Sunday, 12 October 2025

[story corner]

EROTIC SHORT FICTION


The below tale of heterosexual BDSM exploration includes sexually-explicit scenarios of a violent nature, which are not for the faint-hearted. If you believe “normal sex” is an act involving a married couple solely for the purposes of reproduction, with everything else being an “amoral fetish”, then I urge you to read no further. There is truly nothing of interest to you here. However, if you believe, like me, that any sexually-arousing interaction between consenting adults of any number, be it one to a crowded bus station, is wholesome, joyful, and beautiful, then this post may very well be for you. 


PIGTAILS AND DOG COLLARS: A LOVE STORY


Four stressed-out individuals take a day off from their respective fields of work to experiment in a different kind of strenuous activity.


DISCLAIMER: ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+ (SEE CLOSING PARAGRAPHS) AND ALL OPINIONS EXPRESSED WITHIN THE ENTIRELY-FICTIONAL SERIES OF EVENTS BELONG TO THE HYPOTHETICAL NARRATOR AND NOT THE AUTHOR.


Andrew Litchfield, an affable middle manager for the insurance company at which I work, one day met a girl online who wanted to play truant for the day with her best friend. Andrew, with whom I had built up a friendly rapport due to his department regularly crossing paths with my own, offered to let the two girls hang out at his house for a morning and afternoon during the week, just so long as they agreed to play in the bedroom with him before they left. Andrew was the only person I knew who could get away with such a proposition. I was shocked when this charismatic and very generous acquaintance invited me, of all people, to join in with his illicit rendezvous. His rationale was that he wanted to make the girls feel confident that it would not just be one creepy guy there on the day.


And no witnesses.


Before Andrew went to pick the girls up from their dreary local shopping arcade, he turned to me with a concerned flicker in his eyes. I had never received that look from him in all the years we had been acquainted. I wish I could shake it from my memory altogether.


“I’ll text you if they don’t show up and you’re best going home.” He said, patting me on the shoulder. “If I don’t text you at all by 9 AM, just leave anyway, you get me?!”


I nodded and looked down at the floor, subordinately. At work, I was just an administrative assistant, which should go some way in explaining my depressing bedsit, compared to Andrew’s four-bedroom house in a leafy village for smug bastards.


I waved from the living room window as his car disappeared amongst a sprinkling of affluent detached properties, the owners of which never felt the need to lock their doors or windows or drink simply to get drunk. Their lives were very different from my own meagre existence.


What followed felt like the longest half-an-hour of my life. I kept checking my phone every few seconds, almost to the point where I depleted its cheap battery life. Finally, I received his text: “THEY’RE FOR REAL. CRAZY CUTE. STAY THERE.”. I smiled and made a little cheering motion with my arms. I really needed this, and the picture Andrew had forwarded me of the two girls, decked in frilly bikinis that left nothing to the imagination, on holiday together with their respective families, he assured me was the real deal.


I quickly looked at the picture again, which made all my anxious feelings worthwhile.


Still, I could not help but have intense butterflies in my belly waiting for Andrew’s car to pull up into the secluded driveway. Unable to settle down, I stalked about the place checking things were neat and tidy, even though it was not my house. After a few false alarms, the car eventually pulled up and the engine shut off. I could already hear the girls loudly chatting and giggling from where I pensively stood in the hallway.


Typical girls, huh?!


Andrew brought the two inside, introducing them as “Gemma” and “Becky”, both of whom had unfortunately changed out of their petite uniforms. This was so as not to draw attention to themselves outside, whilst navigating their gossip-poisoned neighbourhood of origin. Gemma, the girl who had initiated the meet-up, wore stretchy bicycle shorts and a t-shirt that hung so low off one shoulder that you could practically see down to her navel. Becky was more conservative, wearing a dark-blue and white diamond-chequered cardigan and a pair of tight, trendy jeans. I fell for her instantly, especially with her long, light-brown hair falling down her back. Gemma had pigtails and braces on her teeth, which gave her an adorable lisp.


