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Edna Sweetlove May 2015
I woke up to a beautiful summer morning. The sun was shining and the rainclouds were far away. I decided I would spend the day on the beach. I always enjoy visiting the beach as it gives me an opportunity to laugh at people's hideous bodies. But where? And then, suddenly, a wonderful idea came to me: why not go to a nudist beach as they always attract the ugliest people with the worst bodies imaginable. And you get to see their naughty bits too, for added humour.

So I rushed to my computer to check the Internet for possibilities and, to my utter amazement, I discovered there was a naturist beach only fifty miles from my beautiful home. As I read the details of the beach and the directions, I had a sense of déja vu; I realised with a frisson of ****** anticipation that it was the very same beach described by Victor the ****** in his wonderful story "Confessions of a ******" which held pride of place on my toilet reading shelf.

I was at the wheel of my incredibly expensive and luxurious car just as soon as my servants had packed my essential requirements: icebox with chilled vintage champagne, lightweight folding gold-plated sun-lounger, vicuna picnic rug and of course my lunch hamper. My chef had rapidly prepared a delicious impromptu luncheon of smoked salmon, steak tartare and a selection of other goodies. I decided to dispense with the services of my chauffeur in the interests of preserving the confidentiality of my destination.

In less than an hour and a half I was there; and the place was exactly as Victor had described it in his immortal novella: a long stretch of mixed sand and pebbles, backed by dunes planted with wild grass, waving romantically in the sea breeze. Idyllic, and crawling with naked perverts as a bonus. I parked my car and transported my equipment to the dunes. I regretted not having brought one of the servants as the hamper and icebox were quite cumbersome and heavy. I was perspiring gently by the time I had unloaded everything and set it all up to my satisfaction.

I took some care in selecting what I felt was the optimum location as I needed to combine the potentially conflicting benefits of wanting to see as many naked people as possible (hopefully including some *** action) with the need for privacy. After all I am famous. I finally chose a spot where there were several ghastly specimens on view for a few laughs and where I could also see a potentially interesting couple who might be exhibitionistic perverts. The man was about 45, shaven-headed, skinny and prematurely wrinkled all over by the sun (yes, I do mean all over) and he had an interesting tattoo on his back: "I love hot ***** ***", which I saw as promising. The woman was plump with pendulous ******* and very prominent buttocks; additionally - how can I put this delicately? - her **** was totally bereft of hair.

Before settling down to my lunch, I felt a little perambulation would not come amiss. So, as bold as brass, off I went for a little **** stroll through the dunes. I will not describe in full detail the visual horrors I encountered: hirsute old men playing aimlessly with wizened, shrunken todgers the size of a thimble; obese old biddies, their rolls of sun-tanned lard hanging round them like rows of bloated udders on a pregnant sow; tattooed bald queens, muscles bulging under lashings of sun-oil, their pierced genitals glinting wickedly in the sunshine; the list was endless. How could such grotesques revel in revealing their corporeal repulsion to the eager world?

And then I saw him! It had to be him! In a dip in the sand dunes lay a middle-aged, paunchy little man, intently watching a couple of old ******* groping each other incompetently. It could only be Victor the One-Legged ******! After all, just how many unipod Peeping Toms are there?

I strolled over to him, coughing discreetly so as to give him a chance to stop his furtive *******. 'Do excuse me for disturbing you,' I said, 'but are you by any chance Victor the famous ****** whose confession I read only last week?'

'Why yes,' he admitted, 'but how on earth did you recognise me?'

I smiled and pointed to the cast-off artificial leg lying next to his beach towel (which, incidentally, was emblazoned by a giant "V", a bit of an identity hint, I felt). He patted his stump ruefully and laughed uproariously so that his average-sized ***** flapped like a pennant in a Force Eight gale. 'I forgot,' he bellowed deliriously.

'I'm just about to have a spot of lunch,' I said. 'My personal Michelin-starred chef, Jean-Claude Anusse, always over-caters ridiculously as he knows I often pick up people on my excursions, so there'll be more than enough. I'm afraid it's nothing special: some smoked salmon and some assorted cold meats, possibly a spot of pâté de foie gras, if I know Jean-Claude. And, naturally, enough champagne to drown a hippo in. Please do say yes, as I have so many questions to ask you about your hobby.'

'That's very kind of you.' mumbled the astonished Peeping Tom, 'I should be very happy to accept your generous offer. Incidentally, to whom have I the honour of speaking?'

I was, frankly, shocked when I realised Victor had not recognised me, and then I remembered I was naked. That explained it. 'Why, I am none other than Edna Sweetlove, poetess to the stars, creator of the Barry Hodges "Memories" poems and biographer to the intrepid and incredible superhero SNOGGO,' I murmured sotto voce, not wishing to be mobbed for my autograph.

