Why don’t we d-do it in the road? Mmm
Why don’t we do it in the road? Ah
Why don’t we do it in the road? Mmm
Why don’t we do it in the road? Mmm
No one will be watching us
Why don’t we do it in the road?
Apparently, Paul McCartney was inspired to write this song after witnessing two monkeys having sex in the middle of the road in India. He described it as a liberating sight.
I’m not so sure about this one.
Grateful thanks to Phil Taylor for the photo.
A Girl’s Best Friend A sewing machine? Well let’s see..
Brainstorming Everyone should have a Guardian Angel..
Broken Who is broken? Is it me, or her? Or all of us?
Bus Ride To Balham Who are you?
Closed Circle Ride with me.
I do not count the time Everlasting Love.
Kate Another Waif.
My Beeping Heart Linked across space and time.
Penny For Rita Brotherly Love?
Predator Retribution can be so sweet,,
Pride You know what happens..
Rosie and Friend A beautiful dog, a lovely lady.
Sister Mildred A haunting personal experience.
The Carlson Imperative – Book 1
That Girl Innocence & honesty.
Wild Thing Indeed she was.
Thanks to Christine, for inspiring this tale.
Download/Read In Browser: Bus Ride To Balham
Historic photos of Balham Bomb site:
This short story contains explicit sexual references that some readers may find challenging and/or offensive. You have been warned.
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Letters, Read Just One Last Time Letter #3: Broken There are many things I would have done differently, given the chance, because I’m just the same as everyone else. And if I was given the chance of changing only one thing, it would be that I wouldn’t have accepted her dismissal of me so readily. That acceptance, that terrible acquiescence in her decision, has stalked me for the rest of my life. Why? Because I know now that she loved me, desperately, but had two reasons, the least of which she would not, as she saw it, be the reason for the breakdown of my marriage, and secondly, but most importantly, the terrible belief that I could not, would not, be able to live with a person having a deformity. Trouble is, I was so hurt at the time, that I blindly accepted as the truth her lie that she didn’t love me. There is part of me that says if I hadn’t waited as long before contacting her again, there would have been a real chance for us. As it was, I sought consolation for my terrible sense of loss in a succession of affairs, which ended, as you know, with you. You have many weaknesses, but I believe in my heart that you might have fared better with someone other than me. Someone who refused to accept the terrible truth that he’d let the real love of his life walk away. I can only say that I’m sorry, with all my heart, that you haven’t found happiness, either with me, nor subsequently with anyone else. I first saw Emily sat on one of the long bench seats, more or less alone, as everyone else was up dancing in the crowded pub. She smiled up at me when we were introduced, and as I took in her pretty face, framed in her long, dark, silky hair, and the warm, welcoming brown eyes, a bomb exploded deep within me, and shivers of Déjà vu ran up my spine as I recognised a girl, and a lover, I had only dreamed about. She had taken my offered hand, and held it gently as our mutual friend introduced us, and when he’d finished, she had just as gently pulled me a little closer. “Sit with me Joe, and tell me more about yourself.” Up close, I could smell her delicate body scent, and the second shock wave of emotion rose, and I shivered. Her tongue brushed mine as we moistened each other’s lips. Her fingers tightened on the side of my neck and I felt her shudder. She ran her tongue deep into my mouth, exploring, searching, as we kissed slowly. Another shiver ran up my spine, and she half-giggled. “Christ! You two don’t waste any time, do you?” Charlie put down the drinks and stared at us, looking puzzled. A warmth had come over me I had never felt before. I was totally at ease with her, and we talked, broken now and again with the gentle meeting of our lips, in kisses that became progressively more passionate. I wanted to hold her. A slow number was being played. “Would you like to dance?” My neck felt wet. I looked down at her face and saw she was crying. “I’m going nowhere, other than with you. Now I will touch you, just to show you that it makes no difference to how I feel about you. Then I’d like to see where you live, and make love with you.” I took her into my arms again, and as we moved in time to the music, I gently ran my right hand down the length of her spine, from neck to coccyx. I extended my ring finger as I touched her and I felt her clenching her buttocks. With each slow movement of my hand she shuddered and moaned softly. Then she looked up at me. “Christ Joe. Let’s go, otherwise I’ll be coming in front of everyone.” Our drinks left half-finished, we got our coats and headed for the car park. Her hand went to the inside of my thigh as I started the engine, and she gave me the first directions. Inside the house, she threw her keys on the hall table and led me upstairs. She turned and embraced me. “I’m a little shy. Hold me as you undress me.” I moved slowly and deeply. Her breathing became interposed with gasps of pleasure, and I could feel her fingernails in my back. Her head began to rock from side to side and she shouted. “Oh! Please, more, more.” My orgasm ended after a furious violent flurry of movement, and I lay, just above her and kissed her brow. She rolled over. I could make out the slight, but distinct ‘S’ curve. Other than that her back was beautiful, her bum absolutely lovely. She was breathing deeply again, her tongue licking her lips, and her eyes occasionally opening to look at me. She moved her bum so that my finger ran over her anus and she gasped. “Yes. Touch me there. Please.” She lifted her head and shouted. “Come inside me. I want you inside again.” Finally I lay by her side, bathed in sweat. She turned over and put her head on my chest. She spoke, her voice low and gentle. “I’m in love with you. How is that possible? We only met just over two hours ago.” At times, when I think of her, it seemed as though it was just a dream, a dream within a dream, and the reality was that we had never met. Whether it happened or not, the profound sense of loss has never left me, and despite trying, I still grieve, ruined, and useless to anyone else. |
