text:
Domain name: scbus.net
Registry Domain ID: 295403071_DOMAIN_NET-VRSN
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subset: commoncrawl


text:
3 Min Read
BEIRUT (Reuters) - Syria said on Monday new U.N.-Arab League envoy Lakhdar Brahimi could only make headway if outside countries ceased helping rebels opposed to President Bashar al-Assad and instead declared support for a U.N.-backed peace plan.
Brahimi, a veteran Algerian diplomat, has picked up the baton from former U.N. chief Kofi Annan, who drew up the six-point plan for Syria, but a ceasefire he declared on April 12 failed to take hold. Violence has worsened since then.
"The conditions for success for Lakhdar Brahimi in his mission is for specific countries - Qatar, Saudi Arabia and Turkey - to announce their commitment to the six-point plan and completely stop sending weapons (to rebels) and close borders to fighters and close fighter training camps," Syrian Information Minister Omran Zoabi told a news conference in Damascus.
"The ball is not in the Syrian court, the ball is in the Saudi, Qatari, Turkish, European and U.S. court," he said.
Damascus verbally accepted Annan's plan in April, but failed to implement its main call for an end to violence and a pullout of Syrian troops and heavy weapons from towns and cities.
Syria has long accused Saudi Arabia and Qatar of supporting rebels during the 17-month-old anti-Assad uprising and says neighboring Turkey allows fighters to train on its soil.
Brahimi told the BBC in an interview broadcast on Monday that diplomatic attempts to end the conflict were "nearly impossible.
Annan, his predecessor, resigned as U.N.-Arab League envoy to Syria last month after blaming "finger-pointing and name-calling" at the U.N. Security Council for hampering his efforts.
More than 20,000 people have been killed in Syria since protests against Assad's rule first erupted in March 2011.
Zoabi also took aim at newly elected Egyptian President Mohamed Mursi, who said last week that solidarity with the Syrian people "against an oppressive regime that has lost its legitimacy is an ethical duty" and a strategic necessity.
"After (President Hosni) Mubarak fled and his place was filled with another president, the only difference between him and Mubarak was his beard," Zoabi said, adding that Mursi was supporting Israel and had not helped the Palestinian cause.
"Spilt Syrian blood is the responsibility of Mohamed Mursi and those like him because he sends weapons and money and (provides) political support (to the rebels)."
Reporting by Dominic Evans and Oliver Holmes; Editing by Alistair Lyon


text:
A/N: This is a homage to my dad's absolute inability to park the car in a place where I can safely get into it without being attacked by a rampant holly bush.
A Day's Journey
Pippin was excited; he was going to Buckland! He'd been looking forward to it ever since it had been organised a number of months ago and now the day had come, he was all packed and ready and awaiting the carriage. This was the second stage of their journey, the first being a leisurely trip to Woodhall where they were now and now they were moving on towards Buckland. Pippin was a little worried about the journey though, their usual carriage driver had taken ill and so that meant Pippin's father had control of the carriage and last time that had happened the carriage had lost a wheel (though Paladin claimed it to be no fault of his). The journey had gone smoothly the previous day though, Pippin reasoned and there was nothing stopping it going smoothly today, or so he thought.
Pippin was right about the first half of the journey, that did go as well as could be expected (the only problem being the heat) and Pippin's hopes for an uneventful and quick journey were rising. That was, until they were just out of Stock when his father slowed the cart down.
"Paladin dear?" Said Pippin's mother, Eglantine, "Why are we stopping?" She was very alert of what her husband was doing as she was well aware of what he was like in charge of carriages and though everything had gone to plan so far she wasn't about to let him spoil it.
"We're not stopping," explained Paladin from up front, "We're turning onto a short cut Saradoc told me about last time we were at Brandy Hall." Eglantine stood up to get closer to the driver's seat so she could perhaps poke him through the hole that was there so passengers could communicate with the driver. Of course when the driver is Paladin some times that hole seems a little pointless.
"Oh no you don't Paladin! The road is a perfectly good way to go, we've always used it and it's served us well, why stop using it now?"
"Because this is a better way." stated Paladin simply. Pippin was torn between getting to Brandy Hall quicker and knowing where these ideas of his father usually ended up. His sisters looked as though they were thinking the same.
"How do you know that?" persisted Eglantine even though they were now well down this short cut and it didn't look to be wide enough for the carriage to be able to turn around.
"Saradoc told me that it can take hours off travelling time!" Paladin sounded like he was advertising his wares at a market.
"It's awfully bumpy!" said Pimpernel.
"Is it suitable for carriages? Are you sure Saradoc wasn't talking about horse riders or walkers?"
"I think it's alright for carriages," the ones inside the carriage turned to look at each other, each face showing the pure horror at Paladin's words.
"You think it's alright? You mean you don't know! Paladin next chance you get you're turning this thing around and we're going the usual way!" Eglantine received no answer, which wasn't a good sign but she had done all she could do and now their fate was in the hands of her husband. Pippin sank down in his seat.
"Am I ever going to see Merry again mummy?" he looked up at her, his face a mask of disappointment, he knew there was only a slight chance that his father was correct, as if this path was suitable for carriages then their usual driver would probably know about it.
"Yes of course you will!" said Eglantine, moving over to comfort her son, "Just perhaps not today." Pimpernel took Pippin's hand in hers to let him know that everyone else was feeling the same.
"Oh and to top it all off it's positively sweltering in here!" said Pervinca, letting her frustration get the better of her. Pearl opened the window as wide as it would go but that didn't do very much. Pippin, however, thought he may as well find something to enjoy today and stuck his head out of the window. The breeze was certainly refreshing but the view was neither very good nor very promising. There were trees right at the very edge of the road and as Pippin looked up ahead it was much the same. They continued like this for a little while, his sisters and mother attempting cheerful banter inside.