Our budding foursome sat watching cartoons and sipping fizzy pop all morning, getting to know and trust one another really well. I found the time to pass agonisingly slow, but I kept my composure. Andrew and I shared the sofa, while the other two sat cross-legged on the thick, comfy rug by the television set. They were actually a very sweet pair of girls, whom I would surely never have the confidence to speak to on an average day. I am something of an awkward nerd, you see. Then, as lunchtime approached and the conversation began to get stale, Andrew ominously presented the girls with a pair of dog collars.


”If you’re still up for playing upstairs before you go, just put these on.” He said, dropping the collars onto the floor in front of the girls’ knees.


While Gemma and Becky made their important decision, Andrew took me out into the ample back garden to help him examine his busted lawnmower. I honestly knew nothing about fixing gardening equipment, but it at least meant the two of us had something vaguely-masculine to while away the time with for as long as was frustratingly necessary.


“Do you think they’ll put them on?” Andrew said, rubbing his watering mouth.


“I’m not sure.” I said, dusting grass off my jeans. “They seem to be having a good time though.”


“Maybe they won’t even be there at all when we get back in.” He said gloomily with a sigh. “Fuck it, let’s bite the bullet and go have a look!”


There was a reason why he made a lucrative career out of being decisive, while I did the photocopying and booked rental cars for people like him.


When we returned to the living room, both girls were wearing their dog collars and standing ready to attention. I nearly fainted with relief. We held their trembling hands and guided them upstairs for a tour, ending on the largest of the three spare rooms. It had a lot of convenient free space in which to muck around in. There was a tatty old sheet on the floor waiting for us and towels lining the way to the bathroom, just in case things got messy.


My heart was pounding at this point. Why did I not just stick to photocopying?!


Andrew and I agreed to leave the girls alone in the spare room to strip off, while us men got naked in the main bedroom. We were always conscious about not wanting to intimidate the inexperienced pair, so this arrangement worked well as a friendly gesture. As Andrew and I playfully mocked the size of each other’s dicks, as boys do, we continuously heard strained shuffling and coquettish giggling coming from the spare room. The girls eventually called us back through after five minutes or so, with us two finding the girls stood naked against the far wall, their giggles now diluted into nervous rasping. Gemma’s heavy exhalations whistled through her braces, whilst Becky kept rubbing the wallpaper with the palms of her hands.


I mean, what else do you do with yourself in such an unfamiliar situation?!


You could tell the girls were already quite moist, squirming their eager legs together with an almost indiscernible smacking sound. I had to try so hard not to lose control of my bodily functions right there and then. Andrew and I had initially been covering our dicks and balls with our hands as we walked back in, so as not to frighten the girls when we first appeared.


After drawing the curtains, just in case the neighbours got curious or the window cleaner was making his rounds, we all knelt down on the sheet and began sharing kisses and light touches. Andrew and I were surprised at how eager the girls were to kiss each other. Becky, who seemed uptight and hesitant at first, got into things much quicker, reacting well to me stroking her soft, pink arse and fingering the tender, quivering lips beneath.


“Does that feel okay?” I asked, genuinely concerned.


“Y-y-yeah, it feels really n-n-nice, k-k-keep doing it!” She said, stuttering uncontrollably as she bobbed her head rhythmically back and forth.


I eventually pulled my hand away and leaned across to Gemma, inserting my slick fingers into her mouth and telling her to suck on them.


“How does the inside of your best friend taste?!” I said, with a mischievous grin.


“It tastes like mine!” Gemma said, laughing and coughing a little as I pushed my filthy fingers past her tongue and down to her uvula.


I could feel her braces graze my hand as I pulled my slimy fingers back out. Both girls kept stealing glances at our dicks, which were now so hard that they kept touching our stomachs. Mine was dripping with excitement, but I had somehow managed to fight off an orgasm. Andrew and I still had plenty of work to do, after all.


It was then that the girls grimly discovered our planned second use for the dog collars. Andrew and I attached leashes to them and walked the girls on their hands and knees around the upstairs rooms for awhile, eventually leading them to a dog bowl, filled with water, that lay on the floor next to the toilet.


“Get plenty of fluid in you, girls, we’re going to need it for something special later!” Said Andrew, forcing the girls’ heads lower and lower into the bowl with his foot.


“You don’t deserve one each, so that’s why you have to share.” I said, yanking on Becky’s taut leash at random, just to make her yelp miserably.


