To quote a line from DEAR DIARY - I think I’m going mad. Thing is – I think I like it :-).
Recently, I posted something - JOURNEY'S END. I posted an M4F and an F4M version and - to be honest (a Bad Habit I'm trying to break (blush)), I thought there was a good chance it would sink without trace. I didn't know if it was 'GWA Worthy', in that I really didn't know if people would find it erotic, or stimulating, or any of the things GWA is all about.
Apparently, some people did. Some people even made some (totally amazing and brilliant!) recordings. And even if the words were but a scribble, people loved the recordings.
Lordy, I love the people here :-). And the amazingly Talented Voices :-))))).
So after the posting, someone - it's OK Lady seebeee, I won't tell anyone who it was :-P - started whispering in my ear that, like, maybe it should have a follow on, with, like, maybe a collab for folk.
Well, OK. I know people here aren't really keen on collabs. They must be a total PITA to try to put together. And I also figured a collab would be looooong. But... well... like, it was Lady seebeee :-).
Oh dear. Oh, um, bugger (sorry - my inner dwarf (blushes again).
So. There it is. I must be mad. And I have no idea if you'll like it. This comes in three versions - an MF4A, an M4F and an F4M. They're here:
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY - MF4A
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY - M4F
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY - F4M
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Are they erotic? Buggered if I know. If you like them, it's down to that person I never mentioned. If you don't - it's my fault. Let me know. I'll take them down. But here's the F4M. Here's HAPPY BIRTHDAY. Over to y'all...
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY
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It’s my birthday.
It’s my birthday, and I have no fucking idea which one. And it’s not just because things are, like, different. Like, because I’m different. It’s not because, as time goes by, you, like, stop counting.
It’s because only one ever mattered. Only one of my birthdays, like, ever.
I'll never forget my eighteenth birthday.
But then, that's how it is. Because everything's different now. Because I'm different.
Fuck. I am so fucking different.
So everything's different, even if it's, like, the same, and I'm different, even if, like, I haven't changed since... well. Since.
And the river rushes, and the weir roars, and just like I'll never, ever forget those sounds, like I heard them when... well, just like I can't ever forget those sounds, I remember.
You see, it's different now. I'm different now. And now, I remember. Everything. I remember every fucking thing. I remember being scared, and I remember being happy. I remember being scared I'd stop being happy – and I remember when I could forget I was scared because I was happy.
You made me happy. Of course, you made me scared – mostly because you made me happy. Because you were the only reason I was ever happy, and that made me scared I'd have to stop – because you wouldn't be there.
So, like, fuck it, right? Like, I fucked up me and I fucked up you, and I fucked up our Us, so I didn't have to be scared any more. Because I knew I'd never be happy again, so I didn't have to be scared of it stopping. So I fucked us, and you ran, and you were gone. And now the evening's coming. The evening's coming, and I'm here, like I'm always here – and you're not. You're not here, and maybe I'm crazy, to remember you being here. Like, maybe it never happened, and like, maybe I just think I remember you being here, and, like, maybe it's not Our Bridge at all. Fuck, maybe it never was! I mean, like, what if you were never real? Like maybe I'm just a crazy.... well, a crazy whatever the fuck I am, and I'm leaning on a railing You never leaned on, remembering a You who was never here, had never been here, coming back?
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fucking fuck.
And I realise. I realise I don't care if you're not real. I don't care if you were never here. I don't care if I'm just a crazy... I mean, like, I don't. Fucking care, I mean. Because you're real. You're real, because I say so. And this isn't my railing, it's Our Railing, and it isn't my bridge, it's Our fucking Bridge – and even if you don't exist, you do, because I don't want any fucking world that doesn't have you in it. And things are different now, and I remember everything now, because I'm different now, and if I remember it, it must be real, right? So I do it. I remember. I remember my eighteenth birthday...