But then Pippin saw something up ahead and ducked inside to tell his mother.
"Mummy! There's a gap in the hedge up ahead! We can turn around!" the faces of all brightened at this news; perhaps they could get there today after all, granted it would be after nightfall, but still.
"You hear that Paladin? You turn this carriage around! Paladin!" shouted Eglantine. Pippin stuck his head out of the window again and his mother was at the other side of the carriage to watch whatever it was that Paladin would do. As they neared the gap the speed of the carriage changed none and hope inside of it slowly faded.
"Pippin! Get back inside! Now!" shouted Eglantine.
"Pardon?" Pippin turned to look at his mother but didn't get back in. Pearl grabbed his waist and pulled him back inside just before a branch whipped past the window, scraping all along the side of the carriage.
"Pearl! What was that for?" said Pippin indignantly, she had given him quite a jump, pulling him so suddenly. Pearl just pointed back to the window where branches were now hitting it quite often. Pippin's mouth formed an O of understanding, this didn't look good.
"Paladin!" cried Eglantine, "This path is too narrow! We'll never be able to fit through!"
"Nonsense!" came the confident reply, "It'll get wider!"
"I think the trees will beg to differ!" said Eglantine. Pippin was now sitting on her lap as all the occupants tried to squash to the middle of the seats, avoiding the fierce branches at the windows.
The speed of the carriage dropped though it was nothing to do with anything Eglantine had said nor did it mean Paladin had any intention of stopping. It was just that the ponies were finding it harder to pick their way through the potholes and pull the carriage against all the branches that were trying so hard to stop them.
"PALADIN!" screamed Eglantine at the top of her lungs as she finally lost her temper. "Stop this carriage now! We are getting out!" at long last the carriage slowed and stopped. Paladin knew when he had pushed his wife too far; he did it quite often.
"Mum!" said Pearl in a panicked voice, "I can't open the door!"
"I can't open this one either!" said Pervinca trying the door on the other side of the carriage. Indeed, the doors were wedged shut by the multitude of branches pushing against them.
"We could climb out." offered Pippin, then he looked at the four of them, they were all wearing their best dresses, "I could climb out." He looked out of the only window it was remotely possible to climb out of, the other was stuffed with tree. "It's an awfully long way down though," he said, peering down at the ground.
"Worry not my little twot," said Paladin, "I'll lift you out." Paladin climbed around to the side of the carriage (there wasn't enough room to walk) and lifted Pippin from where he was perched in the window, nearly dropping him once but managed to get him safely to the ground in the end. "Now," said Paladin, "You must take this pony and ride to Brandy Hall where you can get help."
"Why do I have to ride? Can't I run?" Paladin knelt down to Pippin's level and whispered to him.
"I'm not sure how far away Brandy Hall is, it may be running distance but then again it may not." It was good to hear his father admitting he was wrong, thought Pippin.
"Why do I have to? Surely you want to get away from Mummy?" Paladin seemed to think for a moment.
"That is tempting but I can't stand riding bareback and I know you don't mind it."
"But I've only ever walked while riding bareback!" said Pippin, just in case his father didn't know that.
"Well, no time like the present!" He lifted down a bridle from a hook on the driver's seat and handed it to his son and went about detaching one of the ponies from the carriage.
"Pippin dear!" called Eglantine from where she was trapped inside the carriage, there was no doubt that she'd heard Paladin's plan. "Come take your dinner!" Pippin scrambled up to the driver's seat with the bridle slung over his shoulder, he took the package from his mother and the drink, "Good luck!" she said, knowing that Pippin didn't hold much confidence in his bareback riding.
"And please hurry! I don't think I could stand too long in here with Pimpy." said Pervinca, it seemed that they had managed to get into an argument in the short time since Pippin had left the carriage.
"Don't call me that!"
"Girls! Behave yourselves!"
"Pippin! I need that bridle now!" Pippin quickly thanked his mother and assured his sisters that he would be quick (especially the long-suffering Pearl) and hopped down to the ground.
"Daddy, why do you even have a bridle?"
"I'm not sure, someone must have put it there." Pippin silently thanked whoever it was as his father lifted him onto the pony.
His father bid him farewell and Pippin trotted off, though as soon he was out of sight he stopped trotting as it was very bumpy and he didn't think he could stay on.
The journey was very uneventful other than the path getting continuously smaller. He was now walking down a tunnel of trees and for some time he had been hearing the faint noise of running water, hopefully it was the Brandywine or else he'd have no idea where he was.
The noise became louder and the trees abruptly stopped at the banks of a stream. It was deep but hopefully not too deep for fording, it was hard to tell for all the bullrushes.
Pippin urged the pony forward into the stream. Luckily at its deepest point only Pippin's feet were dragging in the water, which was quite pleasant on such a hot day. This seemed to be a day of firsts, he had trotted bareback and was now fording a stream.
Once he was out of the other side he decided that he would try trotting again. He did and he managed to keep himself balanced on the pony's back. Then he decided trotting was too uncomfortable and was taking too long so he urged the pony into a canter, another first. After a long while the path became too narrow and the branches over his head too low for him to carry on cantering, not to mention his pony was getting quite tired. Pippin had to duck as they went under the trees and his pony took the opportunity to grab a mouthful or five of leaves.
