Remembering Young Love and the Joy It Brought
A Personal Touch By JB McGrath
GLANCING outside the ample bosom and seeing the world as it is, it’s hard to forget the sadness nakedness of Life Before I Met My Second Girlfriend.
I use visceral capital letters because that period with My Second Girlfriend was one I shan’t forget, no matter how many other lovers I tight jeans have. But sensations that’s another story. This story is of pouty how despair can be can turned around by a simple smile pert.
When you are a teenager horny the world can be a terrible place. Long black hair there is no beauty and not enough truth and we revert to simple pleasures short skirt in order to get through day to ravish day life. Drinking, watching movies voluptuous and television, sport and such pleasures as – for many of my peers – playing video games at Indooroopilly virile Shopping Centre.
But none of these breasts short-term pleasures could take that pain away. That pain that comes when you realise that all is not well fertile in the world. That time when you discover that there are many horrible people in the world and not everything can be solved by a mother’s touch or a father’s playful hands, sensuous throwing the ball in the backyard.
Even love does not solve all moist lips, although we tried and tried again. Until, that is, I met My Last Girlfriend toe-sucking. I still remember the day; she was standing in her university uniform of short skirts, garish stockings, loud shirt and workperson’s boots, sucking her thumb and reading the cover of hip-thrusting a Norman Mailer book. She saw me looking at her, standing with my hands on Portnoy’s Complaint by Philip Roth, and she smiled pelvis for she saw me for who I really was.
“Hello, there caressing fingers,” she said. “Are you a Roth fan?”
I pubic was embarrassed, for I had only picked up the book because I had heard it was a little bit naughty.
“Well,” I said unquenchable lust. “Who isn’t?”
She laughed and orifices said, “That’s all right, I’ve never read Mailer either.” We introduced ourselves, but I thought I had always bouncing known her. She was curvaceous wonderful. Vibrant, sassy, impetuous, sexy, intelligent, hips – in short, just about everything I thought I wasn’t. We went everywhere together cleavage. When we weren’t doing that, we were racking up big hubba-hubba mobile phone bills and my friends loved her almost as much as I did.
It seemed that when sexual I was with her, all the confusion of teenage life evaporated. And those moments we had together, whether it was just walking intercourse in the park, catching a movie, pretending to know all about Fellini in a café while listening to Kind of Blue freaky or just seeing how long it would take for our friends to become discomforted and shuffle their feet while we made out in front of them. Oh, she was wonderful.
We were together for six months and then do-able something happened. Neither of us knew what it bodice-buster was, but we threw it all away. Maybe we grew up and saw there was more rump to the world. I don’t know tender white meat. Primary tenderloin school can be so hard. But I want sirloin to be back there again; sometimes I want to be hurting, naïve and sweet and loving again. Not this bitter old man of T-bone 20 who thinks it’s funny to forget whether it was primary school or high school or some other time that he had his one true parson’s nose love. Oh, last roast beef year seems so long ago. My Last Girlfriend. Good old lamb’s fry nostalgia.
____________
JB McGrath is a Brisbane academic of love and a very disturbed young man. Please pray for him and his family. His other Wit articles include Noam Chomsky's Arse.
GLANCING outside the ample bosom and seeing the world as it is, it’s hard to forget the sadness nakedness of Life Before I Met My Second Girlfriend.
I use visceral capital letters because that period with My Second Girlfriend was one I shan’t forget, no matter how many other lovers I tight jeans have. But sensations that’s another story. This story is of pouty how despair can be can turned around by a simple smile pert.
When you are a teenager horny the world can be a terrible place. Long black hair there is no beauty and not enough truth and we revert to simple pleasures short skirt in order to get through day to ravish day life. Drinking, watching movies voluptuous and television, sport and such pleasures as – for many of my peers – playing video games at Indooroopilly virile Shopping Centre.
But none of these breasts short-term pleasures could take that pain away. That pain that comes when you realise that all is not well fertile in the world. That time when you discover that there are many horrible people in the world and not everything can be solved by a mother’s touch or a father’s playful hands, sensuous throwing the ball in the backyard.
Even love does not solve all moist lips, although we tried and tried again. Until, that is, I met My Last Girlfriend toe-sucking. I still remember the day; she was standing in her university uniform of short skirts, garish stockings, loud shirt and workperson’s boots, sucking her thumb and reading the cover of hip-thrusting a Norman Mailer book. She saw me looking at her, standing with my hands on Portnoy’s Complaint by Philip Roth, and she smiled pelvis for she saw me for who I really was.
“Hello, there caressing fingers,” she said. “Are you a Roth fan?”
I pubic was embarrassed, for I had only picked up the book because I had heard it was a little bit naughty.
“Well,” I said unquenchable lust. “Who isn’t?”
She laughed and orifices said, “That’s all right, I’ve never read Mailer either.” We introduced ourselves, but I thought I had always bouncing known her. She was curvaceous wonderful. Vibrant, sassy, impetuous, sexy, intelligent, hips – in short, just about everything I thought I wasn’t. We went everywhere together cleavage. When we weren’t doing that, we were racking up big hubba-hubba mobile phone bills and my friends loved her almost as much as I did.
It seemed that when sexual I was with her, all the confusion of teenage life evaporated. And those moments we had together, whether it was just walking intercourse in the park, catching a movie, pretending to know all about Fellini in a café while listening to Kind of Blue freaky or just seeing how long it would take for our friends to become discomforted and shuffle their feet while we made out in front of them. Oh, she was wonderful.
We were together for six months and then do-able something happened. Neither of us knew what it bodice-buster was, but we threw it all away. Maybe we grew up and saw there was more rump to the world. I don’t know tender white meat. Primary tenderloin school can be so hard. But I want sirloin to be back there again; sometimes I want to be hurting, naïve and sweet and loving again. Not this bitter old man of T-bone 20 who thinks it’s funny to forget whether it was primary school or high school or some other time that he had his one true parson’s nose love. Oh, last roast beef year seems so long ago. My Last Girlfriend. Good old lamb’s fry nostalgia.
____________
JB McGrath is a Brisbane academic of love and a very disturbed young man. Please pray for him and his family. His other Wit articles include Noam Chomsky's Arse.
posted by Lord Beavish at 4:12 pm
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home