The Mills and Boon-esque thread

Its not as fun when you make it organised so nahhh kiid.

bluewolf wrote: »

You're so contrary

I was brought into this world to ruin organised fun and by god ill ruin it.

We dont even have Bismarks post that started it. Its a sham.
This is like wearing a johnny during sex.

Senor Fancy Pants wrote: »

You fell out of your aul ones vag while she was running for the bus.

Hup outta that!

^^^^

Very mills and boon-esque






***have never read them....

I'm actually tempted to download some erotica now. Haven't read Mills & Boon since I was a young wan (stealing my mum's books) and couldn't get my hands on porn yet. Thankfully I have a kindle now so nobody will see what I'm reading, the shame.

Senor Fancy Pants wrote: »

You fell out of your aul ones vag while she was running for the bus.

Hup outta that!

A bus?
We werent scum.

It was on lough derg after father won the regatta.

The Moldy Gowl wrote: »

Its not as fun when you make it organised so nahhh kiid.

He said haughtily.

Their eyes met across the crowded dance floor at Coppers, and it was lust at first sight. Or at least his one good eye, anyway. A freak scrabble accident had rendered him blind in his left eye at 12 years of age, but the working eye had locked in like an infra-red missile on Jacinta. Her personality shone through her choice of clothing and jewellery. Not many women would have the confidence to pull off a pink leather catsuit at 19 stone, but then again Jacinta wasn't one to worry about what people thought of her. The facial piercings were testament to that, as was her daring tattoo of a pair of testicles wedged in between her sagging dog-eared breasts. It was the kind of thing that might not work on most people, but she was convinced she was able to strike a comfortable balance between edgy and trashy.

At first, John was hesitant as his own BO was distinctly pungent, even amongst the notoriously sweaty regulars at Coppers. But he was a firm believer in seizing the moment, and throwing caution to the wind. His litany of driving offences and appearances before the circuit court were testament to that. He decided to abandon his usual policy of 'if you can't lift her, don't shift her'. After barging her friends out of the way, he ploughed straight in with the best material he could muster at 2:48am on a June bank holiday Monday morning. "How's your belly for a lodger, babe?" he blurted out. Jacinta cackled a throaty laugh in a way that only a chain smoker and raging alcoholic could do. He knew immediately he was onto a winner. Years of experience had taught him when to hold, and when to fold. And he was holding. But he know the brief window of opportunity needed to be capitalised on.

"Aaaaah heyooorr, me belly's had enough lodgers! Get me a drink, but first I want your name and how much land you.." Before Jacinta could even finish, John followed up his rapier wittiness with his trademark 'lob the gob' technique. The stale aroma of Benson and Hedges was fused with the flavour of WKD vodka in an strange but compelling mixture of sugary smoked saliva as their mouths became one. "I haven't tasted something like that since old Mister Sullivan's first aid classes back in the boy scouts" he noted to himself. He was always curious about why Mister Sullivan needed to practise his techniques on John alone and blindfolded behind the run down cinema. It was one of those great mysteries that would just have to go unsolved.

A tremendous surge of energy pulsed through his loins as she sucked on his tongue like a newborn calf on a mothers teat; it was then he knew he must have her immediately, and the feeling was mutual. They both elbowed and stumbled their way to the nearest bathroom as though they were fighting to get on the last chopper out of Saigon. Having secured the stall with the least amount of vomit around the toilet seat, their passions were let loose on each other.

He delicately rolled back the rubbery folds of fat until his turf encrusted fingernails finally settled on a distinctive wet patch. 'The old tart is well oiled' he thought to himself. He knew now that his Rasputin like sexual prowess had once again struck gold. "Oh sorry love....I should have warned you about that. I'm on tablets at the moment and I leak a bit from the back passage sometimes. Just drop the paw a bit lower and horse it into me". Despite this initial setback, he was more than happy to oblige. He was well used to the smell of manure from working on his small dairy farm in Leitrim. And his skid marked y-fronts weren't exactly perfect after the four day Guinness bender he was on. He was happy to forego what biology teachers would call heavy petting, or foreplay. He wasn't a fan of the 'fancy shyte' as he called it. After all, he wasn't some new fangled D4 metrosexual. "And 'twas far from foreplay you were reared", he told himself.