'Edna Sweetlove!' he exclaimed, 'you mean THE Edna Sweetlove?' And so saying he glanced down to my genital zone in order to answer the question which so many of my fans have asked over the years. He grinned as he saw the solution to the great mystery.

Victor quickly strapped on his prosthesis and accompanied me (slightly lopsidedly) to my little luncheon site. He helped me unpack our repast and then made himself as comfortable as a naked one legged ****** could reasonably expect to be without a chair.

I must say Chef and his team had excelled himself in the thirty minutes I had given them: smoked salmon roulades, a magnifique plateau de fruits de mer including a three-pound giant lobster, steak tartare, a whole cold pintarde à l'ail, a few dozen sushi rolls, a monster summer pudding, and naturally a Jeraboam of Krug '92. No wonder the hamper had been so ******* heavy. I could see Victor was impressed as I offered him a chilled flute of the most expensive champagne he had ever tasted. 'Better than the pathetic, poverty-stricken muck you were going to gobble, I expect,' I commented in a friendly way.

'Mmmmmmmmm! Absolutely delicious, Edna. I was certainly not expecting this! exclaimed the grateful freak. But before we start on what looks like a truly exquisite nosh-up, I must give you a word of warning.'

'A word of warning? What about, Victor dear?'

'Well, you see, there's no, um....er,' he blushed charmingly.

'No what, Victor? Don't be embarrassed, sweetie. This is Edna you're talking to. Spit it out, baby.'

'Well, um, there's no ******* on the beach, Edna,' explained Victor uncomfortably. 'So, if you need to pump ship, you have to do it native-style "au naturel" in the dunes over there, which can be a bit messy what with all the filth lying about the place in that area, not to mention the lavvo-voyeurs hanging round. Or else you need to swim out a bit and unload into the sea. Judging by what's on offer at your stylish picnic, we'll both be bursting for a good old **** and crap afterwards.'

I shrieked with laughter and explained there was nothing I liked better than a widdle en plein air or a double act dans l'eau. We then tucked into lunch with a vengeance. It was ******* delicious, even though I say so myself. After about fifteen minutes' happy munching, interspersed with witty small talk, Victor suddenly went rigid. 'Look over there!' he hissed and indicated the middle-aged couple by the windbreak.

I looked and I was surprised. The plump woman with the big *** was on her knees in front of her partner, giving him a vigorous *******, and he was lolling back in ecstasy, a broad smile on his face. He seemed to be looking straight at us, almost visibly willing us to watch. He winked repeatedly in a conspiratorial fashion; maybe he had St Vitus’ Dance. Or even worse, he wanted me to get stuck into the action with them.

'They're regulars here, they normally put on quite a good show,' explained Victor excitedly, his hand reaching down automatically to his rapidly stiffening ****.

'Victor!' I admonished him, 'I would prefer it if you didn't **** yourself off during lunch. How about another oyster, you silly old ****?'

'Sorry, Edna, I forgot,' he replied shamefacedly. 'No more oysters thank you; they only make me more randy than I already am. But I'll have another lobster claw if I may. My compliments to your chef.'

So we sipped our champagne and enjoyed our luncheon as we watched the couple give us their little exhibition. After a few minutes *******, the fat lady turned around and leaned forward on her hands and knees and her gnarled bald hubby ******* her doggy fashion from behind with some gusto; this made her beefy buns bounce about like two ferrets fighting in a sack.

I glanced around us and realised that, totally unbeknown to me, the little spectacle had attracted quite an audience. Nine men, young and old, short and tall, fat and skinny, stood staring transfixed by the petite scène erotique before us, all ******* wildly. 'Oi!' I called out. 'Can't you see we're eating?' I admonished them, but to no ******* avail whatsoever.

Victor was visibly torn between his innate desire to watch the copulators and masturbators and with his understandable wish not to offend his lunch companion by manhandling himself unrestrainedly. But, thank God, his natural good manners prevailed and we continued to converse and enjoy our meal in the midst of this Bacchanalian scene of depravity.

I watched dispassionately as the couple came to what sounded like a very satisfactory mutual ******, accompanied by the observers' seminal tributes to their performance. I naturally had filmed the entire scene secretly on my state-of-the-art mobile.

'If you give me your email address, Victor my love, I'll send you a copy of that little show,' I promised. He nodded in gratitude. 'Victor  the ****** at yahoo dot co dot uk,' he mumbled rapidly, 'no dots, Victorthevoyeur is all one word.'

