiral, each circuit of the clearing spiralling further away from the man’s crumpled form that lies at the centre of her dance. He is not dead, but his body is motionless, and the collar of his jacket flaps uneasily in the gentle winter breeze.

Thursday, 10 May 2012

Free writing

Every writing blog needs at least one random post of weird prose. Here's mine.

The blade slices through my shame and fills my eyes with wonder. A tiny step through my life as we live in peace and harmony but, when the storm arrives, only then shall we truly know how we feel. Life takes your dreams and grinds them down, like a small child may crush the life out of a beetle. It’s a struggle, but we never stop, never breathe, never break. I am in charge of what I do, yet there are controls to which I must adhere. Who and what I am is up to me, but how I act is not my choice. I am controlled – made to abide by the laws of society. There is no use in rebelling. You just continue as you have been: swept along in the flood of apathy in which we live. There is no getting out – no quitting – until every last drop of your energy has been spent. The stars shine and I contemplate my future. Harsh and bright, my hatred glares back and I long to break free. My past rushes through me and I bring up the barrier once more. Again I hide behind the mask that I have worked on for so long. So many believe. No one is let inside. I must block any attempts to penetrate my true reality. No one knows or understands what I am, not even myself.

Saturday, 4 February 2012

Soppy Bastard

Have you ever really liked someone but been too shy to tell them? Well, why not sit at home and write a long poem about it? And then still not actually tell them how you feel? Yes, that will work. Then, years later, you can find the poem in an old notebook and post it on your blog.

If I asked you really nicely
If I begged you on my knees
If I sent you chocolates and roses
Or if I just said “please”

Then perhaps you’d grant me
My one and only wish
I’m asking really nicely
How about a kiss?

I’d like to be romantic
But I’m afraid I don’t know how
I really want to ask you
But I’m scared to do it now

I’ve got a spot upon my nose
And a spare inch here and there
I’m sure I’ve got my good points too
But do you really care?

I think about you every day
You’re always on my mind
But, before I ask you,
Some courage I must find

I’d need a private moment
With no one else nearby
I hope to God that you’ll say yes
If you don’t, I think I’ll die

I suppose it’s now or never
I hope you’ll hear my plea
I’m asking you right here and now
Will you go out with me?