My Lamma Forums

[tjungarayi]

Knees a tremble with expectation I swished down a couple of glasses of Grand Marnier that steadied the butterflies for the ‘rendezvous’. Twas was a cold February so I donned a favorite red scarf, my sexy grey beret, my trusty long black shiny ‘fuck me’ boots that covered my skin tight black nylon stockings which eventually disappeared up my short green checked mini. Feeling warm, aglow, cozy, nose a’twitching, eyebrows plucked and having recently had a shot of vitamin B, I strutted toward my ‘lammerotic’ meet with that loquacious lanky dirty blonde mandingo, that veritable cyber tiger of the Lamma forums. Switched on with my MP3, volume set to crescendo with Nancy’s, ‘these boots are gonna walk all over you….’ I thought, ‘Yeah girls – eat your hearts out’.

Oh – I know - he wears khaki socks with sandals – and that’s the killer. This ‘studley’ does what he wants – aligns the fashion firmament for others to follow. This hunk is the dreamboat benchmark that leaves others wallowing in his wake! Men despair knowing they are not worthy as he cycles past. A svelte and debonair ‘gash’ status that boys aspire to and old men once yearned for. He adds lustre to an otherwise glum, badly dressed Lamma Hong Kong ferry lemming trail seen every morn and eve.

Bitch! - you say, you are digressing. Anyways, hitting main drag, those pesky same ole butterflies assailing me, eyes warily and wanly on the lookout on this cruising vigil, I keep the radar alert for the fashion guru that I had dared presumed to meet this muted starry night. The witching hour struck and I questioned my sanity in risking all, my honor, dignity, integrity, reputation and body in this risqué raunchy rendezvous. What gossip would ensue if word were to get out at the use of the ‘lamma zine’ for purposes of clandestine bacchanalian trysts. Well not really, but how else is a girl going to get a good fuck on this island. Most of the men are married or have girlfriends and there’s little chance or venue for singles. I tried a few of the pubs along main street and what a loss. Full of drowsy old English men with distended red noses longer and more alive than their dicks. I propositioned one greying middle aged guy – tried to entice him up to my flat in desperation by whispering into his hairy ear all those dirty deeds I was willing to perform for him. You know what his response was? My dear, I am so sorry but I can’t. Falklands you know Goose Green. Shot clean right off, decapitated the poor fellow. Damned Argys…. They sent an orderly back the next morning to search for it. Found it alright but it had been trodden on, driven on and blackened by shellfire. Still better than losing a forefinger or an eye eh! Did my bit for queen an country eh! Fuck me sideways I thought, who would have guessed the Falklands war would find one of its poor sods a barfly here at Lamma.

The gentle waves made those lap lapping sounds against the concrete stanchions of the pier as I waited. Rippling orange, blue and silver paths stretched and flickered across the bay as I listened and peered for any movement that might betray another’s presence. A disturbing snapping sound erupted from within the locked passenger terminal of the wharf. Distracted by this sudden cacophony I peered through the cold vertical steel bars at the torn unruly Christian bible pennant flapping insanely in the fresh westerly wind as if it were trying to get free. The terminal looked unfriendly, stark and cold in its harsh fluorescent glare. Years of grime and impersonal yellow paint peeling and discoloring into that dirty brown hue that bespoke an uncaring cheap and garish edifice where pettifogging soul salvation now advertised.

Well take away my squeaky toys! Was that a footfall I heard. I dared not turn after being distracted by the god squad’s soul canvassing on this remote isle. I needed to regain an aura of nonchalance as I turned to greet my lover for the night. With face in fixed poise I turned to meet the virtual tease of Lamma island’s erotically starved women. Ohhh!, and I mean oooohhh! There he stood, weight upon his right leg and left hand in hip pocket with his shoulder length dirty blonde hair irreverently combed in that quintessential 1970 style. A twenty first century David. Immediately noticeable were his signature khaki socks that reached halfway to his knees and the tight brown sandals that encased his feet and ankles. His beard flecked with grey shadowed a lean tanned face with grey blue eyes. Time stood still as we stared at each other and I could neither breathe or move.

