Wednesday 21st November 2012: I used to be a paedophile, but I'm alright now
"I used to be a paedophile, but I'm alright now,"
The funniest line I've heard in a while and passed onto us by a café owner we know when he had said to this fellow, a known sex offender, that he hadn't wanted his sort eating at his establishment.
"I used to be a paedophile, but I'm alright now," he had apparently, and matter-of-factly, countered prior to calmly ordering his food.
Perhaps Jim had fixed it for him. Classic line.
The next evening after treating ourselves to a Chinese meal in Hong King Express I had read out the saying contained in my fortune cookie: A friend is the best gift a person can give to oneself
I had then added wistfully: "I haven't got any friends."
The wife had then wittily retorted: "Well, you're obviously as tight about giving presents to yourself as you are other people!'
She could be right.
Moving swiftly on, it's been a couple of hectic days: looking at properties, visiting ailing relatives and friends, and this morning, and this morning, I promised the wife, because we have had no luck so far with her falling pregnant yet, that I would take a trip to the Pathology department and furnish them with a sample of my sperm for them to test if I was still fertile.
After yesterday, when I postponed it, it was doubly important I attended today - the wife had accused me of trying to get out of it, and wasn't happy at all!
Anyway, I got up this morning, she was already at work, and decided that today was the day. I had breakfast, showered, got dressed and once ready went to pick up the sample bottle and accompanying form...
I found the bottle, but not the form.
I searched everywhere.
I searched everywhere again but the form was nowhere despite me placing it in a very safe place - where the fuck was it?!
At this point I was getting neurotic - think 'Butch' (played by Bruce Willis) in Pulp Fiction after his wife had left his late father's watch at his apartment - because I knew she would never believe me if I told her I couldn't have the test done due to mislaying the form.
I searched one more desperate time...
I knew then that it would be divorce, maybe homicide.
As a last resort, I phoned my doctors, I envisaged having to make an appointment, constantly checking my watch whilst waiting for my name to be called out. I saw myself rushing into the pathology lab just as the shutter was closed, banging on it: "I'm a dead man, please, please open it!"
"Sorry Sir, you'll just have to come tomorrow, excuse the pun, Sir..."
But that didn't happen, instead the receptionist simply said, reassuringly: "I'll print you a copy, no problem, just pop in before you go and pick it up."
I let out a big sigh, everything was going to be okay.
When I arrived at the Pathology Department I went straight up to the counter and told them the reason I was there.
The receptionist had then said: "It's empty, the sample bottle is empty."
"Was I supposed to bring a sample over, my doctor told me I had to come here and then produce a specimen. Please don't tell me I have to go home."
"Don't worry, that's only if you live less than thirty minutes away. Just use the toilet and then bring it back when you're ready."
"The toilet? I have to do it in the toilet, you're joking?"
"I'm very sorry, we have no other facilities, very sorry."
I look round to see if anyone is looking - everyone is - and I feel more embarrassed than I've ever been in my life.
Head lowered, I open the door to the disabled loo, take most of my clothes off and attempt to masturbate. Anxious that someone might start banging on the door I struggle to get erect. After about ten minutes, having gone through my whole repertoire of depraved sexual fantasies, I finally feel myself about to climax. With my left hand I just about manage to get the top of the bottle over my bell end, which takes the edge off the orgasm, and then come - at last.
Noticing some spunk dribbling down the side of the bottle I then fear that I may have missed - fuck, fuck and double fuck.
Fortunately a small amount does seem to have deposited in the specimen bottle, relief, but not that kind of relief.
I swiftly get dressed, wash my hands, open the door, and march over to the counter. Without looking at anyone I hand over the specimen to the assistant and get the fuck out of the place as quickly as possible.
And that was my day, the good news is that we have first refusal on a rather upmarket property.
Thursday 22nd November 2012: Mum Died Twenty-Four Years Ago Today
On this day twenty four years ago my mother died - it was a terrific shock and totally transformed my life; I've never been truly happy since, and I'm not now either.
I realise now that I can never make Juki happy and if I can't make Juki happy I'll never be happy too, might as well top myself now and have done with it.
Last night, after I had that fucking awful experience at the hospital, I got an email notifying us that we had first refusal on a really nice property, and she was pleased, till I told her that I had to inform them that my son would have to stay for a while. She then went ballistic saying that we would lose the place etc.
I just sank into further depression, it was me and Sharon all over again.
Mind you, she has a point about James, much as though I love him he doesn't give us a penny, never washes up and just fills the bins with rubbish. I also rarely get any peace to write without being interrupted and can't walk about partially clothed in case he comes in un-expectantly. I'm pissed off too.
Whilst writing this Juki has texted me to tell me how much she loves me - I got it wrong.
Anyway, I really need to tidy the place up as it is driving me round the bend where it just so messy - I can't stand it much longer, and James needs to face up to his responsibilities: start contributing or think about getting his own place!
Sat in Hong Kong Express having just ordered a sweet and sour chicken - comfort food I guess. Earlier I got an email informing us we could have North Lodge. The proviso is that James can only stay with us for six weeks. Have been crying this afternoon at the thought of leaving him without a place to live. What kind of a shit father am I?
ETA: The message in the fortune cookie read: Your future will be a happy one - don't worry
Fucking laugh that is!!!
Sunday 25th November 2012: James Okay With Us Moving
Spoke to James yesterday re us moving to North Lodge - he was well pleased and gave us his blessing. I felt very relieved as I was extremely worried; I also felt a little guilty too, but that's the way I am.
Anyway, we haven't signed anything yet so it's best not to count our chickens...
It's been a good weekend: shagged Juki yesterday afternoon, popped round to the residential home to visit Mother-in-Law who seems to be well on the road to recovery and then cooked us all a sweet and sour chicken (Uncle Ben's). In the evening we cuddled up on the sofa and watched Brief Encounter - classic film.
