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poems of the month

orpheus in soho

a seriously sexy man


measuring my face

old clothes

modern iranian poems

my hero

face at the bottom of the world

perhaps (maybe)

the diogenes sequence

where to store furs

i am and am not:
      fragments of rumi

destiny and destination

the zen of no-enlightenment

the iraqi monologues

already backwards

a light in ruins

separate amputations

the sexy jihad

awaiting the barbarians

the smell of possibilities

ultimate leaves

rejoice in the dog

post-millennium maggot

the book of nothing

dispatches from the war against the world

albanian poems

french poems in honour of jean genet

the hells going on

the joy of suicide

book disease

foreground trouble

the transcendental hotel

cinema of the blind

lament of the earth mother

uranian poems

haikai by okami

haikai on the edge

black hole of your heart

jung's motel

wine and roses

confession from belgrade

gloss on rilke's
ninth duino elegy

jewels and shit:
poems by rimbaud

villon's dialogue with his heart

vasko popa:
a shepherd of wolves ?

the rubáiyát of omar khayyám

genrikh sapgir:
an ironic mystic

the love of pierre de ronsard




good riddance to mankind

the maxims of michel de montaigne

400 revolutionary maxims

nice men and
  suicide of an alien

anti-fairy tales

the most terrible event in history

the rich man and the leper


art, truth and bafflement




the three bears

three albanian tales

a little creation story


lazarus the leper



one not one an occitanian baby-hatch

ancient violence
in the amazon

home, sweet home no longer

the ivory palace

helen's tower

schopenhauer for muthafuckas


never a pygmy

against money

are doctors autistic ?

single track in the snow

never a pygmy

against money

'original sin' followed by
crippled consciousness

a gay man's guide to soft-willy sex

the holosensual alternative

tiger wine

the death of poetry

the absinthe drinker

with mrs dalloway in ukraine

love  and  hell

running on emptiness

a holocaust near you

a note on the cathars


londons of the mind
& dealing death to the caspian


a muezzin from the tower of darkness

kegan and kagan

being or television

satan in the groin

womb of half-fogged mirrors

tourism and terrorism

the dog from sinope

in britain & america

combatting normality

this sorry scheme of things

the bektashi dervishes

a holy dog
& a dog-headed saint

fools for nothingness

death of a bestseller

vacuum of desire: a homo-erotic correspondence

a note on beards

translation and the oulipo

the visit






Nuadú, God of War

field guide to megalithic ireland

houses for the dead

ireland & the phallic continuum

the sheela-na-gig conundrum

french megaliths

a small town in france

western values





zoo- philia



a short correspondence
at the turn of the millennium
by e-mail & text-message
between two 'gay' men.

For fifty-five years I thought of writing a novel.

The novel is closely related to empire. The first novel was written by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, in the genocidal heyday of the first of the modern empires.

The English and French, with their widely-flung empires. produced the earliest of the modern novels, which were in epistolatory form, unlike Don Quixote. Unfortunately the Dutch and the Portuguese lost their empires before they started, very hesitantly, very tardily, to produce novels.

To write a novel you need imagination.
I have no imagination.

To write a modern novel, you pretty well need to be able to write dialogue - unless you can write consummate prose. Since I have no imagination, I cannot write dialogue.

This, of course, is not a novel - not even a novella.

But it is epistolatory.


Hello Anthony,

Thanks for the e-mail [via the gay men's contact site]. Sorry I couldn't continue our brief online chat - but I really did have to rush off yesterday, my shift began at 14.45 hrs and I had booked a taxi to take me the depot.

I would like to explore you very much, I have looked at your website and found it interesting, I don't pretend to understand very much of what is going on there, but I'm a good listener and I'm not unintelligent, so maybe you could explain a little.

I'll tell you a little about myself, I recently moved to Belfast from Manchester where I had been living for 6 years. I drive buses for a living so do work strange shifts sometimes. I'm 48, smoked pipes for about five years, do enjoy it very much, also I like cigars too. I have a very soft spot for long beards and have always wanted one myself but work prevents that, maybe one day though.

I do tend towards the nudist lifestyle and like to be naked whenever I can.
I would like to meet you very much, hopefully sooner rather than later. Hope to hear from you.


Hi John,

Do you have to commute from Magherafelt to Belfast - or do you drive an Ulsterbus on a handy route ? I have a very soft spot for Ulsterbus drivers, all of whom were very friendly to my friendly collie/lurcher who travelled free and happily on Ulsterbus routes. (He was also great value as a hitch-hiker.)

If you like, I can meet you off a bus near Downpatrick or Strangford or Killyleagh.

You seem very different to the other kinds of older gay men here, who are either seriously closeted and damaged, or heavily into some scene or other usually involving a lot of drink.

I used to smoke a pipe with tobacco, but it was starting to rule my life, so I stopped. Now I smoke only 'grass' in my pipe - and only before nice sexy times with someone like you. Hope this is not a problem.

All the best,


Hello Anthony.

I've no idea where you got the idea about Magherafelt, do tell me. I live in Belfast, just off the Ormeau Road, so, of course I could walk to work, but as I'm a lazy devil at 5 in the morning, I get a bus!
No, I'm not an Ulsterbus driver, I work for Citybus, (Metro now,) same company, same uniform, different routes. It would be nice if you could extend your soft spot to me also!

I don't suppose I am that different to other gay men here though I'm certainly not closeted. I do like sex to be good, involving lots of kissing, cuddling and copious amounts of sperm exchanged, oh, and I don't approve of 'wash and go!'
I'm afraid you would have to meet me off a bus, as I have no idea where you live, I'm only just beginning to find my way around Belfast, so anywhere outside is a complete mystery to me!!!!

I'm not sure if I said, but I am not Irish, I'm English and moved here about 4 months ago, like it very much here but it's not that different to Hampshire, where I originally come from.

Another thing is I don't drink alcohol or take drugs, the former because I don't like the taste of beer and the latter because I was brought up by very strict parents who strongly disapproved and it stuck. I have no objection to other people using either of them, certainly nothing on the moral front, it's just not for me. Also there is the job to consider, we are all subject to random drug tests and can be breathalysed at work.

Hope this doesn't put you off meeting at some point.
- 'Bye for now


Hi John

Someone wrote back saying he was from Magherafelt in county Derry. I have a strange feeling that I'm corresponding with two different guys thinking they're one and the same. You are Mr Pipeman, yes ? And you have tattoos/piercings. And is your name really John ?

Definitely not squirt and go (or even squirt and wash and go) !!! If you come here you'll get cuddles and food (but no alcohol in your case). And you can stay overnight if you are able to.

I know Hampshire fairly well (especially rural bits because I used to go to East Meon a lot) - I had a couple of gay buddies in (where else ?) Portsmouth, a town I like a lot, especially that wonderful long street with junkshops and strange emporia.

You can take a bus from the Ormeau Road to Downpatrick, or to Crossgar on the Downpatrick route. Buses every hour. It's easier to meet you at Crossgar because few people get off there and it's not a bus station. Downpatrick can be ridiculously busy at times.

My home phone number is 44-881-364. I have a mobile which I keep in the car and almost never switch on. But I might get a text message!

Looking forward very much to meeting you.

Hugs -


(...Yes, I've definitely been in touch with two different guys thinking they're the same under different aliases! Sorry about that....most confusing for all!)

Hello Anthony -

I love your e-mails. Are you a writer ? Can I come next Wednesday ?

Hi John,

Yes indeed I write!

(Glad I sorted out who is who!)

Next Wednesday would be fine. I can pick you up at Crossgar in the morning and deliver you to another bus in the evening if you like. We can play it by ear, take it as it comes...and if it doesn't work out we can go for a nice walk in the woods or by the sea (or in the woods by the sea). Or I can take you to see my buddy Malcolm (bear411.com/walkerbear)

Just let me know what bus you'll catch.

Hugs and sweet lickings to various sensitive places.


Hello Anthony,

thanks very much for the three delightful e-mails. I'm glad Wednesday suits, although I'm not sure yet which bus I will catch, I will let you know in plenty of time. I'm looking forward to spending some time with you, maybe one day a threesome might be nice but for the moment I want to take the time to explore you and your mind and of course have you do the same to me!