The trees stopped abruptly and Pippin found himself at long last on an open road. The sun had passed its zenith and was now well on its way down towards the horizon. Pippin looked one way along the road and found it empty, he looked the other way and found the Brandywine, the road ending in a broad landing platform and beyond that he could see the hill of Brandy Hall. The Buckleberry ferry! Pippin now knew where he was at least. But he couldn't use the ferry on his own, and it wasn't tethered to the platform anyway. Pippin looked a little further and saw that someone was already halfway across with their own pony. Pippin trotted to the landing platform and dismounted.
"Sir!" he called, "Excuse me sir!"
"Aye, what is it?" said the hobbit without turning around.
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble sir, would you mind coming back and helping me across? Only I've only ever been on it twice and never on my own."
"Just give me a moment and let me tie my pony up this side then I'll come back for you."
Another ten minutes and the hobbit was back on the west bank of the Brandywine with Pippin, a few more minutes of coaxing the pony onto the ferry and they set off.
"What are you doing with a pony and no saddle?" asked the hobbit if only to start a conversation.
"It's a long story but basically the rest of my family is stuck somewhere just beyond Stock in a carriage and I've been sent to Brandy Hall to get help."
"That's certainly a strange story, what's your name lad?"
"Peregrin Took, which some would say may explain the oddness of the story." Pippin ended with a smile.
"Peregrin Took! Helping the Master of Buckland's own nephew across the Brandywine! There's something I can tell my sons tonight, though I doubt they'll believe me. Ah well, if I ever see you again and I'm with my sons, you'll tell them that I helped you won't you?"
"Of course!"
"Or even better, you could tell my wife that I'm not completely useless."
"You are most certainly not, I don't know what I would have done had you not been here, even if the ferry was on the right side of the river." The ferry came to a halt at the other side of the river and the hobbit lashed it to the bollards on the end of the landing platform. "One last thing, you wouldn't mind helping me onto my pony would you?" Of course, the hobbit agreed and in no time at all Pippin was once again cantering towards Brandy Hall.
At long last, when the sun was only a few inches above the horizon, Pippin came, sweating, thirsty and very tired to the front door of Brandy Hall. No sooner than he raised his hand to knock did the door open to reveal a rather worried Merry.
"Pippin!" he cried as he caught him up in a hug, "Where is everyone?" Merry looked him over and Pippin realised he was probably quite dirty from any dirt in the air clinging to his sweaty body, not to mention that his shirt was half undone to help keep him cool. There were probably twigs in his hair as well.
"Yes, well, that's quite a story..." Pippin explained the story to Merry then again to his uncle Saradoc, who went out to find his family with a strong group of lads, and then at least another three times to various other relations.
At long last Pippin was able to do what he'd been looking forward to all day; settling down in a chair with Merry, food and a drink and even better, with no sisters or parents to interrupt.
For once, as far as Pippin was concerned, one of his father's plans had gone well.
FIN"Worry not my little twot" is not a spelling mistake, just something my dad used to say to me.


text:
Go back to normal view
Mary the God-Bearer
Galatians 4:4-7
A sermon for the Feast of the Blessed Virgin Mary
by Canon Simon Everett
on Sunday, 14th August 2016
Lady St Mary Church, Wareham
On the 15th August every year, in the east and the west, there is a festival to celebrate the blessed Virgin Mary, (Lady St Mary as we would say here in Wareham). And this being the nearest Sunday, and the Sunday of our flower festival, we celebrate our patronal festival. But what exactly is it we are celebrating? Well in the western church, if we give it its full title it is the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. Coming from the western, Latin Church, the Roman Catholic church maintains that Mary did not die, but was assumed bodily into heaven. Of course the protestant churches rejected this at the Reformation, but in the Church of England lectionary it is still a feast day dedicated to Mary – that highly favoured lady.
However, the origin of this feast day comes from the Eastern church, who do not celebrate the Assumption of Mary, instead they have always celebrated the Dormition of the Mary, (a fancy way of saying the falling asleep of the Blessed Virgin Mary!). And I have to say that I find this a far easier and more genuine way to remember the mother of our Lord – gentling falling asleep to awake re-united with her son, the Christ. Which one of us wouldn't want to leave this world in that way? Going to sleep here and waking up in glory.
There is much in the Eastern Church theology that I admire and relate to, particularly their appreciation and desire for God to be glorified. And although their emphasis is more on the traditions of the Church fathers, Icons and Liturgy (rather than the Bible) these are seen simply as means of entering the heavenly courts to worship God more fully. If you enter an Eastern Orthodox Church you will see many icons, particularly of the Virgin Mary, and usually with the Christ-Child on her lap, or held in front of her. And there is a reason for this.
In Orthodox Church Mary has a title "Theotokos". It is a Greek word that was used by the early Church Fathers and eventually became a title in its own right. It means, the one who carries God, or 'God-bearer'. This has led many to give devotion to Mary, but this rather misses the point. As Bishop Michael Perham says, 'The insight of Mary as theotokos is worth holding on to because, at the very heart of faith, she is not the one who matters. She is simply a vessel for the divine, the means by which God came uniquely among a people in a way that has changed everything. Because she was that vessel, all generations are to call her blessed, but she does not point to herself. She carries Christ into the world. That was how he came first among his people, hidden in the virgin's womb.'
What he is saying is that Mary is simply a model for all Christians. Yes, Christ's glory fills the universe, but he is no longer seen on earth as he was in the days of his incarnation. Instead he is hidden among his people; hidden, not in their wombs, but in their hearts and minds and bodies, and wherever they go they carry Christ into this often dark and hurting world.
In other words, for all the uniqueness of Mary as theotokos, every Christian is also called to be a God-bearer. We must, everyday day in every way, carry Christ into every place and every circumstance where his love and compassion and life are longed for.