Tonight we may be having a curry with Jeremy and Amanda if they're up to it after being away.
I shall be looking for jobs tomorrow not that it will make a slightest bit of difference to us money wise; I received a letter from the DWP informing me I wasn't entitled to any job seekers allowance. I wasn't surprised in the least because I have worked all my life, paid thousands into the system and don't have a criminal record. I shall appeal just to annoy them.
Boxing: Ricky Hatton was stopped in the ninth round last night which I thought he would.
Sunday 25th November 2012: To Follow Nietzsche...
is to betray Nietzsche.
Just a thought.
Tuesday 27th November 2012: Kinky Journal
It's been an interesting couple of days, firstly, the good news, is that it looks like we will be definitely moving, probably on the weekend of the 15/16th December, but I'm not counting my chickens till they've hatched and we've signed on the dotted.
Sunday, we went for a curry with Jeremy and Amanda who had just got back from Nottingham where Amanda had been on a cake decorating course. They also told us about their wonderful holiday in Iceland; I in turn depressed them about the state of this country - it was great to see them though.
Yesterday, Monday, was a funny day because despite the good news about North Lodge I phoned the Surgery to find out about my sperm test only to be informed that it was invalid as the sample had been left too long - I was livid since I had produced the sample on site, in the bloody toilet!
What I think is that it was the receptionist at the pathology lab that left it too long and they have decided to blame me - I shall be putting in a complaint!
Also, the bike got a flat tyre so I have taken it up to the cycle shop to get it fixed - he may give it a service too which it needs.
About nine o'clock I told the wife to strip off because not only did I intend to fuck her I was also going to add to the excitement and film it as well before uploading to the porn site.
A few minutes later with camcorder set up she removed her dressing gown and we got down to business.
Foreplay for the wife is having her back scratched really hard (sometimes we find spots of blood on the covers after) whilst also being smacked. After a bit of that her cunt gets really damp and she is ready for me to turn my attention to her clit.
With her left hand held firmly behind her head with my left hand I then commenced to 'massage' her clit whilst recounting one of her favourite fantasies to her - last night it was the one where she is strapped naked to a frame and caned formally with full force in front of her friends at a barbecue. She only got to the 'second stroke' before she arched her back in ecstasy. It was now my turn for release.
After rubbing my nipples and telling me how she was going to punish me for illicit masturbation (a hard kick in the balls from behind whilst I am bent over) I then became really stiff myself. I then mounted her, wrapped my legs over her, and within a few minutes, whilst she also attended to my nipples, I too had climaxed.
I hasten to add that slumber wasn't long in coming for both of us.
Thursday 29th November 2012: Dreamt...
that James had been knocked out in a fight and I was standing over him watching him come round - it was horrible, but also he had blue eyes - strange.
Juki also sent off a complaint letter to the NHS about my sperm sample fuck up.
Sunday 2nd December 2012: My Paddling, Caning and Flogging
As I'm sat here writing this in the lounge, on a lazy Sunday morning, the wife is in the kitchen cleaning accompanied by the powerful strains of Whitney Houston belting out... I feel good, happy, content.
Life being life, however, we know that that won't last as there is always something round the corner waiting to trip you up, but today I feel optimistic and I guess mainly because yesterday was so good, so good.
We had to do a few chores round town, visit people before getting back about four. I then had a quick kip and when I woke up it was decided that I should submit to a good beating - I needed one for a variety of reasons but mainly to show the Wife how much I loved her. About half five, feeling extremely anxious, I removed all my clothes before assuming the position for paddle punishment upon the bed. I was then swatted alternately on each exposed buttock - the ones on my right cheek slightly less hard, but very painful nonetheless. I have to confess that it was agony, the third whack causing me to almost straighten up - the wife thought I was going to give up at that point, but giving up makes you feel more wretched in the long term than the immediate punishment which we believe is both beneficial for the body and the spirit. After the hell of the wooden paddle I was then caned and flogged which were, to be honest, less agonising - a total of 60 strokes. After a few minutes of cuddling I got dressed before cooking a couple of juicy steaks for both of us.
After washing up we settled in for an evening of watching boxing: Chris Eubank Junior vs Bradley Price and Tyson Fury vs Kevin Johnson, the wife not being too pleased when Tyson Fury won after I had wagered a fiver on him too lose; I'd also put a tenner on Freddie Flintoff to lose his debut contest the previous evening - pundit I am not!
We went to bed about half eleven and, because the camcorder was still set up in the bedroom, decided to film me giving the wife a bit of 'rough treatment' prior to me recounting her favourite 'Town Square' fantasy whilst bringing her to climax with my fingers...
Thursday 6th December 2012: 'Caned at the Barbecue' - Bedtime Tale!
She is naked on the bed next to me. I have been scratching her lightly freckled bare back and smacking her lily white and firm buttocks - she relishes that - and now I have her left arm held firmly behind her head, her long, curly and chestnut hair flowing onto the pillows. My right hand moves to her groin whilst I bring my mouth close to her and begin to whisper in her ear, "You are at the barbecue... the barbecue we are holding for our friends... but it is also just before a quarter to four... and the first Sunday of the month... and on the first Sunday of the month... every month... at four o'clock without fail... it is necessary for you to be caned... twelve extremely hard strokes of the cane."
She begins to groan and twist gently as I continue to rub her clit with the tips of my fingers whilst all the time gradually increasing the pressure...
"You see, it is necessary for you to be caned regularly to deepen your submission to me... to reinforce your desire to serve me... to please me... to assuage your guilt about your fear of failing to live up to my exacting standards of how a perfect wife should behave... and what you fear more than anything... more than the cruelty of the cane... is an empty existence devoid of purpose... of love..."
She distractedly murmurs "yes" as she immerses herself further into the fantasy I am weaving for her...