Within the space of an hour, Andrew had tied up Gemma and hung her by her collar from a coat hook in the corner of the spare room, whipping her milky-white bum with a belt I had definitely seen him wearing at work. Gemma’s cheeks became raspberry-red with agony, while Andrew made sure to keep one hand clasped around her throat so as to stifle her pathetic squeaks.


“Bet you’re regretting putting that collar on now, aren’t you?!” Andrew muttered into her ear, inserting his tongue every now and then to upset her further.


I had kept the leash attached to Becky’s dog collar and was making her lap at my balls and choke on my smelly dick. She cried and puked and even passed out for a few seconds, all the while I kept spitting in her tearful eyes. After noticing she had too many holes on her fragile body free, I pushed most of my foot up inside her sopping-wet cunt. Was she actually enjoying this?! I also reached around to insert the grip of the leash into her arsehole, snapping it back out with a violent jerking motion.


This did not go down well, but she was in no position to successfully protest.


Before us lads prematurely ejaculated and ruined our dark fun, we dragged the girls by their collars back through to the bathroom, picking them up and throwing them down into the empty tub. Whilst belt-whipping them both a few more times, we ordered them to wrap their scrawny legs around each other’s bare waists and urinate as forcefully as they were physically able. They made such a glorious mess, with Gemma in particular managing to shoot as high as Becky’s eyes, nose, and mouth; while Becky only managed to splash Gemma’s chest and tummy.


Us lads stood there laughing and wanking with gleeful abandon above the girls’ soaking wet and red-raw bodies. Much to our delight, their own salty piss made their lashed skin sting even more.


“This is how dogs take a bath!” Said Andrew. “Be fucking thankful!”


The girls just kept mewling: “No, no, no!” as Andrew and I could take no more and squirted our nasty white spunk over their grovelling bodies.


Andrew refused to rinse the sticky tarts off, instead keeping their casual clothes as a trophy and forcing Gemma and Becky to walk all the way home in their uniforms, stinking of dried urine and cum. Their hair was now matted and stuck unglamorously to their ashamed faces. Fortunately for them, they had not been wearing any makeup for us to smear.


What a shame.


Andrew and I knew the girls would not tell anyone about our behaviour, since they had been playing truant anyway. I still have Becky’s clothes in a drawer somewhere. You can smell her sweet pussy juice on the knickers and jeans a little.


The young women, both in their early-20s, had been playing truant from their day jobs as harassed checkout staff at the busy local supermarket. On that day in particular, the women were expected to attend a tedious health and safety presentation, hence their keen desire not to be there at all. Gemma and Becky had provided us with a list of kinky activities they wanted to try out, the details of which astonished even me. I suppose you could say Andrew and I gave them a different kind of health and safety presentation, focussing on the importance of bending at the knees, manual handling, and waste management.


Andrew’s apprehension over leaving to pick the women up had been due to a recent spate of muggings, burglaries, and even a stabbing, related to nefarious criminal elements in our local area using message boards and chat rooms to target victims. The online dating and anonymous hook-up community had been on edge for quite some time. Andrew had not been terribly sure that he would return that morning in one piece, if at all. He had even left his wallet at home under a potted plant. I believe the coordinated gang of thieves, who had been stalking friendly internet users to fund their drug network, were eventually caught and removed from our worst fears.


We did get an email from Gemma some time after, saying both girls had actually had a great time that day and would be up for meeting again, although I suspected they just wanted their expensive clothes back. Well, they had been fired from the supermarket for not turning up to work, after all. Ha! Dumb bitches. At least we gave them back their work uniforms so they could claim the security deposit on them.


Right, back to unjamming that accursed photocopier!


THE END

Saturday, 11 October 2025

Intermission IV

As you may or may not have noticed, I’ve suffered a major low-mood attack this week that has punched through my antidepressants and rendered me nearly catatonic for days on end. Sometimes the drugs don’t work, as the man said.


I’m fed up, basically. Fed up of it not being as cold as I’d like for mid-October. Fed up of my new diet. Fed up of my noisy neighbours and their antisocial friends/junkie clients. Fed up of the doctor and council and phone company booking me appointments for shit I couldn’t give a flying fuck about. Fed up of being so disabled. Fed up of everybody dying. Fed up of living in fear about nothing all the time since the day I was born.


