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  • Fiction- The Chip, Chapter 2 first draft

    A bit rougher a draft than the first chapter, because that was something I’d been thinking about for a while. This one is a bit more made up as I go along.

    Jack had never visited Manchester. He watched the red brick buildings go past, trying to memorise land marks so he might find his way around later. He tried not to look at the back seat, but knew the ghost was still there. The fat man was quiet, concentrating on driving. For someone who had moved so fast bottling a gunman in the restaurant he seemed to labour over every turn of the steering wheel now.

    It was probable that he was supposed to be scared, but Jack couldn’t summon the emotion. Few things since being told he would never walk again had been able to scare him. When every walking moment was a miracle he would treat them as such. He was intrigued more than anything else. Where was the fat man taking him? He would know soon enough. Why? Again, the answer would be clear soon. It might take a while to work out how had he found his way to Manchester. The only thing he was finding disconcerting was the indistinct figure in the back of the car. But even that would be explained in time, he was sure.

    They stopped before a shutter that was already rising. “You’ll probably find this outside your pay grade, but one does have to maintain a cover.” the fat man announced as they headed down the steep ramp. He parked right beside the elevator doors. “Take these and call the lift would you. It does take a while for me to get out.”
    There was an electronic tag attached to the keyring. Jack held it against the domed plastic circle beside the lift doors and there was the clunk of machinery coming to life. “Most impressive.” said the ghost beside him. “We had this sort of equipment in our more secure facilities.”

    Jack glanced across at the Mercedes. The fat man was still struggling out of the car. “Who are you?” Jack whispered.

    “Marty Roberts, old chap.” He extended a shadowy hand, Jack just stared at it. “Pleased to make you acquaintance.”

    “Are you real?”

    “I honestly don’t know, old chap. I was escaping from some prison, the last thing I remember. And then I found myself here. Awfully odd prison, it was made up of shifting shapes and numbers. I had to keep trying a combination lock over and over.”

    The fat man had waddled over. Jack turned to him, “Charley, do you know a Marty Roberts?”

    The fat man’s expression was, for a moment, priceless. Then the confusion was gone as fast as it had appeared. “Two things, young fellow. How do you know my name? You should have been briefed in with my alias. And what do you know about Marty? The man was dead about the time you were born.”

    The lift arrived with a ping. They looked in as the doors opened, to make sure there was no-one to hear the conversation. “Marty Roberts told me your name, and his. Right now he’s standing about here,” Jack waved a hand through Roberts’ chest. He held back an urge to apologise, “giving me advice, talking about a prison break and generally freaking me out.”

    “That sounds like Marty. Calm as you like, whatever the situation. He could tell you to risk your life as if he were asking ‘one lump or two’.”

    The fat man was taking this far too well. “He’s sizing you up for the take down.” Marty informed Jack, “He thinks you’re a mad man.”

    “Can’t really blame him.” Jack realised he had spoken out loud. He looked at Charley, who had raised his eyebrows in as non-threatening a way as he could manage.

    “I’ll tell you what,” the ghost offered, “you just need to say the one word to him.”

    “Overlord.”

    Charley’s mask slipped as his jaw dropped. “What?”

    Marty spoke and Jack repeated him. “It was your last mission together. You took a bullet and were bedridden for months. That’s when you started eating and stopped exercising and became the man you are today.”

    “You could have found any of that in the archives.”

    “It’s true. In fact, that’s where he thinks he did get it. Marty Roberts is fast coming to the conclusion that he’s not really Marty Roberts and he’s neither alive nor a ghost.” This was when it fell into place for Jack, and he hated that he’d been beaten to the answer by a piece of code. “I can try to explain…..”

    “Upstairs. It’s bloody cold down here, and I always need to get myself around a good single malt after someone has saved my life.”

    * * * * *

    It had been a nice enough day, the sun was obscured by cloud, but it wasn’t heavy. There was plenty of light, but no blinding glare. Jack had dawdled at the lights, tightening straps on his backpack even after the change from red to green. He set off gently into the junction, and was halfway across when the car ran a red light and hit him squarely on his right side. He was lifted into the air and thrown twenty metres to crack against the side of a building. His crash helmet absorbed most of the blow, but there was still some force expended on the skull and brain beneath. Enough to mash bits of grey matter and destroy his ability to walk.

    The offer had come along within a month, when the broken bones were beginning to heal. An experimental technique, the chip would go in the dead space and emulate the brain cells it replaced. It was great in theory, but it would be the first time it had been done to a human. He hadn’t thought to ask where the funding, and the technology, was coming from. Perhaps that had been a bad idea.

    * * * * *

    “So you think they were testing military technology on you?”

    “I think the AI, Marty, is military. He keeps trying to tell me about your escapades off duty. Something about a woman in Munich called Helga.” Jack swirled the whisky in his glass and watched Charlie’s reaction. The fat man smiled.

    “I didn’t know she was double until far too late. Such a waste. Lips like those would have made a fortune in California.”

    The ghost sat next to Charlie on the leather sofa shook his head. “Is he suggesting that she should have become a prostitute?”

    “Or a porn star.”

    “Sorry?”

    “I’m just talking to Marty.” Jack indicated the spot on the sofa. Charlie shrugged.

    “It’s going to become awfully confusing if you keep chatting to someone who isn’t there, you know.”