"The time is now exactly a quarter to four and you place the glass of water you have been sipping down gently on one of the picnic tables and although you have been the perfect hostess all afternoon by ensuring that the guests have never been without food or a drink, you yourself have only drunk water since a late breakfast because it is not advisable to be beaten with a full stomach. You then pad gently across the lawn and into the lounge of the house through the open French doors wondering if anyone has noticed you do so. As you ascend the stairs to the large double bedroom and open the door your fear begins to rise. Now inside, you kick off your sandals bend down and tidy them away under the bed. You then remove the sleeveless white summer dress you have been wearing all day before unhooking your bra and slipping off your knickers... you are now as naked as the day you were born... and as vulnerable. You then sink down to your knees and clasping your hands together pray briefly to God, first thanking him that He has seen fit to allow you be punished for your shortcomings and then requesting the fortitude to bear the pain with stoicism. You glance up to the carriage clock upon the mantelpiece and see the time: seven minutes to four... it is time. You slip your dressing gown over your unclad and now visibly trembling pale body for you must be demure and modest for as long as possible. You then retrace your steps, squinting your eyes as a reflex to the bright sunlight, as you enter into the garden..."
She starts to gasp and I feel her muscles become taut...
"With your head lowered and your pace slow you make yourself to the caning bench... the caning bench that has been especially measured and constructed for you... only you... and halt just a couple of feet away. None of the guests are talking and you feel as though a million pairs of eyes are upon you. With your sight focussed on the green recently mown grass, your arms close to your side and your legs together you listen to me as I explain to all those gathered around what is about to happen..."
I am now rubbing her swollen, to the point of bursting, clit hard and fast - her cunt is so damp she is almost dripping...
" 'As all of you are aware I will shortly be caning my darling wife... and this is something that we do... have to do... once a month at four o'clock on the first Sunday of the month... and it is never postponed or cancelled. There is nobody here that is not aware of what we do and the reasons... values... underlying it... there are also some here, who are perhaps envious of the strength and happiness of our marriage, would like to emulate what we do. But before I continue I must ask anyone who does not want to witness severe corporal punishment to either go into the house for the duration... or go home. By your silence I assume you are all going to stay... good.' You then sense me move towards you, place my hands around your shoulders and quietly ask you to take off your dressing gown. Totally naked I guide you to the caning bench. I ask you to bend over it before fastening your outstretched arms securely with leather straps to the front part of the wooden frame. I then tighten another strap around your middle before securing your thighs and ankles. You are now effectively restrained into a kneeling attitude with only a pad for comfort to rest the lower part of your torso on with your breasts hanging loose. As you feel your ankles secured you notice the warm sun upon your back... you feel conspicuous... and incredibly scared... once again you pray... and then hear me address the dozen or so of friends and work colleagues for the final time... 'The time is now one minute to four o'clock... as you can all see I shall be using this cane which is a quarter of an inch thick... it is about two and a half feet in length... and quite whippy. I shall be employing full force in order to inflict maximum pain... which is the whole point of course. It is not inconceivable that her skin may break in places... and that the bruises take ten to fourteen days to heal... she will remember it... which is good. Okay... it is time now for the first stroke.' You steel yourself... there is a momentary 'whoosh' and then immediately a line of fire sears across your buttocks... you scream out and tug against your restraints... but to no avail. The burning begins to lessen and a mild breeze blows over your nude and exposed body for a few seconds fanning your flesh... another whoosh... a feeling that you are being cut by a sword... you scream..."
Her back arches and she cries out... in ecstasy... her features freeze almost beatifically for a few seconds and then she relaxes... slumps down upon the mattress... before laughing...
That was yesterday evening at about ten o'clock.
Saturday 8th December 2012: 400 OTK Swats of the Hairbrush for my Wife
As I compose this, the wife is on the sofa writing Christmas cards whilst I am intermittently getting up to stir the curry - smells good.
Anyway, we both feel pretty relaxed because a couple of hours earlier the wife requested a spanking since she was feeling a 'bit naughty'. I suggested an OTK hair-brushing and reckoned about 400 swats would do the trick.
Before presenting herself for the beating she went into the bathroom and shaved her cunt as she prefers to be smooth; especially if the spanking is to be filmed (it was). She then walked into the bedroom, handed me the hairbrush, and stretched out over my knee. I didn't waste any time and got straight on with the punishment. She squealed and squirmed from time to time - I knew she was suffering - but I didn't let up. Over four hundred whacks later, and her cheeks the colour of cherries, I decided she had had enough.
As we were both rather aroused I stripped off (she was already naked) and got onto the bed. I scratched her back for a few seconds then got on with the job of bringing her to orgasm whilst recounting her latest fantasy of her having to be caned at a barbecue. As she was already quite damp from the application of the hairbrush it didn't take long for her to arch her back and climax. I then mounted her and wasn't long in coming myself.
Oh well, that's good timing, the curry looks like it is ready now.
Sunday 30th December 2012: The Swimmer
I am swimming in the sea
I feel strong, powerful
Not as strong and as fit as I once was.
Long ago I had hope for the future, long ago.
I draw myself through the water, against the current
Know that I can choose, at any moment, to turn and drift with the flow. Anytime. Easy.
The wavelets splash in my face, I can taste the salt.
I turn my head to the beach:
Golden sand, golden hair, golden flesh, golden people, golden ice creams, golden sun, golden times, ah yes, I remember them.
So near the shore
So near the shore
So easy, just to turn, to drift with the current.
I bring my arms together, pull them apart, feel the tension in my biceps, kick out
Move forward against the flow.
You see, I can do that, I am strong
Not as strong as I once was.
It would be so easy, just to turn, to drift, with the current, become the current, so easy
No one would see, no one would care.
Can you see what I see? Can you?
The whispered invitation, soft and subtle, of the sea...
So easy, so easy.
