Sent: Wednesday, March 23, 2005 1:23 PM
Subject: messages, text-messages, and yet more messages.
I was very upset and angered by your
e-mail. One thing you must understand is that my name is John,
always has been. I have never been called Paul and
I am not like him so you must never subscribe his 'attributes
' to me or indeed anyone else. Unfair!!!
Should you wish to remain in contact
maybe a nicer e-mail would be good.
It is wonderful to
hear from you after five silent days.
I am really sorry. I had a very bad experience with Paul
never showing up and not telling me.I have had a really bad time
the past few days, too. We seem so suited to each other, but e-mail
unfortunately allows people to write unconsidered stuff and send
it off instantly and irretrievably. The night Rosie was here I
had too much wine to drink (she was driving) and so the Paulpanic
rose up and I sent off the e-mail without waiting another hour.
YOU ARE A LOVELY MAN AND I STILL LOVE YOU.
Will you forgive me ?
Malcolm also thinks you are lovely.
Why does the whole world not think you are lovely ?
Can you forgive if not forget ?
Dear Sweet Anthony,
Just because I was angry and rather
upset didn't mean to say that I had stopped loving you. However
I am not available to speak, text or e-mail 24 hours a day. I
do work hard and although the job I have is stressful, I do like
doing it. When I come in from work the first thing I do is to
switch my phone off, charge it and go for a rest. It keeps me
sane, or as sane as I think I am.
If you like I could come down on Friday
for a few hours, I am unfortunately working early on Saturday
so the visit would be a short one.
Let me know what you think.
I want you no matter when, no matter for how short a period. I'm
looking after an irrepressible puppy - a gorgeous canine tornado
- this week and training her and giving her lots of exercise.
Are you allergic to dogs ? If so, I'll deliver her to Malc tonight
and be able to meet you unencumbered.
Yours emerging slowly from the depths of despair up to the light
of your lust.
Dear Sweet Man,
I have to go to a Medical examination
on Friday. But I am free Monday and Tuesday.
Are you ?
Hope your willy passes the medical
test today. Will they hang weights from it ? Will they squeeze
your balls and ask you to cough ?
I'm really looking forward to Monday,
are you ?
I'm not sure when I will be able to come down, I have no idea
if the buses are running even.
Do you mind if I stay over till Tuesday
The medical this morning went well,
my blood pressure was a little on the high side of normal, but
this was probably due to having to wait for over an hour before
I went in. A full bladder too! So now I am free to apply for a
NI driving licence and will do so when the holidays are over,
no point in rushing the application so that it sits for 3 days
in the sorting office is there?
I hope all is well with you now and
your cock is dribbling, you're making me so horny that I may be
forced to rape you on my visit!
You sexy wonderful man!
Dear Delicious Rapist,
I have just phoned Ulsterbus and found out that there's a special
Holiday Service on Monday and Tuesday. So on Monday you can take
the 0930 or the 1045. Then there's a gap until 1345. We can sort
out the Tuesday return service later. I'll pick you up in Crossgar
Of course you're staying overnight. I want to spend a whole night
snuggling with you.
Don't you have an English driving licence ? why the need for an
Northern Ireland one ?
Not sure I want to be raped immediately
we meet. (Wonder should I get a straitjacket for you - then I
could do all sorts of wicked things.) I wouldn't mind a bout of
Please don't wash the rapecock.
I want to taste under the foreskin.
(I always wash mine because I produce smegma like there's no tomorrow,
and most people don't like it. So tell me whether or not you want
me to wash mine.)
I need a bit of love and man-milk just at present.
Behold! He has risen!
The glistening head of your gorgeous
organ and its tattoo are a major source of inspiration to me in
my wanking hours! If you don't want me to wash my dick, I won't,
I produce a fair amount of smegma too, so maybe a sniff to start
with, then take it from there.
I'm so tired that I'm having difficulty
concentrating on my spelling and grammar, so please forgive any
lapses. I'm not too fond of smegma so maybe a slight wash would
be better for me, I will leave it in your hands, unless you'd
rather I washed it for you?
it will probably be better for me if I can catch the 1345 hours
bus as it gives me plenty of time to rise from my lonely bed,
potter about a bit and get ready. I'm not a morning person and
do take a lot of time to get ready for anything.
I do have an English driving licence
but I want to get a NI one as it will enable me to change my bank
account, all banks I have visited so far require a form of identification
with an Irish address on it, and at present I don't have one.