    “I’ll try to keep the mad sounding stuff in my head then.”

    “Enough about your problems, as fascinating as they are. Let’s talk about me.”

    Marty relaxed into the sofa, though the cushions didn’t yield. “This should be interesting.”

    “Okay. Let’s talk about you. Who were the thugs back in the restaurant?”

    “Lithuanian mafia.”

    “Lithuanian?” Jack was about to comment that he couldn’t find Lithuania on a map when one appeared in his vision, with the country highlighted. The view zoomed out to give him geographical context. Jack nodded knowingly. “Not Russian?”

    “My boy, every country has its criminal groups- cartels, families, whatever you want to call them. Just because everyone’s been talking about the Russians for the last few years doesn’t mean they’re the only nationality in the game. Two of the larger Lithuanian mobs want to set up franchises over here, on the tail of their new Europe status. I’ve been trying to play them off against each other. A bit of a Yojimbo situation I hope will lead to mutually assured destruction.”

    “I knew he’d turn out a maverick.” Marty muttered.

    “Not a very safe thing to be doing.” was Jack’s observation. “Which side was trying to kill you today?”

    “The crowd from Vilnius. The least evil of the two, but unfortunately also the smartest. They wanted to negotiate a little less subtly for the merchandise I’m offering.”

    “And the merchandise is?”

    “I know where a particular body
    is buried.”

    “An important body?”

    “Only because of what’s in its stomach. He was supposed to carry some papers out of the country, wrapped in condoms and swallowed the way drugs mules do it. But the diet disagreed with him and he started getting cramps in a safe house. The gangs have got their own doctors, after a fashion. They pay their fees, get them over here from the old country then call on them when they’re residents to patch up gun shots and such. His minders called one of them, one I’d turned. By the time the kid had got there our man was dead. His compadres decide the body shouldn’t be found. Not knowing what he’s carrying, they go and bury him in the corner of a field somewhere. Meanwhile, the kid had called me and I’d followed them. I dug him up and move him.

    “Soon enough, the goons got sent back to cut the body open and retrieve the documents. Now they’re in the hole they dug. I let things stew for a while before I hinted at double crosses and the like, getting both sides wound up to shooting point. I guess I’m not as good as I used to be, because the Vilnius guy earlier seemed to be on to me.”

    “What’s in the stomach?”

    “I don’t know. I haven’t even opened him up yet- I’m a bit squeamish. As far as I’m concerned it’s pure McGuffin. The important thing is to get them fighting amongst themselves and give us openings to exploit in bringing them down.”

    “Ask him about his back up.” Marty suggested.

    Charlie went red at the question, “Well, strictly, I don’t have any. My job was to turn the boy. This is all just ad-libbed.”

    “You’re off the lead?”

    “I’ve been on my own for months. They don’t really know where I am, who I’m being, and they don’t really care so long as I keep giving them info. I just haven’t told them about this yet. It did only come up three days ago, it takes them that long to find the right form to fill out.”

    “Oh fucking wonderful. I’m going to call someone and hopefully he can get me out of this mess. I don’t know what he can do for you. Perhaps you should phone home too.”

    * * * * *

    Ted’s phone was sat in a cradle in another room. He couldn’t use any of the really fancy functions, but he could still see who was calling him and answer if he wished. He put Jack’s call on the conference speakers. “What happened to you? We lost the tracking signal for a while.”

    “I think another program decided to block it for security.”

    “What do you mean another program.”

    “I’ll try to explain later. Do you know where I am? Can you come and get me?”

    “I turned on the secondary and tertiary location routines. I’ve got you narrowed down to within a few buildings. We’re going to send someone to pick you up if you can find a building name, room number, that sort of thing.”

    Charlie gave his address when prompted. “Did you get that?”

    “Yeah. People are on their way right now.” After Jack had hung up, Ted turned to the military guy, “Perhaps they should pick up your man as well. If he’s still there when they arrive.”

    * * * * *

    Charlie went to get more whisky. Jack laid his phone on the table. Then he pulled the gun from his waistband, where it was beginning to get uncomfortable. He released the magazine and took the bullet out of the chamber then studied the inside, double checking that it was empty.

    “A Glock.” Marty noted, “Time was the Eastern Europeans, the undercover ones at least, all carried useless stamped steel things from a factory in the Motherland. They only fired every third time you pulled the trigger. Now they’ve all got these plastic guns that are smooth and well machined and reliable. Capitalism seems to have made some things more dangerous don’t you think.”

    “For better or worse it was the winning ideology.” Jack looked down and realised he had stripped the pistol without even looking at it. The parts were arrayed before him on the table. “Communism was a horrible disaster, but that doesn’t mean capitalism is perfect.”

    Charlie returned with more malt. Seeing the deconstructed weapon he slid the drawer in front of Jack open to reveal cleaning gear. Jack didn’t recognise any of the implements, but somehow he knew how to use them. Within minutes the gun was clean and its action smooth. He reloaded it and put it back on the table. “What do we do now?”

    “We wait to be picked up. Then I’ll see if I can salvage anything of my little sting.”

    Ten minutes later someone with a shotgun blew the lock off the door.