I turn, surrender to the current, as I knew I would
Turn again, for the shore, the golden beach, the golden people.
It was good to tease, the tide, the current, destiny...
Friday 25th January 2013: No More Writing
I really can't be fucking bothered anymore. Those were my thoughts about an hour ago when I had plonked the PC down upon the kitchen table with the intent of continuing with writing my novel. I just thought: I'm never going to get it published and if I do get it published it probably won't make any money anyway - what's the fucking point? Besides which I find writing very wearing: constantly trying to find the right word, checking to see if it flows, correcting grammar etc. Fuck it, I concluded, about an hour ago: I'll write when I feel like it and about what I want in my own style, and if people want to read it then all well and good; if they don't then so what.
The other thing that went through my mind was the fact that I've been feeling quite well recently too which makes me suspicious: I don't trust happiness as I get this feeling that Fate, Destiny or He-Who-Moves-In-A-Mysterious-Fucking-Way is lulling me into a false sense of hope or security in order to bushwhack me when I least expect it. Happiness and love: two of the most dangerous states one can find oneself in; don't say I haven't fucking warned you. Yeah, there's something nasty round the corner lying in wait for me - I'm sure of it.
In the meantime I woke up with a stiffy this morning, a real hard stiffy; I almost felt young again. Mind you, if we'd had a shag last night I probably wouldn't have but Juki, out of character for her, preferred to get straight to sleep. The consequence of not having sex is that I am still feeling quite horny, and when I'm feeling horny I'm fantasising, and when I fantasise I think of kinky things, and what I'm visualising at the moment is being kicked hard in the balls for masturbating - I find it really exciting; well, a part of me does, another part of me finds the idea scary - really scary. Still, we'll have to see what happens on that one.
Another thing me and Juki discussed recently was making some more films in which we explored our fantasies: I've got a few ideas for scenarios and when they've crystallised we'll get on and do it; it may be a while as I never do anything quickly. Actually, that's not strictly accurate as Juki reckons she's never seen anyone fall asleep as fast as me.
Right, that's enough rabbiting, off to the shops now; Juki fancies a Beef Casserole.
Just got in and put the beef casserole on. Earlier, in Waitrose, I saw Fred who told me that he was off sick due to heart palpitations that had led to him feeling queasy and a bit dizzy. He's still having tests but he tells me the Company are putting pressure on him - they probably see him as a liability and want him to leave.
After shopping I had a ham sandwich and a coke in Sea Breeze before catching the 1420 Service 25 which then went on to Newport - I just fancied a ride around. As we drove down Folly Lane I remembered all those years ago when I used to work in the pub there with Hopkins and Cliff; when I got to Newport who should I bump into, but, Hopkins, who was in town looking for musical bits and pieces.
Saturday 26th January 2013: Landlady not Returning our Deposit
As I wrote down the date for this entry I realised that on this day (it was a Sunday) in 2003 (is it really ten years ago?) Sharon's father died suddenly. It was also the year I split from Sharon. Coincidentally the death of my Mother in 1988 was really the beginning of the end for my marriage and relationship with Leanne; I think I would like to share with you, my reader (flattering myself that I actually have any readers!), some of the more significant events over those, at times, tumultuous fifteen years. I will leave that, however, for another day when I'm in the mood.
Anyway, last night we had a pretty relaxed time on the sofa: Coronation Street, Eastenders, and Coronation Street. We also put away a few chocolates and sweets too. About half nine I suggested we had an 'early night' to which Juki responded keenly especially as she was too tired for a shag the night before. Prior to going to bed I checked my phone in the kitchen for messages - earlier on I had texted the Landlady about getting the deposit back on our old flat in Spencer Road - and discovered she had responded, this is the message:
Hi Matt, hope you're both well. Unfortunately the flat is in such a bad state of repair - holes cut in carpets, kitchen units broken, floor etc. that my sister and I are not able to return any deposit. Best wishes. S
I wasn't surprised as her main priority in life is money - the main reason the flat was in such a bad state is the fact that she wouldn't spend any money on it; I doubt that anything's been done in thirty years. Still, as I said to Juki: don't get mad, get even. We have decided to seek legal advice - free, I hope at the Law Centre - and pursue her through the Small Claims Court for our deposit, £425, which has considerably less value now than in 2003 when I paid it and considering that over nine years of letting I have paid over £45, 000 in rent - more than that as we were paying £475 p.c.m. latterly - then I think it's pretty mean of her to cheat us out of it. Still, it's not going to look good for her - even if we don't get the money back - for the authorities to find out that she didn't do the gas checks nor did she replace the cooker, despite repeated phone calls to her which she refused to answer, when Transco disconnected it for safety concerns. Juki told me she believed that she looks down on us and thinks that we - me in particular - are stupid and weak. Juki then added: "The problem with smart people is that they sometimes think they're smarter than they are." Let us hope that we don't believe we are smarter than we are as S, underneath, is an unscrupulous and cunning individual. I'll keep you posted.
Anyway, we finally got to bed about half eleven for me to smack and scratch Juki prior to recounting to her, whilst fingering her, her favourite fantasy of being caned naked at the barbecue; she only got to the point of stripping in front of everybody before climaxing. After she'd come she rubbed my nipples prior to me mounting her whilst all the time I fantasised about having to first polish the boot she was going to kick me in the balls with from behind for the 'offence' of masturbating. Needless to say I didn't take long in coming too; sleep soon following for both of us.
Sunday 27th January 2013: Talking of Punishment
Juki is in the shower as I compose this and I would like to say that we are having a lazy Sunday, however, Juki has got assignments to mark, so much as I would like to get out for a walk or a bus ride it doesn't look likely which is a shame since it's a really nice day. Anyway, the place is really clean now: I did the bathroom whilst Juki did the kitchen and vacuumed round the rest of the rooms.