One thing though, I was not asked to cough at the medical, the
doctor didn't even look at my fluffy bits let alone handle them.
We will kiss a bit first, but I am
feeling a little horny and am suffering from coitus fuckallus!
The melon I have been using had a headache last night. So, be
Your seemingly ever erect
I'm glad you like my cock. It might be splendidly erotic to have
you wash it. I was thinking you might like to cut my hair to No.
1 as well ? Real barbers do it naked, wiping their
Cowper's exudation on their clients' beards.
I'm looking forward to your unwashed love-organ. It's actually
very exciting for me finally to fancy someone who is not circumcised
and to want to savour their exudations. (Isn't that a nice word,
now ?) You are a really exciting man and we must not quarrel !
(I am a bit paranoid about missed rendezvous, but I won't make
that mistake again.) It is quite wonderful to be sexually resurrected
like this - thank you very much indeed, Mr Juicy.
Irish doctors are terrified of genitals. My current one obviously
didn't want to examine me for testicular cancer but felt he ought
to - so I put him out of his misery by telling him that "my
boyfriend" (Malc) examined me regularly!
Your spelling was, as ever, immaculate.
I'll see you at the same place at 25 past 2.
Since you're arriving in the afternoon we won't break up our time
by going to Malcolm's on this occasion, but we'll eat here when
we feel peckish. Malcolm can receive us another time.
A very strange thing
happened yesterday. I was crossing a busy street in Downpatrick
when the driver of a passing car waved at me, then indicated he
wanted to talk to me. I reached the opposite pavement and he drew
aside from the stream of traffic, causing yet another minor obstacle.
- Are you an artist ? he asked. My beard and general demeanour
would indicate some such occupation. "Well - er - yes, sort
of," I replied.
- Would you sell me one ?
- Well, yes, maybe. But I don't actually sell my work.
- Do you paint landscapes ?
- Er, yes, a few.
- Can I come and see them? The boy here is very keen on pictures
and I want to buy him one. A small one - not too expensive, something
The boy - about 12 - said nothing.
I said: "My prices are lower than that. I'm not interested
He just looked at me.
I said: "I'm on my way somewhere else and I'll be there all
- Give me your phone number.
I gave him my phone number.
I also wrote my address, but I could see that he couldn't read
- I'll be back home tomorrow morning, I said.
- What time ?
- After 11.
- I'll phone you.
It turned out he
was staying on the other side of the fjord. I continued on my
way to Malcolm's.
Next morning I drove home with two quite saleable pictures from
Malcolm's to add to the dozens here..
Two o'clock came.
At half past two I heard a voice at the door (which as usual was
open) - and it was the man himself with his County Clare-registered
car. I wondered how he had found his way to my house without any
directions from me.
I made a few pleasant remarks about county Clare, but he made
- Lovely house you
- Have you shown in Dublin ?
- No. Once in Belfast, once in Berlin and a couple of times in
Downpatrick. I sold nothing.
He then proceeded to look at most of the pictures in the house,
including the male nudes.
- Did you know Gerard Dillon ? (GD is probably the only painter
of serious merit that Northern Ireland ever produced - a tortured
closet queer who committed suicide in the 1960s.) Ireland's only
genuine Expressionist. I had never met him.
- Have you shown in London ?
- Have you shown in Paris ?
- No. I told you I'm not interested in shows and galleries and
- Have you been to America.
The silent boy indicated
one that he liked - one of the landscapes I had brought from Malcolm's.
A rather good landscape (photo attached) recalling the "basket
of eggs" landscape of county Down, with fields forming segments
of the circular hillocks known as drumlins. The boy obviously
had a good eye.
- How much do you want for it ?
- £500, I said.
- £350, said he.
- £400, I said.
- Who painted that
one there ? He indicated one I have by my kitchen cooker, featuring
hide boats (curraghs) in the west of Ireland painted by a 'holiday
painter'. I had bought this for £25 a few years ago because
I liked its distortion of landscape.
- Someone called R. Browne.
- Don't know of him. Bryan.
- No, Browne. I wrote down the name - but realised of course that
he couldn't read.
- Is he well-known ?
- No - he's a holiday painter. Probably dead. I'll look him up
on the internet.
(No R. Browne Northern Irish painter appeared on Google)
- Would you throw that one in ?
- Well, no. You can have it for £100 . I explained that
I had bought it in a junk-shop some years ago.
- OK. He shook my hand. I'll just take it with me and come back
tomorrow for the other one with the money.
- Well, no. I want to photograph them both before I part with
- Ah. (Pause.) OK.