  • I am Cosmo Man

    I’m all over the media at the moment. Last night I was on TV for a whole ten seconds, beating up a morris dancer on It’s Adam & Shelly. Today I picked up a copy of Cosmopolitan to read the article I was interviewed for by the morris dancer.

    He took my fellow skinheads and I to a rather swish restaurant (Carlos Tevez was two tables over from us) and interviewed us about what makes women sexy. If you’ve got a copy, try to guess which Cosmo Man is me. First person to get it right in the comments, and to say what gave it away, wins a prize (probably chocolate).

    I wandered around the Cosmo site to see if I could find the article on it. No luck so far. However, if you read the back of the Must Not Mention Sheep T-shirt you’ll find one of the MNMs is “That article in Cosmo about blowjobs”. I must have meant this one- Get blow-job Brownie points.


  • Fiction – How Deep Is Your Love?

    Neil and I have started bar billiards sessions after work on Tuesdays, whilst he’s waiting for a booty call and I’m not because Sue has to work late. We play for Minstrels. The only problem is that I keep eating my winnings.

    Things aren’t perfect with the doggy shrink, it seems. I’ve only been getting laid again for a couple of weeks and everyone’s talking at me about relationships.

    The problem is Neil’s ex, Ursula. They’ve managed to become friends, after an initial rough patch. In fact they might be talking more now than in the last few months of their relationship. This is freaking Helen, the pet psychologist, out. “She thinks that me and Ursula might get back together. She says she’s intimidated by our history.”

    “You and Ursula were together for, what, three years?”

    “Nearly.”

    “And you’ve only been going out for a couple of months. It takes a while to build up a bank of memories.”

    “That’s what I told her.”

    “Maybe you should suggest doing something neither of you’s done before. Create your own unique memories.”

    “Like anal sex?” He times these things, I just know it. I knocked over the black pin and lost all my points. That’s twenty Minstrels gone.

    “I was thinking of a weekend in Paris, but there is that.” I waited until he’d lined up his shot before adding, “I guess it’s too early for you to suggest a threesome with her best friend.”

    My timing’s not so good. He stopped the shot, looked up and gave a little grin. “You didn’t?” The boy should be an actor, I really don’t know if he was taking the piss or not.

    More Than Words

    More Than Words, by Extreme, is the “If you loved me you’d swallow” song.
    But everyone looks at me strangely when I suggest that. Is it possible I’ve misinterpreted the lyrics?
    Posted by Jim at 21:53

    Sue has a half day most Wednesdays, to compensate for the length of Tuesday. I got out of work as early as possible and went round to her flat.

    We’ve christened the living room and bedroom of the flat, several times over, and we’re going to start on the rooms in my house as soon as her period’s over. (Except the kitchens. By mutual consent we’ve decided that may be unsanitary.)

    People are complaining they don’t see me any more. I don’t care. But just to appease them I’m going to put in an appearance at the big get together on Saturday. “Can I come?” was Sue’s first question when I mentioned this.

    “Of course. I think the main reason they’re on at me about it is that everyone wants to meet you.”

    “To see if I’m good enough for you?”

    “To tell you terrible stories about my past antics, more like. Some of them aren’t true.”

    “I bet.” She had curled up on the sofa, using my lap as a pillow.

    She’s awfully skinny, when she’s undressed I can see her ribs. But she eats everything I put in front of her. I think it’s partly a metabolism thing, but I have noticed that she seems to underestimate serving sizes. As I always overestimate them perhaps we’ll meet in the middle- I’ll lose a little weight and she’ll put some on.

    “Oh.” Sue stirred. “It’s my works Christmas do on Friday. I’ll still come out on Saturday, but it’s a free bar, so I might be a bit delicate.” I stroked, her ear. She made a happy little noise. “Do that again.”

    I moved her hair aside and stroked her neck and jawline and what I could get at of her collarbone and she just lay there with the loveliest little smile. She seems to be sensitive all over to gentle stroking, and we’ve been finding the particularly sensitive bits over the last few days whilst we can’t go penetrative. I told her about my conversation with Neil. She was amused by the different interpretations of doing something new. “Have you ever done it?” she asked.

    “Been to Paris?”

    “You know what I mean. Hold on a sec.” She sat up and pulled her top off, then rearranged herself across the sofa.

    “I’ve thought about it. I’ve mentioned it. Don’t think I’ve ever suggested it. I’ve never done it.”

    “I’ve thought about it. Hell, I’ve fantasised about it. Just there. No, down a little. There, yes, that’s nice. But I’ve never done it.”

    The obvious question nearly didn’t make it out of my mouth. “Would you like to?”

    She didn’t answer, just smiled and flushed, bit her lip and went tense. After a while, when she’d come down, she pulled me down to kiss, then shifted, unzipped my trousers and reached in. I didn’t care whether that was a yes or a no.

    – – – – – – – –

    At two in the morning I woke to a blue glow. Sue was sat up in bed, wearing my dressing gown for warmth, tapping the stylus against the screen of the PDA/phone thing she has. “Whussup?” she jumped.

    “I thought you were asleep. You were snoring. I just thought of something. I had to email myself it so I won’t forget.”

    Bless her little cotton panties, she’s a geek. She’ll fit into the Friendborg with no worries.