I’m sure I’ll climb back out of this pit of despair eventually, but boy-oh-boy is it taking time for the negativity to subside.


I’ve bought a hand-operated can crusher, so that’s providing me with some exercise. Sadly, I have so many cans to crush due to my alcoholism. I know things are bad when I don’t care that I’m drinking morning, noon, and night. I just want to fade away into oblivion and never feel anything ever again. Matthew Perry says the first time he got drunk as a kid he wondered whether it was how “normal” people feel all the time. That’s what goes through my head every time I drink too. Still to this day.


What’s it like being normal? I do so wonder.


To quote Colonel Kurtz: “Sell the house. Sell the car. Sell the kids. Find someone else. Forget it. I'm never coming back. Forget it.”


So, yeah, if you need me, I’lll be in the Vietnamese jungle starting my own society and hiding in the shadows because I’m too fat to be on camera.


Or I’ll just be back next week with more opinions on bollocks that doesn’t matter to anyone.


Do stay in touch, darlings.


Toodles!

Monday, 6 October 2025

Nobody cares

Nobody cares

Nobody cares

Nobody cares

Nobody

cares

Nobody cares

Nobody cares

Nobody cares

Nobodoy cares


Everyone I love has gone


Robots steal my thoughts


There is nothing outside


I give up

Why won’t my body die

Why won’t my body die

Why won’t my body die

Why won’t my body die

Why won’t my body die

Why won’t my body die

Framed to Perfection XXVII


TIEFER BLAUER SCHNEE (1981)

Director: Fred Noczynski

Cinematographer: Martin Rötger


I’ve only just started watching Tiefer Blauer Schee, a one-minute-away-from-being-a-short-film I found on a compilation of German family shorts, so the only thing I know thus far is that it features a family traipsing through the snow to get to… somewhere.


I have a funny feeling this is the whole film.


But, much to my delight, I am being bombarded with thoughtful shot compositions by the minute, which is odd, really, as you’d think little effort would be put into your cinematography under such extreme weather conditions. Unless you’re Renny Harlin, of course.


I’m not usually into wide landscape shots, considering them pretty easy catches, but this one is particularly clever. Hopefully, you get the idea, despite DDR’s usually-poor disc transfer. I’m pretty sure they’re actually designed to self-destruct, like the instructional tapes in Mission: Impossible. 


I hope you are well, as I seem to be experiencing an agonising low-mood attack this week. So, alas, this will probably be the last post you’ll get from me in awhile. Still, as always, should you or any of your IMF Force are caught or killed blah blah blah.


Oh I will be posting so many tributes to Brian De Palma’s wonderful 1996 Mission: Impossible film next year that you will all get fed up so quick. This is a promise, not a threat.


Do stay in touch, darlings.


Toodles!

Thursday, 2 October 2025

Ik Heb Zo Waanzinnig Gedroomd: A Playlist

I feel racked with guilt over being unduly harsh regarding Kinderen voor Kinderen’s 1980s output, whilst discussing the three albums produced by Henk Temming. So, as a form of punishment… ahem… I mean, as a fun little exercise, I thought I’d go through each of those first ten records and select highlights that I hope might very well win over potential new listeners.


It has been harder than expected to whittle down the list, originally wanting to keep it as short and sweet as possible. Between my chosen openers and closers, which are obviously bunched together purposefully for their required effect, things mostly skip along in album order. I was going to have sub-playlists, including one for the gentler songs and one for what I refer to as KvK’s “calypso numbers”, being those with a coquettishly-tropical vibe, but I thought that method might break the spirit of the uninitiated.


“Let’s just keep things simple!”, became my ethos. Therefore, my tweaking of the running order mostly involved putting together a few energetic rock songs, separated by a cute ballad. You know, like how normal, logical, rational human beings would do it. Hey, I’m still learning how to be one, so go easy on me!


I’ve provided the reader and listener with a heavily-abridged text commentary below, rather than indulging in a running commentary of every single track. We all have places we need to be, even if we don’t. So, what follows are my “highlights of the highlights”, so to speak. Again, my plan is to be brief, so, if things get out of hand, then I am truly sorry.