I'm easy going and will go with the flow (dreadful saying but I cant think of another way to put it.) Help!!!
I cant wait to feel your naked body next to mine.

Hugs and slurps.

Ps. I'm attaching a pic so that you know who I am.

Hello John!

Lovely pic - nicely sharp and professional-looking - unlike a lot of pictures that people send around on the web.

I occasionally smoke cigars, but now more often cheap (but quite good) French cigarillos I bring back from my trips to France.

As for fucking a pipe, it would be a bit unsubtle. I read once that the best thing to fuck is a warm melon. (I tried it, but it wasn't that good, mainly because melons don't have tongues, and I'm quite into subtlety: in sex too, more can be less, and feet can be as erogenous as anywhere.)

Attached is an arty picture of me smoking a pipe. It is arty because it was taken on a Swiss guy's extremely primitive digital camera, and the colours were dire, so I 'solarised' it artily.

Talking of arty - have you had a look at my tattoos pages ? www.beyond-the-pale.uk/tattoos.htm

Looking forward to cuddly squirty times.

Licks on those nice balls.


Hi Anthony,

Thanks, I do try and look professional.

Thanks for the advice re the melon, I now know what I was doing wrong, I fucked mine straight from the fridge! Also I was finding seeds under my foreskin for weeks afterwards..

I ike the pic very much, extremely 'arty' must try it on a few of mine. I don't have any artistic bones on my body, always wanted some but my talents lie elsewhere.
I have looked at your tattoos page and I must say I'm mightily impressed, I had a go on my dick but I'm not pleased with it and if I could get it transformed, I would.

Really looking forward to a good cuddle!


Hello again John,

I'm afraid my tattoos have faded over the years.

Yes, the melon seeds can be a problem for the uncircumcised such as us.

I just wanted to say that the only thing I'm allergic to is the chemicals in deodorants, after-shave etc. Not that I think you wear them - but sometimes guys think that other guys expect artificial smells. I like natural man-smells. Hope you do, too - but if you don't, I have a range of aromatherapy mixes which I made, which can be quite a turn-on when rubbed on belly or balls.

If you have a digital camera, please bring it with you. I have my old (but very good) film camera and am not thinking just yet of "upgrading".

Did you see my Bearded Men Kissing pages ? www.beyond-the-pale.uk/egregious3.htm

Another pic attached.

Looking forward immensely to Wednesday and cuddles and enjoying your happy squirts.



Great e-mail Anthony!

Fading tattoos are an occupational hazard as we progress through life, mine were black once, now I'm sorry to say they are an air force blue!

You need not worry about your allergy, I use soap and water occasionally but never deodorant or aftershave. Indeed I am of the opinion that they are used to cover up a multitude of sins. I've never understood why both men and women use a whole bottle at a time!

I have a few allergies too, mainly feathers, house dust, mites, mushrooms, cat fur, tree bark and on and on, but these are only a problem if I lick the offending things.

I can't bring my camera on Wednesday as I am still waiting for BMIBaby to offer more than the paltry sum of £17.99 for breaking the one I had. I do intend to get another one soon and if I come down again (hope, hope) I will bring it with me.

I did see the bearded men kissing pages, very touching and beautiful to look at, and I love the song!!

I'm looking forward to your squirts too and no matter where they end up Ill keep them till Thursday. I hate the idea of washing after sex, totally un-natural! Love the pic by the way, so so lickable!

'Bye for now sexy man!


We do have good correspondence. Such literacy is rare these days. Somehow I didn't think you were the deodorising type. Pity about the camera: it's always best to carry cameras on board planes. (I guess you know that now!)

I agree also about washing after sex. (Well I might wash after bad sex!) I like to keep another man's smell and sweat and sperm on me. I like manseed on my face and beard, and then kind of transfer isome of it back to near its source when nuzzling balls and perineum, etc.

I haven't heard any more from the Magherafelt guy: I sort of felt he might be a no-no (as so many are).

Have a nice weekend. The weather is terrific, even if the wind is a bit chilly.

hugs, licks, kisses, squeezes and squirts -


Dear Anthony aka WolfCock,

It was a pity about the camera, I suppose I should have read the small print on the website, apparently they are not liable if the flight was booked online.

We are alike in liking cum on our faces and beards, tell you what! Ill transfer mine to you if you transfer yours to me. I just love the idea of licking your sweaty balls and nibbling your perineum into total submission.

What can I say about the pic you sent? I want to rub a little into my tache and beard and just take my time in savouring the rest, cleaning your cock and paying very special attention under your foreskin!

I'm off to work in a minute, but Ill have a better day after reading your e-mails.
Ill squirt later.

Hugs and kisses (both extremely long)


Dear Scrummyballs,

How are you about nipples ? Mine are ultra-sensitive (wouldn't you know - like the rest of me!) so I hope that you are connected up to yours, as a surprising percentage of Irish guys are not. (And definitely not into their feet either: I got in touch with my feet only when I went to a marvellous Reflexology woman...she introduced me to the aromatherapy oils too...and I used to smoke a little Grass, hop on my motorbike, and go off and have my feet feel (and felt) exactly like my dick ...wow, that was great...except that the woman tended to chatter while I was in non-ejaculatory orgasmic paradise.) Must introduce you to the Zen of Sex (where less is utterly, amazingly more - but it does require a kind of "spiritual" (i.e. sensual) rapport.

We're getting so worked up I hope you don't dissolve in disappointment on Wednesday !

In which case I'll take you for a Very Chaste Tour of the Locality!

precumdribbles from an old and often erect willy (why do people need Viagra, for God's sake ? - there must be something wrong with them!)


Dear Precumdribblyman,

Nipples!!! Aah, one of my favourite parts of a mans body. I had mine pierced about ten years ago and since then they have been connected. I get the most amazing feeling when they are played with, describing it is difficult but here goes; its like a feather is being stroked gently on my coccyx from inside my body, sort of warm and fuzzy. I get the same feeling just before I ejaculate, so as you can imagine, I am addicted!

Feet??? I have played with other men's feet, licking between the toes, sucking them, licking the soles and whatever I did seemed to work for them, however no-one has ever done it for me so I really cant say what will happen. Suck it and see as the saying goes.

Now to serious business, I feel a terrific rapport is happening between us which I would very much like to continue, your e-mails are like a ray of sunshine in an otherwise dreary world, I don't mean to sound 'heavy' but I would like to get to know you as a friend and hopefully the sex will be good, it feels right to me?
I wont dissolve in disappointment on Wednesday, of that I'm certain.

Now, in answer to your question about Viagra. Easy! Men take Viagra because they want immediate sex (fuck), they are not prepared to take the time and a little effort to work up to it. A case of wham bam etc. I think that not only does 90 per cent of sex take place in the brain, but the actual sex act, i.e.. fucking, is over in a few minutes, whereas the foreplay can take all day.

Foreplay for me is not only about touching, caressing, kissing etc. But what takes place between two people all the time. Call me strange but I regard our e-mails as a kind of foreplay, I know I'm turned on when I read yours and when I write mine. That's also why I know I won't be disappointed!

Don't have a clue what Zen is, you'll have to tell me or show me. I'm a fairly quick learner.

Must go to bed now as I'm tired. Hopefully you'll send me another e-mail to brighten my tomorrow.
Thanks for making my cock all dribbly too.


You are a Totally Delightful Man! I am feeling exactly the same about you. I really want to know you "as a person" (whatever that is!) because we seem to be on the same wavelength - which is depressingly rare.

I actually think we will hit it off like thunder and lightning, but if the sex somehow goes a bit awry, it won't matter - it will still be the basis of a friendship. Some of my oldest friends were really nice guys I had hopeless sex with.

Of course our e-mails are foreplay! The delights of 'love' include the Literary Foreplay, then the Literary Afterplay. Like you, I find the ejaculation bit is just the icing on the cake (so to speak) - no, let's say marzipan (because I love marzipan and hate icing) - and it's the cake that sustains, not the icing.

