A hairy eyebrow tale

Once, some time ago, I had a lover who was mad about my eyebrows. He kissed and caressed them and made them very wet. So much attention he spent on my eyebrows I sometimes thought he didn’t even notice me. I decided to tell him the truth.

My eyebrows, I told him, have a certain amount of independence from me. They are really hairy slugs that have decided to live above my eyes. I leave them there as they help protect my eyes from rain. They are very polite often help me communicate with others when my words fail me, as is frequently the case.

However, very late in the evening of a full moon my eyebrows like to go for a stroll. They wriggle off my face and sneak into the dark night. Across the roads and fields they hurry, and into the woods, where they slither and slime across the muddy pathways and make acrobatic love to other hairy slugs (for I’m not the only person whose eyebrows are not what they seem).

At the break of dawn my eyebrows wake from their post coital slumber and make the difficult way back home to their position above my eyes. I stroke them softly and pretend I hadn’t noticed their absence. Those mornings they always sulk and frown, no matter how happy I am, my eyebrows will keep me looking miserable. I sometimes wish they could talk to me about their night, but I also know it best not to ask too many questions. No human can ever know the entire truth about these beasts.

All this, I tell my lover, only lasts one night and one day and the rest of the time I live with them happily on my face like normal eyebrows. At first, I tell him, I was slightly jealous of the attention he was giving them, but I have now come to appreciate that someone else might love them as much I do, and that’s OK.

My lover never went near my eyebrows again.

The smell of love…

NO I’m not talking about that odd smell after sex, curious though it may be, on this valentines day I’m talking about love, strange love, and pheromones . All love slaves pay carefull attention. Not that you can change how your body smells I don’t suppose but it might explain certain unsuspected reactions.

If you asked me which sense I would get rid of if I had to get rid of one, I would probably say my sense of smell, since as an illustrator sight is rather vital, and being in a band tends to involve being able to hear. However, as the years go by, I am beginning to realise how important smell is to me.

When I was younger I went for good looking people, with somewhat disasterous results, then nice people, then charming people, then musical people, then those with a good sense of humour, now I’m thinking maybe it’s just smell that’s important. And I don’t mean pretty smell, or aftershave or any such disguises, I mean the smell of you. Animal smell. I stink, so I’ve been told by previous lovers, but they seem to quite like it, or at least they’re very tolerant.

Why do we cover ourselves in the musk scent of the male deer but are ashamed of our own smell?

I suppose one might be very fussy about smell. I’ve gone out with people whose smell I don’t like much with the thought that eventually I will get used to it and grow to like it. Very occasionally this has happened but more likely I just get bitter that I have to share my bed with an undesirable smell.

Kissing, so some scientists say, comes from smelling the hands and faces of others. In humans these carry a lot of scent apparently. So now I blow super stinky kisses across the digital waves to you and go get into the bath, wash away those smells for my valentines date.

Xx

An old price t I did for erotica review many  many moons ago.

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The New Year Ritual (Making love to a fish)

New years night i sat by an open fire in my sisters garden in Pembrokeshire. A fifteen year old boy was telling me how I should be thrown off a cliff, as the Spartan’s did to all epileptics. The stars were out and the fire was lovely and warm.

I said good night to my nephew, he shouted “looser!” I clipped his nose with my fingers as hard as I could (unfortunately no scissors were available) and went off to prepare the ritual.

A simple affair I thought, i would go sky clad down to the river the four elements would be used – water, mud, air and fire.

Down the bottom of my parents garden, which surrounds my sisters garden, is a fast running river bordered by wild overgrown trees. Anyone and anything can be hidden here, a troll is suspected of living under the small stone bridge.

I take off my clothes, leave them in a pile on the riverside along with a burning candle, and pad timidly into the water. It is very cold, feels like ice passing through my toes. Once thigh deep I decide to start the ritual. Mud between my fingers, water sliding through them, a swig of rum for the gods like that, then I see a bright silver flash in the corner of my right eye. And another a few seconds later. My eyes follow it, it is circling me and getting closer and closer. Then it is up really close to me, slithering against my body, it’s silver scaled skin flashing in the moonlight and the light of the candle. I reach down to caress it, how fast it moves, how powerful! It swims in between my thighs and across my breasts, slower now, taking time to caress me. I can hear it breathing softly in my ear. My heart races while my head whirls round, what is this? Am I really here? It is inside me now, and all around me, I am smothered, contained, enveloped in a silky wet flesh that smells of the river and the oceans. How incredible!

