A Merry Blog on Christmas Day!

Made it! All the way through 2011 and now proudly stand (sit) within striking distance of my first Christmas blog. Remember posting my start-up attempt at communicating with real, out-there-in-the-world people; that very first, next-day’s turning on of my computer – one eye closed, the other fogged with apprehension, lips all scrunged up. The cursor blinked and laughed and whispered ‘don’t be such a wannabe plonker, who the hell would want to talk to you anyway’. Think my finger trembled into a downwards, juddery, no confidence spiral rather than purposely left-clicking the mouse button. But that was a long time ago and all you beautiful, slightly crazy people are still hanging in there. Without you, my blog would crash and burn so here’s to next year’s talking to ya!

A very, very Merry Christmas to all my readers; hope today’s posting makes you smile – slightly risqué, but in a nice sort of way. E-mailed Santa and he said it’s okay; his elves loved it. Now go get some more turkey and the hell with easing back on those roast potatoes...

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Excerpt from, An English Boy’s Wanderings in Africa: (re-wrote this piece – think it’s just about right)

...The following two years flew by. They were sort of ‘settling in’ years and not a lot happened; then a girl came down to stay with her Gran for the school holidays. Gloria she was called. I liked her, made me feel sort of hot all over, but she said that was okay because she felt the same. Gloria was nearly thirteen, so quite a bit older than me. Mother said she worried about me. Heard her telling my dad – said our relationship was ‘unhealthy’. Not really sure what she meant. Anyway, Gloria was still my friend and I saw her every night if I could outfox my mother – under the mango trees, next to the Wankie Club Bowling Green. Got a bit dark sometimes, before the moon came up, but Gloria had inquisitive hands and worked hard on distracting me. I soon forgot the dark.

I had to wait for mother to fall asleep in her chair with her third gin and tonic before I could sneak out. Once her eyes were closed I was over the fence and away; by this stage, totally besotted with Gloria.

Gloria always waved her arms about so I could find her in the dark. She always wore white and her hair was long, the colour of corn and smelled of flowers. She went to boarding school in Bulawayo. When she stood up her head was higher than mine and the top of her dress was really tight at the front; sort of pushed out.

Mother often scrutinised me from across the dinner table.

‘This Gloria girl, Jeffrey – she looks a lot older than you?’

‘Just a bit. She’s nice, though – I really like her.’

Mother huffed and puffed into her coffee cup and lit up another Matinee. I think she was angry about something because her eyes were thin.

‘She’s down from Bulawayo?’

I nodded. ‘Staying with her Gran; going back home tomorrow morning.’

Mother visibly relaxed and her eyes went back to normal; not like a lizard’s anymore. The matinee flared.

‘We’ll be going to the club tonight.’

Saturday night, movie night, or as everyone in Africa called it – bioscope night. Gloria’s Gran said she could go. Once the interval lights went down we would still have more than an hour before anyone missed us.

The moon was full that night. Our last night. When the moonlight came through the mango trees the buttons on Gloria’s blouse turned silver. Her eyes were big – glittering – bright as the buttons on her blouse. I could smell the sweet aroma of a Sunga Springs, cream soda on her breath.

‘You can touch them if you like.’

I’d never touched a boob before, nor did I understand why I felt so good when I did. My breath shook more than my fingers, Gloria’s breath was hot on my face, but her hands were steady – she knew a lot more than me about girl/boy stuff.

‘Can you kiss with your mouth open?’

I did it – I mean, kissed like she said. Her tongue flicked up and down like a goldfish tipped in the sink.

‘I’ve done this lots of times,’ she said. Strangely enough, I believed her, then, face-on to the moonlight she lifted the front of her frock. ‘Lots of boys have touched me here as well. For a shilling I let them see my pussy.’ I squinted into the gloom.

‘I had one as well,’ I told her, ‘but I left it behind in England. My Grandma’s got it now because hers was getting old and didn’t do much anymore.’

‘This one, silly.’ She pointed down below her waist – knickerwards. ‘Have you brought your shilling?’

I shook my head. I’d forgotten my money, but Gloria didn’t seem to mind...

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