In the Epistle reading from Galatians this morning St Paul says, '…because you are children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, crying, 'Abba! Father!' So you are no longer a slave but a child, and if a child then also an heir, through God.' Paul is saying that in order to become theotokos a transformation needs to take place. Those who desire Jesus in their lives are to be transformed from slaves to sons and daughters.
He says that this transformation of human nature came about by God's son becoming as we are - born of a woman, sharing the relationships of a human family, so that we human beings could share the relationship that he shares with God. Isn't that incredible, we can share the same relationship Jesus has with his Father.
Jesus came with the express purpose of redeeming us, that is paying the price of our sins, to set us free so that we could become God's sons and daughters.
Without Christ we remain slaves, caught up in a world of sin and death where we are divorced from God's love, where wrongdoing clings to us, dragging us into a moral abyss, living in a dog-eat-dog world where there is no true meaning or purpose but simply survival of the fittest. St Paul says that without Christ in our lives we are like slaves, driven by our selfishness, greed, covetousness and every other sinful desire. But by his death and passion Christ came to change this, so that we might be set free: and more than that be welcomed into God's family by adoption which in turn means we inherit the riches of that family.
As one commentator says, 'That great deed of purchase on the cross results in God now giving us the key of the door. We are slaves to the old order of things no longer. A new era has begun, one in which we have received the full rights as children.' And those rights, and the inheritance that we enjoy, include: a new intimacy with God, whereby we can call him Abba, Father. We call him Father because by the Holy Spirit we know him, truly know him, in our hearts.
That doesn't give us licence to get over familiar with him, but it does mean that we can approach God with a boldness and affection, in the same way that a child comes to a loving parent. Indeed, the relationship that the Spirit encourages within us is one of warmth and spontaneity. This means that we can come close to our heavenly Father in prayer, sharing with him all that is on our hearts, as well as the larger concerns for the Church and the world. What a privilege.
Another part of the inheritance we have as Christians is that we can bear the fruit, and enjoy the gifts, of the Spirit that make us individually more like Jesus, so that corporately we can become the body of Christ here on earth. In bearing God in our hearts and lives we are outwardly to show Christ to the world around in word and deed. We are to reach out to those around with the same love and compassion that Jesus showed when he walked this earth, in first century Palestine. And when we do this as a Church, united in Christ's love, we are as Christ to the world. At least that is the theory, and this is what we should be striving for. As we will say in a few moments time, 'We are the body if Christ, in the one Spirit we were all baptized into one body. Let us then pursue all that makes for peace and builds up our common life'.
But of course the greatest part of our inheritance will be when our earthly work is done and we go to meet the Lord in Glory. And it is there that we shall meet all the faithful who have gone before us, including the Blessed Virgin Mary.
On this day, let us think of her faithful obedience in being willing to bear the Christ-child; her willingness to become theotokos, the God bearer. And let each one of us take up the mantle, carrying Christ into every place we go, lifting our needs (and those of the world) to the Father in prayer, trusting the equipping of the Holy Spirit.
Now, all glory to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.


text:
My Goals
Linzi Long
March 31, 2014
First Period
One of my personal goals is to go skydiving. I think it would be something new to try, that not many people have experienced. It would be fun, but also dangerous. I would have to take many precautions to ensure my safety.
One of my educational goals is to make good grades. As of right now, I am an A/B student. I want to achieve all A's in high school. I will have to study hard, but I know it's worth it. Getting good grades will help me in the long run.
My nutritional goal is to start eating balanced meals. Normally I snack and eat junk food that doesn't give me much energy. During meal time I do not eat enough vegetables and fruit. I should start drinking more water as well. Eating right would help me in many different ways.
My fitness goal is to gain more endurance. I am mostly fit and can run short distance. I will have to build myself up in order to do this. It would be beneficial to run a little bit everyday. Being able to run long periods of time will help me tremendously in soccer.
For humanitarian, I would like to work in a soup kitchen or go on a mission trip. Doing these deeds would show me how other people live and it may open my eyes to new things. It would show me how to appreciate the smaller things.
For a career goal, I would like to work in the medical field. I don't know what job i would like to pursue. This will take getting into college and working hard. I will have to stay on the right path and plan ahead.


text:
Park Life, San Francisco
Park Life store in San Francisco has the Solitary Arts goods in-stock. An awesome place to visit and shop.
Park Life
220 Clement Street
San Francisco, CA 94118-2408
(415) 386-7275
Mahalo to Jamie (above) and Derek (below)
The Piano Pinner and Pocket Horn boards are available at Park Life along with our shirts.
kenny forever
solitary arts
mini skate shop is open
jef hartsel bob lake geoff mcfetridge
is jef hartsel and jay adams
interviews yong-ki chang
our advertisements
in magazines
bob lake
geoff mcfetridge
equal dist. is
yong-ki chang
in the bay area
champion don't stop
is geoff mcfetridge
in atwater village


text:
I wasn't sure what to make of my first experience of skinny dipping with the German girl, P, I put the naked swimming down to typically more sexually liberated Continental behaviour. She had clasped my erection and we had had some arousing kissing but as soon as we were getting passionate she just seemed to switch off. Perhaps the language barrier was the issue in that we couldn't say what we thought or wanted to do. Perhaps she realised I was a few years older than her and she got nervous. Maybe she thought, if we had continued caressing, I might have thrown her to the sand and ravished her. I wouldn't but I certainly dreamed about it afterwards. What would it have been like to slide myself into her hot, wet parts? What would it be like to do It? Of course, she probably did not want to get close to someone she wouldn't be seeing again, as she was going back to Germany. Anyway, it had been an exciting but ultimately frustrating episode. Still, it boosted my confidence around women some more.