I have had some brilliant sex without squirting at all. Somehow I was on 'a higher plane' as "Spiritual People" and New Agers might say.

I think you probably already know about Tantra and the Zen of Sex - without even knowing! That's natural genius for you.

I'm really looking forward to Wednesday.

I'm sending you another e-mail after this about houses in the area in France which I haunt (I go twice a year at least) - it is the most beautiful place to live, lovely river, fantastic forests, beautiful villages and towns, nice people (including a terrific potter, and the Dutch estate agents for whom I do translation work just for the fun of it, and a lovely small-farmer who lets out a nice primitive old gîte rather cheaply. Who knows, you and I might go there together one day!

Yours with tingling tits,


PS - I thought you'd like a megalithic/miniphallic picture taken not too far North of Belfast and sort-of-reachable by Ulsterbus.

We can go there one day, and I can stick my cock through the hole for you to lick; and then you can stick yours through the hole....and we can invite some cattle to participate!

Participation can be such naughty word.

Hugs and other spasms,


Dearest Tinglytits,

You've made my day! I just adore reading your e-mails, they make me feel warm and always result in pre-cum. You're such a wonderfully warm man. I feel certain that the sex wont go awry and if you could feel inside me, you would too.

I'm not a cake man myself and much prefer the icing, hate shop bought marzipan, it always has too much bitter almond essence in it. I do eat it when I make it myself though.

I saw the houses that you directed me to and one word springs to mind, heaven! In the very late eighties I did live in France for about a year, Antibes actually, and loved it. My French improved beyond all recognition as well. I could quite easily live there again. It would be wonderful to go there with you for a small holiday sometime, just walking and relaxing with no thought of time or having to be somewhere at a certain time. But of course that is for the future, on Wednesday I just want to be with you and enjoy your company.

It has probably occurred to you but I will tell you anyway, I'm really just a big softie despite my appearance and if you scratch just below the surface you'll find a man who's really quite floppy and malleable.

I must go and have a squirt now, which is entirely down to you. Thank you!


Tiens! Tu parles français, donc - tu es un mec miraculeux (aux tétons supersensibles) ! Le pays que j'adore est Rouergue/Bas-Quercy : à l'est de Cahors, au nord-ouest d'Albi, au sud-ouest de Rodez, à l'ouest de Montauban….c'est les bords de la rivière Aveyron. Petite fleuve mais charmante et tranquille. Il y a des anglais bien sûr, mais eux, ils sont un peu partout. On peut les éviter.

Just in case you don't read French well I'll continue in English. I agree about the marzipan - it has to be home-made (but not too sweet). Must tell you amongst a zillion things about fresh almonds in Morocco: heaven. (And the Berber men: heaven of heavens - if only they were available. Still, one can give them lifts in one's beat-up hire-car and admire them from close quarters while playing them brilliant Berber music on tape.

Well you dolt - I didn't think you were a big boozy hard man ready to fuck the living daylights out of me and leave me bleeding amongst the broken glass. I just know there's a tender heart behind the tattoos and nipple-rings.

For a serious laugh about zen have a look at my page zzen.htm - to which I hope to be adding a hot page about zenbusmansex. (Hope you don't mind me harping on about being a bus driver, but although I know it's a horrible and exhausting and heart-attack-inducing, pile-inducing job, I think it's Romantic. And you might have gathered that I'm just a teeny-weeny bit romantic!) Probably you can now tell me more about Tantra than I know, having gone through Google. We can further our education through mutual Teaching of the Tantric sort.

Just to give you a taste: with one lover we could have amazing sex just touching fingertips and gazing into each other's eyes.
With another we did simultaneous breathing while kissing: breath-swap. Hard to synchronise but with the right partner it is mindblowing.

But I won't get you all excited again.

Je te pelote.
Caresses et calins,
et zibes ardentes

stiff willy of Strangford (also under auban on bear411.com)

I wrote a funny French poem about teddy-bear tramps cuddling in the park (with glossary): www.beyond-the-pale.uk/french.htm

The essential but secret ingredient for marzipan is MANMILK.
Hope to eat some in due course.

You don't "do drugs" but one of the wonderful tantric experiences is to drink the piss of a sexy man who has eaten "magic mushrooms" (which grow in abundance many places). The psilocybin is not metabolised, so it can be passed on. The piss is especially delicious if the chap in question has also drunk champagne.

Siberian reindeer-herders got high (maybe still do) from Fly Agaric, a rather dangerous mushroom which can cause nausea - and death if you have red wine as well! I have smoked same mushroom but without much effect.

Dear Sex God with the flat cap!

Many thanks for the recipe, the next time I make some marzipan I will include some of my secret ingredient and hopefully some of yours.

I'm not sure if I made my position on drugs clear? I have no objection on moral grounds to them. I cant smoke grass for two reasons, one is the 'work' thing and the other is that the previous times I have experienced someone smoking it, has made me aggressive, something which I am not usually. the last time I went for a drive to the shop about a mile from where I was living and drove at 60 mph in a 30 limit and was shouting and screaming at the other road users, really not at all like me.

As to your other suggestion, I will gladly participate (naughty word again,) it would give me great pleasure in tasting you, also I will eat the mushrooms and drink champagne so that you can taste me.
Indeed, there are extremely few experiences that I would consider to be off limits between us.
What a beautiful soul you have!

Are you a vegetarian? Do you practise 'magic?' Is there anything that I should bring with me on Wednesday, or shouldn't?
I'm so looking forward to just being with you.


Now control yourself! it is totally outrageous and disgusting and morally reprehensible to call me a Sex God without even having met me! You are a shameless romantic and the Beard God in the Sky among all those cocksucking angels will surely punish you in the depths of hell by putting leeches on your nipples and making you fuck ice-cold and very hard melons in a cold-room.

It's interesting that grass/pot should turn you aggressive. That is very unusual. Usually cannabis makes people ultra-careful as drivers. You're right to keep off it then. It just makes me dreamy and very horny. Because of my Ulster Protestant background I find it a bit difficult to be flowy with a stranger, so I find it extremely useful. But it took me a long time to get to use it: my rather buttoned-up background.

I don't have any magic mushrooms at the moment - in fact I haven't taken them for ages. I'm not really a drug-person (unlike a certain Paul living between Belfast and Bangor who is a total dopehead - and the most wonderful lover....except he never gets it together to arrive. Or else arrives up to two days late. We tried Ecstasy together and that was extremely cuddly - I mean we were locked in cuddles for an hour just flowing electricity into each other. But I had to give him up, because he was totally unreliable.) As I said, I only smoke grass when sex is on the agenda, and other things I'll try - but I have never been offered cocaine or more exotic things because I don't move in those circles. I've had adulterated LSD. Mushrooms always sent me on the same very inner trip, going back into childhood and then becoming supersensitive and going about the house smelling the walls - then going out naked into the garden and feeling roots come out of my arse and into the earth! I'd take psilocybe with you, though, because I have a feeling you'd be a kind of catalyst. Obviously you're a fellow earth-spirit. (Wonder if you're a Virgo ?)

I have to tell you that yes I'm vegetarian. This as you know is a Huge Problem in france, which is why I self-cater there in the rustic gîte. Malcolm also is vegetarian. In fact most of my friends are. I'd eat meat I killed myself, or roadkill (but not badgers).

Talking of badgers I own an acre of thicket which has huge badger setts. It's not near here, but just north of Killyleagh in a very beautiful part of county Down (which, if you ignore the litter, is mostly a beautiful - and quite varied - county).

If I hadn't had to cancel my trip to Bordeaux last week (to see www.bear411.com/pelut ) we almost certainly would not have got in touch. So that is kinda interesting...for I had a funny feeling that I shouldn't go to Bordeaux. Fortunately my fares were reimbursed by the reason I had to go instead to Tralee in county Kerry.

I think I have seen that closer-up picture of you with pipe on pipebears. You looked vaguely familiar, you see. I have a feeling I too might be on that site - or was it just the beards site I wonder ?

I don't practise "magic" whatever that might be. Just the magic of two (or even more) men touching electrically. What better magic can there be ?