    Brown Paper Parcel

    Whilst checking my Amazon affiliate reports I found that some of you have been ordering very naughty products. I have my suspicions, but discretion is my middle name. You’ll be pleased to know it’s been despatched and you should get it tomorrow.
    Posted by Jim at 12:35pm

    Mostly, my friends forget to go through my blog when ordering stuff from Amazon. So it’s probably a stranger who clicked through and ordered The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women.

    It just seems like such a coincidence after Neil brought the subject up. Helen and he are coming out on Saturday, and I’m not going to be able to look at them without wondering if they’ll be getting all Last Tango In Paris at some point.

    Friday night in

    It seems everyone else is having their work’s Christmas party tonight. So I’m all alone with nothing to do.
    It’s wrong to get drunk on your own isn’t it?
    Posted by Jim at 20:57

    I got a phone call at about half past ten. A little voice, slightly slurred, with music in the background. “Can I come back to your place tonight?”

    “Of course you can. You know the address?”

    “I think so. Hold on. Tell me anyway and I’ll write it down.”

    I gave her the address, and the name of the street it’s off. And the name of the street that’s off. “It won’t be until late.” she warned, “Maybe after one.”

    “It’s okay. I’ve got films to watch.”

    So I watched Ronin, with the director’s commentary so I could hear John Frankenheimer’s opinion of the car chases. Then I set about losing a Command and Conquer skirmish.

    The doorbell rang at half past one. I bounced down the stairs, struggled with the locks and flung the door open.

    The woman on the doorstep was not Sue. She was the same height, but twice as wide and probably twice the age. “Are you James?”

    “Yes.”

    She reached behind the bush by the door and pulled a little figure out of hiding. “Does this belong to you?”

    Sue’s drunken smile was infectious. She tumbled forward and wrapped herself around me. “I guess it does. Do I have to sign for it?”

    Sue was talking into my chest. “Pardon?”

    She looked up. “I told her to say that. Did you like the joke?”

    “Very
    funny.”

    “Free bar.” her chauffeur explained as Sue let me go to give her a hug. “Last year I had to put her to bed.”

    “Thanks for the lift Mary. I’ll see you on Monday. I’ll be sober then. I hope.” I grasped her coat collar as she let go and tried to stand up straight.

    “Lots of water.” Mary suggested to me.

    “And paracetamol in the morning.” I steered Sue into the house. “Let’s get you to bed.” I waved a goodbye and kicked the door closed.

    “I don’t like Christmas.” Sue announced halfway up the stairs. She tried to turn and give me another hug. “But I do like you. Can I keep you?”

    “Of course you can. But first you can come upstairs to bed.”

    For such a little thing she’s awfully hard to steer. She veered off into the bathroom and headed for the toilet. I decided to close the door on that and hope she could cope without me. I went for the promised water.

    I filled a pint glass, then had visions of it tipping all over the floor. There was a sports bottle by the sink that seemed a more prudent choice.

    She was in the bedroom, struggling with the buttons on her blouse. “Did you flush?”

    “Yellow is mellow. Remember?”

    “Oh, yeah. Here, you take this and I’ll help you with that. No, no. You drink the water, I’ll undress you.” That raised a giggle, but she did as she was told. The cap on the bottle befuddled her for a moment until she realised how to pull it open.

    She was wearing a bra, which was something I hadn’t seen before. I helped her juggle bottle, bra and blouse until she was topless, then sat her down and went to work on her shoes and jeans. Undressing a giggling drunk girl was turning me on more than I’d have expected. Sue noticed this when I stood up. “Oooh, a present for me to unwrap.” She grabbed my belt and pulled herself into a kneel before me.

    “I thought you didn’t like Christmas.” Somehow her co-ordination was back now she was unfastening me.

    “But I do like you. I told you. This is a present for waiting up for me.” With my pants around my ankles and her lips around me it would have been uncouth to refuse such a gift.

    “I like the way you go all trembly just before you come.” she told me afterwards, stroking my thighs whilst I still stood over her. I loved the way she swallowed and then licked me clean so no dribble escaped. “I’ve got another present for you tomorrow. Cold now.” She pulled the covers about herself and grinned as she watched me strip.

    Sue didn’t want to sleep, poking my shoulder and playing with my chest hair. Maybe my semen had sobered her up. “Why don’t you like Christmas?” I asked to distract her.

    “My family.”

    “You don’t get on with them?”

    “The rest of the time, yes. Well, apart from my step-sister. It’s just that it gets competitive at Christmas. Mum and her new husband want me to spend it with them, Dad and his new wife with them. So I spend it on my own. I don’t want to be part of their game.”

    I considered this for a moment, stopped the roaming finger by grabbing it and kissing it. “Why not spend this Christmas with me and my family?”

    – – – – – – – – –

    It seems I’m too hot. I cuddle up to Sue during the night, but my body heat’s too much for her. More often than not she sneaks away from me to cool down. Usually, though, a little hand will find its way back to hold mine.

    But on Saturday morning I woke to find her wrapped around me, all sweet and cuddly. I found her arm and kissed the inside of her wrist. She liked that, so I kissed up her arm to the inside of her elbow. She liked that even more.

    “Make me tea.” she demanded now she was awake.

    “Did I give you a blow job last night?”

    “You did.”

    “Yucky taste in my mouth.” Sue made spitting noises until I started pouring some tea.

    “That’s more likely the free beer.”