Letter #3: Broken is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters in the story, and real persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This short story contains language and material that some readers may find challenging and/or offensive. You have been warned.
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Letters, Read Just One Last Time Letter #1: That Girl “Is she bothering you?” I looked back across the room to where she sat, two seats away from you. She was watching me. She smiled and waved. Your face was like stone. “Lately, she’s been down in the dumps. It’s the first time I’ve seen her really happy in weeks.” I turned again to pick up the tray, but felt a tug on my right arm. Your cold gaze was on me as she led me back across the room towards you. Others watched too, and some of the other patients grinned and giggled as she led me by the hand to my seat. “You are fucking encouraging her. Stop it.” “Here Joe.” I turned, and Clare handed me the Guitar. I took a sip of my pint and began to play. The room went quiet, and as I sung, Clare placed her arm across my shoulder and gently stroked the back of my neck. The song wasn’t finished when you hissed. “That’s it. I’ve had enough.” You got up and walked stiffly towards the door. I saw Tim follow you and take your arm. Above my own singing I could hear the heated argument, then you left. There was gentle applause from the regulars and an enthusiastic response from the patients when I finished. I put the Guitar down where you had been sitting and turned to her. She held me tightly, her lips soft, but unmoving on mine. I opened my mouth slightly and took her top lip between mine, running the tip of my tongue softly across her captive lip. I felt her shudder, and she slightly relaxed her grip and moving her head back, she looked into my eyes. She looked a little puzzled, but smiled happily and again took my hand. We had a very attentive audience. One of the patients, a young man, said quite loudly. “She wants to fuck you.” With you gone, the tension had left the room, and had also left me, and I gave Clare my complete attention. She talked about her friends at the Hospital, the nurses, and the parents who only seemed to see her once a month. Most of the time she held my hand, sometimes she reached up and touched my face. We immersed ourselves in each other, the rest of the room forgotten. I showed her the three simple chords on the Guitar and she tried to play, but became frustrated. Then I asked what songs she knew and whether she would sing for me. She started to sing. Her voice was pure and gentle, and I rapidly found the key and accompanied her on the Guitar. Once again the room became silent but for her voice and the Guitar. Then it was finished, to rapturous applause – this time from the whole room. Her face flushed with pleasure, she asked urgently. “Another. Can I sing another?” She sang beautifully and I could see that some of the regulars were deeply moved. I felt gloriously happy, and at peace for the first time in months, as song after song was sung, before time was eventually called, and the room started to empty. “Where are they all going Joe?” she said, looking concerned. There were now tears in her eyes. “But I want to see Joe again. I must!” “Why don’t you write down your name and the Ward number for Joe, so he can visit you Clare?” ‘Clare McCallan, Ward 23, Burnthoe Hospital.’ She passed the book back to Tim. I took out my wallet and placed the note inside, and turning to her I said. “It has been lovely being with you Clare. I will ring Tim, and tell him when I’m coming to see you.” She grinned happily and got up to put on her offered coat. I took a card from my wallet and handed it to Tim. “Both my home and work telephone numbers are on that, together with my address. I will ring you during the week.” He offered his hand. “You know what you may be taking on?” It was around 11:45am the next morning when you rang. Cedric handed me the telephone. “It’s your girl. She sounds upset.” I looked down into the street at sixty-six waving his arms at a burly drayman. I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks. Cedric joined me at the window. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “Sorry.” I said. I nodded, and we walked down the stairs and into the warm sunshine, just in time to see the drayman punch sixty-six in the throat. The warden went down like a sack of potatoes, his yellow-banded hat rolling on the ground in an ever-decreasing circle. We stopped and watched as the drayman tore the parking ticket off his wagon’s windscreen, remove it from the plastic bag, and tearing the ticket into pieces, drop them on the still-writhing sixty-six. Cedric laughed. “That’s been coming for a long time. Who says there’s no justice in the world?” We stood in the bar, and I told him what had happened last night. He sipped his pint as I spoke, and didn’t interrupt. Finally, I took out the piece of paper Clare had written on, and passed it to him. He looked at it and nodded, then handing back the paper, asked. “What are you waiting for?” I finished off my pint and made my way to the telephone.