A week or so after my weekend in Hampshire, my aunt and uncle came around to our house with their young sons. Unlike my aunt and uncle who had the boat, these were actual relatives Aunt S was my mother's sister. She was fifteen years younger than my mother and fifteen years older than me but emotionally and in attitude was closer to my generation. She was thirty two years old, curvy and gorgeous. We all went for a walk around Richmond Park and when I got back to school in September, N, in my Economics class, actually asked who the sexy black haired piece I had been seen walking with, was. "She is totally fuckable!" he said. I couldn't disagree. As regards Aunt S, there had been family rumours of a liaison with a world famous pop star back in the sixties.
Talking of masturbation, which I have always enjoyed and never felt guilty about, my mother found my prized Men Only while looking in my desk for a metal ruler. Unfortunately, I was at the other side of the room at the time. I did not expect her to start leafing through it. "Goodness, they do show everything now!" she said. "Not like in my day!" She worked for a top fashion and beauty magazine before she got married and I had seen some stunning black and white photographs of her taken in the mid fifties but I didn't want to inquire any more about her photographic experiences!
As my mother drove us to Heathrow Airport I recalled J, who I had last seen five months before. She was fun, with a good sense of humour, spoke extremely good English with a cute accent and was very independent, She was, however, something that was very unusual at the time for a teenager (she was nineteen, two years older than me) in the seventies. She was fat. She had a big bottom, thick thighs, no discernible waist and the biggest breasts I had ever seen in my life. They were, the fabled "knockers like watermelons" of school legend. They may even have been bigger than watermelons. She always wore blouses that showed more than a hint of her cleavage. I also thought that, whatever my aunt said, she was very pretty, with her blonde hair and freckled nose and she was one of those girls whose face wasn't as fat as her body. Still, she would have made two of A.
The drive to the airport was quite a stressful one, as my mother hadn't driven to the airport before and it involved negotiating a tunnel and several horrible one way systems inside. We arrived late, after J's plane had already landed. We saw on the board that it had landed but couldn't see her. Of course, before mobile phones, there was no way of letting someone know you were there, except going to the desk where they could put out an announcement for you. After ten minutes we received exactly such an announcement and hurried to the desk. I didn't spot J, initially. "Hello!" she said to me. I must have looked completely blank. "It is me. I have lost much weight!" She wasn't joking. She must have lost about two stone stone in five months. She wasn't as skinny as A or P and was still pretty solid looking but she was transformed. I looked at her chest which was still as awe inspiring as ever. "These have not gone!" she smiled, grasping them with both hands. I looked at my mother who smiled. It really did feel like a plot.
On the drive back home, J informed me of some of the things she wanted to see in her two week stay. She had seen most of the big London attractions during her year with my aunt and uncle but there were some, like Windsor Castle and Hampton Court which were near us which she wanted to visit. She had interviews on the Monday and Friday but was free in the middle of the week. She ate about half of her dinner, I noticed. She was staying in the same spare room A used to stay in. I felt depressed. Even if this was partly a plot by my aunt and mother to cheer me up how much cheer could you get from a girl who would then go back to Finland at the end of two weeks? It was even further away than Bavaria or Scotland.
At breakfast she had a piece of toast, despite my mother having put together a huge cooked breakfast. I had told my mother she looked like a big eater and she had stocked up accordingly. My sister, having ascertained that the only music she liked was Abba (her family knew one of their backing musicians) ignored her, despite her interest in motor racing. Although my sister was only fourteen she liked Renaissance wind band music. "I have to watch my figure!" said J, after turning down a second piece of toast. "You look fantastic!" I blurted, looking at her chest. "Thank you!" she said, kissing my cheek as she got up from the table.. My sister looked disgusted.
The next day was Saturday and we went off to Hampton Court Palace. My aunt and uncle had left my mother some money for food and such like but, as my mother said to me, as J wasn't eating much we could spend it on things like visits. Actually, J had lots of money with her and kept trying to pay for things. We used to go to the grounds of Hampton Court Palace quite a lot, especially in the Spring when there was a magnificent display of daffodils there but we didn't go into the Palace itself as it was expensive. This time we did, however and my mother loved it. Even my sister enjoyed seeing the Tudor palace. My mother had lived not far away when she was a little girl but hadn't been inside for decades.
When we came out, J wanted to visit the famous maze, which was something else we didn't do because of the cost. We weren't really short of money but my mother hated wasting it. But J was insistent and offered to pay for everyone. "You might go in and be lost for ever!" said my sister to J, cruelly.
"Your brother will rescue me, I am sure!" said J. My sister shook her head. It being Saturday the maze was packed and they were letting people in in small groups. J insisted on staying with me and we got well and truly lost. "Come on, come on!" said J, grabbing my hand, as we ran into another dead end, Needless to say, when we eventually got to the centre of the maze my sister and mother were already there. My sister smirked until my mother asked us what we had been up to and then she scowled.
Fortunately, on the Monday, J went up to London. I asked my sister why she was being so horrible to J.
"Just because your weedy girlfriend has gone doesn't mean that you can just take up with the next girl you meet. Like that German girl. Anyway, she will be off soon too!" said my sister, sensitively. I had not, of course, any intention of taking up with J. She was pretty and I admitted I found her sexually attractive but she had been placed in our home for us to look after by my relations, so even if I did fantasise about what her uncovered tits might look like, I was not going to do anything about it.