To him with the beautiful soul (not to mention his tasty bits)
an evening kiss (and a picture) from another beautiful soul



Dear Snugglydrippydick,

I am trying very hard to control myself but being as you say a shameless romantic it isn't easy. You make me feel that way so as I'm a believer in collective responsibility you will suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous leeches too!

Strange that you should know Paul - he sends me messages on Gaydar about wanting to meet but never turns up. He has a nice face though!

I do feel a kind of affinity with the earth. God, you're so perceptive and such a good looking sex God!

Huge thanks for all the e-mails that you sent whilst I was sleeping they help make my day easier.

Hugs, drips and major cuddles from a man who cant wait to meet you

Dear Mr BearDriver,

We have known Paul since he was just coming out of the closet. He is totally gorgeous, and totally headfucked by cannabis. He is joint-best sexual partner I have ever had (the alltimebest was a Parisian, and we used to have 7-hour sex sessions in my Paris pad, stopping for little walks or meals, and then back to bouncing off the walls again like testosterone tennis balls). He is totally feckless, and probably holds the Guinness record for the number of jobs he has had. They usually last a week. Dogs adore him totally. I'm glad to know that I'm not the only person he fails to turn up for. I wonder will he end up seriously insane ? He smokes huge amounts of dope, and pops E and amphetamines and anything at all. He gets even more cuddly on these - but obviously his brain's a mess.

He is totally obsessed with beards, and we had great sessions just rubbing beards together and of course ending up with our manmilk in them. When mine was down to my nipples he was ecstatic - but still turned up only one time in three! He really appreciated food, too, so we had champagne and treats and things he had never eaten before, and it was lovely to see him enjoying it all.

He is sort of connected to a hopeless alcoholic West Belfast catholic of the most whingeing and demanding kind - a guy whom Malcolm had earlier pursued until he realised that alcohol was his friend, and that he didn't like beards. This guy commits fake suicide regularly, has had a heart bypass because he only eats junk....and somehow Paul is attached to him, even though Martin is a beard-hater and dope-hater!

There's nowt so queer as folk!



Dear SexDriver,

This afternoon I'm picking up Malcolm at his "Tools for Solidarity" workshop in Downpatrick. (There they do up donated tools, including lots of sewing-machines, to send out to Africa so that people can be self-supporting to some extent. Except of course that the purpose of capitalism and the New Global American Order is to ensure that nobody is self-supporting but highly dependent on imported junk food, etc. Most of the people who work there (unpaid) are either slightly backward or retired or on incapacity benefit. Malc (who is very good with money, and very good with food, but not with the less important things in life) is actually the Treasurer. Malc actually manages to save money on just £80 a week. And we drink wine and Fair Trade coffee - and go to France. But then we almost never buy new clothes. I manage to run a car and a computer (just gave Malc my old laptop) and do all these things on £105 a week.

Anyway, I'm picking him up in the car and we'll go to my Brocks' Acre badger-thicket to continue cutting back brambles which threaten to pull down young trees. A bramble can put out a branch 15 feet long in one season, and thus they can actually pull down young trees of 20 feet.

Then we're going up to Comber for dinner with our friend Rosie who runs an antique shop in Saintfield. We'll stay there overnight since I won't drink and drive. Rosie wants to set up a website, but knows nothing about computers. I have got her an URL and an ISP (cheap pay-as-you-go) but I think I'll recommend she pay for website construction. If you're not remotely interested in the internet-as-free-exchange-of-ideas-and-freebies - in other words not emotionally involved in it - then I think you should just pay 'professionals' to create a boring website. I learned slowly and painfully. I still have only the haziest notion of Javascript (though I use it on my site). Javascript is the 'language' which makes butterflies dance on the page and so on.

Rosie's partner is a remarkable (but very exhausting) chap who has an amazing eye for antiques. In reject heaps below antiques-fair stalls he finds something for £5 or £50 which he then sells to a museum for £5,000 or even £50,000. He's an obsessive - which is why he is exhausting. He is a reformed alcoholic. He is also paid a retainer (or is it commission ?) by an American millionaire to look out for Belfast creamware, Irish glass and so on. Did you know that the dome of St Paul's is lined with Belfast brick ? Not many do.

Why am I writing all this ? Probably to keep myself from writing Cowper's Gland sextalk!

Which will be much more fun face to face and scrotum to scrotum etc. etc. (Hope we don't end up just being a sticky stain on the carpet!) My Russian friend says that you look as if you'll want sex every half-hour!

I meant to ask you what route[s] you drive. Anywhere remotely interesting ?

And so, as the dust of life is sucked into the vacuum-cleaner of eternity, I send you



Dear Cummybeardpoet

What a delight you are, totally scrummy and filled with squishy thoughts.
You can assure Tyomka that appearances can be deceptive, I don't need sex every half an hour, all I need is to be cuddled and kissed and touched by a man that wants and needs to do it, I like to touch and caress lots as well. So, no Viagra needed at all!!

I didn't know about St Pauls, how interesting. I am full of useless and useful information, so now thanks to you, I have to find a way to work the St Pauls info into a conversation.

The routes I drive are many and varied, mainly in and around the city, occasionally venturing further afield, indeed two Saturdays ago I drove two school rugby teams to a school in Lisburn. Wasn't allowed to go and watch so I just sat on the bus and read a book. What fun eh?

I have to go to bed now but I do hope that you will send me an e-mail that will brighten my tomorrow. Before I go, I must tell you about a strange but horny little dream I had. We had both cum in our beards, well me in yours and you in mine, and as we kissed we became stuck together. I'm not a dream reader so have no idea what it means, if anything, was nice though.

Nipplestroker aka John


Dear Driver-to-the-orgasmic-ends-of-the-earth,

Sorry I couldn't write to you last night. I was in a hellhole that is probably every heterosexual household with young child. People treat their horrible offspring like gods - and their beautiful dogs like shit. They have a lovely puppy, half-labrador, half-rottweiler, which is a bundle of intelligent fun - unlike the brat which is all ego and demand and viciousness (kick the puppy, then scream a tantrum to divert attention to himself: aren't humans lovely ?)

I don't really like mixing with hets. They are so closed and limited and tunnel-visioned and - yes - boring. (But then, so many 'gay' men are merely gray men... Perhaps you and I are among the few interesting people in the entire cosmos! ;-{)}}}}

What will you do tomorrow if you find that I speak in a squeaky camp voice ?

Malcolm says about sex-gods "It takes one to know one." (He enjoyed sleeping with the sex-god last night. We very rarely sleep together, because he snores and sometimes threshes, and he overheats and sweats.

I'm saving your e-mails of course, but I didn't have the wit to save mine to you. I think it would be nice to put a web-page of our edited correspondence, to show the benighted folk out there how much tender fun and funny tenderness can be involved in cruising on the net (or anywhere).

Sitting and reading a book in Lisburn sounds an eminently sane thing to do. Lisburn, like most Ulster towns, has little to recommend it. As you may have found, it is now mostly roundabouts and semi-ringroads. Not as bad as Antrim, however, which they seem to have completely levelled to vast areas of tarmac where it is amazingly easy to get lost.

I think your horny little dream says that you're in love way too soon and the whole thing might unstick when you find out what a horrible person I am (not to mention the squeaky camp voice, and the twisty oozy willy with a foreskin that doesn't retract, and of course the crab-lice).

I have kept myself Pure for you for the past few days. I like to be horny and not do anything about it except clutch my balls in my sleep.

What are your food tastes ? Anything you loathe ? I like serving little sex-snacks to prolong foreplay even longer. Do you like olives ? (Most Irish people don't, but you're not Irish and have lived in France.)

What bus am I meeting ?

This letter is less horny than others - because I'm still recovering from an overnight stay in a very overheated heterosexual household. A terrible feeling of people being out of control which I notice in most houses with kids.

But rest assured that my nips are still all melty with the thought of tomorrow, and my cock is permanently threequarters erect.

