Grab that girl…

April 28, 2015


There are times when I just want to walk through a room, grab that girl, slap her hard and make her cry. Push her down and fuck her mind over twice as hard as her body. Sometimes, I want to be that girl.

Laura Antoniou


April 28, 2015


“Girls love each other like animals. There is something ferocious and unself-conscious about it. We don’t guard ourselves like we do with boys. No one trains us to shield our hearts from each other. With girls, it’s total vulnerability from the beginning. Our skin is bare and soft. We love with claws and teeth and the blood is just proof of how much. It’s feral.

And it’s relentless.”

Leah Raeder, Black Iris


“My first female lover was a Jewish woman. She was butch, but not in a swaggering macho way- she could pass as a yeshiva boy, pale and intense. Small, almost fragile, she exuded a powerful sense of herself. She had not been to a synagogue in years, but kept the law of kashrut, and taught me my first prayers in Hebrew. She cooked, she read, she ironed her dress shirts and polished her boots meticulously, and admired femme women enormously. She was also the first person ever- including myself- to bring me to multiple orgasms. She taught me to ask for what I wanted in bed, then encouraged me to expect it from her and future lovers. She taught me to get her off with fingers, tongue, lips, sex toys, and my voice. She showed me how to masturbate in different positions, and fisted me during my menstrual cramps to provide an internal massage- and to demonstrate that a sexual act without orgasm was also an acceptable, intimate act. She never separated sexuality from the rest of her life; it was as integral to her as her Judaism.

This was how I wanted to be. Not just sexually, although certainly that way too. This is how I wanted to move through the world.

Karen Taylor
Daughters of Zelophehad


God is…

April 28, 2015


“I think God is a callous bitch not making me a lesbian. I’m deeply disappointed by my sexual interest in men.”

Diamanda Galás

No rest nor peace…

April 28, 2015


I said to myself, what I would say to someone else in such a case: “You will have to resign yourself to the fact, and above all, not distress yourself about a misfortune that you have not deserved.” I did my utmost not to cry not to complain –

But when one does not complain, and when one wants to master oneself with a tyrant’s grip – one’s faculties rise in revolt – and one pays for outward calm with an almost unbearable inner struggle.

Day and night I find neither rest nor peace – if I sleep I have tormenting dreams in which I see you always severe, always saturnine and angry with me –

Forgive me then Monsieur if I take the step of writing you again – How can I bear my life unless I make an effort to alleviate its suffering?

Charlotte Brontë
letter to Constantin Héger

Encounter what…?

April 28, 2015



April 28, 2015


The kindness of silence,
that you can sink
into its pool, be gone
like light. Her arms
will not refuse you.
Whom words have wounded
come and bleed in peace.

Brendan McMahon


‘Tell us about the first time you came…’

Dee sat slumped on the sofa smoking a joint. Gabriella was on the window seat opposite sewing a button back on her blouse. My eyes went to her breasts, magnificently cupped in a blue lace brassiere. She glanced up.

‘Did you do it yourself?’ Dee took another long drag on the joint, held the smoke down, before slowly releasing it. ‘Or did someone else do it to you?’

‘Someone else…A girl at school who sat next to me during prep. Yvonne, her name was. She was older than me. Skinny little thing with coltish legs. We were at the back of the classroom in a corner. Both of us bored and pissing about. We took turns playing statues. You had to sit totally immobile while the other person did things to make you move. Tickling or pinching. If you moved you lost the game.’

‘What about the teacher?’

‘Prep class wasn’t well supervised. We usually ended up with old Mrs Davis who was older than Methuselah and batty as they come. She’d sit up front marking homework or what have you, while everyone got on with their work. In theory, at any rate…

‘Anyway, Yvonne couldn’t make me move so she started opening my flies. I thought she was bluffing…trying to panic me, like. But no. The next thing her hand was inside my trousers….’

‘So she played with you?’