He broke the charged silence. So, you come here often? Not usually this late I blurted, wishing I could still my twitching fingers and thinking a fag would be nice right now to calm my shattered nerves. We stood two arms lengths apart, neither daring the next step in bringing us into closer contact. A dog barked in the distance and a chorus of howls erupted followed by yelps as owners typically beat their hounds into silence, at once dispelling the intriguing silence and bringing our surroundings into sharp focus. The chill air formed white fairy floss like clouds as I asked if he were not cold in his shorts and sandals? He peered down at his feet as if seeing them for the first time. He pondered for what seemed an overly long time then looked up sharply into my eyes , I know only one way to get really warm. Well what a line! This guy was smoother than mercury on sloping glass. I held his lopsided grin and genuflected with a slight twitch of my head in the direction of the hill overlooking the bay. We both started moving, drawing closer together. Using the cold as reason to touch shoulders we broke that barrier that held us apart and embraced passionately and forcefully our lips meshing and sliding, my teeth gripping his lips, our tongues probing.

Phew! We pulled apart after what seemed an eternity. Lets go to my place. I panted. He arched his eyebrow and I saw the tip of his wet tongue caress and moisten his upper lip as he nodded. We moved past the sinister darkened turnoff to the library, hurried past the vacantly staring stark white hotels on our left, by now moving and almost running in our haste to consummate our lust. By the time we reached the Post Office we were holding hands and smiling as we hurried. As we passed the bank on our left my hand was squeezed harder and I could feel the tension emitting from my illicit lover as we navigated what was for him a treacherous path of adultery through the darkly shuttered storefronts and restaurants well known and visited by his peers. Where’s your flat? he pleaded and immediately I could sense the urgency of fear from being found out.

All of a sudden he pulled me almost off my feet into a dark narrow blacked out alley and pressed me up against the wall breathing heavily into my neck shushing me. Rancid oil, garlic and beer smells invaded my senses. My immediate thoughts were that he was going to take me there and then, standing up in reckless and passionate abandon. Disappointedly, I heard the murmur of Cantonese and the tread on many rushing feet as I stood unsteady in shocked and startled silence. As soon as they passed he led me out of the alley and back into Main street, quickly passed that shop where the funny man in a white hat sells curry fish balls and all sorts of liver, then the bar where the big blonde barmaid plays host to innumerable bulbous nosed English and Canadian barflys, and finally skirting around the playing field to the shadowed corner below the hill where the kiddies playground lies.

It was there that he threw me against the slightly sloped red and green padding that had recently been put up in the playground. With one hand he gripped his khaki shirt and tore it off, the buttons making snapping sounds as they flew apart. Using two hands he tore away my top, neglecting all gentlemanly courtesy as my red bra came next revealing my taut but perky breasts glowing white in the moonlight.. Staring at my nakedness his eyes seemed primeval and terrifying and I felt a delicious fear at being dominated so ruthlessly. We both fumbled in our haste to undress, me at his shorts and his hands tearing and ripping away my stockings. The cold bothered us none as passion overcame all inhibition as he took me against the padded wall of the playground. His upward movements sent shivers of demented pleasure through my whole being, my hands scraping into the wall, fingers digging in, tearing the material. His pleasure was intense as he neared climax, his hands gripping the wall, fingers clawing into the red padded wall. A long tearing sound announced his almost painful climax after which his body slumped into spent exhaustion.

My knees trembled as I gently pushed up against his chest with both hands. Wow! I said. Looking to either side we both noticed the damage we had caused to the padded walls that our lovemaking had caused. Momentarily, a thought about the furore that this damage would incite amongst those stalwart responsible citizens of lamma flickered past my mind, but that consideration was quickly extinguished as I lit a cigarette and took a long deep drag. That was the best Al, I whispered in my lovers ear.

[Geno]

Oh my God, Spinoza's back!

[tjungarayi]

Spinoza could never have penned this.
Really Geno!

[soundbydesign]

I had heard that 'A'rtificial 'I'ntelligence was moving leaps & bounds these days.

Your scribe was very impressive Tjungarayi.

Not to mention hilarious, LOL.

Happy Valentines

[Tony S]

Thanks for the confession Tyujngyajriyary. Excellent detail and entertaining too.

By the way, you're nicked.