I'll phone you tomorrow before I come over on the ferry.
No phone-call ever came. I think the guy had hoped to make off
with one picture for free. But surely he wouldn't have thought
that even I would be so dumb ?
The silent boy was a mystery. Was he rendered quasi-autistic by
his voluble father - who was obviously(or had been) a Traveller
(formerly known in Ireland, the only country in Europe where Gypsies
never came, as Itinerants), since he couldn't read.
His refusal to talk about county Clare indicated that his Clare-registered
car was second-hand. It looked expensive, but had extremely worn
front tyres. Since he couldn't read, he couldn't read the CE (for
Clare, as KE stands for Kildare and KY for Kerry) in the middle
of the Irish registration plate.
It was a very strange thing altogether. Maybe he'll come back
in some days' time and remove all the pictures from my walls when
I'm at Malcolm's....
There's nothing I could do to prevent that: locking the house
would be no hindrance when it is completely out of sight. This
is a second reason why I never lock it...
I couldn't live
somewhere I had to lock. Our house was never locked when I was
a child. I rarely lock my car (and never the boot). When I stay
in other people's houses, I go through the distasteful procedure
of locking with...distaste! But I think I may have said this before!
hugs and kisses (never locked),
I do like your cock very much indeed.!
I want to be filled to overflowing with yours and I want to fill
you with mine. This will mean penetrative sex but I do want to
have your love juice inside me and to have you kiss me passionately
at the moment of ejaculation, and you will get the same from me.
I will carry a little bit of the man I love in me till we next
meet, which to me is such a beautiful thought.
I will wash your cock for you, (without
soap,) and would be honoured to cut your hair for you, (NOT THE
BEARD!) We will both be naked when the ceremony is performed.
I have not washed myself at all since
yesterday morning before work, should I? My unwashed penis is
a little 'sniffy' at present but you can always wash it for me
if you think that it is too sniffy.
I'm glad were not going to Malcolm's, I would rather spend all
the time alone with you, kissing, cuddling et al. With the occasional
pipe break of course!
My cellphonee is playing up terribly
at the moment, I will have to get another one soon.
See you tomorrow at 1425 ish!
I can give you a cellphone. It was a replacement for mine after
it fell into a stream while I was gathering watercress. It is
a superior (but oldfashioned) Nokia. Both gadgets were pass-ons
from Rich Folk. The only condition is that you rub your cock against
it occasionally. My old one recovered, of course, after a couple
of weeks drying out.
Oh no, I did not want the beard to be cut. How could you think
Keep the Johncock ripe. As you say, if it is a bit over-ripe I
can wash it (probably with my tongue while holding my nose ?!*$%)
but I like rich, animal smells. I am one of the few humans that
has sniffed a living bull's balls. When I was small I used to
walk to a farm in Dundonald (now of course built over) where my
cock explored the mouths of young sucking-calves. This is/was
probably a hanging offence.
Only recently I
made a medical discovery which of course is one of those things
that no-one tells anyone else, least of all doctors. The simple
cure for smegma, from which I have suffered itchingly for years.
Washing the cock only makes it worse. Fungicides don't work. But
all that is needed is, once a day only, to retract the foreskin
and give the organ some air so that it dries up. After 2 days
of doing this, I encountered only pleasant, pheromonal smells
on pulling back the foreskin, and the smegma problem has vanished
- at the age of 63!
Something else boys
never learn at school.
Let's take things slowly with penetration. I want to get used
to your outside before I venture inside. Going and coming inside
a man isn't something I do often, because I feel I can only be
so 'invasive' with a manbeast I know really well and love, and
who feels the same about me. Fucking too soon is emotionally risky
for me... It is a sign of utter intimacy, abandon, love.
I'm not explaining myself very well... but we can discuss this
(and much more) tomorrow and/or in The Fulness of Time.
Attached is another lovely beard, as painted by the terrific but
under-rated English painter Walter Sickert. Hope I haven't sent
Pictures like this are erotic for me, rather than pornographic
- though the two obviously overlap...
I would have been
43 when I first encountered pornography! When I was a teenager
there was little or no porn around, and, in any case, I wasn't
attracted by breasts or buttocks. I had satisfied my curiosity
about vaginas when I was a kid - by examining those of my female
I certainly had
no idea that there was homo-porno. I don't know that I would have
been interested, since dicks didn't attract me particularly.