    “Go away. Anyway, they didn’t have any decent beer. I was on rum and stuff all night.” She struggled with the cap on the paracetamol, gave up and handed it to me.

    “That would explain all the talking like a pirate. Here.”

    She washed the painkillers down with tea. “Did I mention my family?”

    “You explained why you don’t like Christmas, yes.”

    “You asked me to spend it with you?”

    “I did.”

    “Did I say yes?”

    “You didn’t say anything. You started telling me why your step-sister is a complete bitch and then you fell asleep halfway through a sentence.”

    “Oh.”

    “Then you started talking in your sleep. I thought you’d woken up until I realised you weren’t using real words.”

    “I do that, so I’m told.”

    “Allegedly I snore.”

    “Allegedly my arse. You probably wake people five doors down.” Sue studied her blouse, deciding whether to wear it again. “I’ve spent Christmas by myself since my last year of Uni. I’ve got sort of traditions. I roast a chicken, drink a bottle of wine and heckle the Queen.”

    “Sounds like a normal Christmas. Though we don’t watch Queenie any more.”

    “Won’t your parents mind? It’s a bit late in the year to land them with a Christmas guest.”

    “Oh they won’t mind really.” We have a family history of taking in waifs and strays. The shock might be landing on them with a girlfriend. I’ve told my mother I’m ‘seeing’ someone. I think she understands the euphemism.

    Sue still didn’t look convinced. I selected a T-shirt from the clean pile and handed it to her. “It’s just an idea. It’s okay if you don’t want to.”

    “Thanks. I’ll think about it.”

    “Breakfast?”

    “I’ll grab a banana and head home. I need to sort some stuff out for tonight.”

    “Okay.”

    – – – – – – – –

    We met in Rain. Sue had insisted we make our own ways there. Neil, Helen and Ursula were already there. That didn’t seem like a good combination. I decided to arm myself with Moonraker and try to mediate.

    Moonraker’s an odd beer. I can understand how so many people don’t like it, but I’m fond of its thick, sickly taste. It’s also over 8%, so when you order your first of the night the bar staff always give you a look and say “You do know it’s over eight percent don’t you.”

    “Of course I do. That’s why I drink it.”

    “Okay.”

    Reinforcements arrived whilst my beer was being pulled. Steve’s always fancied Ursula, I didn’t even need to engineer a reason for him to join the conversation. Bert joined in just to confound him.

    Before I’d finished my first pint there were fifteen of us. No Sue, though. I was beginning to worry that I’d been stood up. But she was just waiting to make an entrance.

    I admit, I didn’t recognise her at first. I didn’t even know she possessed any dresses. It was dark blue and came to just below her knees. She sort of slinked out of her long coat and draped it over her arm as she approached.

    I admit it, I stared. People seemed to notice this and one by one turn to follow my gaze, because I swear the room went silent as she approached. She dropped the coat at my feet, wrapped both arms around my neck and pulled me down to kiss her.

    There might have been applause. There was definitely a cry of “Get a room!” When we came up for air she was the most flushed I’ve seen her outside the bedroom. She pulled my head down to whisper in my ear, “I wanted to make a good impression.”

    “I think you did that.” I kissed her neck, then her ear, then the top of her head. I wanted to kiss her all over, but I wasn’t going to get the chance. “You’re about to get the inquisition.”

    “Oh dear. Oh, and I would love to spend Christmas with you.”

    I didn’t know what to say, but Ursula arrived before it became obvious. “You must be Sue. I’m Ursula. I’ve heard so much about you.”

    “No she hasn’t. Deny everything. Unless it makes me look good, of course.” My glass was empty. I wagged it at Sue and she nodded, mouthing the words “non-alcoholic”.

    I’m a bad man. After handing over her J2O I abandoned her. Helen was looking lost. Neil had drifted into a conversation about processor speeds with Bert and she wasn’t deeply enough assimilated to join in the inquisition of Sue. I wandered over. “Hey. How are you?”

    “I’m okay.” she gestured at Sue “It’s scary, all those people wanting to know about you.”

    “I guess it is.” Helen had first met the FriendBorg whilst drinking in the Students’ Union. I’m not sure she’s fully recovered.

    She remembered something that made her smile. “Thanks, by the way.”

    “What for?”

    “You suggested to Neil that we should do something special. What was it? Create our own history.”

    I managed not to drop my pint. “Really?”

    “Yeah. He’s taking me to Paris next month.”

    I just nodded and took a gulp of beer. I didn’t know what to say just yet, because ‘take me to Paris’ sounds like rhyming slang for ‘take me up the arse’, which is what I’d been thinking.

    “She looks….. gorgeous.” Helen indicated Sue, rescuing me.

    “Yes, she does, doesn’t she. I’ve never seen her in a dress before.” Two things were beginning to dawn on me. That Sue really wanted to impress my friends and that I was in love with her. I caught her eye and smiled at her. “I have to go and hug her now.”

    – – – – – – – – –

    It wasn’t one of our heavier nights, but it was still gone eleven when we sneaked away. We managed to grab a taxi after walking a wee way in the right direction and away from the crowds, and tried not to get too steamy on the back seat. We didn’t crash, so I guess we weren’t doing anything the driver wanted to watch.

    “I have another present for you.” Sue announced as I locked the door. “Time to unwrap it.”