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Letter #1: That Girl is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters in the story, and real persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This short story contains language and material that some readers may find challenging and/or offensive. You have been warned.
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Letters, Read Just One Last Time Letter #2: Penny for Rita |
I rolled to one side on the ground and despite my pain and fear of you I yelled “Bastard!” at your back as you stormed off down the path.
You didn’t even look round. Just a right hand with annular finger extended.
I sat up, and the front garden and houses did a cartwheel and I felt sick. I sat clutching my belly thinking the pain would never stop, and telling myself that yes, I would kill you after all.
There was a sharp intake of breath behind me and a quiet voice, her voice. “Oh No! Joe, I’m so terribly sorry!”
She sat down on the step beside me, and put her arm around me. I tried not to cry.
“This is my fault. Please forgive me.”
I turned and looked into her gentle eyes. “How can it be your fault? He’s just my brother. Being a complete bastard is what he does.”
She kissed me on the forehead. “Can you walk?”
I got up. My knees were like jelly from the low punch, but she helped me back into the house and sat me on a chair by the kitchen table. She filled the kettle for some tea, then sat opposite me.
“What happened?”
I looked at her. That at least was easy. She was lovely.
“He stormed out of the door as I was trying to get in, and punched me in the stomach, presumably because I didn’t get out of the way quick enough.”
She nodded sadly “We had a row. I called him a pig.”
“Well, you got that right. Are you finally finished with him?”
She nodded. “I’m afraid so. I’m so sorry he took his anger out on you.”
She got up and made a pot of tea, and brought it to the table along with two mugs and the milk jug.
“Are there any biscuits?” she asked.
“Yeah. A tin of shortbread in the pantry.” I said shakily.
She found them, and getting one from the tin, gave it to me, and poured out two mugs of tea, passing one across.
“Eat and drink, slowly, and you will feel better.” she said.
I dunked the fat biscuit into the hot tea and took a bite. Seconds after I had swallowed I felt better. I sipped the tea and looked at her.
Her dark eyes flickered anxiously over my face, seeing my pain, and her red lips were slightly open, giving a glimpse of her small white teeth. She softly bit her lip as she looked at me, and I had sight of her small pink tongue. I slowly worked my way through the biscuit.
She swallowed and spoke softly.
“Why couldn’t he be like you?”
I was puzzled, but although she was looking directly at me, I didn’t think she expected me to answer.
“Where he is angry, you are calm. Where he is cold, you are warm. And yet you are both beautiful to see.”
She reached out and touched my temple with her hand. There were tears in her eyes. I reached across the table and took her hand.
“I’m sorry Rita.”
She gripped my hand tightly. “This is not your fault. How is your tummy?”
I grinned ruefully. “It feels cramped.”
She got up. “Can you make it to your bedroom? I think you should lie down, and I’ll call a doctor.”
I protested. “No, I don’t need a doctor.”
She took my hand. “At least lie down and rest.”
She helped me up the stairs and into my room, pulling my shoes off and lifting my legs onto the bed.
She undid the belt of my trousers, and lifted my shirt.
“My God!”
I looked down. My belly was suffused in red.
She knelt beside the bed and touched my cheek. “I should ‘phone the doctor Joe, it looks angry.”
I shook my head. “Let’s give it an hour Rita, see if it gets better.”
She sat on the bed beside me, looking first at my face, then at my belly.
“I’ll sit with you.” she said
I nodded “OK. Thank you.”