Zibes/Kisses on your feet and your fingers, your eyelids and your nipples, your perineum and your balls, your cocklips and your facelips -

in fact: all over!


a beard waiting for a sex-devil's offering

Dear Squishyballclutcher,

Malcolm was so lucky last night, I wish it could have been me, but would there have been room for three of us and of course, the obligatory melon! You have very lucky hands too, but tomorrow I'm due for a stroke of luck and will be clutching your balls, very gently, you could almost say caressing. Prevarication is a hobby of mine as you must have guessed by now, so I might as well say what I mean! I will be clutching, caressing, licking ALL parts of you and if I could peel you apart, I'd be doing all those things from the inside too.

To business. The bus that I have decided to catch is the 215 Downpatrick express which leaves Europa Buscentre at 11 am, and if timetables are to be believed arrives at somewhere called Crossgar, chapel at 11:40 am. I hope that this is not too early for you? You can always go back to bed after picking me up if it is.

My food tastes are eclectic to say the least, there are few things that I wont eat and some that I shouldn't i.e. onions and baked beans, for obvious reasons. I am partial to twisty oozy willies and crab-lice are a delicacy best served with white sauce, I can make some if you don't have any. Olives? Absolutely!

I must get dressed and go back to work again.
All over kisses and hugs from a 'happy to know you' bus driver in need of a cuddle or two.


Dear Dirty Old Man,

I should guess that by 11.40 I should have extracted myself from my bed, put on my wooden leg, strapped on my prosthetic steel willy, and tottered down the stairs for my breakfast of boiled Shredded Wheat and raw turnips.

So I'll see you then in the Main Street of Crossgar, 'Gateway to the South'.

No need to bring anything with you - unless you can produce a foreskin-cheesecake after your day at that big powered wheel and put it in the fridge overnight. To be served in a coulis of chilled piss and blueberries.

We had to kick the melon out of bed last night. It was getting too eager.

Eagerly yours
with the tip of my tongue on your tits (forgot to tell you about my forked tongue).

ANTHONY (a.k.a lizardballs)

Dear Ballybeardy resident,

Thank you, and when my mind matches the state of my now erect and urgent willy, Ill be able to tell you why I said that.

I understand perfectly what you mean about the melon, they can be such a persistent and immediate fruit. And of course never ever, under any circumstances keep a charantais and a galia in the same vicinity! I made the mistake once and was amazed at the language!! One of the nicest fruits I came across recently was a banana, though it is an 'active' fruit. Even after hours of coaxing I could not persuade it to turn over and take it like a man! My 'patois' is not that good though.

I'm awake at this unearthly hour due to hunger and felt the need to have something cold and totally un-nutritious inside me, cornflakes. I know that there is more nutrition in the cardboard packet but I do like them.

All-over licks from


John Mortimer on radio 4 tonight in a nice rambling reminiscence said that your birthplace was the ugliest town in Britain!
Can Belfast really be better ?

Dear Snugglebunny,

I can tell you without hesitation, deviation, or repetition, that Belfast is better! I should know as I was born and brought up in Basingstoke and lived there for approximately 30 years. Hateful place, full of twitching net curtains and moralising prissy people!!

I know what you're going to say next, I repeated the words 'I' and 'and.' therefore the subject should have passed to Clement Freud!

A forked tongue eh? Could be useful! Maybe you could lick my balls and lick one my ears at the same time? A neat trick if you can do it!

Yours with a very clean and non-deodorised body


Dear LoveBeast,

Well, the childlike enthusiasm of my dick had me awake and out of bed at 7.15! Why didn't you choose an earlier bus ?

Oh well, I can spend the next two hours polishing it with a Brillo pad, and teaching it to shake hands nicely. (It can already say 'Pleased to meet you'. It is a clever dick.)

Thanks for forwarding the letters.

See you (pant) soon (pant, pant).

I'll be the one in the beard and the Hawaiian skirt.

LoveBeast II

(after 8 hours of champagne, cuddles, kisses, food and laughter)

Dear Sweet Snugglylover

You exceeded my expectations to an amazing degree, right off the scale of logarithmic measurement. You were wonderful to be with and I didn't want to leave but I had to. One day, I wont!

Thank you so much for your love gift, It was so kind and the next time I come down to see you and your bed I will smoke it.

I so wanted us to squirt together but at the end, what with the constraints of time I wasn't disappointed. My semi-erect, not so dangly anymore, willy will enjoy our next meeting of mind and body even more.

Your body is lovely and I so enjoyed holding you in my arms kissing you, we seemed to 'fit' in a quite unique way. To drink each others piss was lovely and a first for me, but to see you standing over me and showering me with your love laden piss then to be held afterwards was a delightful intimacy. Then to be held by the man that I have grown to love in a few short hours was an experience never to be forgotten, and what's more I will take it to my grave. I want to love you from the inside, I need to crawl inside your skin so that I can. Can I?

A short e-mail I know, but I think it says all that I need to say:
I love you Mr Wolf.

John (cuddlebear)

Oh my Sweet bearded gorgeousness!

Did I say thank you for starting to love me? If not, then thank you, thank you, thank you!!!! I wonder what I did to be loved by such a scrumptious lovebunny?
I really don't think that age matters, we are both old enough to take advantage of each others bodies and minds. I have no reservations about falling so helplessly in love with a wonderfully warm kind and witty man. One day, soon I hope, I want to fall asleep in your arms and wake up in them, to feel our bodies locked hopelessly together in a never ending embrace of love and respect, to feel your warm breath on me, to feel our cocks twitching in unison as we sleep exhausted from the days lovemaking. I want to drink in your smell and to smell like you and when we live together, as we surely must, I will not wash but will follow you in that respect so that our smells will mix and mingle together creating 'our' smell that will be unique to us.

I will also become a vegetarian like you so that our bodies will receive the same nourishment, this will take some time I think as I have been an omnivore for as long as I can remember, but with the help and love of the man I love this will be accomplished in no time.

As I will not be a bus driver when we live together, at least I don't think I will be, I will be growing my beard so that hopefully they will intertwine as we sleep too.
We will be one.

Your John

O Hirsute Lord of the Delightful Armpits,
O Routemaster-Cuddleking,
O LoveBear of the Unfinished Tattoos,
O beautiful croissant-maker of the delicious perineum,
O Lovely, lovely lovely, lovely, lovely man -


Still recovering from the shock and awe of your cuddliness.

I lay among the crumbs and had very vivid dreams, and woke up thinking about you.

There was just so much lovingness together that the sperm-thing didn't quite get to rear its dribbly head...and it wasn't really so important: we have ejaculated thousands of times, but only met each other the once...

And I hope, forever.

No need to become vegetarian: you must do what you feel you want to do, not just to please me. I love you for yourself.

It is an amazing miracle that we met - I would not have gone to the bear411 page if I hadn't cancelled my visit to the Bordeaux bear... You were online I think (or was it the guy in Magherafelt from whom I have heard no more ?) anyway, it was a kind of miracle for I find those cruising sites something of a turn-off with their horrible photos and absolutely no descriptions of the guys - come to think of it you wrote NOTHING about yourself - and the main picture doesn't look like you at all!

Need I say that I'm looking forward to our next meeting.
It's so rare that I'm glad to be a sexual male male-loving being - thank you for making me feel so good.

Have a lovely day exploring the beautiful and immaculate tree-lined avenues of romantic Belfast!




So you share a house. Are you so poor ? Who or what do you share it with ? Obviously privacy is a problem, then, so we won't be at your place so often.

I have money to buy a house in France. It is most of the money from my mother's half-burned house in Belfast - she had dementia at the end, and set fire to the kitchen just 30 minutes before I visited one day. The rest of the money went to a donkey sanctuary.

I own 15 acres in county Monaghan (long story, but it was why I had to cancel Bordeaux and so met you, so we should praise those 4 fields, not curse them) and I can get 100,000 euros for them. Plus more later from the deal with my old friend Paddy who has used me as a tax-avoidance trick (purchaser of property) which has ended up costing him more than it would if I had just made him a straight loan. I have known Paddy since 1966. He is straight. I think I am his only close friend, but we rarely meet.

We'll talk about our movements, plans and life-plans in due course. Can we call on Saturday - or catch your bus in the city centre ?

