Hello everyone
Whereto, then was the question. Near 10AM Mr T T tutup, despite hearing last night from the Tamil-Malaysian tea-maker that they would be opening late, namely 9AM, he said. In the morning the same was spied from the kitchen window coming along from his digs at Block 2, where his crew were housed (3-4 to a room likely). Therefore, as one does need to be somewhere, the PLQ Starbs, first in some long while, judging from the lad at the counter. (Frictionless cash only since Dec.) Oh, Golly! How could that dribble come as a surprise? Arrgh!… What would you call that fare that passes like sweet mead for the boomer / millennial tops? One headphone, one plug among. Just as a tall, leggy bunny passed outside the window with pointed pink mounts atop her own phones. Now, was that remastered Bob, or the original Nobel? Uncertain. Tricky for a tin ear. Did the man sell his back catalogue to Amazon like some other star recently? Might possibly stretch out the neck, risk it and say, no, actually. The strain, the tight little effort spoke against. One tattoo, with black sunnies added when a wink of sun through the window emerged from the overcast. Lashes latecomer landed left. Soon every table would be claimed, just like on the last visit. Opposite the fluro pink in her 40s canna help blinking when she feels the eyes of the whitey upon her, scanning ever so briefly & ever so discretely. All four older chaps upper 30s-40s dyed. Black, apart from the guy on the end with a fade one side & mottled tan top. Not a single brolly among them—they could all manage to get where they were going from there later under cover, either walkways or underground. Not unexpected. All comfortably snug in the warm aural waters. How is it that 100m away the outlet at Kinex could crank up the volume so strongly? Managerial independence & initiative? Always dribble piddle around the ankles here, that was unchanged. The guy following Bob gave it some big yeah, yeah couple points, muted again and blank. Yesternite outta the blue Yasu sent from Tokyo John Zorn’s throat-slitting screeching from darkest, deepest jungle, as if from the past hereabout. Yeow-wee!! double-plus! The young hooded Asian lad in duet reminded of the kamikaze pilots hurtling onto the battleships. If you’re not screeching & screaming inside right now you were not paying attention, way outta it in your own little private world. Tearing suicidal screams for emperor & country, delivered with twisting & bowing by the hoodie. Amusing the other day Morrie referencing from schooldays the Whiter Shade of Pale thingy. Boy! Took a bit to reclaim that memory. Morrie musta bin seriously fixated. Ukrainian tubby on the bus last week with his wife in a Zeppelin tee had got on board those boys from the get-go, he said, complete collection all in vinyl. Did say he saw them in Moskva back in the day? Junior radical dudes by comparison with J Zorn, though of course we have spun some fair way further now in these short few decades. No sign of the robot in the hour plus, getting serviced & upgraded during the NY pause, maybe. Many still shuttered three days on, joined coincidentally by their Muslim countrymen this year. Expensive fold-up Velo needed to be brought indoors and sat by the table right against the legs of the author, with nary a word or sign. Soiled panama, plastic magnifiers & frayed Op Shop Levis shirt left the disguise rather threadbare now. (Blasted Op Shop Versaces busted clean in half during routine handling.) Task to keep the jowls both from hanging and also stiffening. The sage of course or the master. Excellent guides. Letting the music slip first of all, easy does it, loose & settled. Why allow yerself to be smashed so easily on an innocent Thursday morning. Ramadan & the Fire Horse, latter only riding over the horizon every 60 years. This year some more attention to the last ten days for the Mussies, esp. that particular odd numbered for when the prophet first received revelation. One single toothy gleam from the screens along the bench seat, and the three others against the inner wall diving the bar. Heavy Indian lad had been tickled properly.