Eighteen. Eight-fucking-teen. Like, it's supposed to be a big deal, right? So there's me, and I'm going to be able to drink in bars without having fake ID, even if the bars I drank in only ever needed ID that fitted in a cash drawer. And, like, I'd be able to, like, vote. Right. Vote for some shits older than the fucking Bay City Rollers, so they could mess things up like some other shits had already done. Like, fuck that. And, like, fucking? Well, fuck fucking. I'd been there, and done that, and I hadn't needed any magic number of birthdays to find out it wasn't really that big a deal after all. Fuck, all I needed was a pack of rubber for when I wanted it to happen, and a fucking can of mace and a taser for when I didn't.
No. I was going to be eighteen. And the biggest thing about being eighteen? The biggest thing about being eighteen was, I didn't know what you were going to get me for my birthday. And I'd tried. Like, to find out. Like, we'd be out, like, at the mall, or some place, and I'd, like, look for stuff. Stuff I thought you might be getting me. And, like, I'd say stuff like, 'oh, I think I'll get one of those', or, like, pretend to go in the store and, like, act like I was going to buy it. And I'd watch you, to see if you winced, or if you looked nervous, or, like, tried to get us away. And all I had for it was two new pairs of shoes I wouldn't be seen – well, seen dead in, some perfume that pretty much proved what I'd read about them making perfume out of what skunks did when skunks didn't want you around – and a whole pile of nothing. I'd thought, like, maybe I had something when we went to one place, and you wouldn't look at anything at all. Then I figured it was just, like, a guy thing. I mean, fuck. Guys spend so much fucking time trying to get to see what a girl's got on under whatever she's got on on top, so why do they get like they do when it's on a rack in a store, and they can look all they want? So I figured that a loser too. I mean, like, thank god. The stuff guys actually go buy, when they're not too chicken shit to try, either wouldn't fit a broom handle, looks like it's made for a camel, or at least its humps, or feels like it's made of barbed wire mesh. I mean, lace? Sure? Lacerated? And I mean, like, the girl? Not so much.
Then I got scared, like I was always scared with you. Because you weren't looking at the racks, you were looking at this cute sales chick, and, like, maybe, I figured, looking at her rack. And I wondered if that was going to be, like, the day. The day I ran out of reasons to be scared, because you'd given me all the ones I didn't want.
But she didn't hide, and she didn't fake, and she came over, and she was, like, your fucking cousin! And she said, like, I must be crazy for hanging out with her dork cousin, and did I want to know what you looked like bare-ass? And I thought that was, like, kind of weird, if she was really your cousin, but she gets her purse, and, like, she's got one of your baby pictures in it! And you are so fucking cute! And I look at you, and you're blushing! And your cousin, she tells me she still has some more pictures, and any time I wanted to spend some quality girl-time, I should find her.
And I knew. I knew it wasn't going to be today you left me.
And the other thing I knew? The other thing I knew was, I was going to be eighteen. And I had no fucking idea what you were going to get me for my birthday.
I look up from the river. The sun's almost gone now. It's falling, and the shadows are stretching. And the bridge? The bridge is just a fucking bridge. It's not Our Bridge. Maybe it never was. Maybe that's just how it is, when you're different. But I don't care, because I remember Our Bridge, and I remember you – my You. And I remember something else. I remember, and I remember just as hard as I fucking can – and I remember my eighteenth birthday. I remember my birthday – and your present.
Mostly, I remember waiting. Waiting for you. Like, you never said anything about my birthday. Like, not a fucking word. And I said nothing, and I waited, and I waited – and I figured you'd forgotten. Forgotten my fucking birthday! So yesterday I'd, like, reminded you, and you did your 'Oh fuck' look. And you said, like, you'd been wanting to surprise me, and, like, you were going to come round and we'd go out to eat. And I knew, right then. I knew you'd fucking forgotten. And I wanted to cry, because – well. Because. And I figured, fuck it. I'd let you spend a fucking fortune on me, then dump you flat at the end of the night. And I wanted to cry.