She laid her warm hand on my stomach and rubbed gently clockwise.
I closed my eyes. Her touch and the rhythmic movement worked wonders, and the harsh muscle contractions began to subside.
I felt her move forward, and could feel her gentle breath on my face. I opened my eyes and looked straight into hers, inches away. She kissed me. A gentle fluttering on my lips and a tantalising probe of her sweet tongue in my mouth, then she moved her face back a few inches again and spoke, her hand still gently caressing my stomach.
“I do this to my own belly when I have a bad period pain.”
My lips were on fire from her kiss. I looked into her deep, dark eyes. “It is working. I feel much better.”
She kissed me again. This time a little longer, and this time I put my arms around her. Again she drew back. “Shall I stop?”
“No, please don’t.” I mumbled and took her head between my hands and held her while we kissed.
She sat back and took off her blouse. She wore no bra and the sight of her honey skin and her beautiful breasts were almost too much for me. I made to kiss her again but she gently put her finger to my lips, and whispered “Wait.”
She stood up and removed her skirt and panties, then leaning over me, undid and removed my shirt, then my trousers, socks and boxers.
She climbed gently on top of me and guided me inside her, then slowly began to move over me. It was the first time for me, and the feel of her silky vagina firmly around me, her so-smooth thighs either side of me, and the touch of her nipples on my chest as she leaned forward and kissed me, was almost to much. Waves of ecstasy gripped me, and threatened to end things swiftly, so I concentrated on trying to give her pleasure. I ran my hands down her sides and up, over her buttocks before continuing on and up her back. She moaned softly.
She thrust her tongue deep inside my mouth as her movements became more urgent. I opened my eyes to see hers open too, very close to me. Her pupils were dilated almost fully, and her eyes were blacker then I’d ever seen them before.
Suddenly she pushed herself upright on me and I felt her grip me even tighter as the first contractions of her orgasm took her over. Her head went back and the soft moans became louder until she started screaming. I held her waist with both hands and concentrated on penetrating her as deep as I could. She moaned my name. “Joe. Joe. More, please. More.”
I thrust my hips up and into her and she screamed again. “Yes. Yes. I love you.” Then suddenly she was quiet. Then a rattle in her throat followed by a deafening roar and she fell forward onto me smothering my face with kisses. I kept moving and let the pleasure take me over, burying my face in her neck as I screamed in painful ecstasy.
We both became still and she carefully rolled off me and lay beside me, her arm and leg covering me, her mouth close to my ear.
“Joe. You are lovely. I thought I was in Heaven. If I’d known..”
She stopped and kissed me. “How do you feel?” she said.
I smiled at her. “I never knew anything could be so beautiful. Your touch, your body, but especially your gentleness. I feel changed, forever.”
She was looking closely at me. “Your first time? I can’t believe it. You are a natural.”
I nodded “You are the first Rita. Please tell me that I can see you and make love with you again?”
She laughed “Of course. You don’t think I’m letting you get away do you?”
“I hope not.” I said, and kissed her.
We were sat at the kitchen table drinking tea when you came back.
You looked at her and sneered. “Changed your mind Rita? Decided I’m good enough after all?”
She looked up at you and said quietly. “I waited until you returned, because I have one last thing to say to you.”
“Oh” you said, yanking out a kitchen chair, turning it and sitting on it the wrong way round.
“Yes.” She said “It’s this. If you ever so much as touch him again. I’ll make sure you go to prison for it. Do you understand?”
“Bwyeah!” you sneered “What story has he been telling you?”
She stood up and turning to me said “Stand up Joe please!” There was a steel in her eyes I’d never seen before.
I stood and she reached across my front and lifted my shirt, exposing the large suffused bruising.
“Does this look like a story?” she said, and not waiting for an answer. “And by the way, he said nothing. I found him where you left him, rolling on the ground retching, you total bastard!”
Your eyes grew wide as you stared at my stomach.
She was relentless. “Well? Nothing to say big man? Is that how you take care of your little brother? Beating him, because you were angry with me?”
You hung your head, but she hadn’t finished. “I’m going now, but be warned. I’ll be calling in to see if he is all right. You had better make sure that he is, from now on.”
With that, she turned and embraced me, whispering “Tomorrow teatime please.” in my ear. I nodded and she left, not giving you a second glance.