After I cleaned the bathroom I had a cold shower (I always have a cold shower as I find it more refreshing) but whilst under there I sprayed cold water into my face and for a moment I felt quite breathless; any longer and it would have been scary. That then led me to think about waterboarding which is a torture the Americans have been using to interrogate suspected terrorists in Guantanamo Bay and it made me realise what a terrifying ordeal it must be to feel that you can't breathe and are going to suffocate to death. It also, for a moment, rekindled my fears of a horrible end; that death is never far away for any of us...
Out of the shower and dressed I sat down and shared a cup of tea with Juki whilst she skimmed through the County Press. In it was a write up of a court case in which a doctor had been accused of misconduct: inappropriate touching of a female patient. He was cleared of all allegations and because the prosecution evidence was so inconsistent it appeared to me that this was a clear case of a woman bringing a case purely for malicious reasons. What annoyed me was that the doctor had been named, his reputation and career hanging in the balance for nearly two years, whilst she had remained anonymous; perhaps free to smear other innocents in the future without fear of prosecution herself. Is it an overreaction to say that perhaps British Justice is becoming an oxymoron? I personally feel that an individual who deliberately and knowingly make a false accusation should receive the same sentence that they intended for the victim; that would be true justice! Anyway, I'm not going to get worked up about it.
Talking of punishment, Juki has 'promised' to give me a thirty-two swat beating with the wooden paddle later; already I am beginning to feel anxious about the prospect - that paddle really hurts.
Monday 28th January 2013: Believing in Your Own Lies?
Feel tired as I write this; perhaps I'll have a kip later. Actually, instead of sitting with a mug of tea here I should have been preparing for going for a walk later with some of my colleagues from OH but decided to pass on it since rain has been forecast for this afternoon and I don't really fancy getting covered in mud. Still, it was nice of them to think of me; I do enjoy walking.
Another postponement was my paddling since by the time we had watched telly all evening it was too late; I do need a good beating though. The thing was though that there some really interesting programmes on. First we watched a really interesting documentary about the psychological makeup of serial killers - one expert thought they all had three factors in common: brain damage or injury, childhood abuse and mental illness. Another expert thought that MRI scans could identify psychopaths by their brain patterns. However 'normal' people sometimes exhibited the same sort of pattern so in the end there was no sure fire way of predicting who would develop into a serial killer and who would not. Whilst I was watching though I couldn't help thinking from time to time about the individuals who were far more dangerous, and left the world with far greater sorrow, than serial or spree killers: ego-paths (my own term). I'm not going to bang on about the subject too much but someone like Tony Blair is what I call a classic example of an ego-path. I remember watching the Andrew Marr Show a few years back and Marr asking Tony Blair whether he suffered from any regrets with regards to the Iraq War. Blair (who was a far more accomplished performer than Gordon Brown) instantly adopted an expression of solemnity before mouthing the usual sentiments that though lives had been tragically lost it was necessary to make sacrifices for the greater good of humanity. A large proportion of viewers watching that would have been swayed by that performance: a leader, though tortured by his conscience, nevertheless prepared to do the right thing. However, a few minutes later he was smiling and cosying up to Art Garfunkel, another guest on the show, and hardly the actions of an individual steeped in remorse. Ego and money (or riches and vainglory as Machiavelli would have put it): that's what I believed ultimately drove Tony Blair and it cost a lot of blood (other people's) and money (again, other people's) to satiate. Now, it has been said (in defence?) that Tony Blair believes his own lies (a curious concept when you really think about it and one I am still deliberating over) and if that is the case then it is for his own good because if he ever ceases to do so then the guilt of what he has been responsible for would either drive him insane or to take his own life.
Enough: I think I have made my point; more about ego-paths another day - perhaps.
Anyway, we got to bed about half ten and after we had both read for a while I decided to give Juki some 'attention'. After she had come back from the loo I got her to lie face down whilst I picked up an old silver coloured sandal of hers which had been lying for ages on the old laundry box we keep our 'toys' in. I then alternated between raking her bare back with my nails and spanking her repeatedly with the sandal which caused her to squirm and squeal. After a couple of minutes of that I got her to turn over before letting my right hand settle upon her damp cunt. I had then whispered in her ear: "Where are you?" To which she had instantly replied: "The barbecue." I then related her favourite fantasy of having to strip before being secured to a punishment bench and caned severely in order to prove her loyalty, whilst also deepening her submission, to her husband whom she loves and worships. All the time I was tantalisingly let the fantasy unfold I was, of course, rubbing her clit and it didn't take long for her to be arching her back in ecstasy - she didn't even get to take any strokes of the cane! After she had come she had rubbed my sensitive nipples prior to me mounting and fucking her - I had visualised, again, having to be kicked in the balls for unpermitted masturbation; I didn't take long in coming either.
Okay, that's enough writing for today and I'm wondering whether to get the bus over to Ryde this afternoon and go for a swim...
Tuesday 29th January 2013: Another Vertigo Attack?
I feel weary this morning as per usual; also have the same symptoms though very mild that I used to get prior to a vertigo attack - I may have to have a lie down later.
Yesterday, I threatened to go for a swim which I did indeed carry out. I caught the 1420 Service 4 down to the Esplanade and was in the pool by about 1455, just missing a party of school kids. The pool was really quiet and I managed to complete twenty lengths. I felt really good during the swim and for a good while after - I will try and go once a week at least still I start back at OH.
After swimming I made my way up to the shops to buy us dinner before catching the 1600 Service 4 back. Whilst I was waiting for the bus my mobile went off which I could hardly hear - I think it may be time for me to finally bite the bullet and arrange to get a hearing aid. I really hate the effects of ageing.
Changing the subject, MB sent me a friend request via Facebook which I accepted. I expect at some point he'll get in contact but to be honest I shan't be bothered if he doesn't. Though I have a few friends and relatives who I'm close to - and also put on an act at work of being genial, approachable and helpful - generally I find being sociable tiring and not worth the effort.