And then it happened. Because it was my birthday, and it was the morning, and there was a knock at the door. And there was a guy at the door, and he had this delivery, he said, and he said it was for me. And it had this huge fucking bow on it, and a card. And it was from you. And mom was out, which was lucky, because I didn't want anyone to see whatever it was, apart from me. So I took it upstairs, and I unwrapped it.
And it was fucking beautiful. It was fucking beautiful, and it wasn't made for a broom handle, or a camel, and I took my clothes off, and I put it on. I put it on, and it felt like – like butterfly wings. Like a summer breeze, and sunlight on my skin. And even though it held me tight, and it had bones in it, it was a wonderful tight. Like your arms were already round me, and I was in them. Like you'd never let me go. And I could feel my nipples getting hard, and I could feel my cunt getting wet, and I knew that girl in the store wasn't any kind of cousin really. And I didn't care, because you'd been such a sneaky, lovely, wonderful Bastard.
Because you were My Bastard.
And I looked at me in the mirror, and it matched my eyes, and it showed enough to say I wanted to show you more, but not so much you wouldn't have fun finding out what more there was to find. And I took it off, and I put on my shirt and jeans, and I went out. I went out, and got some heels to die for, and I got some new stockings, even though I never, ever wore stockings. And I came home, and I took a shower, and it was one of the longest showers I'd ever had in my life. And my nipples were so fucking hard, and my cunt was so fucking wet, and I soaped and I soaped, and I rinsed and I soaped, and it wasn't my hands on me at all – at least not in my head.
And even if the hands on me were mine right now, I knew. I knew it was my birthday, and I was eighteen, and you were going to like my birthday present.
And I went back to my bedroom, and I put it on, and I put on my stockings, and I put on my heels, and I looked in the mirror. And I knew I wasn't going to have to find any matching panties. Because tonight? Tonight was my birthday.
And my nipples were like rocks, and my cunt was like a river. Like it was going to be Our River. And I put on your favorite dress, and I waited. Waited for my birthday.
And it wasn’t too long. Before my real present arrived, I mean. Because I hear you pull up in your car. So I go upstairs, so you don’t think I’ve just been hanging on the curtain, looking out the window, even if I have been. And you come in, and I come downstairs, and I see you see me wearing your favourite dress. And we go to the car, and you say how we've got time to get to the restaurant, and I see you’ve got a bag of potato chips on the seat next to you. And I how, like, it must be a crappy restaurant, if you have to bring my own potato chips – but I smile so you know I don’t mean it. And you pick the still sealed bag up, and you throw it on the back seat. And we drive, but I say how there's something we have to do first, some place we have to go. And you say where? And I tell you me to turn here, and to turn there. And we're there. We're in the parking lot, that's really just some scrabby grass and some gravel. And the parking lot's empty, because the mill is closed, and the tourists have gone home. And I can hear the river, a ways off, and it's running, and the weir's roaring. And I look at you, and I smile. And I reach back, and I unzip my dress. I unzip my dress, and I slide it off my shoulders, and it slides down over me. And I show it to you. My birthday present. And I can see the bulge in your pants, and I know. I know you’re already hard. And you try to cover it up, but I smile. I smile, and I tell you to take your fucking hands away. I tell you to take my fucking hands away, and I reach out, and my hand covers your hardness, and I stroke it. I stroke it, and you get even harder, and I unzip you, and I take you out.
And I unzip you. I unzip you, and you are so, fucking hard. And I can feel my nipples are hard, and my cunt is wet, and it's like Our River is in me, and it's running so fast, and I don’t ever want it to stop. And I slide out of my dress, but not out of my present. And I ask you whether you like my birthday present? But I don’t wait for you to answer. Because I lean over, and I open my mouth, and I take your cock in my mouth, and I begin to suck you.
And you are so fucking hard.
