Patriphilia

Flash… Ahh ahh!

I got flashed today.  I can’t believe it, I actually got flashed.  And I don’t mean in a public toilet or at the pool, it was just randomly in my life.

So I finished uni early today and decided, as it’s such a nice day, that I’d take walk along the river into the country.  All I took was a water bottle and a book - I intended to find some nice secluded place to stop and spend the afternoon.  Maybe find a pub along the way.

I walked for a bit but found nowhere decent to stop so I kept on going.  It wasn’t long before I had walked further than I’d been before along the river and I was interested to see what I’d find.  So I kept going round the next bend, to the next landmark wondering what was there.  

I’d walked for probably two hours and at least 6 miles before I reached a pub, where I stopped for a pint or two and enjoyed the sunshine.  There was barely a soul about.  The landlord came out and sat with me whilst he smoked a lazy cigarette, recounting to me his autobiography.  He was probably in his early 60s, a little on the large side and best described as ‘gruff’.  He had large mutton-chop sideburns and wore his shirt almost half unbuttoned, revealing a thick mat of greying chest hair.  He swore incessantly, inserting expletives into words, not just between them, and spat regularly as if to punctuate his sentences.  Normally I’d have found him grating, but whether it was the beer or the sunshine, I quite enjoyed his company.

After my third pint of ale, I considered heading back the way I’d come but the barman chortled and suggested the bus instead.  I was reluctant to spend this sparkling afternoon (more enjoyable now I was a bit tipsy) on a noisy and uncomfortable bus, but when I worked out my ETA I decided it was probably sensible.

I was surprised to discover that the bus was a double-decker and happily made my way upstairs where I could take in the scenery at leisure.  There were only a handful of people - ten at most - spread across both floors and I picked a seat about two thirds of the way back, far enough away from any other passengers to avoid breaking the unspoken Rules of seat allocation on British public transport.

The journey was long and wound through countless narrow roads taking in the network of little villages in the area.  At the next stop, a man got on and made his way to the back, calculating his position according to The Rules and choosing to sit in the seats across the aisle from my own (that’s as near to an infringement as you can get).  I caught his eye as he passed and he raised his eyebrows in a half-salutation, half-surprised look.  I gave no response and continued to look out of the window.

A woman sitting a few seats behind us left shortly after and almost immediately the man turned and asked me how long the journey into town might take.  I told him I didn’t know so he started telling me about his current holiday.  I was quite happy to engage in conversation since the beer was still bubbling in my veins, though I struggled to follow what he said.  He spoke in a nervous kind of way, starting his sentences slowly then racing towards the end, and he seemed to jump between topics but I managed to just about keep up.  Most of the time I just spent looking at him in a kind of daze.  I couldn’t work out his age, he could have been anywhere between mid 30s and 50 - he looked simultaneously old and young.  He was balding with closely cropped hair of unidentified colour, he was short and almost round.  He can’t have been unfit since his shorts revealed a pair of muscular calves.  I could imagine him as a rugby player if I didn’t believe he would have run in terror from a scrum.

The conversation petered out after a while and I was happy to go back to scenery gazing.  As we neared town, he started talking again and we chatting in staccato sections until we neared my stop.  As I made my excuses and got up to leave, he reached out to shake my hand, saying it was nice to meet me.  As I took it I looked down to see that his shorts button and fly were undone to reveal a bare crotch in clear view.  My breath caught in my chest and I couldn’t help but stare out of pure disbelief.  There before me was a large pair of balls, lying like a sleeping puppy on his chunky thighs, but swamped within their volume was the head of a small, thick cock. Still holding his hand, I looked at his face and back to his cock, unable to make sense of what was happening. What do you do when some guy shows you his cock on the bus?  All I could do was smile, half laughing at him (not because of his small cock, because he was showing it to strangers) half laughing with him.  Whatever floats your boat, man. I dropped his hand and turned swiftly to leave, feeling bouts of hysterical laughter brewing in my throat.  And I’ve been laughing ever since.  People should flash more often, it really brightens up your day.

Gay Marriage

I have to admit that when the issue of gay marriage started coming onto the agenda, it wasn’t something I paid much attention to.  I was quite young when the Civil Partnership Act came into force in Britain and while I thought ‘yeah, that’s good’, I didn’t give it much thought.  I’ve never really felt the desire to get married or imagined that I would in future.  To be honest, thought marriage was a bit unnecessary - I could have a family and a home life without it. 

It was only last year that the actual injustice of not recognising same-sex unions equally with ‘traditional’ marriages hit me, but it was nothing to do with gay marriage at all.  There was a documentary on TV about people born with ambiguous gonads - hermaphrodites and the like.  One woman described how she’d been designated as male on her birth certificate, even though as she grew she was obviously female.  Because you can’t change the gender on your birth certificate or marry someone of the ‘same sex’, this woman was prevented from marrying in the UK.  I was appalled.  The decision of some anonymous doctor thirty years ago was still having a profound effect on this woman’s life.  

Legalising same-sex marriage is not an issue about gay rights, it’s just an issue about human rights.  All it requires is for any reference to sex to be removed from the law books.  Surely that’s simpler than creating an entirely new law and an entirely new legal relationship status?  

I still can’t get too worked up about marriage equality, because it seems like only a matter of time before it will come into being in the UK.  We’re lucky enough not to have a particularly conservative religious population who would lobby against this.  It’s probably fair to say that many (a majority?) of typical Britons would be against equality  because they’re so hung-up on the ‘traditional’ idea of marriage, but I doubt many would mobilise to protest it.  The problem at the moment is that our government is weak and increasingly unpopular, so they’re not going to stick their neck out to pass a law which might rile the middle England masses.  