I dug up my rarest and most exotic tree today and planted it in a tub for replanting next year in my badger thicket (Brocks' Acre). It's not so far from Crossgar so we can go there one day and you can get lovely views of Strangford Lough, and we can kiss and grope under the trees, and probably by the water, too.

loveandcuddles - I haven't squirted for a week - I'm sort of 'saving it' for my lovely lover (sounds silly I know, but it's how my body feels at the moment).



Dear Sweet Bubblylove,

I think that it is inevitable that when two people love each other, they will change each other in a myriad of different ways. Hence I will, when we live together, become a vegetarian. I couldn't possibly expect two different meals to be cooked and what's more I wouldn't want it!

Maybe the next time I come down to visit the sex god that is the man I love, a visit to meet Malcolm could be arranged, after squirting has taken place though. Of course Malcolm cannot be excluded from any equations, quadratic or simultaneous. I'm sure we would 'get on,' (hateful expression!) We have at least two things in common, a love of olives and of you.

Would I like to live in France? Let me think and get back to you on that.......
Yes! But as I want to live with, share life with, smell like, squirt with you, Id live on Pluto.

I've looked at the zipfile you sent and the house looks lovely, a trifle large for two or three. I am assuming that a chambres d'hote is in the planning.
Maybe on one your visits to the shops somewhere, you could pick me up something to wear, like a boilersuit or some such thing, so that I can wear it when I'm there with you. If you wear it first, (too large I know,) it will begin to smell like you and then your nose wont be so offended by the fabric conditioner that I use. Maybe you could pee on it too! Might help, I don't know?

Loving you more by the hour, sweet, gorgeous smelling man.


Dearest Cuddlygorgeousnessnessnessness,

Apologies for the stutter! It creeps up on me when I am excited, overjoyed and in love, so only you can imagine what you are doing to my speech.

Of course you're silly, who isn't? However you are the most adorably cuddly sex god that I've met, so you are forgiven by the man who wants to die in your arms.

The lovely pipe that you gave me has just been smoked for the first time. It smokes beautifully, just the right amount of 'draw' and feels very comfortable in my jaw. Thank you so much.

My love for you has grown again, what are you doing to me? Whatever it is, please continue.
You are lovely!

Your squirtylovebunny

(Dear God, now he's going to die in my arms! What I want to know is:
is he going to come in my beard and then expire on my less-than-ample bosom ?)

Oh no, you're not going to die in my arms! I don't like doing funerals.

Talking of which I must lend you the video of a BBC2 programme in which I participated - about different kinds of funeral, including the do-everything-yourself-except-the-cremation of my aunt Marcella. Later I did the same thing for my mother, though this time I hired a gravedigger to bury her just 200 yards from where she was born and where she taught in Dundonald primary school for 30 years.

Glad you liked the pipe. It was kind-of waiting around for you for about a year, feeling just a bit unwanted. But now it's happy, and soon will have the ultimate pleasure of being reamed by a sex-god.

I am still in shock.

When shall we two meet again ?

Am attaching a rather dashing chap with a rather glorious beard.


Hello Malcolm, Hello Cuddlybeard,

I hope this small e-mail finds both of you relaxing close to a fire well sated and all your digestive juices working hard after eating some of Malcolm's extremely yummy olives!

To business now and to try and answer some of the many questions posed in your many delicious e-mails to me.
Why no email this morning? An easy one, I was a little late in rising from my lonely bed, I woke up after a delightful dream and just had to squirt. Sorry but you are doing amazing things to my penis and its recuperative powers!

I do share a house with another gay man who is very nice. I have known him for about six years and he is a friend, he was a lover at the beginning but we haven't had 'carnal' relations for approximately five years. I wish I could say that we were in love once, but he doesn't appear to be able to love, which is somewhat of a pity as it feels truly wonderful.

I would love you to catch my bus tomorrow afternoon, I'm not sure what the timings would be yet, but the buses are numbers 4A and 5A. These go to Ballybeen and Braniel respectively.If you could bring your mobile phone with you I will be able to text you the precise times of the services that I am on. Both of these buses leave from Donegall Square West, if you stand at the front of the city hall, they leave from the stops situated on the right hand side. I will be easy to spot, I will be the only bus driver who is in love with a bearded sex god!

When I said that I wanted to die in your arms I was speaking metaphorically, maybe melt would have been a better word. I, too, am not a funeral lover, I've been to three and I don't think they're all their cracked up to be. My mothers didn't go too well as my father was very distraught and I was forced to share a car with my ex-wife, so not a happy time. The second was my 'boyfriend' at the times father and I was far too busy catering. The third was a cousin whom I didn't know too well but I was fond of his mother, strangely enough, my aunt also! I wasn't invited to my fathers funeral as my brother neglected to tell me that he had died.

The love camera is a good idea and maybe we can discuss it when I'm next in your bed, if there's time between squirts.
I am at the moment feeling very tired as I got up quite early, but knowing you has made me feel squishy inside and full of hope for my and our future together.

I am intrigued to know what the missing ingredient in the coleslaw was or wasn't, could it have been one or two of your squirts, which would have added a delicacy to the flavour?
Your other admirer, surely one of many, is a bit of a cutie, not in your league of course but who is?

I do hope to see you both tomorrow at some point.

Love, cuddles, squirts et al.

Dear Routemaster

Have a nice day being loved from afar by a happy wolf. As the wild wind whistles around my nipples, I feel your spermy love warming me and my heart.

(text-message) Whistling indeed! I am at Four Winds and it is positively howling around my spermladedn balls. Oh beautiful bearded wonderfulness - isn't your heart an amazing place to live ?

Oh beautiful man.

I was so looking forward to seeing you today, it was a shame that you couldn't come, however I did enjoy my day.

Malcolm got on my bus. He is a real sweetheart! Not at all what I had expected, his pictures look nothing like him. I had a feeling that we would not get on, but nothing could be further from the truth. I found him much like a puppy, so warm and giving of himself, funny, charming and such pleasant company. I'm not sure if I made a mistake, but I gave him an all day ticket to use on the buses in Belfast. I wouldn't want him to think that I had given it to him because I thought he was a 'charity case.' I'm fairly sure he enjoyed Braniel and its views of concrete coloured houses containing concrete coloured people. I wanted to hug him but refrained until I put him on a 1E to go up the Antrim Road. He's really nice! (yukky word!) We went for a coffee after I had finished, a little place not far from May street, nice coffee, espresso, I did indulge in a chocolate fudge cake, which Malcolm did help me to eat, so I didn't feel too bad.
Talking of food, I had a pizza for my tea, a vegetarian one! Which I enjoyed a lot. I am going to try and wean myself off meat, a little at a time. I'm determined to become a vegetarian like the man I love. He looks so good on it that it must be good for me also.

Whilst I am thinking about it, has your appointment secretary found a slot for me next Saturday? No need to answer that one, Malcolm told me that we, (Fuck! That sounds wonderful!) are going to his place for dinner next Saturday. I have requested something with olives and he said that he would oblige, yummy. Olives, delightful company and seeing you, what more could I want?
Your text messages were a delight today, although I missed seeing you, they gave me a sense of completeness, like I was carrying your spirit round with me all day.

Thank you so much for the cd. I am playing it as I write, very relaxing, reminds me of an afternoon in a bed filled with crumbs kissing and cuddling you.
How do you tell someone that you love them and make it sound different? I wish I knew. You do make me feel loved, I hope that I am conveying the same thing to you. Please tell me if I'm not and Ill try harder and more often.

I do love you so much that I'm hurting, should I feel like that? You are wonderful Mr. Wolf!

Your love beast

Dear Tastyscrotum

You were probably correct in not coming as Malcolm and I did have a lovely time together, don't you just want to cuddle him?
I do like the music featured on the cd, honestly! if I don't like something or disagree about something, then I will tell you, I wont hide it or brush it under the carpet, or beautiful Persian rug!

Aah! Paul! Malcolm told me that he had hurt you a lot. I'm glad I never met him now, apart from the 'grass' thing, I don't think id have liked him. You didn't, and still don't deserve such thoughtlessness.

