The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I like 'em to, 'specially when returned to their owner/or, roasted, with a little salt and a few cloves of garlic, to be served with a glass of red wine.

COMMENTS

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captainglobehead
17:42 Dec 29 2011

I love children. I just can't finish a whole one by myself.

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**Grinnin**

kendrix1uk (29 Dec 0:19):‎ you know...

kendrix1uk (29 Dec 0:20):‎ sometimes

kendrix1uk (29 Dec 0:20):‎ just sometimes

kendrix1uk (29 Dec 0:20):‎ sharing a little time with someone you rate

kendrix1uk (29 Dec 0:20):‎ sends one to bed with a pinkness to the grey.

For reasons of my own, I’m particularly ‘hot’ about the topic of data protection. It is with that in mind that I find myself writing on this occasion. You see, the origins of this go back to the fact that I was one of the first on the Wirral to end-up on a government work-programme, which entails a massaging of the figures, as I’m now not considered unemployed, while still ‘signing-on’: much like what happened under Thatcher, incidentally. Now, there are many reasons that I was thrust onto the scheme when I was. One had been my age, (I am now 52) another being that I do not want to go on the sick, which my doctor has suggested several times (spinal degeneration & depression) because if I were to attempt to do so I would not be able to apply for work. And, I’d have to go to Birkenhead for an interview and a government system I’ve seen before, having acted as an advocate, for another: and, the last time I was there, I was lied to several times, which is on record. All of that is the preamble to the main thrust of this, as it is interesting what one can learn, if one keeps one’s ears open. For instance, I had not realised that we had as many as six job centres on the Wirral. I had realised that there had been a lot of money withheld from them, which they needed, that has led to a withdrawal of services (now provided by the work programme, for those in ‘Need’) while at the same time, staff are being cut, in real terms. Yet, there is something else to be noted. Much like the previous government programmes I’ve encountered while being unemployed, the one thing that had to be done by the dole, for numerous reasons, was the actual signing-on, for your benefit.

Now it seems that may change. It seems it is mooted for 2012 that work programme providers will be able to sign you on…

Now that is just wrong, plain wrong. Monies were withdrawn from the jobcentres and, the work they did was given to private providers. Now, three out of the six offices on the Wirral are under threat of closure and the one act that the unemployed relied on, for a degree of privacy is to be lost, it would seem. I make a point of talking of privacy as that is my initial reason for this: the idea of my details being held and shared with other ‘providers’ (to assist me and my Needs, of course) is abhorrent to me. Yet, it seems that this will happen, irrespective of whether it is against the precept of The Data Protection Act, or not. Obviously it probably is not, for as few know, by signing the end of an application-form, you immediately give the employer the right to use a third party to check you out, if they choose. So, soon if the proposals go as intended, private providers, paid by the tax-payer, will soon have complete access to your details, in a way I could not previously envisage; perhaps in a similar manner to the way Siemens were working with the passport agency and, whilst working there I saw how ‘our’ information can be lost, so very easily. Yet, that aside, if this does occur, as I believe it will, then as I intimated, our information may be shared with other similar providers, with all that could entail, primarily a lack of privacy. And today, when so much information is being lost, sold, used and misused the fact that this is now being encouraged by our dear government ‘to save money’, while 25 million has not been collected by big business is just plain offensive, to me.

There were probably many, many times this year when

I may have...

Disturbed You,

Troubled You,

Pestered You,

Irritated You,

Bugged You,

Or got on your Nerves!!

So today, I just wanted to tell you:



Suck it up, Cupcake!! Cause there AIN'T NO CHANGES Planned for 2012

COMMENTS

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moonkissed
13:12 Dec 28 2011

he he he

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"I got this critique of my Sylvester and Tabbi stories... and, liked it so much I'm re-printing it here."



I've read all three of your pieces now and I enjoyed what I read, the character Sylvester, I identified with; being myself a happy-go-lucky individual prone to irritating accidents!? The girl, Tabbi, I just didn't see the fantasy figure that you envisaged. I saw a plump, bursting out of her clothes, individual who was more of a reflection of the craven, opportunistic person that she eventually showed herself to be; manipulative, selfish and shallow. The story premise holds a lot of promise and it would have been an idea to write a little about the concert they went to, the sights, sounds, ie: the loudness, the songs, some possible diatribe by the group members on stage, etc. This would have opened up the story rather than have it revolve around the two main protagonists and their interaction with each other.



It was easier to read and more interesting than your previous efforts, (which I've still got on file), and hope that you forward more episodes of their adventures - preferably one being where Tabbi the girl dies and is replaced with something more 'feminine' and shows less of the traits I detailed above. Thanks for sharing your writing, like I said I enjoyed reading it - except for Tabbi!

There is one Christmas Carol that has always baffled me.