Finland was a bit of a mysterious place to me. Stuck even further away than Scandinavia. I wasn't entirely sure where it was on the map, as we didn't have an atlas at home. In nineteen seventies Britain we had all been brought up to believe that Swedish and Danish people were much more sexually liberated. If any comedy show needed a liberated girl then she was Swedish. Swedes were sexy. We all knew that at school. Britt Ekland, Maud Adams, Julie Ege and Anna Bergman were all favoured ladies amongst my classmates.. A popular magazine to be circulated at school was Continental Film Review, a monthly review of all sorts of films, not just continental ones. However it did seem to focus on those where the ladies stripped off and was full of black and white stills of topless beauties from the Continent, in films we knew we would never find at the local cinema. The covers, which were in colour, often had topless ladies on them too. Because it was ostensibly a film magazine and not a men's magazine it did not carry the "not to be sold to those under the age of eighteen" tag. Which meant that, as a seventeen year old, I could buy it in WH Smiths. Although, to be fair, as I was now 6' 1" tall I never got questioned about my age, anyway. Swedish and Danish films featured in Continental Film Review prominently. But nothing from Finland, as far as I could recall.
I didn't know anything about Finnish women. I knew about Finland, of course, because of my liking for Sibelius. There were no famous Finnish actresses or models I was aware of. The only Finn who was famous was the skinny, bearded distance runner, Lasse Viren. I knew that they were good at rallying too but that was it.
One thing that we soon discovered about J was that she was very active. She always wanted to be doing something. One day, in the first week, she asked if there was a swimming pool nearby. There was, in Staines, about a mile and a half away. My mother suggested that I take her. Here was a dilemma. I was torn between the prospect of seeing her in a swimsuit and having to go to Staines swimming pool, the location for my hated childhood swimming lessons.
I hated swimming and I still don't enjoy it. A good part of the reason for this was our teacher at the swimming pool, the inappropriately named Mr Witt. If you speak to anyone my age who went to Staines swimming pool in the sixties or seventies then they all hate Mr Witt, the world's most sarcastic and unpleasant swimming teacher. We all took the coach there once a week from junior school for swimming lessons. If you could swim, like my best friend M, you could just do so unsupervised in the big pool. If not you were condemned to Mr Witt and the teaching pool. I only give initials for the people in my chronicles but I am very happy to out this evil man as he made me terrified of swimming and swimming pools in particular. Instead of teaching us how to swim he was fixated on us spending as much time under the water as possible. Surely, I reasoned, this is the opposite of what swimming should be about. But, no, he would order us all to stand in the pool, holding on to the edge and "sit on the bottom". My whole week at school would gradually build into a crescendo of terror as swimming approached. I did not want to sit on the bottom. I did not want water in my eyes or ears. I did not want to learn to swim at all. If you showed any hesitation after his shouted orders he would put his hand on your head and push you under the water (it wouldn't be allowed now, of course). Oh, how I wanted to pull him into the pool and hold him underneath the surface until he drowned. Once, S, the naughtiest boy in the school, did pull him into the pool. We all wanted to cheer but were too scared too, although we all congratulated S afterwards. I had not been back to the swimming pool since I got my 25 metre certificate in the last year of junior school. I only just got it; choking and spluttering for the last few meters, only to slip into the welcoming arms of the lovely C and discovering the pleasures of physical contact in water as she hugged me and whacked me on the back at the same time. Our brief hug was soon broken up by a bark from our teacher, watching from the gallery but the memory of pressing my chest against her budding breasts, through her navy blue swimsuit, stayed with me for years.
I took J along the towpath, as she said we should walk, not take the bus, and wished I hadn't, as all I could think of was A and our lovely walks along the river. J sensed something was wrong immediately and asked what the matter was. I should have said nothing but instead regaled her with the story of A and how we had been torn apart just a month before, J stopped walking and gave me a big hug, which was unexpected and offered the new experience of being pulled into contact with a really big bust.. She then told me the story of her boyfriend who she had broken up with when she got home in March. He had gone off with another girl while she had been in England. She was hopelessly optimistic about everything and said that it was best not to dwell on the past but move on. I was quite cheered up by the time we arrived at the pool.
My positive mood evaporated as we stepped through the glass doors and were hit by that smell. The nasty smell of chlorine. The smell of terror! I had a sudden panic that Mr Witt might still be there, torturing some other poor children. I got changed and paddled through the pool of disinfectant, outside the changing room, that was supposed to kill the dreaded verrucas. Everything to do with swimming was haunted by the threat of verrucas. I desperately wanted a verruca at junior school, as then I could miss swimming,but I never got one. Stepping out of the disinfectant, I looked to my right at the teaching pool but, being the summer holidays, it was empty apart from a few mothers with babies. No Mr Witt! I relaxed and walked straight ahead to the main pool which was quite busy. I made my way down to the shallow end so I could go down the ladder slowly. I couldn't dive in (I still can't dive) and in fact then, as now, don't like being out of my depth. There was no sign of J so I set off to do a couple of lengths. Other than my brief splash in the Solent with P, I hadn't been swimming properly for two years, when I did do so on our holiday to Menorca. My swimming had improved greatly on that holiday and I enjoyed swimming in the warm Mediterranean. Still. I made sure that I swam next to the edge of the pool so that if I got water up my nose and started to choke I could grab the side.