You can find the full playlist here: Ik Heb Zo Waanzinnig Gedroomd


I usually like to get a playlist going with a “BANG!”, but, this time, I decided to go with something more atmospheric. “Het Land Van Vroeger”, from 1989’s 10, is very dream-like and mysterious, reminding me of Moby’s “God Moving Over the Face of the Water”, from the Heat (1995) soundtrack. Then we get the pace going with “Op Een Onbewoond Eiland”, which is one of KvK’s signature tunes. If you stood on a street anywhere in The Netherlands and sang this song, everyone about you would hum along. Guaranteed. “Brugsmurfblues” is about goodness-knows-what, but it always makes me jump for joy when it begins. The stage performance implies it’s about having to drag loads of crap to school with you everyday, but the title appears to signpost the lament of a troll living under a bridge. Hmm, go figure. “Trim, Trim, Trim” recants the hardship of keeping fit, with its music video being just about the campiest thing you can possibly imagine. Safe for work, and yet somehow still NSFW. The little blond boy on the rowing machine turns up in the “Mode” video too, doing some amazing “dad-dancing”. “Treuzeltechniek” we can all relate to, which is dawdling after being told to go to bed. I don’t have a problem with that now, what with being a grown-up who loves not being vertical, but, as a kid with a boring strict bedtime, I definitely kept things going for as long as possible. The ginger boy, a favourite of the KvK producers, who sings the song, nearly knocks over one of his backing singers during the live performance, which is worth looking out for.


With the bombastic intro section out of the way, 1’s opener “Ik En M’n Beessie” gets a more formal pace going. The Dutch don’t seem to use contractions much, but I think “m’n” is short for “mijn”, which means “mine”. Interesting, huh? Yeah, okay. “O, Dat Huiswerk” is wonderfully petulant. A kid complains about having to do homework, which is something else we can all relate to. I didn’t do much of the homework I was set, or classwork, or exam revision, or listening to teachers in general. I left school with three passing grades, which still doesn’t bother me to this day. I’ve learned more and gained more useful qualifications as a willing adult. I guess I always knew I wouldn’t be academically successful, so I chose to just sit staring out the window thinking about boobs.


“De Wrat” is the first agonisingly-cute number, of which I have created a separate playlist here. It has an interesting ascending melody, with a pleasant plinky-plonk rhythm to it, providing a perfect example of early-KvK’s strong points. Skipping down to “En Ik”, which features misshapen kids criticising their own bodies. While the song has a rather abrasive riff, the singer complaining about being too small and cute is just so charming that I simply had to include it. “Teddybeer” is perhaps the cutest song of them all, even though the live show’s production designers made a grave blunder in building a giant teddybear that is truly the stuff of nightmares. I don’t recommend searching for this clip if you value a good night’s sleep! “De Drummer”, surely about a boy explaining why he loves playing the drums above all else, doesn’t necessarily have the most pleasant melody in the world, but the character’s passion about his musical instrument of choice is infectious enough to warrant being on here. 


“Beesteboel” is a rollicking centrepiece, which kicks the meandering-arse of proceedings somewhat. Definitely one you will catch me dancing to! “Mode”, about fashion, is certainly unique-sounding. Still, even with the charmless choral work, the lead vocals cut out a toe-tapping tune. The 80s rivalled the 70s for having the worst fashion sense in human history, so that makes for an amusing bit of schadenfreude. Are we doing the 90s now? Sigh. At this rate, we’ll run out of decades to copy! “Meidengroep” has a driving rhythm that belies its folksy instrumentation, which is echoed in the upcoming “Vakantie In Italie”. “Meidengroep” then blossoms into a pitch-perfect ABBA tribute, which is glorious. You could include it on an ABBA record and nobody would notice it was really KvK. “Diet” has an offbeat groove to it, which many of these early songs lack. I approve! The music video for “Fisse Knul” competes with that of “Trim, Trim, Trim” with its unashamed camp. Erm, let’s just say they made a wise choice in picking older teens to perform in it because, well, you’ll find out.