What in the world do leaping lords, French hens, swimming swans, and especially the partridge who won't come out of the pear tree have to do with Christmas?



I found out.



From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not permitted to practice their faith openly.



Someone during that era wrote this carol as a catechism song for young Catholics.



It has two levels of meaning:



The surface meaning plus a hidden meaning known only to members of their church.



Each element in the carol has a code word for a religious reality which the children could remember.



-The partridge in a pear tree was Jesus Christ.



-Two turtle doves were the Old and New Testaments.



-Three French hens stood for faith, hope and love.



-The four calling birds were the four gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke & John.



-The five golden rings recalled the Torah or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament.



-The six geese a-laying stood for the six days of creation.



-Seven swans a-swimming represented the sevenfold gifts of the Holy Spirit--Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy.



-The eight maid’s a-milking were the eight beatitudes.



-Nine ladies dancing were the nine fruits of the Holy Spirit--Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, and Self Control.



-The ten lord’s a-leaping were the Ten Commandments.



-The eleven pipers piping stood for the eleven faithful disciples.



-The twelve drummers drumming symbolized the twelve points of belief in the Apostles' Creed.



So there is your history for today.

Not intended for minors.



*



Memories of Love and Lust – Part One







At the bottom end of Mayor Park in Bebington, is the railway, the Wirral Line.

Just before the wrought-iron railings, then embankment and track, was a path, worn into the grass by a succession of dog-walkers.



As you followed the path, you would come to a housing estate eventually, having passed a series of lock-up garages, facing one another.



Up till then, our destination had been unknown.

One minute we’d been standing by a tall privet hedge on Ellens Lane, on the far side of the park, talking intently. Then, for a second longer than I’d expected, there had been silence between us.



And, slowly the distance between us had narrowed. Our faces closer than before, it’d been inevitable what happened next.



I slid my long fingers between her long, slender, bony-jointed fingers had slid into mine staring into her green brown eyes, with mine of hazel, mixed with light-blue.



I had felt small drops of rain, taking on my forehead.



I sensed and revelled in the nervous air of expectation in that narrowed space between us.



‘My best-friend, she is my best friend,’ a small voice had reminded me, again and again.



With my right hand I’d run my hand over her right cheek, to the fine hairs just before her ear, then upward, through her thick auburn hair, cut to the neck in a mannish style.



Ah, her neck: she’s such an exquisite, long neck.



Then I’d run my hand gently down her firm jaw, and up a little, to the slim firm lip, with just a hint of moisture on it.



Beverly had opened her mouth a little and I’d eased my fingertip inside, a little.



Then withdrawing my finger, I slid my hand inside her duffle-coat and around her slim waist, drawing her toward me and we kissed.



Our tongues entwined as they had desperately sought to explore the other’s mouth.



Finally the kiss had ended and Beverly had looked at me with a very intent look on her face.



As the kiss ended she looked across the road, then up and down the pavement.



She looked as nervous as I was: and, perhaps as aroused, to judge by the flush to her cheeks.



“I know somewhere,” she told me, voice breathy, betraying her excitement.

And, I recall how my heart had pounded, as I allowed her to dictate what we had done next, as I felt so out of my depth.



Our finger still entwined, she had led the way, off the pavement and up a slope onto the park.



As she did so, it had been with strong determined steps: she knew just here we where going.



“I’m on…” she had said briefly, turning her head to me.



“Uh huh,” I’d acknowledged, my mind in a whirl still. ‘Coz there I had been, hand in hand, with the young woman I felt most of and… ‘what was that she’d said, she was on?’



“Is that a problem?” she asked, with a sight note of concern to her voice.



“Oh good grief, no!” I’d assured her. And boy, had it felt good, holding her hand.



The grass we walked through was wet and my socks had got wet, as we’d walked toward the breezeblock pre-fabricated garages many of which were in a severe state of disrepair, as was the tarmac surrounding them, which had several small pools of water on it.



She led me ahead and to the garage third on, to our right, then took me inside.



It’d been dark inside than out and it had already been a grey cloud day, with the promise of more rain to come.



Toward the rear of the garage was a double mattress, which she had taken me to, with a slightly bashful look to her face.



We known had both known what the mattress implied: both knew why we were there, without saying any thing.



Looking at me briefly, she had undone the toggles on the duffle-coat, removed it and dropped onto the middle of the mattress.



‘The coat, thrown on the mattress?’ I’d thought: fully realizing that all my dreams had really come true for me, all at once.



Stupid maybe, but true.



She’d unclasped first one button to the strap holding the bib of the blue-denim dungarees, then the other.



As the flap of material fell forward and she undid the brass buttons at each hip, the flesh of her belly came to view.