It wasn't until
I discovered that there were hairy bearded men, and that I was
attracted to their doggy hairiness, and - crucially - that some
of them found me a turn-on, that I found (some) cocks and many
balls beautiful. Subsequently I discovered hairyporn. One day
I'll probably prefer my chosen screenshots to actual men!
Am counting the hours until tomorrow - now less than 24 hours
nuzzles and licks
Oh destiny! that brought us -
incredibly - together!
I have ordered a phone from argos
so there is no need to take your spare one, though the offer is
very much appreciated.
You haven't explained yourself at
all well re. fucking. This is something that I want to do to you
and want you to do to me. Maybe I should give you more time to
get used to me, but I will say this. It will happen. I need to
express my love for you in this way.
Dear Mr LoveFuck,
Yes I (we ?) may need a little more time.
We hardly know each other - and we could easily burn out from
sexual overkill. If sex is our only 'platform' we could easily
break through the floor and sink into the swamp beneath (so to
I need (and want) to know you, appreciate you for your non-sexual
Of course one learns quite a bit about someone through how he
fucks, but the easier we take it the longer it will last.
Although I rather like being fucked
by one of those few who have the sensitivity to know how to, I
am of the (physiological) opinion that fucking is for cunts not
for arseholes - not least because of the shit-hazard!
My cock has been hard most of the day.
Sent: Monday, March 28, 2005 10:10 PM
Subject: The end of the affair...
...or: JUST ANOTHER
STAIN ON THE RUG
I have never had
a correspondence quite like the above - a fantasy-reality in itself
rather than a prelude to reality.
Today I spent
the morning preparing to receive Mr Bus in true romantic fashion
for his overnight visit. Celery and potato soup; avocado and green
peppercorn dip. I baked a loaf. I chopped up the spinach-like
sea scurvy grass with lots of garlic for a pasta and cheese dish
with baked red peppers. I selected wines, laid the fire, chose
the incense, replaced candles in the candlestick, and so on.
I met Mr Bus (off a bus) in the
early afternoon. I took him to see Brocks' Acre (about 10 km away
from where I picked him up) where I planted a shrub. He was not
too good at ducking under branches or hopping over barbed-wire.
He is only 48 and I - who can hop over or crawl under barbed wire
as I always could - am 63. He was not exactly dressed for 2 days
in the country: red shell-suit bottoms, some styleless top thing,
and sneakers. I commented that he had not brought his toothbrush
- nor indeed any little treat for our love-fest.
Then we drove to my house, where
I served him tea as requested, before we both went upstairs to
the Love-room, where I turned on some spacey-flowy music and lit
the incense. There we stripped and he cut my hair to #1 with the
clippers while I nuzzled his balls and kissed & licked his
cock. This symbolic and exciting job done I opened the Crémant
de Limoux and we we dove under the duvet.
We had an amazingly
kissy couple of hours or more: he is a fantastic kisser, despite
almost permanent allergic nasal blockage - which means that he
snores even worse than Malcolm. I really think (in my incipient
or romantic dementia) that kissing is the most satisfying thing
in the world, especially when lubricated with champagne (or in
his case with champagne and my champagne-piss). Eventually Mr
Bus came copiously and satisfyingly three times in succession
over my face and beard. Yum, yum. And we continued to kiss. But
something was preventing me from wanting to ejaculate (though
I had several cerebral orgasms), something veiled, unrevealed,
unrevealing, unforthcoming, sealed off
about him. A physical
intimacy without any intimacy of spirit: quite different from
my (misled) feelings of galactic interpenetration with Paul.
We kissed and nuzzled a bit longer,
and then I started talking about dinner and what flavour of ice
cream he would like me to make. He then announced that he was
not staying overnight after all, since he had to work next day.
This was quite a slap in the face
with a flaccid willy. The day was Easter Monday, with very basic
bus services which I had to phone up about. I realised that the
clock in the love-room had not been advanced for Summer (Daylight
Saving) Time, so it was an hour later than I thought: 19.30. I
rushed downstairs, and couldn't get through to the bus company.
So I just went upstairs again and woke John up (!) and said I
would run him home to Belfast (30 miles) immediately since I hate
driving in the dark. Even if we had had dinner, I would not have
been able to drink wine before driving him either to the last
bus (which turned out to be at 20.30) or all the way to Belfast.
Next day (Easter Tuesday) was
also a Public Holiday with a special bus service, and all drivers
on that day, too, earned twice the normal rate. It was highly
unlikely that he had suddenly been called in to work, since drivers
always and naturally compete for such a remunerative shift on
a day when they are otherwise at a loss to know what to do.