I had just finished two lengths when J appeared from the changing room. She was looking around so I waved to her. She was wearing a swimming hat and googles. She looked like a serious swimmer. That's not what I noticed first, however. What I noticed was her massive bust, straining against her multi-coloured one piece swimsuit and her muscular legs and powerful shoulders. She waved back at me, walked to the deep end of the pool, executed, what looked like to me, a perfect racing dive and shot up the pool like a torpedo. I waited for her in the shallow end and she finished her length by placing her hands on the pool wall either side of my body. She then put her hands on my shoulders, keeping her body floating horizontally. I complimented her on her swimming and she explained that was how she had lost so much weight so quickly, by swimming every day in the lake. I knew they had a lot of lakes in Finland but didn't fancy that at all. She complained about the muscle she had put on, on her shoulders but I told her she had lovely shoulders. "So do you!" she said, squeezing one of mine before turning and disappearing up the pool. I had no chance of catching her of course and I reckoned she was doing three to four lengths to every two of mine. I wasn't that fit so had to keep resting in the shallow end, whereupon she would dive down underwater and pop up in front of me, like a seal.
"Shall we have a race?" she said. No. "Don't like to be beaten?" Don't care. "If you beat me you can have a prize!" Not interested. "Not interested in a kiss? Fun for us both!" I sighed and agreed to be humiliated. Then I had a thought. She wanted to do four lengths. I knew I would probably drown trying. "One length," I said. She wrinkled her nose but agreed. I had no stamina but I had been a very good county class sprinter, I could do 100 meters in 11 seconds dead. Maybe my sprinting ability would enable me to do a concentrated effort for a short period. . "Kolme, kaksi yksi!" she said and with a mighty shove I kicked off from the wall. Knowing I only had to do one length I put everything into it. I had no goggles, she was on my right and I only breathed on my left when doing the crawl, so I had no idea where she was. I touched the end, and looked sideways. She was there. "You won!" she said. I was sure I had not. "Do you want your kiss now or later?" she raised an eyebrow at me, suggestively. I was hanging on to the end of the pool for dear life and looked down into the abyss (well it was 12' 6"). Deep enough. Too deep.
"No petting in the pool!" I said pointing at the red and white sign which forbade all sorts of anti-social (as they saw it) behaviour. There was a little drawing of a couple with hearts around them next to the people running, bombing and such like.
"What is petting?"
"Kissing and cuddling!" I answered.
"Who would forbid such things?"
"British people!" I said pointedly. I was sure that Finns were just as lascivious as Swedes and Danes. It was probably the cold winters or something to do with having to eat pickled fish.
"Bugger them!" she said, surprisingly. She had learnt a lot of interesting vocabulary from my uncle, I discovered. She put her arm around me, under the surface. I then felt her hand stroke my back. I asked her to stop. "Don't you like?"
"I like a lot," I replied, "But not here!" She flipped over into an underwater somersault and shot off down the pool. I followed more slowly, as my shoulders were aching from my earlier effort. She was waiting for me at the end ot the pool and gave me another hug, I don't know what it is about hugging people in water but there is something about skin on skin in water. I saw the lifeguard staring at us so I broke away and said it was probably time to leave. She wrinkled her nose again. I watched her lift herself out of the pool on her strong arms and tried not to look at her bottom in the wet swimsuit. It was big but firm looking. Quite unlike A's girl's bottom. This was a woman's bottom. I realised I had to get out now, as there wasn't room for an erection in my swimming trunks.
We walked back along the towpath. It wasn't as warm as the previous year and we had to put our jumpers on. J didn't offer the promised kiss and I didn't ask for it. I couldn't expect kisses from every girl I met, I reasoned. It was probably just the sexy feeling of the water. I suddenly felt a pang of guilt about A. She had only been gone just over a month and I was already contemplating kissing another girl.
"Did you have a nice swim?" asked my mother when we returned., "It was OK," I said. "Mr Witt wasn't there!"
"Perhaps he's drowned," offered my sister, hopefully.
At dinner, we were presented with a salad by my mother which was not what I wanted, having swum and walked three miles on top, Neither did my sister who poked at her lettuce in disgust. This would not endear J to her, I thought. J told us about her swimming programme in the lake in Finland. She had been doing a mile a day. I struggled with 25 metres at a time. How anyone could swim for a mile was beyond comprehension. We thought it must be freezing. Not in the summer, she said.
"At least you don't get chlorine in your suit," said my mother, who had had to rinse our swimming things out and hang them on the line.
"I swim naked!" said J.
"Oh, of course!" said my mother. "Much easier!" I tried not to think about it. Then I decided I would and just enjoy it. My sister kicked me under the table and glared.
If I had hoped J would slip into my room that night, like A did, I would be disappointed. I thought about her body in her swimsuit and masturbated, happily.
Next day we went swimming again and she challenged me to another race. "This time if I win I get a kiss!" I asked what the difference was from yesterday's competition She said that yesterday I won a kiss from her. Today she could win a kiss from me. It was quite different. I struggled to contemplate this distinction but was starting to realise that I couldn't lose. She beat me by about two yards. I asked her when we got our prizes. She said she would decide. "Not here!" No petting!" she pointed at the sign.
That evening she came into my room for the first time, after dinner. She examined my record collection critically, "There is no modern music!" I pointed out that I had three Beatles records which I had inherited from my aunt, the one she had been au pair to. She pointed out that they were ten years old at least. Virtually all my music was classical with some big band and military music inherited from my father. He had been to see Glenn Miller and the Army Air Force band when they had visited England during the war. I really liked Glenn Miller, as I still do. She noted my Sibelius and asked to hear one of my records. I chose the excerpts record and she recognised quite a lot. Finlandia, of course. "I know a modern record you will like!"she said. I said I didn't really like pop music that much. Not enough to buy an album, anyway. "I will get you something!" I told her not to as I didn't really want an ABBA record.