Once we had polished off lunch, I told Victor I would like to interview him with a view to writing a short story about his life's work. He was touchingly flattered and, with a little judicious prompting and probing, told me his saga, which I recorded on my Edna-phone. I naturally don't want to pre-empt my forthcoming mini-biography of Victor, but suffice it to say that Victor told me how and why he became a ******, he regaled me with some of the staggering things he had seen, he gave me a list of some really ace ******* locations, he shared all his best peeping places with me, he gave me the ultimate lowdown on the world of Britain's most celebrated *** snooper and I was touched by his burning honesty. I felt a tear ***** my eye at this tragic tale.

All too soon it was time for us to part. After thanking me profusely and making me promise I would visit him one day so he could repay my generosity, he re-attached his metal leg and limped away towards his beach towel. I knew he was raring to go as the best of the action normally took place in the early evening.

'Farewell, dearest Victor,' I called out as he tripped clumsily over a fellow pervert who had been eavesdropping near us.
MoMo Mar 2013
I used to cook for her all the time.
I wonder if she remembers. Can she?
Ramen noodles and toast
at 3:30 in the morning, churros at 8:15.
Sometimes in the middle of the night
she’d cat call my name and I’d always
run to her wondering- Is she hurt? and then
She better not have hurt herself.
I knew better though after the first few times,
yet I always went willingly enough through her
open bedroom door because she wanted me to.
But mostly chicken noodle soup on Sundays
and rice and jambalaya on Wednesday.
mmmmmmmmm.... Carminolas with a kick.
Pop pop pop and her buttons would fly across the room
and other times she’d be under the sheets, already
ready to press my hands against her caramelized skin.
And if we add a pinch of saffron, a dash a sumac,
and a teaspoon full of ajwain she will taste like
heaven and for those cherry lovers add a bit of mahlebi.
But I remember. She tasted like homemade chocolate and
marshmallows. Go make Mama something tasty.
She’d say afterwards and send me from the warmth of
her bed, a Saturday Night Live rerun echoing after me.
I’d bring her dumplings and udon and watch her while she ate,
wondering- Can she taste the arsenic?
A Dean Young Imitation

Title suggestions welcome!!
Poetic T Nov 2014
"Once upon a time there was"
"no"
      "No"
            "NO"
"Many moons ago"
"There was a dreamer"
Who wished with all her heart,
To find the gold at the rainbows end,
She would look for clouds
Bursting
Up
High,
Her mother smiled.
"Are you still searching for that rainbows end"
"Pamela  your dreams are the clouds"
"Mummy a *** of gold I will find"
"For if you latch on to one"
"You will find yourself upon the other side""
Then one morning awoke to find a rainbow
Moving over her lawn,
Blouse,
Trousers,
Shoes
On too, she had packed a case
Encase this time did come true,
She slid down the banister
"Whoooooosh"
Through the front door,
Just as it was fading
Hands did grab hold,
She was surrounded by colours
Red,
                Orange
Yellow
                 Green
Blue
               Indigo
Violet
All were pure and bright, then with a
"Thump"
On her bottom she did land, surrounded
By beauty, plants the colours of the rainbow
"Blue leaves"
"Grass was orange"
Sky was all shades of the rainbow too,
A *** seen, gold did gleam,
Mouth wide open,
A violent fly flew in then out,
"Gross"
And she then quickly shut her mouth,
She was over the moon, the rainbow too,
She picked it up,
Lighter than she thought??
She picked one up
Put it too her mouth,
And bit,
It was squiggly in her mouth
"Gross"
Twice in two minutes,
She was
Sullen,
Grumpy,
Tears
Did cascade from little eyes,
They came out
Colours of the rainbow
Which lightened her mood,
She wiped her tears looked once, twice
Then hands upon the rainbow,
And whoosh, she landed with a
"Thump"
On next doors cow,
"MMmmmoooooo"
Went the cow,
"AAaahhhhhhh"
Went Pamela,
She ran with  a
Scare
And
Fright,
As in the distance still hearing the angry
"MMMmmoooooooooooo"
She ran to her house, opened the door,
"MUM"
"MUM"
"MUM"
With a fright her mum ran out,
"Pamela"
"My baby are you all right"
"I found the rainbow"
"I found the ***"
"I found a land of colour,"
"But the treasure wasn't right"
All said with in one breathe,
Now breath my angel,
As mother did take a coin
Opened it carefully and with the tip
Of here finger tasted it,
"MMmmmm"
So creamy, so light,
As she took her in the kitchen,
And the toaster minutes later
POPPED out,
Spreading it evenly, and eaten was
The toast crust and all,
"Mummy may I try one"
Pamela said
"Magic words my honey bear"
"Please may I try one"
And with that the toast again
POPPED out,
"MMmmmmmmm"
"My gosh mummy this tastes divine"
"You found a golden treasure that's for sure"
As they had toast each morning,
Opening a coin spreading it evenly,
"It was a taste to behold"
The treasure at the end of the rainbow,
Wasn't money, but I was something better
A taste that put a smile on faces
Every morning at *breakfast time.
Brycical Apr 2015
In mouth, put-
choo-choo kazoo chomp chomp YUM!
Mmmm MMMMMMmmm.
Whosagoodbaby!?
Whosagoodbaby!?*