Back to the wider world now. I see that Chris Huhne has gone on trial for attempting to pervert the course of justice. Allegedly, he got his wife, at the time, to take penalty points for him, in order to escape a ban, after he was caught by a speed camera. He would have probably got away with it had his former wife not spilled the beans. The motivation behind her reporting the alleged collusion was clearly revenge since he subsequently first deceived her by having an affair before dumping her for the other woman. The first phrase that springs to mind is: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned - the fact that she is prepared to be prosecuted herself in order to destroy his career shows the depth of her bitterness - I love it! I have to confess there's nothing I love more than a smug, arrogant and hypocritical politician being brought down and Chris Huhne, in my opinion, isn't far behind Blair, Nixon and Clinton (to name a few) in the deceit and double standards stakes. All this lecturing to us about protecting the environment when the fucker is not only pumping greenhouse gases into the atmosphere with his overpowered car, he's also risking other road user's lives by a blatant disregard for the speed limits which are there for road safety - he's been taking the piss for far too long; though it wouldn't surprise me if he got off on a technicality. Anyway, we will have to wait and see.
Wednesday 30th January 2013: I'm a Christian-Satanist
I realised this morning that I am, for want of a better term, a Christian-Satanist: a Christian in deed; a Satanist in fantasy.
Other thoughts I also need to explore are: God's shadow, sinning, virtue and Christ and BDSM.
Once again, I feel tired, we got to bed about eleven but I've been awake since half five and Juki's also knackered. Fortunately she finishes at dinnertime today and after we've been to seek advice this afternoon about the return of our deposit from S we'll probably have a kip.
I can't really be bothered to write much today and nothing of any note happened yesterday except that M popped in for a cuppa and a chat - she's split up with N btw.
Thursday 31st January 2013: Dead Man Walking?
It's about quarter past eight as I start to write this. Juki has already left for work and it's a long day for her as she has her admin course in the evening - she probably won't be back till gone eight.
So, after yesterday's entry I went down town calling in at Waitrose for a few bits and pieces. Whilst there I saw RH who worked for SV many years ago (at least thirty) as a driver but had had to leave after suffering three really bad heart attacks; in fact he nearly died at one point. I have to be honest he looked bloated and not good. He told me he had had a recurrence of his heart problems and I immediately thought: dead man walking. Despite that he seemed cheerful enough and I then told him that I'd got a job at OH and that we had also moved to East Cowes. We also both agreed that Ryde was getting full of scumbags and I added that I was relieved in many ways to get out of it. We only had a short chat and it was nice to see him but as we parted I wondered, a little sadly, if I would ever see him again.
After I'd been shopping I used the Floating Bridge to cross over to Cowes. As I had strolled along Medina Road who should I see, on his way to work at GKN, but DS. We had a quick catch up and agreed to meet up in the future - he's living in Bellevue Road.
I then walked up Bridge Road and caught the half past one bus to Newport from the old Mill Hill Station stop. Juki got in halfway after I had phoned her whilst on the bus. We then got out at Newport Bus Station and finally ended up at The Law Centre. Having shown proof of our earnings (or lack of) we discovered that we were entitled to free legal advice with regards to claiming our deposit back from S. In the first instance we were advised to send a letter, by recorded delivery, informing S that unless she returned our deposit within fourteen days we would take legal action. I personally think it is highly unlikely that S will respond to a threat which she will see as a bluff; but we are serious. Anyway we will see.
When we got back home we both had a kip prior to me cooking Spag Bog. An evening of feet up in front of the telly ensued.
We then retired to bed where I administered to Juki a spine twisting back raking alternated with smacking her buttocks hard and fast with the silver sandal. When she'd had enough I then 'took her to the barbecue' - she climaxing extremely strongly just as she had to 'stretch over the caning bench'. After she had rubbed my nipples to revive my erection I had then fucked her whilst all the time fantasising about being kicked in the balls.
Friday 1st February 2013: Walk Down Old Road
Mini crisis this morning as boiler wasn't working. I pressed the reset button and everything was back to normal.
Anyway, yesterday after I had spent a good few hours writing about my life after Mum had died I decided that I would go for a walk. I took a flask and first strolled down Old Road, as I did I remembered viewing a house there with AH's parents (I think they did buy it in the end) when I was eleven. They spent so long talking to the owners that I became extremely bored and ended up quietly performing a magic spell (you would trace the circle of a magic cauldron in the air, about waist height before writing also in the air, and visualising in bright colours what you wished for, before scooping up all the letters and tossing them into the 'cauldron') in a corner of the garden in the hope that my wish to go home would soon be fulfilled. The spell seemed to work because shortly after we did indeed all go home - coincidence having nothing to do with it! I'm wondering now if AH's parents are still living in the same house.
When I got to the bottom of Old Road I had a walk along the seafront before stopping off in a shelter and having a cup of tea from my flask. It was a nice day though windy and the sea choppy. I also thought I would do some writing (Saydnia) but the wind kept blowing my pages over so I soon gave up. Around about four o'clock I nipped into Waitrose and saw RS in there also shopping. We had a longish chat and he informed me that JW had contracted pneumonia. When I got back I texted him to see if he needed any help; though I didn't think he would since he had J to look after him.
Talking of JW reminds me of the dream I had back in the summer. In the dream I was sitting in a pub when a fellow comes up to me and says: "Some bloke where you work has just thrown themselves off the Flag Tower and killed themselves... his name was JW." I had then been shocked and extremely surprised since JW seemed to be the last person who would ever commit suicide - a lover of life if anyone was. I guess my subconscious had picked up on something that didn't quite tally about him.