‘Yeah, I didn’t know what was happening. She was sort of pinching the head through my underpants. Then I began to get this strange feeling…almost like a numbness in my cock. I was so stiff, you know, jutting. And she was pinching it rhythmically…And this feeling was growing, getting worse – much worse, and I know something was going to happen but not what. I grabbed her hand, tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t stop and then it was too late any way…’

‘Naughty boy,’ said Gabby. She’d finished her sewing and put her blouse back on, buttoning it over her breasts and standing to tuck it in to her skirt.

‘It frightened the crap outta me,’ I said. ‘My whole body spasmed, and my cock took on a life of its own. It kept jerking, and I could feel this wetness spreading inside my pants. I couldn’t understand it. I thought she’d done me a feckin’ mischief. These spurts in my pants…’

‘What about her, what did she do?’

‘I think it frightened her to death too. We both just sat there in silence for about five minutes. Then I put my hand up and asked to be excused for the toilet. I went into a cubicle and cleaned myself up with toilet tissues. What a mess.’

‘But you got over your fright?’

‘Yeah, when I got home that evening I did it to myself. Duplicated her movements. This time I just closed my eyes and went with the flow…POW!’

That was our conversation Saturday afternoon. Gabriella had turned up as arranged Friday evening. I cooked what we commonly call the “aubergine thingy”, a dish of aubergine, courgette, red and yellow peppers, with vine roasted tomatoes and cheese. Late evening we went out for a walk, the three of us.

At this point, in a film script, the audience would hear music playing…I’d suggest “Twisted Nerve”, that wonderfully bizarre Bernard Herrmann piece used again by Tarantino in “Kill Bill”. Yes, that would be appropriate.

“A twisted nerve, a ganglion gone awry,
Predestinates the sinner and the saint.”



Tarosvan Hill is this bulky black shape against the darkening skyline. Dee looks towards it then east in the direction of the standing stones but she can only make out deep-purple shadows, impenetrable as molasses.

With the sun’s disappearance, it’s tuning cold. Very cold. Peedeel thinks they’ll all end up with hyperthermia. They’ll be found come morning, a trio of ice sculptures. But then he’s prone to exaggeration and hyperbole of this sort.

Dee’s in charge of this particular expedition. She has the flashlight. Rough ground ahead, stunted black gorse, moving shadows at the periphery of the wavering beam. Like walking on the moon. Mare Nectaris of all places. The two girls keeping close together, reassured by the flashlight’s radiance and the knowledge we’re homeward bound. Bag of weed there and a bottle of Irish picked up from the local supermarket. Get a little high. A little (more) drunk.

Of course this is the moor, and demons and ghosts abound here after dark. (The audience may feel tense watching, but they’re able to remind themselves that these three are just actors on a screen, reciting dialogue contrived to unnerve. The shadows are carefully planned. The darkness an accessory before and after the fact).

Noise, now, behind them. Movement in the darkness. Dee spins round, the flashlight beam scything with her. Gabby turns too, startled, sees what’s following and stands rooted to the stony ground, mouth agape.

‘Fecking horse!’

Dee giggles. ‘God that gave me a fright,’ she says.

‘You and me both. ‘I’m going to have to change my knickers when we get back.’

Both girls giggling uncontrollably now. The horse snorts and clipclopps away. A second horse appears whinnying loudly. It’s a big dappled gelding with a wild black mane and huge eyes.

‘Fecking horse,’ Gabby repeats, her belly aching from so much laughing.

‘Well,’ says Peedeel. ‘They don’t tell lies. They don’t steal or cheat. They come in all sorts of different colours and don’t give a damn about it…Better than most people, I’d say.’

‘There’s wisdom in that,’ Dee agrees.

Now the church tower looms ahead. They walk over the stone bridge, glimpse fast rushing black water below and the tangled roots of ancient trees on the opposite bank. Then a row of stone-built cottages.

‘Home at last.’