And my head moves up and down on your cock, and my lips are tight, and it's like you're already in me. It's like I can feel you in my cunt, even though you're in my mouth. And you slide in and out, out and in, and your cock teases at the back of my throat. And I let it tease, and I let it tease, and I let it tease – then I don't. I push my head down on you, on your cock, and you open me. You open my throat, and you sink into me, and you're in me, and you're deep in me. And I lift my head, and I tease, and I drop my head and I tease – and I push down on you, and you're in me. And I could do more, and I want to do more, but I don't want it to be over – not yet. So I take my mouth off your cock, and I look in your eyes, and I know I'm crying. Because I know what I can't give you. I know what I wish I could give you. And I tell you how much I wish you were my first fuck – but how I can't say that. But I tell you how, even if you're not my first fuck, you're the first person I've ever made love to. And you smile. You smile, and you lean in, and you kiss my eyes, and I feel your tongue lick my tears – and you say you don't care. You say you don't care if you're not my first. You just want to be my last. The last person I ever make love to. Ad I fall in love with you, even though I already love you, and I fall, all over again.
And you ask if you'll take a walk with me. And I say, like, sure. And I could put my dress on, but I don’t see why I should, and my present is so fucking beautiful, and I want you to look at me in it and want me for the rest of Our life. So I don’t. I get out of the car, and I see you grab the bag of potato chips. And I laugh, and I say how, like, if this is what you mean by taking me out to eat, you must have spent all your money on my present. And I ask you if that was ever another Peter Sarstedt song, like the frozen orange juice. And you say no, and I take your hand, and we walk to Our Bridge.
And we get to Our Bridge, and you ask me if I'd like anything to eat. And I grin, and I reach out, and I take hold of your cock. But you say, like, maybe I should eat something. And you give me the bag of potato chips. And it's still sealed, and I figure, what the fuck, so I tear it open, and I grab some. And I offer the bag to you, but you say no, it's, like, another birthday present. And you can't have my birthday present, and everything in the bag is mine. And you've got a look in your eye, and it's like you want to cry, and you want to laugh, and you want to do both at the same time. And you look scared – so very scared. And I reach into the bag, and I reach, and I feel – and it's there. And I take it out. And it's green, like my eyes, and it's red, like the setting sun. And I look at it, and I look at you, and I want to cry, and I've never been so scared, and I've never been so fucking happy.
And you tell me how, like, you don't mean now. You say how, like, you know we haven't been together long. And you say how, like, even if it hasn't been long, it feels like it's been all your life, and how you want all your life to be. And you say how, like, it's my present. And I should keep it. And you say how I should, like, keep it. And I should keep it, and when I know it's time, I should give it back to you. But not Give it Back to you. I should give it back to you, and you'll give it back to me, and it will be mine for everyone to see. But only when I know it's time, and only when I know I'm ready. And I am so fucking happy, and I am so fucking scared – and I go down on my knees, and I take your cock in my mouth.
And I remember your present, your real present, so green like my eyes and so red like the sun. And I remember the night I came here, and my heel snapped, even if it didn’t really, and I cry so hard for what I lost that night. And I wish I was there now, back then, and your cock in my mouth, and your present in my hand – and I cry.
But that was then, and that was my eighteenth birthday. And I loved you so fucking much, like I love you know, even if you're not really real – even if I'll never see you again and I'll always be alone on my bridge. And I remember how I made you run, and I remember Jeff, and I remember the night he was a bastard – but not like you were My Bastard.
And the sun's almost gone. The sun's almost gone, but I see you, in its light. You, who maybe don't exist. You. My You. And I see you've been crying, and I see your eyes are more red than the sun. And I ask you where you’ve been, and why you weren’t here. And you say how, like, it's my birthday, and how, like, you had to get your birthday present. And you open your hand, and it can’t be there, and it could never be there, but it is there. It's there, and you're there, and whatever I'd lost forever, I know I never really lost. And it gleams, green and red, in the sun's last light. And the shadows rise, and they gather round – and then they're gone. They're gone, and we're alone. But we're never alone, because it's Our Bridge, and we're Us. And I drop to my knees, and you are so fucking hard. And I open my mouth, and I take your cock – and I know I didn't lie. I know it’s true. And I know you really are the last. My first love. My only love – and the last I'll ever make love to. Forever.