Months of pent up sexual frustration were let loose in a symphony of grasping, grunting, and the occasional dry retch as the remnants of smega and dingleberries were sucked and licked clean in an explosion of carnal lust. To an outside observer, it may have seemed like a re-enactment of a walrus mating from a David Attenborough show. But to these two strangers, it was a delightful indulgence of the flesh. He thrust his engorged member into the first cavity he could find. Despite her protests, his rhythm was now firmly established, and before he knew it the unmistakable dribbles of ejaculate were coursing through his semi-flaccid member. He made a mental note to avoid whiskey from now on as it affected his performance slightly. Those 30 seconds of passion were more than enough, though. He had fulfilled his mission for the night. He delicately but enthusiastically wiped his dripping member across the back of her head, and was already pounding towards the exit door as she struggled to her feet in the pools of urine.

'I never got you name, loverboy!' she grunted. And she never would. The Leitrim casanova was gone into the night as quickly as he appeared.




This short story was inspired by Alan Shatter's 'Laura'; available in all good bookshops.

Nuala turned down the dimmer switch in the bedroom of her flat in Rathmines, and sighed in eager anticipation. She had recently moved to Dublin to work in a bank, and to sample the myriad delights of living in a big city. She'd had a few too many drinks in Rody Bolands, and had been seduced by the charms of a large, brooding, ginger-haired policeman. Her body and mind had experienced sensations so long repressed due to the crushing dullness of small town life, and the strict religious upbringing instilled in her by her parents. They kissed beside the smoking machine, as the sounds of Bon Jovi filled the air.

"Feck Mammy" she thought, as she took off her cardigan, "I can do what I want up here in Dublin".

There he stood, at the end of the bed, reeking of Guinness and fags, the musk of his masculinity. He peeled off his shirt, revealing a large, protruding stomach, and hairy nipples. Off came his Wrangler's with the smooth movements of a man who had done this before - a master of seduction. There he stood - proud; his Penny's y-fronts scarcely concealing the result of his most base desires.

"Jaysus pet, you look lovely. You've me buckled with the horn".

She slipped in under the covers of her bed, and got undressed. He hauled down his y-fronts, revealing a small angry purple erection, buttressed by a set of hairy, sweaty, ginger testicles.

The heavy and cloying smell of Lynx Jungle, Guinness, B&H's, and sweat overwhelmed her, as he started greedily feeling her breasts.

"Jaysus, tis like one of ZZ Top's beards down there love"

She had read about the new grooming styles in her copy of Woman's Way; the way the Dublin women liked to keep things under control. She had so much to learn about the ways of love.

"Give us a minute there darling, and I'll wrap the sausage", he grunted, as he tore open a condom and fumbled to place it on his turgid mickey. "Fúck it, I think I put it on the wrong way round". He cursed profusely as he struggled under the duvet.

"There you go, brace yourself darling" he exclaimed as he rolled on top of her. Her hands moved through the dense hair on his back, and he thrust inside her. Oh Eugene! One, two, three -then a crashing roar as he spent a load of man porridge.

He rolled off her, and got out of the bed. "I've to go for a piss love, but I must say, you've a fanny like a mouse's ear" he said, as he moved towards the en-suite, before letting a huge, beefy fart go, his arsé fluttering with his endeavour. "Better out than the gable end of a house" he quipped, before going into the bathroom, and taking a huge piss without lifting the toilet seat. "couple of drops left there as a memory love".

He returned, got back into the bed, and rolled over on his back. Moments passed, Nuala in the raptures of love, Eugene in the middle of his petite mort. "See you in the morning pet".

Nuala smiled, as his deep and guttural snoring filled her small room. She had met the man of her dreams, a confident and generous lover, who also had a steady government job, and some land down in Roscommon.