I sat down and poured myself another mug of tea, then looked across at you. Tears were pouring down your face. In all of the 14 years I had known you, I had never seen you cry, lately, that was usually me. I found it strangely moving and I actually felt sorry for you and wanted to comfort you. I didn’t. Instead I got up and brought another mug, then poured some tea, and placed it in front of you.
I half-expected an angry side-swipe of your arm to knock the mug flying, but you reached out and lifted it to your lips and sipped the hot tea. We sat in silence, and you finally put the mug down. Only then did you look at me.
There was pain and sorrow in your face I hadn’t seen before.
“I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
I fought back the tears welling in my own eyes, and also the compassion I felt for you, and said quietly. “Don’t be sorry Terry. Just never do it again.”
You nodded slowly. I was still terrified of you. I was 14 and still slightly built compared to your muscular manhood, but Rita had given me a strength I hadn’t found until now.
“We can’t go on like this. One of us will end up dead.”
You looked across at me. “I would never..”
I interrupted you “I might” I said quietly, “for that is what I felt when you left me rolling around on the ground outside.”
You shook your head. “Joe. What am I going to do?”
“Why do you get so angry?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I just snap so easily.”
“Aren’t there people you can talk to to help you deal with that?”
I thought I’d gone too far. A flash in your eyes told me you probably wasn’t ready for this, but you remained outwardly calm.
“I don’t want people thinking I’m a nutter”
I nodded. “’People’ don’t need to know. It’s your business. I will say nothing. All I want is for us to be happy together.”
You reached out your hand palm up across the table and I took it, gripping it firmly with my own. “I’ll see what I can do” you said.
“OK” I said.
You looked at me intently. “Is she really finished with me Joe?”
I nodded slowly. “I believe she is. I’m sorry.”
She opened the door and recognition flashed across her face, together with a delighted grin.
“Joe! Hello stranger! What can I do for you?”
She was as lovely as I remembered. Penny was as fair as Rita was dark, a natural blonde, with lovely deep blue eyes that instantly made me think of swimming in them.
I smiled. “Can I talk to you Penny?”
“Of course, come in. Leave your bike in the hall, and I’ll put the kettle on.”
I followed her into the small dining area. She looked me up and down as she handed me cups.
“Christ, you’ve grown. What a handsome young man!”
I blushed. She saw it and laughed, then she asked quietly.
“How long is it?”
I looked at her. “Don’t you know?”
She shook her head. “I felt so hurt, that I stopped counting the months.”
“It’s nearly two years.”
“Good grief, as long as that?”
We sat down as the kettle boiled. “Now what can I do for you?”
I had been so sure of what to say, and of why I was going to say it. I’d been thinking about it all week. Now she was in front of me, and apparently very happy, I wasn’t so sure at all.
I blurted it out. “Are you going out with anyone Penny?”
She raised her eyebrows, but smiled sweetly. “No. Are you asking me for a date Joe?”
I shook my head. “No..” I mumbled. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve made a mistake.”
She got up and poured the boiling water into the teapot, and set it on the table.
She sat down, and reaching across the table put her hand over mine.
Her face was serious. “Tell me. Whatever it is, and don’t be afraid, I won’t be angry.”
“It’s Terry.”
She nodded. “I thought it might be.”
“He’s changed since he broke up with you. He is moody, and angry all of the time, especially with me. I think he is still in love with you.”
“What about Rita? Have you talked to her?”
“They finished about two weeks ago. They argued all of the time.”
“Oh! I see.” she paused. “But what can I do Joe? Terry nearly broke my heart when he dumped me.”
“Do you still love him?”
She smiled sadly. “Probably. I try not to think about it.”
“Will you see him?”
“Has he asked you to ask me?”
I shook my head “No. He doesn’t know I’ve come here.”
She poured us both a cup of tea, then sat sipping hers and looking at me thoughtfully.
“Is there something you aren’t telling me?” she asked gently.
I nearly jumped. I’d forgotten how perceptive she was.
I sighed and shook my head.
“You are afraid – afraid of him?”
I nodded. “Yes, but more afraid of myself.”
“You are both fighting?”
Again I nodded. “Almost all of the time.”
I picked up my cup and tried to hide behind it as she studied my face.
“And you. You have a girl?”
This was it. This is what I had dreaded. She had to know. I couldn’t ask for her help and not tell her the whole truth.
“Rita.” I said quietly, looking at her, waiting for the reaction.
“Good God Joe!”