There’s been so much stuff online about the arguments for and against marriage equality that I’m not going to say much more.  Needless to say, I don’t really believe there are any arguments against it.  Arguments from religion have no place in secular law.  Arguments about ‘tradition’ are equally void, since the law would never change if we resorted to that.  And in most cases, traditions regarding marriage (and most other things) aren’t that old anyway.  Anyone who believes same-sex marriage would somehow diminish the validity of opposite-sex marriage, perhaps you should look at the current divorce rates, celebrities who marry anyone or anything just to sell the pictures and the number of reality TV shows based on people getting married.  But why should that be a valid argument anyway?  It’s the equivalent of saying women can’t have jobs because it diminishes men’s status as the breadwinner or that black people can’t live in certain neighbourhoods because it ‘brings down the area’.  It’s saying ‘we don’t want equality because we’re better than them’.  Prejudice pure and simple.  

Twilight Highlights Why I Like Gay Cubs (and Jacob)

For some reason I ended up watching Twilight: New Moon when it was on TV the other day and it confirmed my sexuality like nothing before.  Partly this was because the only thing keeping me watching was Taylor Lautner running around in the rain.  But mostly because it proved to me that I’ll never understand straight relationships.  

Firstly, why do so many men in Twilight seem to fancy Bella?  I get that she’s got some magic thing going on, but still!  I’ve seen Kristen Stewart in other things and she’s weirdly attractive but in Twilight her character is dull, miserable and has no charisma.  She barely even does anything.  Plus, she’s a bit of a bitch.

And secondly, why does she choose pasty faced Edward Cullen, the whiny vampire over droolingly hot wolfman Jacob?  Yes, he has anger issues but at least he has some kind of personality and he doesn’t have a family consisting of cast-offs from the Malfoys.  And also, with Jacob you get a cool, if highly dangerous, pet as well as a boyfriend.

So unless this is the only reason millions of people went to see Twilight, I’m afraid I give up on ever trying to understand people with vajayjays. 

castedlight asked: your blog is amazing.. what a interesting relationship you have with your dad

Hey, thanks.  Glad you like it.  Interesting, yes.  And very complicated! Hopefully I’ll get chance to update everyone on what’s happening soon. J 

I Dreamed a Dream

Yesterday we had a handyman out to our student house as our front door was about to drop off its hinges.  I knew the guy, because he works at the university and had done some work in my room in halls last year after the shelves fell off the wall.  I’d spent an afternoon chatting to him and helping him out and we got on pretty well.  He is probably in his early fifties, stocky with grey hair.  I can’t say I found him physically attractive but there was an undoubtable spark of chemistry between us.  I didn’t see him much after that but whenever I did, we’d always smile and say hello.  

I had been elected to stay home and deal with the handyman when he came, since I had no lectures that morning.  So I sat in the living room and we chatted as he fixed the door.  It was pleasant and there were a few moments where I felt that weird chemistry again, like when I handed him his tea or when he was showing me the broken hinge.  He was only there for a couple of hours and shook my hand as he left.  

Then, last night, I dreamt about him.  In that way.  Unusual for me, since I rarely have sexual dreams about anyone.  I woke up early this morning hard and a little breathless, and also a little disconcerted.  

There had been a moment before he left where he was showing me the paperwork I needed to take to the housing office at uni; as he pointed things out we were standing together, our shoulder and arms brushing together.  That was where it started.  I felt an unstoppable urged to kiss him and did.  It was a good kiss, like all the best bits of all the kisses I’ve ever had.  Our bodies were pressed together.  I could feel him getting hard inside his jeans and I pressed my crotch into his.  I opened his shirt to reveal a broad hairy chest, not unlike my dads but less defined and furrier.  Despite his physical job, he was not in shape.  He was bulky but there were no flabby bits; his body was soft and yielding but not unattractive.  

We were upstairs now, already naked and in my bed.  He was lying on his back and I was above him, exploring his body with my fingers and tongue.  His cock was short but thick and he had large, meaty balls which hung between his strong thighs.  I put my mouth around his cock and it tasted delicious, an ooze of sweet precum dribbling onto my tongue as I flicked it across the head.  

There was no lucid sex to follow, just a dreamy selection of images of naked flesh and the memory of tastes and sensations.  It seemed to last for hours.  We were sitting up at one point, facing each other as if I was riding his cock (something which I rarely do in reality) and my body was full of ecstasy.  There was no real climax, the slideshow of sex just ended and we were lying still, my head on his shoulder and my arm across his chest.  

We heard my housemates come back for lunch.  I went down to fill them in on the door situation, thrilled by the thought that the handyman was still in my bed, naked.  I was now at home and it was my older brother and dad who were downstairs.  I decided I didn’t need to tell them anything, though wondered if the handyman’s car would give away his presence.  I could think of an excuse or plead ignorance, I thought, and went back to bed to snuggle with my new bear.  

Interpret that.

Sean?

Ages ago, I spoke to someone called Sean or Seamus (not her real name) on a message board.  I can’t remember if I ever replied to you again, I know I started to.  With Christmas etc, I forgot about the board and now I don’t know any of the login details - to be honest, I didn’t much like it there anyway.  So if you still read this blog, I wanted to apologise - I wasn’t ignoring you deliberately.  Feel free to say hi anytime.  J x

Anonymous asked: glad to see u r updating...hope things r gonna be fine for u and ur dad :)

Hey, thanks.  I really thought after I’d said we’d split up everyone would leave so I’m happy someone’s still reading.  I think we’re going to be OK thanks.  There’s more to come soon!