Hallo all
Inanity no especially big deal ordinarily. What did it matter? In politics it was a bit more serious, but there it mostly covered the usual push from the usual direction; different kinda mask in that case. Otherwise, routine everyday inanity you quietly step around, pass by. ‘Tis the way. Can’t be helped. Onward regardless. True, somedays, unprepared, it could strike a fellow like a sudden arrow, pierce the heart and slowly begin to gnaw. Irritation and unsettling hardly noticeable at first, mostly impalpable. Implacable as it proceeded. That beanpole footing along this morning had never been in the meritocratic race, never made the starting line. Back in the field, bunched behind. Among the also-rans making up the numbers. Florida Fishing College... Faded, but still legible. Not club—college. Lad like that would never get into any college. Never get off the island, much less Florida. Maybe the $3 commuter bus over the Causeway to JB. Fishing off the bridges here was more like; that was the hook prompting his mother’s purchase. Trifle google-eyed, spectacles, flip-flops slapping. Sweetest as could possibly be every chance, which doesn’t deny the point here. All the sloganeering, the government, advertisers, fashion industry, the influencers & churches. (The Muslims & Hindu eschewed.) Before the first cuppa of the day didna help.
If you’re in the biz of promoting reflection, elucidation, understanding whatnot, you’ve gotten yourself a sticky problem right there in the middle of your life right now. Strange set of circumstances. What is it exactly with these two gals and their particular ways? your own responses too? The pair all at once more or less, in these latter days of the career, when you weren’t exactly top of the form. Both Sumatran, coincidentally; the Northern half in fact of that largest island in the Indo archipelago both. (Sixth largest in the world; as Mr Trumpet has said, Greenland being No. 1.) In what has been a long, if not illustrious life of those pleasures of the flesh, you have never previously been requested to administer spanking. Nothing particularly remarkable for many, especially since the advent of the Net. (Sak in fact admitted getting her idea from the example.) Good, firm clapping of the peach, when properly landed. Resonant thwacking. One times! Two times! Three times in succession was not overdoing it. From the reaction it clearly stung the gal, making her start, making her wince and gape; but equally clearly, if not quite a bit more than equally, the relish was unmistakable. Four times! Five! Spaced a bit the latter needed to be. Eight, nine or ten altogether on the last Tuesday meeting. Counting a couple of misplaced, it may have totalled over a dozen. Without any implement or aid employed; only the flat of the hand, the right for a right-hander. Whack! In the centre of the cheek, usually the left, given the way Sak liked to straddle her lover crossways. Oh! Gasp. Ah! For a palpable hit on the spot. Misplaced was unsatisfactory; it did need to land on the fleshy centre of the mound, which in Sak’s case was nicely raised and shapely. On the spot there made it sweet. Very likely the auditory effect added to the girl’s pleasure. That the Korean lad behind the party wall must have heard gave no concern; indeed, on the contrary, added plus. (He would feel he’s missing out: Sak.) Surprisingly, and unexpectedly, there eventually came some pleasure too for the disciplinarian. Mainly for a new job well done; and the satisfaction providing the partner. How about that! You were in the lists of the sadomasochists now, kinda. Active participant. How to account for the preference was the question? In early youth Sak had once been beaten by her father with a belt. Not the buckle, and not especially fiercely. A signal event nonetheless, however. The young girl had been caught by Da alone with a lad as twilight descended. The compromising position was relatively minor. Sak had ducked flat when the Da was sighted; clothing intact; little dishevelled. It had only been some smooching & squeezing. Single, solitary episode. Not enough to go by for present purposes, one would think; for this decided preference in her middle thirties. In a WA exchange Sak had sensibly suggested it was another means of creating intimacy with a partner; effecting union. Who was the newcomer to quibble? Was it possible to delve more deeply for some more satisfactory and definitive explanation? Then Era. The second example; fellow Sumatran. Well, it should be added, both women came with limited sexual history. No doubt an important factor, especially in the elder Era’s case. Sak’s predilection for porn noted. Not become obsessive. It had helped enduring twelve long, prime years of unwanted celibacy; no kind of sexual partner for the duration. Both women too had shared the