I'm having a major precum problem at the moment. Thank you so much, you've breathed life into my now, ever twitching penis.
Your partially vegetarian lover.


(text message) There is a man with a wonderful beard on the £10 Northern Bank note. I want one like that. Can I have yours ? Squidgybear-sextoy.

I have a plan for you to have more leisure. A failsafe plan.
Metrobus will "ask" you to cut it.
You will refuse.
You will be sacked.
You will take them to a tribunal.
The tribunal will rule in Metro's favour.
You will take them to the High Court...
and maybe to the House of Lords...
and maybe on to Luxembourg where you will win your case, because there is absolutely no doubt that it is an infringement of rights to be told to cut your beard like you were 7 years old - especially since bus drivers can wear their head-hair much longer than they can wear their beards.

The anti-beard thing is an absolute scandal, and much worse than the anti-gay thing, because the world is alive with closet queers but you can't be a closet beard-wearer.

You will get legal aid. I will support you and finance if necessary. I know a lawyer (bearded) who successfully took the British Government to Luxembourg or was it Strasbourg over the situation in Northern Ireland when homosexuality was illegal. (Actually homosexuality became legal [as a result of this case] in Northern Ireland about 6 years or more before Southern Ireland.)

Yours always rejecting the system and refusing to collaborate,


(Paul the beardking said that he refused any job that asked him to cut his beard. Often they accepted him, then told him to cut his beard - at which point he left.)

(text message) Thanks for your lovely voicemail. I have saved it so I can listen to it again and again. I am glad your cock gets hard when you think of me! I shall try and phone you later from a friendly neighbour's. She is a lesbian and doesn't like cocks. What's that all about ?

(text message) Are we always going to communicate in this strange remote fashion by text and e-mail ?

(text message) No, O glorious man that I dream of, when we share an abode we shall have blackboards. Such beautiful dreams. Love is you. Nuzzlybear.

Hello Far-away Person,

If you're nervous of phones, I understand entirely. I tend to be as brief as possible on them, and chat only with people I know very well. So don't feel you have to phone me.

Did I tell you that I thought the photo of you with glasses on was incredibly sexy. Total willy-swell and Cowper-dribble!

I hope you won't be terribly upset if I tell you that I don't find the steel rings sexy - indeed, a slight turn-off. I understand piercings: I pierced my own nipples way back in 1983. When I was a kid, one of my 3 ambitions was to have a pirate's ear-ring (and I put one in circa 1976, before it became fashionable) - the other two were to smoke a pipe and grow a beard. I was not interested in 'normal' ambitions.

I find the steel things a bit on the gross side. (My own earrings are now almost invisible!) and actually they get in the way of real contact. Not a lot of fun licking a stainless-steel keyring!

If you like them, well it's your body and you should please yourself. Maybe we could have a nice sexy ritual of removing them ?

Well, hello again. I'm up from a bed that was warm and cosy, if solitary, into a noisy world of bulldozers and diggers and three or four loud, swearing men.

I received a small CD package today for which I thank you very much. It is always nice to receive small packages especially from the man I love. I haven't had time to listen to the cd yet or read the book. I wish I could multi-task in my sleep, could save a lot of time. I must get you a little something, but I have no idea what. Maybe you drop a hint or two? Just a little hint from me now, it would have to be something that is available in Belfast town centre between one-thirty and five pm, nine pm on Thursdays.

I have made a decision about beards! I am going to grow mine in stages. I will grow it when I am not at work and will stop growing it when I am, this way I figure it will grow at half the normal rate.

Your cuddlyspermfactory.

Dear Mr Cuddlewolf,

Whilst doing a daily trawl through the net I came across a 'must have' something. It is called an Afghan Turkoman Prayer Cap and it is simply scrummy! Nearly as scrummy as you. Now the $64 question is, where can I get one? Do you like them? Do you have one? Would you like one? I am, of course, enclosing a picture of srummy item.

Mr Matisse does indeed look a little like me, maybe I should try to paint myself, might get a little messy though.

Must go bed now as I am up again at 3:30 in the morning.
Your cuddly love bunny

...A LOVELY MAN! Thank you for the picture of the Turkoman cap. I have a couple of vaguely similar items, but I have a very small head so they mightn't fit you.

Last night after our scrummy dinner (finishing with plum + rhubarb crumble with fresh and rather tasteless mango and sour cream) we watched a fantastic Georgian film - one of the best films I have ever seen, beautifully shot and acted. We shall keep it for you. You need to enjoy the few fruits of our horrible society - music, non-American films, nice food, wine, forests and "la nature"... to make up for the Daily Grind on the mean streets of Belfast. And of course the glorious worship of each other's masculinity and cockiness.

It is wonderful that Fate got us together because YOU HAVE A BEAUTIFUL SEXY SOUL. And you have a beautiful head, body etc etc. But a beautiful, sexy soul is worth 10 sexy mere-bodies!

Yesterday I started looking for my Euro chequebook which I had mislaid - found it in the Wrong File of course. Then I investigated another file and found...1,000 IRISH POUNDS I had stashed away and forgotten about. This is 1200 euros! I phoned up my bank in the South and found that I have to take the old money to the Central Bank of Ireland in Dublin and fill in a form and bring my passport, and they'll give me euros.

So I shall take a day trip on the train to Dublin. Would you like to come ? If so, maybe it would be nicer by car - and you could drive. Though day returns on the train might be cheap, and a couple of hours in Dublin would be enough. The one good thing in Dublin is the Botanic Gardens, very small but very very good.

Hope you had an OK day. Downpatrick this morning was deserted. Tomorrow morning after this afternoon's "festival" it will be knee-deep in litter.

Love you, you lovely sexy man.
We're going to have a lovely time on Saturday.
Which bus will I meet ? We'll meet at the same place.

Roll on Saturday! Roll on cuddles! Roll on squirts! Roll on love!

As the ass of time enters Jerusalem, and the Israeli army of fate shoots off its ears,



Good morning Cuddlewolf,

I'm up again, in an entirely non-sexual sense, that will change though as I am writing an e-mail to you, a wonderfully warm being, an incredibly sexy being and the owner of a magnificent painted penis.

I had intended to write yesterday evening but by eight o'clock I was so tired that I had to go to bed, had a headache also after a very stressful St. Patrick's Day. The day had started very well, with being a new bus that fairly whizzed along the Lisburn Road, no traffic to speak of. Went for a break at nine-forty-nine and things got worse, the canteen had decided to change the variety of beans that they serve and they were truly awful, and me being me, decided to tell them so, disgusting was one of the words I heard myself using, might have been considered a trifle unjust but they had ruined the breakfast entirely.

Then I took over the next bus, another new one, double-decker this time. This is when things took a decided turn for the worst. I had to drive up the Antrim Road, turning left into Cliftonville Road and make my way to Carr's Glen. Back to Forestside then return. As I'm sure you can imagine, driving through predominantly Catholic areas on St. Patrick's Day is not to be undertaken lightly. I got stuck behind one funeral, two parades and an impromptu concert, making me half an hour late for handing over to the next driver. Oh, and of course the area around the City Hall was closed off by the PSNI, thereby causing me to use diversions to reach Chichester Street, none of which I knew, all of which I guessed, wrongly. So, I suppose a headache was to be expected. Other than that I had a good day, which was made bearable by the receipt of your delightful e-mail. Thank you!

Last day on this very early shift, hopefully next weeks will be a better one.
Great shame about the mango, it looked so promising lounging by your bed ripening, much like I did when I last visited. Maybe you should have made a sorbet with it?

I'm so looking forward to Saturday that by the time it comes around I shall probably burst. Could get messy! I want you, Mister Wolf.
I must away now to get dressed, have a cup of instant coffee, (don't tell Malcolm,) and make my weary way to the depot to see what today has in store for me.

In the absence of a reply by this evening regarding my question of a little love gift to you, I will make my own mind up and you will get something, could be anything though, Bisto gravy granules included. You have been warned!

Your Cuddlebear.


