my stuff
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
knee jiggeringly kinky
Last year, I took out a subscription to a, ahem, how can I put this….an ‘adult’ magazine. It was on a special offer and for the ridiculously cheap price you also got a whole load of other free, ahem, ‘adult’ things with it (and no, I’m not talking about cheaper car insurance, a jumbo book of Sudoku puzzles and a key ring with the meaning of my name on it) so I thought ‘why not?’
At the time I was obviously suffering from more-money-than-sense-syndrome and so I sent off for it, expecting my sex life to never be the same again (as I was promised by the lying scumbags at the magazine).
As it turned out, the magazine was utter cack. I mean, I know that those kinds of magazines aren’t exactly ‘good reads’ and all but as it was a (and I quote) magazine that ‘turns women on’, I was expecting some kind of feast of some sort.
Nope. It didn’t turn me on as much as every month when it arrived with a dull thud through my letter box, it made me stuff it in a drawer, still completely wrapped up in the ‘discreet’ grey wrapper, unread and unloved.
On a sidenote, however – the freebies were good. Damn good. Knee jiggeringly good*, but that’s an entry for another time. I’m aware that it’s still before the watershed over there across the pond and god only knows what time it is in Oz.
So anyway. I was in my bed last night (hold your horses, get your hands out of your pants will you? This is not getting blue I promise, I’ll just skiff round the edges) and I was bored of my book, so I thought I’d open up one of those SHITE magazines and see if the newer editions had improved any.
There was one section of the magazine that I did kind of like which was the saucy story section (cunningly named ‘cl!terature’ – see what they did there? Sexy eh?) and so I turned to those pages and had a wee read through.
It’s possible that when I first ‘enjoyed’ those pages I was easier to please. Perhaps I was a little more innocent then (certainly, my free adult toys were shiny and new then) and a little less hardened by life. I don’t know. Either that or they used up all their budgets on good raunchy writers at the beginning of their subscription offer and were left with no money at the tail end of it, meaning that the only person left to write any smut was the old caretaker’s great Aunt Hettie. I don’t know. However, it was utter wank. And I don’t mean that it a ‘ooh I feel all horny’ way. I mean wank as in utter rubbish.
Where the hell are you going with this Heeland Lass? I hear you cry.
Okay. So, to cut a long and boring and not raunchy story short, I was having a wee think today and this is what I thought:
If that crap magazine pay Great Auntie Hettie sums of money to write shit stories that don’t even get your nose tingling, never mind your naughty bits, then what would they pay to print my fantastic (as yet, completely un-thought of and un-written) raunch fests?
The answer is clearly millions. Millions and gazillions and liblillions.
And so, tonight, I’ve made my first million by writing a story about a girl getting it on with a complete stranger in the dark in the cinema.
Ooh (rubs thighs in a dirty old man stylee), it’s what filthy dreams are made of!
It was quite difficult I have to say, especially because when I looked up the porn thesaurus for inspiration on other words for vagina it came up with ‘mud flaps’. Still. I think I did alright in the end. I feel slightly light headed and it will probably be Bandito’s lucky night.
And yes, I promise I’ll still love you when I am a quizillionaire.
Outta here like a something, something, something (I’ve used up all my words tonight).
XXX
*clearly, I will not be writing phrases such as ‘knee jiggeringly good’ in my particular tales, although knee jiggering is actually quite descriptive. In a weird way.
11:05 pm - 12 April 2006