Many times, after college, I had stood at the bus-stop across the main-road from it with her, standing behind, arms wrapped round her well-wrapped slim body.



I would hold her for ages, oftimes erect and aroused, as the world passed us by; and occasionally I might smell her neck and her short brown-hair, worn in a boyish style.



That day I had chosen to see her home instead, which had led to and kiss, then more.



I was entranced, spellbound, as she had lain there on the red woollen lining of the duffle-coat, with an expectant look on her face. So I’d dropped to my knees, on the mattress, between her splayed legs.



Then I’d leant forward; and with trembling fingers, I’d eased the dungarees over her pronounced hipbones and down her toned firm thighs.



“Not all the way,” she’d hissed, a note of urgency in her voice.



Then as an after thought, she’d added, “Just in case.”



‘Just in case?’ I’d wondered for but a moment, as I began to undo my belt and zip.



“Just in case?” I’d mused aloud.



Beverly had raised herself up on her elbow’s, then slipped her thumbs in the sides of her greying, faded cotton panties and lifting her self up a little, eased them over her buttocks and down her thigh’s. After she had so, she reached between her thigh’s and pulled the used pad from there and cast it to her right.



It had land in a fairly large, shallow puddle a few feet away.



And, there it had been, her lightly sex, all closed on itself, within the light nest of pubic hair, but ooh-wow, it looked so perfect, to me.



“It doesn’t matter,” she’d assured me, reaching up with both hands.



I had leant down, onto her, my friend, my lover, caressing her face with my right hand, as I pressed my right cheek to her left, nuzzling into her warmth.



Or lips had found each other and we’d kissed again. Oh, how I’d enjoyed that, as our hands roamed, with each of us in anticipation of the next moment.



And, then I’d looked to my left, as through the entrance to the garage, I saw the rainfall. It wasn’t heavy, but it was rain, to add water to the puddle, where even now, the pad had absorbed as much as it could and swollen to a large mass.



We had held one another, as I realized, slowly that I couldn’t, just couldn’t.



I’d been mortified, but Beverly had just kept stroking the back of my neck.

“Shhh… Don’t worry about it, it happens to lots of men,” she said in an attempt at reassurance, the added, “There’ll be another time.”







*



Memories of Love and Lust – Part Two



Debbie was upstairs in the guest room, looking ever-so cute, her shoulder-length rich brown hair splayed all around the pillow beneath her head. Peter, Bev’s partner was in their room, across the small landing from where she slept.



He’d gone to bed last, having stayed with me to try and finish the ten inch joint we’d built together, “laid to fuck” and “going down smooth.”



But, he’d had polio as a child and we’d walked a lot in town, so even he had gone, leaving me with instructions as to which light to turn off, before I decided to retire myself.



So there I sat cross-legged before a full ashtray, half a glass of wine before me and at least five inches, or so, of the well-rolled joint left between the fingers of my right hand.



Then, the door opened and I’d looked from the bare feet, up the calves, to the shapely thighs, as Beverly entered the room and closed the door to the stairs.



She was wearing a long grey, baggy tee-shirt, that reached mid-thigh.



“I couldn’t sleep, maybe too much wine,” she’d added. “I’m going to get some water,” she informed me, briefly looking to me as she passed, on the way to the kitchen.



My eyes followed her bare legs as she walked between the gas-fire and the sofa through to the kitchen.



After a minute or so, she was back and standing near me, as I continued to pull away at that stogie of a spliff.



“Do you want some?” I’d asked, reaching up with the joint in my right hand.



“Yeah, why not,” she replied



I passed her the joint and as she inhaled I took Beverly’s left hand and kissed it gently on the back, my eyes locked on hers.



And then she continued to sit and smoke awhile, as our eyes held contact and my hand held hers.



After a few minutes, she placed the joint in the ashtray before me and the moment flowed as surely as if it were foretold.



We embraced, kissing with abandon, hands roaming.

As I eased her tee-shirt upward, I quickly learnt how her body had changed: very little, she still had the most slender androgynous body of almost any woman I’d known, with perky breast and stub-like nipples, with a few hairs around the aureole.



I brought both her bud-like breasts into view, each topped with a highly erect, long nipple: and I latched onto one with eager lips, using my free hand to play with the other.



I suckled, nibbled and nipped at the sensitive flesh, as I my right hand moved between her thighs’s to learn that she was sans panties and shorn, to a light down.



She had eased backward and I followed, arms round her waist, my mouth adhered to her flesh.



Then moving from those perky delights, I followed a trail of light hairs with kisses and tongue, to her navel. There, I swirled my tongue into the small well, tasting her. Yet, wanting more, I continued downward.



I placed my hands on her thighs and pushed them apart gently, before immersing myself in her essence.



"You're really warm here Bev," I told her as I rubbed up almost hairless folds, studying closely.