The infant hears,
wondering if all adults talk this way,
chuckling to himself, the ridiculousness tickling his vibrating mind
looking on at the goofy giant babbling  gibberish
who seems oddly ecstatic
to feed colorful mush.
The child contemplates the intricacies of communicating
the smelly in his shorts.
Mohd Arshad Feb 2016
Shakespeare
was not born genius
He threw out his ideas in a great way
DiamondGirl Aug 2014
Surprise Skin
Wiggle
Round and round
Bounce
Smile and giggle!
DJ Thomas May 2010
I can feast again, reading aloud enjoying sounding hosted meanings encapsulated in every word, phrase, line, and stanza!

I am here rich in the aromas and taste of poetry!

Screaming for MORE of the same!

I am a glutton spewing my greed!

Spouting critique....

Where others might give a long mmmmmmmmm

or worse dribble

- Well Written
- thought provoking
- very pretty
- Nicely done


Sadly, I could not dream up such delicacies or brew this heady wine, but can only burp and share it's scented flavours!

Feasted full, resting in your shadow amongst a company of quiet images I ride for more on the morrow**

.
copyright©DJThomas@inbox.com 2010
PassivIre Apr 2012
MMMMmmmmmm......
MMMMmmmmm.......
MMMMMmmmmmmelancholy melodies of misery, Mish-mashing memoirs in my mind.
MMMMmmmmmmmmistakes of my mademoiselle misshapen maladies, messing with my mental mire.
MMMmmmmmomentous man might made minute by mammary marching miseries.....
MMMmmmmmy oh my – my many marching miseries.
MMMmmmmmakes me miss the mystery in meeting..... Months of magical moonlighting...... .....mind you masterful mating!!
Mmmmmindlessly meshing membranes of moderately matching mettle.
MMMMmmmembering my moods and modes........messy and mostly misty as my mind makes it mildewed mould.
MMMMMmmmissed OH SO MADLY,  if I may........ is the mercilessly milked MEANINGFULNESS in the mentioned misbegotten mismatches....
MMMMmmmmind you.....my merry moot mistakes.
MMMeeeee???  Meh!!!  maniacally meek....moreover......momentarily MAD.....
MMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm.......


5-03-2010.
MMMMMMMMM WE NEED MONEY FOR THE ADELAIDE FIRES, UMMMMMMMM UMMMMMMM


    UMMMMMMMMM WE NEED CASH DONATIONS FOR ADELAIDE FIRES UMMMMMMM UMMMMMM


   UMMMMMMMMM WE NEED YO, YO HELP THE PEOPLE WHO LOST STUFF UMMMMM UMMMMM



UMMMMMMMM COME ON WORLD GIVE CASH TO OUR VICTIMS OF THE FIRES YEAH, UMMMMMMMM


UMMMMMMMM WE NEED TO HOLD BBQ DAYS RUN BY VOLUNTEERS TO RAISE MONEY FOR THE VICTIMS OF FIRE UMMMMMMMM



UMMMMMMM WE NEED RUN SOCIAL GET TOGETHERS, WITH THE PROCEEDS GOING TO THE SA FIRES OH YEAH UMMMMMMMM


UMMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN UMMMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN UMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN UMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN

UMMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN  UMMMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN, BRING ON A BIG HEALTHY THUNDERSTORM

THIS AFTERNOON, TO UMMMMMMM PUT THE FIRE OUT ONCE AND FOR UMMMMMM AND HOLD

BENEFIT CONCERTS ALL OVER THE WORLD, IN SOUTH AUSTRALIA’S HONOUR


UMMMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN  UMMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN UMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN

UMMMMMM COME ON STORM UMMMMMMMM PUT OUT THE BLAZE, UMMMMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN THIS AFTERNOON IN SOUTH AUSTRALIA

UMMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN, UMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN

UMMMMMM THEY HAVE IT UNDER CONTROL, UMMMMMM  BUDDHA PUT IT OUT, UMMMMM THEY NEED RAIN
Turtle Eyes Jun 2015
Ironing my clothes,
Wrapping my presents,
Doing it all in my t shirt,
Mmmmmmmmm, that's my favorite part.
Thank you for all your help my love.
You are the best!
Turtle Eyes Jan 2015
10W
I am so hungry,
I want to taste you,
Mmmmmmmmm!
Turtle Eyes Jul 2014
I am addicted to so much
Your smile, your lips, your mouth
Mmmmmmmmm!