They sit opposite each other sharing a two paper joint and drinking Bushmills out of chunky glass tumblers and laughing about nothing. Three intimate friends, lovers, no argie-bargie just now, no recriminations. Certainly Gabriella is a little distant at times…not aloof, simply a little “apart” from the other two. Uncertain, perhaps. But that’s nothing to worry about.

The room smells slightly of burned incense and the marijuana they are smoking. It swims with sickly sweetness, and of course the faintest undertone of the women’s perfume which, though different, seems to complement one and other.

The camera lingers on Peedeel. He looks nothing special: scruffy, colourless hair and beard, camo pattern shell jacket thrown over the arm of his chair, wearing worn denims, scuffed brown walking boots. He blends in – a regular bloke who might be a walker or day labourer off one of the local farms. Take your pick. The soundtrack fills with sudden, unexpected silence. (The silence is a void that appears to absorb the watching audience). Then Peedeel speaks.

PEEDEEL: I’m going to turn in.

DEE’S VOICE: Yes, so am I.

GABRIELLA’S VOICE: Yeah, me too. That fresh air’s finished me. (She stifles a yawn).

The film cut jumps to the bedroom. The two girls kiss and hold each other close. The camera lingers on the kiss, risking the monotonous repetition of mouth pressing on mouth, tongues flicking together, wetly. (The audience watch this intimacy – some of them may have started to masturbate in the shadow filled auditorium – spellbound).

Off camera can be heard the sound of Peedeel’s electric toothbrush in the bathroom. The two girls begin to undress each other. Their movements are practiced, confident, they’ve done this so frequently before. The bed is huge, kingsize, and will hold three snuggly. Intimately.

Dissolve to a scene of the three in bed. Peedeel’s bobbing head is under the duvet. His face is enclosed in the musky stifling heat of Gabriella’s spread thighs. Dee is kissing Gabriella’s mouth, while cupping her right breast in the palm of her hand. She delights in the way the nipple hardens to her touch. Gabriella’s climax arrives suddenly. Her body twists violently to the left, face contorting, teeth clenching tightly. Her gasp, catches deep in her throat, becomes a strangled scream…




(The audience are upset that the scene cut where it did. But their interest is piqued when Peedeel brings in a tray of coffee and tea – Dee is a tea drinker – and some fruit).

He puts down the tray, kisses Dee. Then walking to the otherside of the bed, he kisses Gabriella. We have not witnessed their sexual congress but suspect it’s to happen again after this light breakfast. The camera cuts to Peedeel gazing intently at Gabriella’s exposed right breast.




Dee writhing on Peedeel. Sitting astride him. Grinding on him, eyes half-closed. Gabriella is kissing his face and neck, soft butterfly kisses. The duvet is thrown off, and our audience have an unrestricted view of Dee’s cunt engulfing Peedeel’s cock as the camera focuses from behind Dee. We see her slender back, widening at the hips, the fleshy apple of her arse. Her wet, greedy cunt.


Dee’s face as she cums. Lips pulled back over pearly-white teeth. Slight overbite of her two strong front teeth. Body shaking. Sheen of perspiration between small, upthrust tits.


Peedeel’s face. Eyes flutter closed. Is this the way the world ends? Not with a bang, but this hissing whimper. The camera focuses on his chest and belly. Records the involuntary convulsion of stomach muscles as he ejaculates inside Dee’s squirming body.




On Sunday Gabby came with us to visit friends. We went for a Chinese meal lunchtime, course after course of wonderful stir-fried food. We made absolute pigs of ourselves. All washed down with bottles of white zinfandel. Very yummy.

Gabby left us Sunday evening. But she’s coming again next weekend. We all love to roll play, and Dee has suggested a scenario where she is dominated totally by Gabby who restrains her, uses her and finally passes her to me to take my rapacious pleasure of her body.

We are all very enthusiastic about this, and look forward to next Saturday.