    I turned to find her pushing her knickers down her legs. She stepped out of them and lifted the front of her dress. Her grin was all the more sexy because she seemed on the edge of uncontrollable laughter. She backed toward the bean bag as I approached. “I went to the doctor and had him put me on the Pill. Your present is me- any time, any place, anywhere. Starting right here, on the bean bag.”

    – – – – – – – – – –

    I never did find out who bought The Ultimate Guide to Anal Sex for Women. I don’t really care.

    Notes Another jumping off point for the first draft of Post & Publish. Yes there’s a lot of gratuitous sex, but that’s the best type and they’re at the beginning of a relationship when that sort of thing goes on a lot.

    Links to all products mentioned have been included because Tim tells me off if I don’t do that sort of thing.

    Other fiction- check out So Much To Answer For, or Heavensent Download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

    Donate Now I’ve started writing again I’m unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.


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  • More T shirt ideas

    ‘Pull to open’ I thought it might also work on boxers or knickers, then realised that by that point it would be redundant.

    ‘No thanks, I’m waiting for my boyfriend.’

    ‘My RAID array’s bigger than your RAID array.’

    ‘Optical illusion’Which I promised years ago for the more buxom ladies.

    ‘All I want for Christmas is a blowjob’ Though I think I’ve missed the window for seasonal designs.

    ‘Access restricted’ Another one for knickers.

    ‘Small but perfectly formed’ For ladies tops and boxer shorts.

    I’m sure I should be thinking of other things whilst cycling to work, but it was rush hour so most of the traffic was standing still.


  • So Much To Answer For- Part 12

    Joe had finished his second beer when he remembered his meeting with Rachel. “Shit!” He checked his watch. “Okay, not so bad.”

    “What’s up.”

    “I’ve got to get to Piccadilly by seven.”

    “You can do that. Just about. Meeting Rachel?”

    “Yes.”

    “Well go then. I’ll just sit here and drink the beer by myself.”

    He was only five minutes late. The Kro bar on Piccadilly wrapped most of the way around the ground floor of its building. Rachel was in the dining area, all the way around from the main door. She was sat at the window, watching traffic go by.

    “Sorry I’m late.”

    “Not that much”

    Joe slumped into his chair, but quickly straightened up and leaned forward. “So, do you have a brother called Hugh?”

    Rachel smiled. “I thought you didn’t recognise me.”

    “I did. But I had to consult external memory before I got your brother’s name.”

    “External memory?”

    “My mate Pete. He’s always been better with names. What’s Hugh doing these days?”

    “Working in Surrey.”

    “Poor bastard.”

    “Hey. I work in Surrey too.”

    Joe shrugged. “Guess it could be worse. Could be Essex.”

    “My step-dad’s from Essex.”

    “I’ll just shut up, shall I?”

    Rachel hid her smirk behind a beer. A waitress came over and Joe ordered a pint of Theakstons XB for himself. “When were you last in Manchester?”

    “Hugh’s graduation, I think.”

    “Long time ago.”

    “Yes. It’s changed. Didn’t this used to be some sort of sunken garden?”

    Joe nodded. “Full of drunks and children bunking off school.”

    “And there’s been a lot of regeneration since the bomb.”

    “True.”

    “Can you help me with something?”

    “I can try.”

    “You’ll know where all the little galleries are. I want to check them all out. We try to have good relations with them because they nurture so many of our future artists.”

    “Yeah. I can do that. When?”

    “Tomorrow. I’ve seen all the people I was scheduled to. The next few weeks are all about finding new talent and liaising with shop fitters and leasing agents.

    “As you’re going to help I guess I can buy you dinner and put it on expenses.” She slid a menu to Joe.

    When they had ordered they seemed to have nothing to talk about. “I hope you had a productive day.” Rachel said eventually.

    “No. Afraid I didn’t.”

    “Oh. Why not?”

    “Stuff. And….. I had to identify a body.” Rachel’s glass stopped on the way to her mouth. The beer didn’t, and sloshed onto the table. “Spillage.” Joe pointed at the puddle.

    “A dead body?” Joe nodded. “Who?”

    “Someone I used to know. Police figured I was the only person in town who could confirm his identity.”

    “That must have been horrible.”

    “Not nice. I only knew the guy because he stole some money from me.”

    “That’s terrible. How…? I mean…. No, no. Forget I was going to ask anything. How are you feeling?”

    “Okay, I guess. Hadn’t seen him in years and, like I said, he stole my money. So I wasn’t close to the guy.”

    They were silent again for a while. The starters arrived and they tucked in. Rachel decided to change subjects. “I took up climbing. After all those times you threw me at trees I kind of got hooked.”

    “I didn’t throw you at trees.”

    “Up them then.” And the floodgates were opened. They filled in, in broad strokes, the last decade and a half of their lives. Mostly they marked it out in terms of places visited, where they had been on momentous days. “I was so hungover on the day Diana died. The day it was reported, anyway.” Joe remembered, “I came downstairs feeling rough as….. rough as fuck and turned on the TV. They were telling me that something terrible had happened. But I didn’t care, so I changed the channel. And they were telling me something terrible had happened. And so were the other three channels. But none of them were telling me what it was. I swear it was half an hour at least before they told me what had happened.”

    “I was really quite sad, but I was going through a goth phase and had to pretend not to care.”