Your shyness
Your wildness
It amazes me how you are so both

Your touch, your smell, your taste
I can't get enough

The sounds you make when we touch
The feel of your skin as we embrace
They make me melt

Your looks
So many, so varied
Especially that backwards glance

Your energy
So wild, so free
But most of all positive

I am addicted to so much
But most of all, you

And your love

I can't get enough
I want more and more and more! 40
Turtle Eyes Nov 2014
10W
Mmmmmmmmm,
I love smelling you on me
The next day!
this heat is unbearable: there's no ice in
this night,
said the king of hollow:
and hallow replied: i see you:
clearly:
as the days of future Us allow you
to see me
but you are so captivated in
the orchestra of poet
that's the flutes of persona:

no... i am not a useless drunk:
deranged project of a missing
mother or a no-father...

i will go ahead...
show you
myself
before you stop being stupid
and loving me
how i sprain how i strain
how i flog you living
i didn't hurt your feelings
i didn't hurt your feelings
i didn't hurt your feelings
i just gave you negative emotions
to digest:
to experience:
i just gave you the bad apple: Eve...
i admit...
i am jealous:
i ate: the apple first:
i'm looking at your eating the good apple
of Augustus
while giving you the maggoty fruit
of Autumn and October...
what apple?
did i give you, dearest woman:
my Chaos in Order of One
in that's Woman:

i also want to write about the taming
business:
i want to be head of the household:
Prasutagus...
i want you to be my antithesis Lady Macbeth:
i want you to be my
Boudica...
Veltic: Celts: C / S belts...

         i am the sober drunk king!
i am the sober drunk king!
i am night!
eyes!
ice!
i am the sober drunk king!

saying goodbye to London
with Quarus:
but i did want to take Veronica Veroniya
to Paris...
for a photo-shoot:

even pets have human dreams:
to escape the ape
and embrace the grotesque god
found in Auschwitz...
for a second there i misspelled ms. pelled:
Giza: replacing it with Auschwitz:
nothing personal:
just biblibal...
just BIBIBLAL:
not allah...

although i wanted to recreate painting
via
piano into writing: from writing
via piano
into the realm of painting...

thought as unit
of memory,
of idea
of grammar
i think
you think
we think
our thinking
unit

she will not find me elswhere
beside the silence of philosophers
and there: i decide:

not a thousand year *****:
not...
a thousand year: war!
it must begin in the realm
of contemplating English history
and the 100 year war...

KEIN TAUSEND JAHR *****:
das der tausendjährige Krieg:
i wan't no struggle... man...
you will go silently into the grave:
democratically...
and with the help of A.i. i will slow
you down to your demise...
i want a war worth a thousand years
i want:
in that respect: a new religion, no?

ah dasha: ilya: hashem: nikita:
such... transgender names:
don't you think?
pronouns are grammar and grammar
is algebra:
that's also abstract: Aztec: Moor: moo!
moon: luminaries from the Baptism
Fountain that's the Vatican:

boys with girl names...
at least in Russia
boys have girls' names
but manage to sock
their feet and put it into shoe
*** shoe *** shoe?
at least the boys
didn't waste their time on
dogma:
propaganda:
but discovered Siberia
and Iberia...
                         Honey Gone Solo
Zalez...!

            mein kampf        contra
ich kampf:

in need of surgical tools:
the born and bred:
British Excalibur...
sorry?
a- indefinite article
+-the=+         definite article...

           but there's so much humbling to begin with:
i don't think you understand belief:
there's no belief anymore:
people are lost the concept of belief:
they have adopted a construct of: being humbled...

be a leaf... became::
be -ing hum: mmmmmmmmm: bled: dried:
not humbled:
i will Islam to convene after me:
bee:
i ask the surah: i don't ask Muhammad!
GDo spoke|:
j ensured
vowels remain leftovers....

i want a thousand year war....
not a thousand yawn of state....
i want a state of being
not a being of count
i will not count...

                   i want a war that
transcends states:
i wish as much USA as IRAQ
but then RUSSIZ>Ń
got involved:
pre to hey
presto: a Nero-Hey-Zeus!
ale to brat brata charata!
ty tycz: swoj czyn:
ja pierw: ty: o godzine: potym!
sra!         albo nie sra!

— The End —