Memoirs of a Mormon with motion sickness

She devoured me like an orange… she started to peel off my skin, nibble my juicy flesh and eventually ended up taking the pith. I met her in the dark mountains of Belgium – she was frying onions and I was passing though on my way to Hardcokk in the southern reaches of north Germany. I couldn’t take my eyes off her – she’d attached them with superglue – and they were stood out on storks.  No, not stalks, storks.  Storks who flew off into the murky, melting European sky with my eyes.  “Come back!” I cried, in dispair.  Then dat pear.  Then de other pair.

She asked me my name – I lied and said that I didn’t have one… and that when people called me or referred to me, they would make a low humming sound which made frogs sexually aroused. Well, it was less embarrassing than telling her that my name was Brian. I asked her what her name was – she screamed loudly, piercing the atmosphere like a fried egg humping a balloon. I told her that I’d never heard a name so beautiful – she responded by asking me to get off her foot. She then told me (whilst drenching me in onion juice) that her name was Jill, only she pronounced it ‘Sssshhhhhiiiiiill’, like she had some kind of speech impediment. Then I realised that I was viewing the world in some kind of slow motion and changed my batteries.  I take sixteen ‘AA’ batteries.  Duracell are my preference, but I know they’re expensive and understand if you’re on a budget.

I laughed brazenly once I had written the word ‘existentialism’ on every piece of my clothing and then asked her to come to bed with me. She said that she wasn’t tired. I asked her if she needed me to draw her a picture. She said that was exactly what she wanted, so I did her a sketch of exactly what I wanted to do, using charcoal. God, where I wanted to put my charcoal! I drew England’s most famous monument, the giant empty Kentucky Fried Chicken bucket which sits on a plinth in Trafalgar Square in the background which impressed her greatly (I could tell she was impressed, by her sexy and emphatic yawn) and she then winked with her tongue and whispered in my ear that her breasts were coated with The Colonel’s secret breadcrumbs and spices.

We had amazing sex. OK, it was with other people, notably a farmer and a nun who happened to be walking past at the time and, luckily, happened to be horny, then we bade each other farewell and continued on our respective quests. Hers was to fry as many onions as possible and make a potion to attract Frenchmen from the concentrate and mine was to collect at least 4,000 fish hairs before the sun went down. I kissed her on both cheeks, then pulled her panties back up and kissed her face too.

Yes, it was a wonderful summer’s winter and one day I will meet her again. Next time, it will be personal… or will it?

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About A.D.S.

You are reading the musings of a music-obsessed forty-something who was brought up on The Beatles, lived through Britpop and now spends his time in pursuit of the best music around. This 'blog gives me an outlet to write about the huge number of albums I buy and the many gigs I go to. All of the opinions expressed are my own and if you don't agree with me, then I understand - music is a very personal thing. I like to receive comments, especially if they're nice ones.
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