Before I cooked myself dinner I watched a documentary about the effects of exercise though I dozed off before it finished. One of the surprise findings is that we don't need a lot of exercise to help us stay healthy - only three very short bursts (about half a minute each time) of vigorous exercise a week. The other factor is low level activity - the more we get of that too, the better. The programme just confirmed for me a lot of what I had been thinking for ages because I used to do loads of exercise at one time, swimming and cycling, and it still didn't prevent me ending up with high blood pressure and cholesterol. In fact just recently I have been experiencing brief dizzy spells again and I am in no doubt that I do not have long for this world - I am on borrowed time; have been for a while. I intend to make the most of life in the meantime though.
Sunday 3rd February 2013: Juki not Pregnant
Ju is very down - her period started after being three days late. More than anything she wants a baby. Enough said.
Monday 4th February 2013: Weary of Life
I just don't feel I can go on much longer - I feel so weary; I feel so weary of life.
Yesterday morning we cleaned the place - I did the bathroom and Juki the rest - before I went down to Waitrose for some bits and pieces. Afterwards I attempted to watch the film about the Princes in the Tower, whilst Juki read, which I had recorded from last night but fell asleep. I awoke feeling a lot better, momentarily, but then went really dizzy for a few seconds - I thought I was going to black out or die. It was a scary experience and reaffirmed once more my belief that I am not long for this world.
Anyway, about twenty minutes later Jeremy and Amanda arrived and it was really nice to see them - Jeremy also brought my bike over. We had a long discussion about education and phonetic spelling - I was all for the system of one letter, one pronunciation; one word, one meaning. Nobody agreed with me and in a small way it is another nail in the coffin of Britain: those that cannot adapt will perish. For as long as I can remember I have loved this country, defended its reputation against its detractors but I realise now that I no longer can - it is a land of chavs, snobs and greedy hypocrites all trying their hardest to rip each other off; why have I taken so long to come to this conclusion?
I'm not going to bang on about it however because this nation is 'holed below the waterline' and what I say won't make a blind bit of difference.
Tuesday 5th February 2013: Saw Mr N in Town
Today, incidentally, is the eleventh anniversary of 'Vanilla Sky Day' which was when I shagged Claire and Sharon on the same day; I'll enlighten you about that in due course.
Talking about Claire's family I saw Mr N in Newport yesterday who, I believe was the one who told Camille that I had said her mother, Claire, was a psychopath - Camille confronted me one day with this, much to my bewilderment, when I was working on the Dotto Train at Ryde. The background to this bizarre allegation, we think, is that Camille once had a crush on me and Mr N who clearly fancied her - not only was she young enough to be his daughter she was also with R and the mother of his child - was either jealous of me or for some reason he saw it as a bit of an obstacle standing in the way of bedding Camille (he did succeed and took great satisfaction in telling me about it six months later in Ryde High Street); though I can't be a hundred per cent certain. I hasten to add that Mr N was also living with K at the time and that it was Casey and I, after befriending him when he was a toilet cleaner, who had encouraged him to get a job on the buses - so much for gratitude. Anyway, I was baffled initially about where the psychopath story had originated from; but then it clicked. One of my many anecdotes, which I hoped to amuse people with from time to time, was the one about Sharon when during an argument I had accused her of being a schizophrenic. In the telling of it I used to say: "I once accused Sharon of being a schizophrenic - it was the worst mistake I ever made because then both of her personalities turned on me!"
Okay, I accept that it wasn't that funny; or even funny at all but what I think is that Mr N heard me in the restroom recount that one day and confused Sharon with Claire (their real names sounded phonetically the same), Camille's mum, and schizophrenic with psychopath. Kind of makes sense doesn't it; Mr N, devious in many ways, wasn't always the sharpest tool in the box in other ways.
So when he waved to me in Newport yesterday I didn't really feel like running over and giving him a hug; I also got the impression he looked a bit uncomfortable too.
I said to Juki that I might ask him about what he said to Camille but Juki reckoned he'd just deny it. I also think he can be quite a nasty bastard too so it's probably best just to let sleeping dogs lie.
Changing the subject I was extremely pleased to hear that Chris Huhne (a first in Politics; a 'last' in integrity) has admitted to attempting to pervert the course of justice - I always thought he was a slimy bastard!
Thursday 7th February 2013: The Job Centre
Pretty much all of Tuesday was taken up by the survey which the landlord had arranged for the place and I got to have a look upstairs (it actually comprises two levels) which I filmed. The two surveyors, C and N, advised me to kill the ivy on the old wash house; I can see us being told we can't use it anytime soon.
Yesterday I had to get up early to nip down to Ryde to sign on. T - who used to work for SV before being dismissed unfairly (but understandably since she could be a miserable and rude cow at times) by them - told me that she didn't think I was 'actively seeking work'. I wanted to say that they in their turn weren't exactly 'actively seeking' to give me any benefits. It would be good if I could get some work because the extra money would be handy but being fifty-five with health problems nobody wants to know; I'm bloody lucky to have the job at OH!
T then went on to explain that I would never be entitled to Job-Seekers allowance because I only worked part of the year but that by looking for work I would at least get my National Insurance paid which would ensure that I would be entitled to a state pension. Feeling stroppy I told her that it would be highly unlikely I would live long enough to get a pension anyway or that they would find an excuse not to pay it by saying that because my mother missed a National Insurance contribution before I was born it would invalidate my claim!
T then went on to say: "We're not here to get you a job; we're here to help you help yourself get a job."
It took me all my self-restraint not to burst out laughing at that and say in response: "Well that's a bit like going to a restaurant and having to cook your own meal!" I didn't though.
The best bit about the interview was when T was telling me that I should have registered with the Job Search website. I told her I already had and that it didn't work because I never got sent any alerts. "Yes, well that was the old one, the new one is fine," she had retorted in a superior manner. She had then gone on to attempt to demonstrate how simple it was to register; but it wouldn't load and I could see her cursing under her breath. Anyway, she signed my little book and handed me a leaflet explaining how to register with the new system. I pretended to be grateful for her helpfulness before leaving.