Next thing I remember I’m lying on the edge of the river but I nolonger have a human body, I have transformed into a giant Monster Salamander. Carnivoreous. Hungry.

My parents house is not far away. My slippery body drags itself swiftly towards the front door. I can hear my nephew snoring. Silently I climb the stairs to his room and eat him up in one enormous bite. Now that’s better.

By the morning I had transformed back to normal, and my nephew was nowhere to be seen.

2019 is almost over. Hurrah!

All in all this year has been rubbish!

How was your year?

It started with me having a horrific hangover on new years day and vormitting all over my parents’ spare room. I thought at the time this was a bad omen.

It continued with the sewage from the flats above me coming up into my bath, which turned into a flood of sewage and a large number of my belongings being ruined.

It continued with the council deciding my flat should be turned into an area for the new bins and saying I had to move out, which seeing as they were incapable of solving the sewage problem turned out to be very fortunate.

But the move was, as most moves are, horrific and resulted in me having an epileptic seizure three times a day. When having this many seizures my grasp on reality becomes loosened, there were people spying on me, the devil tempting me, insects and fairies crawling across every floor and scattering the air. It is hard pretended to be sane at such times, i think I did well.

I then went to Lisbon with the thought that escaping London would help. It didn’t. I lost my bag and all my belongings – passport, wallet, phone. The man I stayed with was most definitely a servant of the devil trying to tempt me into his dark satanic ways (which mainly consisted of drinking vast quantities of alcohol) and I became convinced that he’d never let me escape. But he did.

0n geting back to London i find my Dad has been diagnosed with prostrate cancer. And it’s discovered that I have development signs of a rare form of glaucoma that needs to be treated immediately and my boss decides to do an inspection of my teaching the same time as the operation. I sulked.

Trying to look on the positive side the flat I’ve moved into is lovely, falling apart but lovely. And the eye operation and teaching inspection make me relize I don’t want to teach at citylit so much, if they now sack me for not having the paperwork filled in correctly so be it. I need more freelance illustration /animation work whilst I can still see. The seizures tell me I must take things a bit slower and learn to relax, and be a good girl.

Or at least start the year as a good girl…

Good luck and much fun in 2020, to you and your friends!xx

Thanks to Mat Green for the photo.

Eye Operation

Well I can still see, which is good. My eyes feel like they’ve been beaten up by some large thugs down an alleyway but I can still see. Hopefully the operation means I’ll be able to see for much longer now, which is just as well, I’ve got one hell of a lot of art to get done, and performances to perform, and animations to animate. A huge amount of thanks to Steve who came with me to the hospital and bought coffee and cake when most needed. And thanks for all the good luck wishes. Right, this writing lark is hurting my eyes, need another cup of tea.

November moment

I lie here in my bed with the cat on my lap watching the large sycamore tree outside. It’s leaves have turned from green to red to yellow in the last month. There is trouble to come, but for now this is a very beautiful moment. I thoroughly recommend spending time just watching a tree.

And…

Jo had a terrible month. She was moving flat, having four or five seizures a day, and battling with a new emergence of Gertrude at the old flat (the sewage swamp monster).

I, Miss Roberts, on the other side of the rainbow, was having a wonderful time on an abandoned forest island in the South Pacific where I discovered a new type of iridescent toad. My faithful man-servant-come-cocktail-waiter used his background as a chemist to create the drink that suited my precise mood at any given time, making the licking of a toads back a delightful experience indeed.

Jo tried to go on a calming holiday to Lisbon, but lost her purse, passport, phone, cards etc on arrival at the airport. She then spent the rest of the holiday trying to get them back, having seizures, and believing the man that was kindly letting her stay in his flat was in fact the devil.

I went to dinner with the Gods whilst Jo was away, but left early as it was all getting too rowdy for my liking. Their table manners are atrocious. And they won’t stop telling me how they think humans were a huge mistake so they’re going back to the drawing board. I try to remind them that I’m the alien in Jo’s head and not human, but they don’t listen.

Jo now has a lovely flat with a staircase. She can’t sulk under the staircase because she has already filled it with too much junk. There are lots of little things wrong with the new flat that need fixing, but at least for now she has escaped the sewage.

The cat fights away invisible one foot tall deamons on the stairs, and is mighty proud of herself for doing so.