I shook my head. “I know. It happened after their break-up, but in a way, I blame myself. I have always liked her, a lot, and she me, she says. Maybe he sensed that, and I destroyed their relationship.”
I was shaking with emotion and she gripped my hand across the table.
“Come on. Don’t blame yourself. What happened probably would have happened even if you didn’t exist.”
I looked at her concerned face and wanted to believe she was right.
“How old are you now Joe?”
“14.”
She shook her head. “Are you seeing her regularly?”
I nodded. “As often as I can. She still coaches me in music, but..”
She laughed gently. “But you find other things to do?”
I returned her smile. “She’s lovely. I love her.”
She poured us both another cup of tea.
“She..” she paused, “is playing with fire. You are under age.”
I nodded.
She looked at me speculatively. “Mind you, I can see why she is taking the risk. You’re every bit as good-looking as your brother, perhaps more so.”
I felt my face flush, and she grinned.
We both sipped some tea.
She put down her cup. “OK. What do you want me to do?”
“Come and see him.”
“What? Knock on the door, totally out of the blue?”
“No.” I said. “Let’s meet up and then you come with me to the house. I’ll say we bumped into each other in the High Street, and I thought he might like to say ‘Hello’ to you.”
She nodded. “You’ve got this all worked out, haven’t you?”
“I know what I’m asking Penny. I know it may be painful for you. If it doesn’t work out, that’s too bad. I’ll have to think again.”
“Good God! You are trying to put us back together?”
Again my bottle nearly left me, but I looked steadily at her. “Yes. I believe he is in love with you, and you with him. You belong together.”
Suddenly she stood up and walked around the table. I feared the worst. She bent over me putting her arm around me. She kissed my cheek.
“You are a lovely, thoughtful boy – no young man, Joe. I will do it.”
The relief hit me like the unexpected rush of wind on an exposed street corner. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands to stop them shaking.
She sat down, and took hold of my left hand. I felt a tear trickle down my cheek.
“Thanks Penny. I’m really grateful.”
“There is no need for thanks. I should thank you.”
She passed a delicate little hankie across the table and I wiped my eyes.
“Tomorrow?” she said, and I nodded. “Let’s meet at 5:30 in Dontini’s.”
We got up and made our way out into the hall. She wrapped her arms around me and embraced me tightly, whispering, “Don’t worry. We’ll sort it out.” then she kissed me on the cheek and we said goodbye.
“Who the Hell are you?”
You dumped your bag on a kitchen chair and faced the two visitors. I saw them both flinch. The young woman had fear in her eyes.
“Well?”
The man held out an ID card. “I’m Charles Oatman. This is Miranda Carter. We are from the Social Services.”
“And why are you here?”
I could see a tick beginning in the corner of the man’s left eye. You had that effect on people.
“It’s about your brother.”
You looked at me, not unkindly, then turned back to the man.
“What about my brother?”
“There have been allegations of an inappropriate relationship between an adult woman and your brother.”
You stared straight through the man.
“Have you been questioning my brother?”
“Er..”
“Well? Yes or no?”
“We have only had a chance..”
“And I’m giving you one now.” you said. “Never, ever, question my brother again, unless I’m with him, or he is with some other independent responsible person, otherwise you can kiss your cosy job goodbye.”
The man’s face blanched.
The woman spoke, a tremor in her voice. “These are serious allegations.”
You turned to her. “Right. Spit them out, now, or leave.”
She looked down at the opened file on the table in front of her.
“It’s been alleged that a Miss Rita Connelly has been carrying on a sexual relationship with your brother, who is below the age of consent, at her house.”
You looked at her.
“Who says?”
The man found his voice, though a little cracked. “We can’t divulge..”
You interrupted. “More bullshit. Is there any proof?”
“Well..” the woman began.
You looked at her. “No? I thought not. Just some fucking busybody with fuck-all else to do except cause trouble.”
You waited but they were silent. “Have you bothered to find out the real reason Joe visits her house?”
They looked at each other, completely at a loss.
You walked to the kitchen cabinet and picked up the small pile of music manuscript I’d put there the evening before. You shoved it under the man’s nose, your voice a low, menacing hiss.
“She’s his music teacher you fucking idiots. Now piss off before I get really angry.”
They both got up. “The man started to speak. “I’m sorry Mr..”
You cut him short. “Just go. And don’t come back.”
They let themselves out and you sat down at the table, looked at me and burst out laughing. I wanted to join in, but that would have been difficult, I was worried sick.