    “You were never a goth!”

    “What? Why not?”

    “Well, you’re too…. blonde.”

    “Hair dye, my dear, hair dye.”

    They left the pub a few pints later. “You know where you’re going?”

    “Yeah. Up there,” Rachel waved her hand vaguely, “and turn left before the railway station.” She moved in close, kissed him quickly on the lips and stepped away. “See you tomorrow. About ten? At the garage?”

    “Okay.” He watched her sway slightly as she walked away, then headed for the bus.
    Hunched up by the window of a number 43 Magic Bus, shifting occasionally because it was so hard to get comfortable on the centimetre of foam left in it, conflicting thoughts fought for attention.

    Hill was dead. But even as a stiff he could still get the Police sniffing around and causing problems. Plus, he had probably told his partners in whatever deal he was into that Joe was involved. Hill being Hill, he had likely promised Joe’s participation before even meeting him the first time. The sort of low quality gangster Hill had hung out with previously would be too stupid to not believe the bullshit.

    But he couldn’t find the energy to worry about it too much, because there was a chance he was going to get laid.

    The bus crawled its way through Rusholme, and Platt Fields came up on the right. For a while they’d called Rachel the Squirrel because of the way she’d go up trees finding foot and finger holds in the wrinkled bark. It was astonishing she’d never fallen out of one and and done herself an injury. A cold feeling came over him. He was having very bad thoughts about a kid.

    Except she wasn’t a kid any more. She was well over the age of consent, able to make her own decisions and very attractive. He grinned. It was possible he was misinterpreting all of this and she was just flirting with him to help get her job done. But he preferred to think otherwise.

    He got off in Withington and started winding his way home. He was only one turn away from his house when his phone beeped. A text from Pete, “Are you in yet?”

    “Cheeky bastard.” Joe started to reply, turned the corner, and walked into something solid.

    Recoiling from the blow, Joe began to fall backwards. Until something grabbed him and stood him up again. Only to punch him in the gut and again in the face.

    At this point everything went black.

    Part 13
    Part 11
    Part 1

    NaNoWriMo Progress

    Other fiction- check out Heavensent, the propeller-punk sci-fi war novel I recently wrapped up, or download Another Education/Ruby Red or Ten Years Asleep.

    Donate Now I’ve started writing again I’m unlikely to stop, but it would be nice if I could eat during my breaks. So please feel free to donate some money to my starving author fund by clicking on the PayPal button below.



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  • Is that physically possible?

    The most disturbing slash fiction on the Internet.

    #9: The Mario Brothers and Starfox slash. I wonder if Mario has some, um, “special moves” he can unleash. We know he’s an expert at jumping.

    #8: Care Bears slash. Do they even have genitals? What the fuck?

    #7: Narnia slash. As Rollick said, it puts a new spin on the Christian metaphors seeded heavily throughout the series. Now it’s “Christ died for your sins, you’d think he could at least get a blowjob out of it, you whining little ingrate. Open up.”

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  • Explain this to the taxman

    Ray Digerati- will fix computers for sex.

    Do you have a set, um, pay scale?
    No, I leave it up to their discretion. One girl didn’t want to have intercourse, so she offered me a massage and then finished me off with a hand job. It’s basically all about the time I spend: If I’m working for one or two hours, I’d like a blow job. An orgasm for every two hours of service is pretty fair. If it’s something simple that I can fix in 15 minutes, I’d like to get a foot massage.

    via BoingBoing

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  • USS Blowjob

    Another piece in Cycling on the Pavement- USS Blowjob– which segues neatly from yesterday’s mention of the Clinton Diaries. It’s a bit of an info dump. I’m taking all these ideas and I’m going to map them in the FreeMind software I mentioned yesterday, along with some other bits and pieces, to see if I can work out a grand scheme for Frightened to Death by Soldiers and start writing it.

    Also, I’m going to shut down all the subscription stuff on the site, because I’m not producing fast enough to justify it and I’ve only had one subscriber (you know who you are, if you’d like a refund just ask.) So bit by bit, the old Cyclings are going to become available again and the whole of Deputised Experts will become available.

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  • I would go out tonight…..

    That Paxman interview of Michael Howard. (I was reading someone complaining about the harshness of the questioning in the Presidential debate. Really, few US politicians could stand five minutes of Paxo without becoming a blubbering mess.) Via an old article about Newsnight- The Opera.

    Wales disappears! Think of the sheep!

    Dirk Benedict’s nose! And the rest of him, and the A Team, and various other computer painted film and TV characters. Penny assures me they look far better as prints.

    Puppet blowjob gets US censors’ knickers in a twist. But it’s okay to immolate a liberal. In fact that would probably pass as a PG13.


  • Going Down Slow

    Okay, so I, like just about everyone else, clicked through to this article because it mentioned teaching oral sex in schools. The scheme mentioned doesn’t, actually, explicitly promote blowjobs or pearl diving (is there a better name for cunnilingus? I’ll have to consult the encyclopedia of sex) and it successfully cuts teen sex and pregnancy rates. But the Moral Moronity won’t care about that, they’ll be too busy dwelling on the possibility of rude words being used.


  • No, that's not the gear shift

    A woman charged with causing a fatal car crash is claiming she wasn’t the driver, as charged. The man who died in the accident, the car’s owner, was at the wheel at the time. She, meanwhile, was giving him a blow job.