Moving speedily along…


“Vaders Allergie” is one of my favourite of KvK’s calypso numbers, which you would do well to play at a family barbecue. It features such a bold musical tone and adorable vocal performance that it makes me smile the millisecond it begins. If you can find just one song in existence that does that for you, then surely your life has been improved considerably. KvK has those songs in spades! It’s songs like “Vaders Allergie” that keep me coming back time and time again. The same goes for “Spinnen”, about a kid being scared of a spider. The singer’s melodramatic gasps and repeated declaration of: “Stop!” is a highlight in its truest sense.


The girl singing “Make-Up” has such a deep voice that I initially assumed it was a progressive trans anthem, which I am happy to have be true in my head. I remember loving going through mother’s makeup collection when I was a camp little boy, which I’m sure must’ve irritated her to no end. “Why can’t boys have all this fun stuff?!”, I would wonder. I’m far too lazy to be a “lipstick lesbian” nowadays, so, for those times when I am so-inclined, I’m comfortable with being a casual tomboy in a scruffy pair of shorts and t-shirt.


It took me forever to appreciate “Vakantie Met De Tent” fully, what with its jarring-inclusion of a prominent adult singer, but the small kid having the final say at the end of each chorus is fast making the song one of my all-time favourites. I’m finding new gems every day! “Astronaut” features the chorus of backing singers tripping over each other with chaotic joy. This is one of the charms of the earlier songs, before modern production techniques smoothed out the “errors” in the young performers’ vocals. This apparent-improvement may increase the odds of the producer getting more work, sure, but it diminishes the cuteness factor considerably. I’m sure one single button on a modern mixing desk could iron out “Astronaut”’s delightful-unsteadiness, but I wouldn’t press it myself.


And so I shall skip ahead to the closing series of songs, beginning with the “Als De Kat Van Huis Is”. It’s such a strange jazz romp that even the singer sounds like they’re smirking at its strangeness. It’s slow, purposeful intro just makes it feel like the beginning of the end, which is why I placed it here. “Schipperskind” and “De Lek” both share fairly-apocalyptic melodies, which descend into sadness in bold style. “De Lek”, in particular, can easily be described as “haunting” in its gloomy melodic outlook. And then we come to it, the title track of this playlist, which there is a reason for. “Ik Heb Zo Waanzinnig Gedroom”, which translates to: “I Had Such a Crazy Dream”, sounds like a drunk 8-year-old slurring their way through a Bavarian drinking song. The music video practically storyboards itself! Sadly, the only one that exists is of a blank-eyed girl swaying soberly from side-to-side, rather than a rebellious little boy with a mischievous twinkle in his eye getting hammered with his fellow Victorian street urchins. It’s the tune that got me hooked on KvK in the first place and should always feature at the beginning or end of any playlist. It’s smack-bang in the middle of 1’s tracklist, which I find a miscalculation, but hey-ho. They were new to all this back then!


I chose “Foto-Album” as something of an epilogue. It’s so simple and fragile and melancholic that, hopefully, it’ll leave you with profound emotions. I don’t need to have the lyrics translated to know what it’s about. The title and tone of the song says it all. I hope you are as moved by it as I am.


So, there you have it. My attempt at brevity has clearly failed, but I think I have done pretty well in summing up 64 songs at 2 hours 56 minutes of great, but still dated-even-for-its-time, music. KvK’s sound has evolved fascinatingly over the four-and-a-half decades its been going, ditching these old music hall skits for indie rock anthems and polished power-pop gems. They’ve become indispensable in helping me battle my lifelong struggle with depression of late, blocking out all the negativity and regret that comes with being an adult. There are sombre moments in the lyrical and musical themes, of course, but they’re never mean-spirited or at the expense of someone else’s happiness, which is a common tragedy you encounter in your mature years.


All kids want is food and a kind word. And maybe the latest generation of gaming console. But that’s it.


46 is released next Friday, 10 October 2025, so do check that out. I’m sure a review from me will follow its release fairly sharpish.


I hope you enjoyed my playlist, having done all the hard work for you. What I left out isn’t terrible, but they’re just not what I would, in good conscience, call “highlights”. For instance, there’s one song that begins with the sound of kids cheering for joy at a pop concert, but it sounds more like they’re screaming in distress. Yikes. Nobody should have to hear that. It would have made it onto the list, were it not for that fundamental blunder by the producers.


Let me know if I missed off any of your own personal favourites.


Do stay in touch, darlings.


Toodles!