You helped yourself to a cup of tea. “Hey Bruv. Don’t look so glum. Just make sure that you warn Rita that someone has sussed both of you out, and be more careful in future.”
I stared at you. You grinned at me.
“How long..” I began.
“Long enough. But after what you have done for me, I couldn’t deny you her company. It’s obvious she dotes on you, and you on her.”
“You don’t mind?”
You smiled. “It took you to bring back to me what I really needed. My Penny.”
You held out your hand. “Friends?”
I took it and we shook. “Friends.” I said.
Letter #2: Penny for Rita is a work of fiction. Any resemblance between characters in the story, and real persons, either living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Planted as a very small sapling in 2013, and a very ‘shaky’ start, I coaxed this into a rounded profile on each pruning. It is now much admired, especially when in bloom.
Folks who know me, will be aware that gardening is not my choice of a hobby, but I have fussed over this tree like a mother hen. The fence, now smothered in Jasmine, was first erected to stop the ‘Seth Lord’ from watering it. Experience with a Bougainvillea, was sufficient warning for me. The remaining Bougainvillea I protected with a particularly spiky Aloe Vera..
9th June 2015
A very young Jacaranda, supported by lines.
7th June 2024
View from road.
13th June 2024
View from my sitting room French window.
20th August 2024
View from my sitting room French window.
Same view, 22nd Sept. 2024.
View from RH corner of casa.
View from Cappella car park.
From front of house, 22nd Sept. 2024
From front of house 27th Oct. 2024
The Jacaranda in Portugal.
The following is an article that may interest you.
EDIT 10/02/25. the following link has turned to rubbish since 1st compiling it. My apologies. I’ll look for something else not being ‘tweaked’ by idiots.
Jacarandas In Portugal
Locally (to Miranda Do Corvo) there are three fine examples (violet blossom) outside of a school near the retail park, Eiras.
Also a fine example to the side of the Intermarche store in Lousa. This one has beautiful orange/yellow blossom.
I will update this post later with the GPS co-ordinates.
Update 10/09/24
As well as not being a keen gardener, I’m quite ignorant regarding flora and fauna. My lovely Portuguese girlfriend knows the name of almost anything I point at.
What I do best is observe, and then analyse.
My observations about this tree are that it is the 1st example I’ve ever seen, which sprouts new growth, whilst previous season’s foliage is still (mostly) present.
Secondly, it is typically June before any blossom appears.
Thirdly, approximately two months after, full foliage (and new growth) is manifested.
That the tree does not enjoy a hard frost, without protection, was evident, very early on.
I always believe that self-protection is better than artificial means, hence I coaxed and encouraged a bush-like growth, rather than a single exposed stem. I dislike the ‘manicuring’ that these trees and others are subjected to, and I prefer a more ‘natural’ growth.
Finally, the tree hides the smokers and drinkers hanging around the ‘Salao’ door.
The Revenge of The Red Pirate
© 2009 J.W.Brown
The movie had been running about 10 minutes, a work typical of the time, with Burt Lancaster playing ‘The Red Pirate’, and already I was deeply involved, as any kid would be. Since Frank and I had sat down, the cinema had filled up – mostly with kids, and some family groups. I became aware of a slight pressure on my knee, and looking down saw the hand of the man sitting next to me. I pushed it off, and he made no attempt to stop me. A little later he spoke and I gave a sideways glance at him, but he was turned the other way – to a little girl sitting on his right. The woman sat next to her answered the man and I breathed a sigh of relief – they were a family.
It happened again. I know now I should have shouted at the top of my voice, but I had no idea what he was trying to do and yet I felt strangely embarrassed. I again pushed his hand away, and shuffled in my seat towards my friend. I tried to engage myself in the movie, but was too unsettled, and every time the man’s arm moved it was all I could do to stop jumping up from my seat.
I was now watching the space between him and me, rather than The Red Pirate and felt thoroughly miserable. The hand started it’s journey again, but this time Frank whispered in my ear: “Change places with me.” I said nothing but got up and we swapped seats. Despite feeling enormous relief, I was now worrying what was going to happen to my friend, who although older than me, was certainly no match for a grown man.