As I walked up town to the butcher's I wondered where, what and on whom the part of my National Insurance contributions that was supposed to help me in times of financial hardship (and didn't when it came to the crunch) had actually gone: banker's bonuses, MP's expenses, bogus asylum seeker's benefits, the EU...
It wasn't till later, recalling the large number of staff employed in the job centre from advisors to security that it kind of twigged. You see, I think it's a remnant from New Labour who created millions of public sector jobs in order to keep them voting for New Labour instead of the Conservatives who would be looking to trim the public sector. However, the Conservatives can't risk making large numbers of public sector workers redundant (even though the vast majority of them are useless) because they would lose votes and very likely the election, so, because there isn't enough money to go around, by hook or by crook they are trying to prevent people claiming benefits as much as they can; even if they are entitled to them. They're probably not as worried about losing the votes of the unemployed because they are more likely to vote Labour anyway. I guess in some ways it could be a damage limitation strategy for them. Anyway, that's what I reckon.
Moving on, when I got back, Juki and I first decided to have a kip. After that I stripped off and she gave me a thirty stroke swatting with the wooden paddle in the lounge which we filmed. It was absolute agony and had me shaking and jumping at times - she also broke the skin causing little beads of blood to form. The beating over and both of us highly aroused, we retired to the bedroom for a good fuck. We both came quickly and powerfully as we hadn't had sex since Friday.
Friday 8th February 2013: Exploring East Cowes
Yesterday afternoon was the first time I took my bike out. After pumping up my tires I first cycled over to Whippingham Church (St Mildred's). The church was closed but will be open to guided tours from April for which I will definitely return; I really want to have a look at Princess Beatrice's tomb. Another thing I didn't realise was there were the Alms Houses; also something to do with Queen Victoria. East Cowes and Whippingham really are rich in history and I must pay a visit to the East Cowes Heritage Centre when I get a chance.
After I'd been to St. Mildred's I cycled down Hawthorn Meadows intending to get down to the front from there but unfortunately the road still isn't open. I then pedalled back up to Beatrice Avenue via the new estate before going down Gort Road, Vectis Road, Adelaide Grove, Minerva Road and Clarence Road. Once down town I decided to take the Chain Ferry across to Cowes and ended up in Sainsbury's to buy us both dinners; Juki having phoned me earlier (as I was on my way to Whippingham Church) to inform me that her evening class had been cancelled since J, who took it, had gone down with a cold.
I then made my way back and for the first time cycled up York Avenue which was rather hard work - I had to put the bike in first gear at one point. It was a cold day but I thoroughly enjoyed my little exploration; however I did suffer from a few cramps in my legs later.
Changing the subject, I have been transferring old, hand written, diary entries to this one. The first one dates from the 18th November 2008 and was the scary time I collapsed. What kind of chilled me a bit was that it wasn't that long ago: just over four years - I'm wondering, slightly anxious too, if I'm due another attack soon.
Monday 11th February 2013: Dreamed of Green Bike
As I compose this, it's nearly half nine in the morning, I still feel very tired - a deep fatigue. Last night I also had a couple of dreams that have stayed with me; touched me. In the first dream I had gone into a shop to see my old green Dawes bike chained to a table. I had immediately accused the owner of stealing it and was preparing to phone the police to report him. Before doing so I had checked the identification number stamped into the frame only to discover that I didn't recognise it. I then moved back and could see that though the bike was painted an identical shade of green it was now different in so many other ways: size, shape and back cogs. Embarrassed I had then apologised to everybody present before muttering that: "I must be seriously losing it." I had then walked out onto the street and into an old house. Compelled to make my way up the staircase, at the top, I had then entered a bedroom to see my mother lying in bed. Straightaway I had gone over to see her and had said: "I know it's a dream and that you are dead, but I want to apologise for not remembering you after you died, I'm really, really sorry for letting you down so." I had then taken her hand and begun to weep uncontrollably. The dream ended at this point.
Dreaming about the old green bike was probably not unexpected since James had come over yesterday about one o'clock to take me down to Ryde Pier to pick it up. On the way down he told me that it hadn't worked out with Z and that he was now back with R his first love. He also informed me that he had a one bedroom flat in Beachfield Road, Sandowm. We also had a chat about the old flat in Spencer Road and James said he missed it a bit - it was his home on and off for nine years. The good news is that he now seems to be seeing a bit more of L. He also mentioned that the money he borrowed from us - and supposed to be paying back once a month - is now leaving his account for ours - I'll have to check that.
I have to admit it was good to see James.
In the evening we watched Dancing on Ice followed by a really interesting programme about the Titanic. After that I watched Wonders of Life presented by Dr Brian Cox which left me a lot more knowledgeable but considerably less wiser. I am also not convinced that life is a wonderful thing since for the individual creature it can be pretty well be summed up by a short frantic existence of feeding, fighting and fucking followed inevitably by death, decay and dissolution.
Tuesday 12th February 2013: Overdone it?
Felt rough for most of yesterday - I may have overdone it what with too much rushing around and cycling - so took it very easy in the morning with my feet up watching telly; talking of which I watched a fascinating programme about Dr Joseph Mengele who performed experiments on concentration camp inmates during the Second World War. Nevertheless I met Juki in Ryde about two o'clock since she had an appointment with the dentist - I also dropped my library books back too.
Juki got out of the dentists (she had a filling repaired) at just before three so we decided to get straight back home. After a haircut and calling in at Waitrose we watched a bit of telly (I fell asleep) before having something to eat. We both had a quiet evening in and I felt a little better before retiring.
I think I now have to accept the fact that I will never be a 'hundred per cent' and all that I can do is take it as easy as I can for as long as I can.