----- Original Message -----
From: Anthony Weir
To: Love Bus
Sent: Wednesday, March 16, 2005 5:43 PM
Subject: eyes and ears and other things

Dear Poor Blind Deaf Wage-slave Victim of the Buses,

OK - shall we go to France during your autumn hols ? I can book cheap flights (the sooner the better) and so on.

Will we be speaking to each other by then ?

I'm in Malcolm's this evening. He is making rhubarb (from the garden) and plum (half price) crumble.

We are having also our classic sprouts dish: cooked in hot oil in a covered skillet with garlic - 5 minutes is long enough - and served with Malc's potato-bread (flatbread a bit like Naan) and roast peppers. Yum yum.

On Saturday I am making a real treat for your dessert (at Malc's).

Lots of love and licks.



Hello Sexyhead,

Some of my e-mails never got to you. I know now why this was (Identities in Outlook Express...complicated to explain). You'll have got them now.

I woke up this morning thinking of you, my hands holding my balls. I love sniffing my hands afterwards.

Sorry about the stress of St Patrick's Day. You should have left the bus and joined in the festivities, and given everyone free day-tickets!

Time to get a less stressful job. e.g. van driver. I have a friend who deliberately demoted himself to van driver, and he goes off for about an hour every day enjoying himself in the country or wherever. Thus I can leave my car at his house and get driven to the City Airport when I go off to France. Very handy.

The mangoes we ate were Malcolm's. Your mango still awaits your pleasure. I once used one in an ice cream - and it was the heaviest ice-cream you've ever tasted. It was like solid tapioca or something.

We'll have to get you off the Instant coffee, too! For a start, it is only about 2 minutes more instant than real coffee. Secondly, we can supply you with free coffee beans (from aforementioned van driver who is in charge of the coffee machines in his work), and even with a grinder. Thirdly, it is poison. Fourthly it rips off struggling peasant farmers and slave labourers.

You still haven't told me which bus I should meet. Are you coming for breakfast ?

I am so glad that we met. It is wonderful to have a sexy friend who (incredibly) thinks I'm sexy. Also great that you are so open in your sexy sexuality and into the same sort of things as I am. We are on the same wavelength there.

My friend Rosie is coming tonight for dinner (she is delivering an item of furniture to Strangford). And then there's tomorrow, Sexy Saturday.

Kisses on that gorgeous perineum!



(10.30 pm)
Why are you playing power-games of silence and being "incommunicado" ?
I had enough of this with Paul.

I refuse to be played with.


(next morning)
Mr Weir,

I was not and never have played games. As for my being 'incommunicado,' I was in fact ill in bed and have risen to see if there were any e-mails and to take some more paracetamol.
I'm sorry you feel like you do and of course I shall return any gifts that were bestowed.

Needless to say I will not be coming down today to see you and Malcolm.
I wish you well.


Dear Beautiful but touchy man,

I am sorry you are ill.

You will understand that I was perplexed at your not answering e-mails or texting me. I felt that I was being played with. I could never actually reach you, because you place a computer, or a "John cannot answer you right now" message, between me and yourself. All you had to do was type "ill" on your text phone. I kept looking for an e-mail from 16.00 until 22.30 yesterday.

I hope you get better soon. I hope it is not the 'flu.

I had made beautiful plans for today - including a beautiful dinner with Malcolm..

Yours, Anthony.

If it's the 'flu you will be feeling bad for a while. Malcolm and I can come and minister to you (light dinner ? beef tea ?) if you would like that.

Boiler suit and Turkoman cap and other treats still await you.



(text message) Please tell me how you are.

(text message) Is bitterness all there is to share ?


(from a letter to a regular correspondent in the US)

Fortunately, the emotional rape I suffered from Mr Bus has been offset by the arrival of Bella the mainly-Rottweiler puppy whom I am looking after for 5 days. Such a bundle of fun, intelligence and loveliness, as no human can be. (Humans are the crap of creation.)

Talking it over with Malcolm, we came up with a number of posssible explanations of Mr Bus's behaviour. He has almost certainly blocked me from his e-mail, and just wipes text-messages I guess, so the decision to reject was paranoiacally final, with no possibility of reconciliation. Utter rejection following my panicky self-fulfilling prophecy!

Your distinction between hope (opportunity for change) and expectation (negative patterning through disappointment, ensuring a negative result by preventing the possibility of a good one through the abence of total perfection) is an interesting - possibly illuminating - one to make. You add the further distinction between hope and fantasy, which, when projected on to an actual person 'in real time', becomes a very destructive emotional game.

Thus he decided (unconsciously) to reject me at the first excuse because:

1. he didn't like the idea of sharing me with Malcolm; or
2. I was disconcertingly older than he by 16 years; or
3. I am a socio-cultural challenge (he being a shiftwork-drudge and saving no money, while I am a self-motivated welfare-recipient living a life of culture, fresh air, good food and leisure 'on the poverty line'); this is a problem for most people; or
5. (linked to this last) he did not like being faced with the exhausting and pointless dreariness of his life, and the possibility of taking control of/responsibility for it; or
6. he did not like my remark that steel nipple- and scrotum-rings were not a turn-on; or
7. (Malcolm's opinion) he is keener on e-mail fantasies than on real people; or
8. he thought that my querulous e-mail [asking if he was "playing games" by not writing to tell me (on the evening before he was due to visit) which bus I was to collect him from] was my paranoid rejection of him, despite my efforts thereafter by e-mail, voicemail and text message to retrieve the situation.

Or a combination of some of these.

I sent him another CD today: Brahms' wonderful first piano quartet - played by Martha Argerich, Gidon Kremer, Yuri Bashmet and Misha Maisky.
What will that feed into ? I feel that the armour he has buckled on again is absolutely impenetrable.


(a letter from a friend and regular correspondent in Russia, after reading the above

This is the most dramatic reading I have had for a long time!
- especially because you know early on what the end is going to be.

At first I had nothing to say after reading it - just a sad and helpless feeling of people behaving wrongly. I even smoked a cigarette: a rare event for me. But after your PS with the list of probable reasons for the outcome (like in a perfect French film), I decided to make my own analysis.

I think that you missed what is probably the real reason for the little débâcle.
Would you be surprised to learn that you have a powerful personality that tends to re-organize the reality around it ?
That you are overwheming ? That you might be exhausting (mostly self-exhausting) in your belief in perfectibility ? That Mr LoveBus was out of his depth, as the pure-hearted Malcolm somehow never is.

In my experience, creative people need space around
them which is independent of another creative person. For harmony, the creative one needs a perceiver, an appreciater. In Malcolm you've got an ideal partner: he has a fantastically un-egoistic personality, and he is devoted to you.
Usually in human relations (especially between two men) you need exchange or balance of roles based on true mutual interest. Sex does not necessarily provide such an exchange or balance: often it prevents it.

I suspect that in your whirlwind fortnight's romance, Mr.Bus encouraged you almost to swamp his personality, to challenge his self-perception as a man who in a normal way has done as best he can with his life. Your comment on metal nipple-rings is as nothing compared with your suggestion that he grow his beard to get fired from his job. This sounds great as a scenario - but imagine what it might mean for someone whose work occupies most of his waking life!

Your incommunicado accusation reveals that you were visited by the Shadow of your fear after your experiences with Paul. This seems to have triggered an even greater pain-shadow in Mr Bus. You both were struggling with shadows of your own fears - which you then projected onto each other. This is very common, especially when people blinded by passion refuse to acknowledge their dangerous (Jungian) shadows.

Would you like me to send this same letter to Mr.Bus ? He won't have blocked e-mail from me! Your brief connecting was a real, exciting, romantic chance for both of you: it would be a pity if had been thrown away so destructively.

Somebody said that literature begins when you start to speak about yourself in third person. Your particular talent is to do this by placing your most private and passionate e-mails in the public domain: thus creating an emotional distance to help overcome the terrible feeling of tragic error and loss.

I found this web-page gripping/shocking also from a literary standpoint...

Hugs from Tyomka

in the interests of utter truth, click here for the original version of this letter


there is more to come!


bearded men kissing the visit - another sad misconnection

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