Slowly, my anxiety subsided, and I managed to re-engage myself in the movie. The current fight seemed to be reaching a finale – that inevitable moment in space and time when the ‘goody’ has fought his way to the ‘baddie’, and everything is to be won or lost in their final personal battle, mano a mano. Back and forth they moved across the deck of the ship, dabbing and thrusting with their cutlasses. Suddenly the ‘baddie’ faltered and The Red Pirate ran his cutlass straight through the baddies chest. There was a blood-curdling scream and the baddie fell to the deck dead, but strangely the scream went on and on, very loud, and never stopping.
Almost hypnotised, I turned and looked across Frank to the see the man’s face contorted in agony and that dreadful rattling scream issuing from his mouth. I looked down to the seat between him and Frank – the bone handle of a knife was protruding from the back of the man’s hand, where it had been driven right through and into the arm of the seat. Blood was spurting fiercely on each side of the hilt, and pouring in a stream onto the floor.
I glanced at Frank. He was sat perfectly still, calmly watching the man’s terrible agony, and then he slowly got up and said quietly to me: “Come on, let’s get out of here.”
At the box-office, Frank went up to the window and said to the ticket clerk: “Call the police and an ambulance, The Red Pirate has stabbed a pervert in the picture-hall.”
Then we left.
‘Pervert Palace’ – The Bensham Picture House, now long gone. (Thanks Trevor)
What should have been a reasonably straightforward keyhole repair to my left knee, turned into probably one of the most disturbing events of my life.
Later the following week, a visit to my GP to review the report he had been given, resulted in in him marking up my medical medical records ‘No More G.A.’s unless absolutely necessary’. That I had been conscious some of the time, hallucinating at others and my heart had stopped beating at one point, I knew already. But he had asked me to tell him what I remembered and he was both deeply shocked, but not a little curious at my feelings of ‘deja-vu’ and the hallucinations I’d had. He had shook his head when I related the ‘back-story’, saying ‘My God. That has stayed with you almost all your life?”
I had nodded and laughed. “It never went away.”
Finally he had asked how I felt. I assured him, I was fine.
So. most of this tale is true, as you will gather when reading it.
Download/Read in Browser: My Beeping Heart
It isn’t often that I’ve performed an ‘intervention’, so that a project could actually progress. It is not in my nature to be manipulative, but there have been some folks that deserve to be ‘punished’, and with the pompous and self-important, I have found it relatively easy. I excuse myself because these individuals are self-deluded fools, and act as such when gently ‘poked’. Generally my interventions have gone undetected, but the results have been satisfactory. The story reflects such an intervention, but in this case is undoubtedly of the ‘divine’ variety, as in: ‘being of such surpassing excellence as to suggest inspiration by the gods’
While re-reading what I had originally wriiten on joebrown.org.uk about this story, I thought it was worth repeating that here, It is indeed a ‘different’ perspective, years earlier.
‘Brainstorming – a story.
Most of us have been in situations at our work, where someone has been parachuted in on us from above, given a position of responsibility and/or authority not merited by their ability. It is particularly galling for those of us to have to stand by and watch a project fail, powerless to intervene because of the nepotism invested in such situations. To intervene so, would be to invite self-destruction, something the job is certainly not worth. How can you change the course of events, without being radically altered yourself in such circumstances?
A phenomena in Chemistry, known as Catalysis, is used to bring about a significant change in a chemical process, whilst the catalyst itself remains (effectively) unaltered. I bracketed the ‘effectively’ because I feel the need to stress that contrary to popular belief, the catalyst is altered, though the final result may belie this. A succinct description of the process can be found in Wiki as: ‘Catalysts generally react with one or more reactants to form intermediates that subsequently give the final reaction product, in the process regenerating the catalyst.‘
Quite simply, the catalyst is effectively consumed in the process, only to be re-formed at it’s conclusion. Could a saviour in our office perform the same feat? And would they be the same person afterwards? Could they act alone?
A group of chemicals that increase the activity of catalysts are know as ‘promoters’. Could such a ‘promoter’ be found in our office, or close to it?
Would our catalyst and promoter survive ‘intact’ and unchanged by the events they brought about? The question doesn’t really need to be asked.
Fly too close to the Sun, and at the very least, some feathers on your wings will be singed.
Alice feels doomed. Faced with the delivery of a project for which she has been forced to use the services of an Architect who is less than useless. Her partner, Samantha, is deeply concerned at Alice’s drinking. Neither see a way through the crisis.‘
This short story contains explicit sexual references that some readers may find challenging and/or offensive. You have been warned.
Download/Read in Browser: Brainstorming
joesportugal 