And so, without a word spoken
between us, I drove to Belfast, where he recognised a bus-route
and told me brusquely to leave him at a bus-stop (only 3 miles
from his house) - though, being Easter Monday he might have had
to wait half an hour or more for a bus to come. I got the impression
that he did not want me to come anywhere near his house. I also
suspect that his house-mate ex-lover, was the reason why he had
to report back that night.
I drove home, chagrined that I
had made one of my rare trips to the city without being able to
go to shops for one or two items which I will have to ask Malcolm
to get for me. I lit the fire, and, some time after 21.00 hrs,
had some of the dinner and wine I had prepared, to music that
I had selected that morning. I hadn't eaten anything since breakfast.
So ended the non-relationship
with Mr Bus - a man who (it turned out) dislikes roast parsnips
and has no interest in breakfast, landscape, art, philosophy,
poetry, stones or wine.
I don't expect to hear from him;
I doubt if he will have the integrity to apologise. Sometimes
I feel that I am one of the few reliable romantics in the world!
And now I am feeling rather good. He was very good at kissing
- that's all. Once I realised that he was dishonest I just felt
glad to detach.
This capitalist society is so
controlling of people's lives that its culture of career- and
work-slavery actively inhibits people from having friendships
outside their jobs, or relationships beyond television, family
In the next two or three days
a digital camera will arrive, for Mr Bus asked me to go halves
with him to replace his that was broken in transit from England.
I spent a lot of time on the internet researching good-value digital
cameras with decent optics for non-professionals, and found a
bargain on the Amazon Marketplace site (a second-hand one still
within its guarantee period). So now (unless a really unlikely
thing happens and he sends me £100 and a request to forward
the camera to him) I will have a digital camera which I do not
want. Perhaps I will sell it on eBay. Can I be bothered ?
As a friend said after my report
on these events - it's just another stain on the rug!
Both 'love' and sex are, differently,
hoardings behind which hide desperate competitions.
Sent: Tuesday, March 29, 2005 12:03 PM
Subject: No comments, just abstract words...
Oh, Tonchya, what can
I say ?
...except that we are all prisoners of our personalities. Character
gets more pronounced with age and we can less and less escape
from the restricting limits of our ideas and habits - especially
a 'socialised' person. But even (especially!)if you're a hermit
you'll be trapped by your judgements and preconceptions.
Indeed, even saints rarely
escape this, I'm afraid. Only the wise heart could do so, and
the owner of such a heart might be just an ordinary, absolutely
undistinguished man (except for this gift). In that sense the
more complex and developed a person you are the more problems
it brings to you in relations with other human beings.
Probably that's why so
often the only apparent solution is to
turn to unlinguistic nature and unselfish animals - which is only
half a solution, because in the end you failed to connect with
beings of your own kind.
I think only the Christian-orientated
mind could see the tragedy in this state of things. Buddhists
might say that if you were born human there were certain 'reasons'
You're very fortunate
to have the capacity to be aware of suffering (but that's another
In the end, I believe in forgiveness and understanding - because
I experience it sometimes...
Human hugs from
PS Remember what I wrote
to you at the very beginning, on seeing his photo: "he
looks like he needs sex every half-hour".
From: Frederick Lowe Jr.
Sent: Tuesday, March 29, 2005 2:40 AM
Subject: Re: The end of the affair.
I don't know what to think
other than it seems clear that he overwhelms himself and then
doesn't know what to do with the experience or the feelings it
engenders. I'd just caution that you do not know him well yet,
so it's hard to know what things mean. I think you will hear from
him again. Tho' I can't be sure, it will surprise me if you don't.
I think it's curious
that he had you drop him off only a few miles from home. An obvious
reason would be if he were married or lived with someone else
- can that be ruled out? Or is it that he needs to preserve something
separate from you? I'm thinking of Artyom's observation about
the strength of your personality.
We will see.
Sent: Tuesday, March 29, 2005 5:35 PM
Subject: Stranger than fiction: you could not invent it!
Boy oh boy!
Life really is stranger than fiction. Your correspondence is the
most amusing, sad, whimsical, piece of writing I've laid eyes
on for a very long time. Now I remember why I detest all modern
poets and fiction writers. They could not invent two characters
such as yourselves. I am trying hard not to piss myself with explosive
mirth as I type this...
I feel the human race
to be a kind of fable. A story being recited to the universe at
large. For entertainment, or instruction, I know not which...
TO A MESSAGE FROM GERALD TO ANTHONY