Wednesday, 1 May 2013

Sex in The Suburbs (Living With Mum 13)


"In the Spring, a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love. Then her cheek was pale and thinner than should be for one so young,"

The notion of my bringing ‘a woman’ back to my room whilst living under my mother’s roof does not bear countenance. The idea of my sharing a bed with someone, a female preferably as I am that sort of chap, for us to bonk each other silly, is simply out of the question. It is a bit like suggesting to a priest that he fiddle about with a chorister when the Pope is in the church. On second thoughts that might not be the best metaphor I could have chosen.

And of course, even if I did succeed in my dastardly desires there would then be the matter of getting our timing right. After all, when mum sleeps on her right ear she wouldn’t hear the bed creaking or the passionate cries of climax.

If, however, on her left ear, I and naked lady would be chased from house with a series of well-aimed blows about head and body.

The fact is, the more my separation from estranged wife becomes a permanent state of affairs, the more I yearn for companionship. As much as a swift shag carries certain appeal, I am really not much of a one for a quick anything let alone a penny upright behind the bicycle sheds as it were.  I would rather meet and woo (I am one for a spot of serious wooing) a like-minded lass who shared my desires of mutual love, affection and hopefully the companionship I spoke of.

The trouble is that I am now being shackled by the self-same bosom that weaned me. It is rapidly turning into a tragic sitcom, much like the one I blogged about on Monday but without the homoerotic content.

There is me and there is mum. We both seem caught in some sort of vortex that neither of us created, neither of us wants but which neither of us knows how to break free of.

Mum’s are all well and good and life would be less a thing without them but they are not the life-long companion of choice and, unless you come from a very perverse family, not the obvious choice for some rumpy-pumpy.

You see celibacy is all fine and dandy if the celibate in question has made that life choice. I haven’t. I like the company of women.  I like the company of men too but as I have no desire to spend time down the pub bonding with blokes and the thought of mutual  buggery  something , no matter how politically correct or liberal I profess to being, not my idea of sexual satisfaction.

I would rather contemplate meeting someone of the fairer sex who is keen on books; who likes meandering around the odd art gallery and who likes the same sort of things I do. Hanky-panky not being the top of either of our lists it would be nice to meet someone of similar vintage with shared tastes.

I did contemplate recently, when on train to London, stopping at Wapping and knocking on Helen Mirren’s front door. After all one never knows does one? Or, if you would prefer I adopt the native colloquialism of my grandparents: ”If you don’t ask, you don’t get.” Sadly, Helen was out filming this or that epic. Perhaps I should try someone of a more musical bent? Now where precisely in Dorset does Polly Jean Harvey live?





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all words and art are copyright © of Russell 'C.J' Duffy.To view my books on Amazon/Kindle go here: https://www.amazon.com/author/russellduffy -- For another side of CJ go here: sOMeThiNg For tHE wEeKeND, SiR?

1 comment:

thecheesewhines said...

I've gotten to the point where I leave the rumpy pumpy to my characters. In reality it seems more of an annoyance than its worth at this stage of my life. Though I wish you luck in finding Ms. Harvey at that window in time when your mum is not home!