My love for you is unconditional. Arse size has nothing to do with it – although that said, I take great pleasure in tugging down those short shorts, so tight they turn inside out as I do so. Bending you forward slightly, I’m able to practice my analingus technique, hoping one day I’ll finally achieve perfection. Your bum deserves that much at the very least…

It was at this point, she said:

“Don’t just kiss me, darling – suck the soul from my body!”

So I did…

New Year…

January 1, 2015


Midnight, everybody singing “Auld Lang Syne”, hand-in-hand, a little the worse for alcoholic drink, naturally. We all know that the words to the song were written by Robert Burns, but in fact he only adapted a much earlier Scottish folk song…Good old fashioned plagiarism, or free adaptation? Who cares in this wide circle of wildly inebriated people?

“For auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we’ll tak’ a cup o’ kindness yet,
for auld lang syne.”

So one year dies, and a new one is born. While one part of me recognises all time is an illusion: a complex paradox, as the great cabbalists declared: “past and future are simultaneously present here.”

The Mesopotamians celebrated the new year over four thousand years ago. The ancient Romans dedicated the day to Janus, God of gates and beginnings, who had two faces: one to look forward; one to look back. Looking round myself here, its easy to imagine those pagan beginnings. The laughter…The almost bacchanalian behaviour…The lust. Yes, never forget the lust. The desire to sow your seed far and wide.

I kiss someone’s soft mouth. “Happy new year,” she says, as we seperate. I kiss her again and whisper, “Happy new year”, in her ear. And she smiles, presses closer to me.

“It’s certainly starting well,” she says.

And at four this morning, tangled in bedsheets, having played the comedy of delights five times, she cries out again to the darkness beyond the window:

“Happy New Year.”

And our laughter fills the empty house.