fate of exceedingly brief marriages, (little over a year in the one case & only 2 months the other.) Era had never resorted to porn, though in the last few years—into her early & mid-forties now— she was relishing some visual imagery on the screen, when it was granted. During absences, especially of the protracted kind, when Era was messaged for notice of some proper standing to attention, she quickly responded with, Ingin lihat. Ingin lihat; and more recently adding, dan pegang. Want to see; and hold. For a good long while E’s little hand had needed to be directed onto, or at least toward the member. Once ventured the lady soon settled and got herself going perfectly well under her own steam. Stroking, caressing, jerking a little; and increasingly more strenuously than her partner liked, in fact, before long needing to be slowed. (The Bahasa for “gentle” would not stick—lembut; close to lembu, cow. Lemah, halus or manis, which latter was common in the request for less sweetening in the teas—kurang manis. More recently, over the last 4–5 months, E’s stroking, her holding and clasping had become almost peak feature of the union. That hesitant, shy little hand. The quiet, deep relish. Evident, but carefully hidden pleasure. (In the subsequent jockey mount, especially the first round after the week or two’s absence, all that pleasure Era attempted to clench and stifle in her jaw.) Now, wherefore? The question. How was that? Why that simple cherishing come to be relished so dearly; by both parties? The number of weeks the clasping close continued for many minutes; continued for two or even three quart hours in a couple of notable cases. Certainly in the WA exchanges, this matter was the chief node. Ingin lihat; wanting to see on the screen. Dan pegang; and hold. Hold somehow by imaginative extension. In one of the early episodes during the long European separation, E’s little thumbnail portrait in the bottom corner of the screen showed fixed concentration and a glowing, radiant smile. Recently, during the inoperability of her teenage daughter’s phone and the pair’s sharing of E’s own, the mother had needed to take special care to delete the threads. Ingin lihat. And dan pegang. This case with E was perhaps a lesser mystery; but nonetheless, such a simple manoeuvre proving so powerful, so dominant, remained a wonder. Each week as we drew toward the Friday evening, that first lunge when it came, and the following persistence, played powerfully upstairs. Girls rarely clung on very much to the rudder. It seemed to offer little on their side. Yet here it was very much contra-wise. Era might not ever explore the porn online, but if she were to be sent an artful photograph, or video, as she had quietly pleaded for often enough, every chance she could survive on that prospect for a very long time. An all too brief, unsatisfactory marriage was key. (The husband had simply brought another woman home when their daughter was 5–6 months of age.) Followed by the extended withdrawal and celibacy again. One’s own reactions raised interesting questions too. Reversions of some sort was the working hypothesis.
No one's given any thought to the syrup leaking in the pissoires here eternally without pause. The supermarket was bad enough, through the festive season particularly. But one was more prone in the conveniences, more exposed and vulnerable. It was always taken in stride in this republic, not a flicker, slipping completely beneath the radar. How much something, something just now at OneKM, love or kisses sweet offered. Brief pee; limited damage. Couple uncles were at the mirrors with their combs; couple cubicles occupied. It would be impossible to quantify the derangement. Were those tunes in fact AI creations? The bland dribble certainly fitted. There was a beautiful, lightly coloured chanteuse highlighted on BBC, huge commercial phenomenon, with the question hanging whether she was in fact flesh & blood, a bona fide citizen of the meatworld. It was still unknown, it seemed, even after record breaking $$$. A kind of Elena Ferrante of the musical scene, twisted couple notches. Years the tickle had been continuing at the better class malls, where the plush, roomy conveniences, the a/c curtains made powerful, powerful draws. There was nothing of the Japanese courtesy products that they deployed in their loos in Nippon here; the tone was almost whisper thin in this case, breathily cooing into your ear. Impossible to mask unwanted eruptions with that kinda pitter patter. Did they flute tuxedo smoothies in the ladies, perchance, tickling the gals where it hurt? It needed investigation.
NB. See Japanese bathrooms online. It was a wonderland; Disney level. You could bet the systems were installed all through Mar-a-Lago, and no doubt the remodelled White House, along with the chandeliers & gold leaf.