I ran the tip of the middle forefinger on my left hand along the outside of the folds, getting some beads of moisture on it. I brought it up to my face and looked at it carefully for a moment before licking it off.



After inhaling a bit, I pressed my lips onto Beverly’s warm flesh, running my hands over her long legs.



I kissed her vulva and the labia, hanging lower. Then drawing my tongue upwards to part her folds, I began lapping at her clitoral hood, bringing her bud out of hiding, to excite her further



Beverly instinctively put her hands on my head, stoking my fine fair hair as she started writhing under my attention.

Her gasps became louder, as I dug in more and more with my tongue and lips.



I sucked and licked at Beverly, trying to devour her.



She spread her legs even father apart, moving her butt up and down, responding to my probing tongue, her hips bucking beneath me.



Beverly was squirming with pleasure beneath me, as her head shook from side to side. Abruptly, she sat up, pushing me to my knees.



“Feels… so tender…” she murmured, “Hold me.”



She pulled me toward her, on top of her body. My hard self rubbed against the heat of her sex and we kissed.



Boy, our bodies felt great against each other. And, I had no inhibitions about our surroundings, or who was upstairs.



As we dry humped, I teased at her right nipple through the tee-shirt, as I began to suckle on her right earlobe.



She sighed with pleasure, and then groaned, as the pad of my right-hand middle finger thrummed at her somewhat hypersensitive clitoris.



Breathing hard, a wild look in her eyes, she wrapped her arms around my neck, just a little bit too tight, then hissed in my ear: “I need to fuck, now.”



I didn’t need to be told twice. No way.



I moaned against her ear, then sighed, “Yes.”



She was horny: and, I didn’t want to lose this opportunity, not now.

Hands behind my neck, Beverly drew me down to her, as she spread her legs a little further. In response, I clumsily undid my belt and shucked my jeans and pants down to my thighs hurriedly.



Oh-boy, I so wanted her.



I didn’t need lube; she was wet from the tonguing.



So I eased back and raising her legs, leant forward once more, and placed the head of my shaft at the entrance to her inviting sex.



“C’mon,” she hissed, eyes wide with lust.



I inched forward slowly; as I guided myself into her, all-in-one, then lay against her.



She moaned some more and I begin moving in and out of her, feeling her inner muscles tighten against me: her eyes closed, the lids fluttering.



She ground herself against me, her pubic-bone hard against mine, biting her lip.



I began thrusting from my hips, in short, jerking motions. And with wide-eyes, Beverly wrapped her ankles around my calves, trying to pull me in further.



I began to pound her harder, my pubic bone hard on hers; as I saw her snake her hand between us, to play with her clit.



“Uuh, uuh, uuh,” she moaned with each thrust as I fucked her, and now those muscles were working overtime around my hard flesh, milking it with her fuckhole.



Suddenly she went still.

Then she pushed me away and with wide-eyes told me, “I want you doggy-style.”



Beverly was definitely in charge.



“Mmmmm..” was my only answer, as she got on her hands and knees. She wanted me, right then, as much as I wanted her: I was sure of that.



I grasped her hips, easing into her liquid honey warmth, with a sigh of pleasure.



As I began to slide back and forth, I ran my left hand down her lithe body, running it down the pronounced ridges of her spine, to her pert, taut buttocks.



The way her lithe body moved against me awakened something deep in my gut, something instinctual, something primal. I felt sexual; like an animal possessed as I was, with my desire to form union with my lover.



I wrapped both arms around Beverly’s belly and drove with my hips. I was taking her with me, planting my feet; and, her body undulated to meet my thrusts.



Looking back, her eyes fluttering, she looked as if she were in another world, a world of pure pleasure.

Her eyes met mine, and I bent from my waist, bending over her long back, and kissed her roughly, sliding my hands over the sides of her body, to find her erect nipples, waiting for attention.



So I took each, twixt thumb and fore-finger and pulled, as I thrust forward and now her eyes closed, she sighed.



I began pumping faster and faster and Beverly threw her head back, and moaned.



We went a long time, and I lay down against her sweat-sheened body and sucked on the nape of her long neck as my orgasm gathered itself like a slow-building storm.



“Not in me,” she pleaded.



So, I drew from her slowly, to shoot my seed over her lower back.



Then I leant down, on her back, my face close to hers, as I slowly softened.



We got ourselves disentangled and straightened our clothing quickly.

Then, kissing me briefly on the cheek, Beverly left me, to finish the joint and the last of my wine.



And, as I sat there, cross-legged as before, I couldn’t help but smile, at the turn of events. Finally, the joint was just a roach in the ashtray and the wine was gone.



“Well that was a surprise,” I thought, for the umpteenth time, as I turned the lights off, before I retired to bed myself.