    So, er, she did cause the accident then.

    “His pants could have been down because he was mooning a car he was drag racing. His pants could have been down because he was urinating out of a window. His pants could have been down because he wasn’t feeling well.”


  • Must Not Mention…..

    Okay, I’ve got a coloured version of the sheep ready for the Must Not Mention Sheep T shirt-

    Now I need the text for the back. I’m thinking of having a list. At the top, left aligned, it’ll say Must Not Mention…. and underneath, right aligned, ….if I want to get laid. In between are all those subjects you should not bring up whilst trying to chat someone up. So far the list is-

    Sheep, Politics, Porn, Comics, Computers, Lighting Rigs, www.(insert geeky website here).com, Sheep, Breasts, Ex-Girlfriends, Fantasies About Lesbians, That article I read in Cosmo about blowjobs, Trek

    Any other suggestions are most welcome.


  • Slow Blues Day

    I’ve been in a wierd mood all day. The realisation that I’m three days away from being unemployed again struck me this morning and, along with some other stuff (lots of little things, which is the way it works with me) brought me down.
    Hopefully I can get some writing done soon. Heavensent is on sporadic updates and I’ve had an idea for something a bit more biographical (in fact it’ll be stealing and then fictionalising some stuff I’ve blogged.)
    The Friday Five never appealed to me, but this long list of questions has been doing the email rounds recently so I think I’ll share my answers-
    1. What time is it? 21:44
    2. Name as it appears on your birth certificate? Ian Pattinson
    3. Nickname: None that I know of
    4. Parents name/s: Jen & Ron
    5. Number of candles that appeared on your last birthday cake: 33
    6. Favourite food : Food
    7.Date that you regularly blow them out? 11 Jan
    8. Eye colour: blue
    9. Hair colour: black/ dark brown
    10. Piercing: no
    11. Tattoos: no
    12. How much do you love your job? My job loves me so much it has set me free. If I come back then it was meant to be (Hah!)
    13. Favourite colour: blue
    14. Hometown: Born in Bridgend, but family home is in Cumbria
    15. Current residence: Victoria Park, manchester UK
    17. Been to Africa? no
    18. Been toilet papering? no
    19. Loved somebody so much it made you cry? yes
    20. Been in a car accident? yes. They weren’t all my fault.
    22. Sprite or 7UP? sprite
    23. Favourite movie? The Italian Job
    24. Favourite holiday: Chamonix last year
    25.Favourite day of the week: Saturday
    26. Favourite word or phrase: Arse! (or Buttocks if I’m being polite)
    28. Favourite restaurant: Haven’t gone to enough to really decide/ Yo Sushi, cause that’s where I went last.
    29. Favourite flowers: Daffodils
    30. Favourite drink : Alcoholic- Jennings Sneck Lifter, non Alcoholic- Fresh ground coffee
    31. Favourite sport to watch: skate boarding
    32. Favourite ice-cream: vanilla- with my own insane concoction of chocolatey bits and sauces slathered on the top
    33. Favourite Sesame Street character: cookie monster
    34. Disney or Warner Bros.? Warner Brothers
    35. Favourite fast food restaurant: Lahore
    36. When was your last hospital visit? I work in one, so Thursday. For real, Christmas ’99 after being hit by a car.
    37. What colour is your bedroom carpet? green
    38. How many times did you fail your drivers test? none
    39. Who is the last person you got e-mail from before this? Feed back to my blog, the New York Times and lots of spam offering me mortgages, septic tanks and porn.
    41. Which single store would you choose to max your credit card? Forbidden Planet
    42. What do you do most often when you are bored? surf and blog
    43. Name the person that you are friends with that lives the farthest away? My sister in Val d’Isere
    44. Most annoying thing people ask me? When are you going to ask her out?
    45. Bedtime? 11pm-1am
    46. Who will respond the quickest? Dunno
    47. Who is the person you sent this to that is least likely to respond? Jenny, Brian and Emma, because this is a reply to the ones they sent me.
    48. Favourite all time TV show: Buffy
    49. Last person you went out to dinner with? Jenny, Brian, Damian, Elke, Daz and Emily, or, if you extend it to mean any meal, my parents today.


  • No Red Day

    I bought my hairy Red Nose this morning, so I’ve done something for Comic Relief, and it’s great that they raise so much, but, I can’t help thinking that there’s something wrong. Every couple of years we do something like this to make ourselves feel better about our lifestyles, and then our consciences go into hibernation until the next one. So much could be achieved if more of us were directly involved, but actually having to face the people with problems is so much more unpleasant than laughing along with Graeme Norton. But so much worse than our apathy is the callousness of our governments. The amount raised tonight has already cleared the �30million mark, but whatever the grand total, I bet it’s less than one day’s food budget for operation Let’s- give- Iraq- to- Halliburton. A fraction of the West’s military expenditure could solve the problems at home and abroad that lead to terrorism in the first place (and I’m not being idealistic, acknowledging these things is far more pragmatic and realistic than the sort of people who’ll only condemn the atrocities of one side in the Israel- Palestine conflict or think that a blow job in the Oval Office is a bigger crime than millions in kick backs from the oil and arms industries swaying policy.)
    Rant over.