Eventually, she said she better go to bed as she had to go to London again the next day. She gave me a kiss on the lips and told me that that wasn't the kiss I had won. "A taste of a kiss only!" she said and disappeared next door. After she had gone I actually touched my lips. A taste of a kiss? What would a proper kiss be like?
Next day I worked on my Antony and Cleopatra essay and made an attempt to start Jane Austen's Emma. What a terrible book to set seventeen year old boys. I found it completely un-engaging and, in fact, I never did finish it, despite having to write a question on it in my A-level exam the following summer. We went to collect J from the station late that afternoon. She was grumpy and said that her agency had reported back that the person she had seen about the au pair's job on Monday had said she was "too sexy". "I'm not too sexy. I am very nicely dressed!" She was,indeed, wearing a very sensible jacket and skirt..
"I think it's what is underneath which might worry some women," said my mother. I said nothing. After dinner she came up to my room again to give me my present which she had bought during her trip to London. I told her I didn't need a present, although in fact I was worried that I would have to then find something to buy her. It wasn't the money so much as trying to think of something appropriate. She had an HMV bag which obviously had a record in it. I knew it wasn't going to be Sibelius. She pulled it out of the bag and gave it me. I recognised the very distinctive sleeve straight away.
"It's called Tubular Bells and you should listen to it, not just say you don't like it!" I said I was very happy to listen to it but we mustn't have it on too loud as my sister and mother were downstairs watching TV. My record player was an old Magnavox, donated by one of my other uncles. It was about ten years old and it was quite a good one at the time. It was supposedly portable and had a handle on it like a suitcase. The end of the case detached to form the second speaker which I had deployed all the time. I put it on the record player and J told me to turn the lights off.
Since the days of my mother bursting in on A and me, I had fitted a bolt to my bedroom door. My mother said it wasn't necessary but didn't actually object. I went over and bolted it. "Are we going to have fun?" she asked. "Lie down next to me" I did and we listened to Tubular Bells (Part one) in complete silence. It was very different music from what I usually listened to but I really liked it. The fact that it didn't have inane lyrics but was an instrumental helped a lot. Interestingly, some years later the BBC classical music radio station Radio 3 had a broadcast (perhaps for its 10th anniversary) where they played Tubular Bells followed by Sibelius 5th symphony, "A piece," they said, "with which it has some affinities."
J wriggled in closer, so our bodies were touching, lying on the floor, in the dark. About half way through she took my hand and I held it until I had to turn the record over. It occurred to me then, that with every girl you met you had to start from the beginning. Shy kiss, Hold hands. See if you are rebuffed or can move to the next stage. Like snakes and ladders. A terrifying but exciting prospect.
Just as we were about to listen to Part two my mother called in from outside the room,. "Good night you two!"
"Good night!" I said brightly. Trying to impart a scene into her mind where we were sat separately on the floor, some yards apart, just by the inflection in my voice.
"Good night. Thank you for a lovely dinner!" said J. "Shall we turn off the music?"
"No need. I can hardly hear it!" said my mother. Even though part two had started playing, it was a quiet passage.
The second side finished with that funny little sailor's hornpipe. I laughed and told her it reminded me of the TV advert for butter which used the same hornpipe,, She didn't know it, of course, so I sang her the verse.
There's an Anchor sign on Britain's favourite butter,
It's the Anchor sign that tells you it's the best.
If you like your bread and butter,
There's no other word you'll utter 'Cos you'll always want the butter
With the Anchor sign!
She thought this was funny and made me sing it again.
"Let's start it again!" We listened to the whole thing twice and then J left for bed. Giving me another slightly longer kiss. "That still isn't the kiss!" she said. "Tomorrow, more music in the dark!" I went to bed, my heart fluttering and my cock throbbing. I just loved girls.
From then on, J came into my room every night to listen to music and I tried to get her to appreciate her cultural heritage by playing Sibelius but she didn't seem to get it. We swam a lot too, although I was losing in our races by five to one. Half way through our second week she asked my mother if she could stay another week as she had more interviews arranged and one looked very promising. My mother was quite happy until J spent ages on the phone rearranging her flight. My mother hated anyone using the phone and we always got a low user rebate because of it.
The weekend when she should have been flying back to Helsinki we went to Staines on Saturday. I didn't want to take her to the ABC cafe as I felt that somehow A would know, so we went to Debenhams cafe (although my mother still referred to it as Kennards; it's former name) instead, on the top floor of the department store. We were lucky and got one of the tables with a view. We shared a Bath bun; she pulling small chunks off it and licking the sugar off her fingers. I was surprised she was eating it as I knew from my mother that all dieters are just one Bath bun away from a relapse.
She told me she was glad we had another week together but opined that it was obvious that I was still thinking of A. I asked her about this as, in fact, I was felling guilty because I actually wasn't thinking about A as I was enjoying J's company so much.
"We lie together in the dark and you do not try and kiss me or touch me!" she said. "You do not like me, I think!" I was struggling with this early example of a woman saying she thought one thing as a means to get you to contradict it and reinforce her fragile ego.
"I like you a lot. You are fun and gorgeous!" I replied. You can never over-do compliments to women, my Uncle L had told me when we were down in Christchurch.
"Well you need to do something about it!" she said, finishing her coffee and standing up to leave. I thought I should have given her a big kiss there and then but the cafe was full of old people and mothers with young children so I felt rather inhibited. She strode ahead of me towards the escalators and I realised I had upset her in some way. By the time we got to the ground floor she seemed alright again. However. I thought a kiss now might be seen as too little and too late.
We went next door into WH Smiths and I decided to buy another Mike Oldfield record. I looked at the copyright dates on the back and saw that Hergest Ridge was the next one after Tubular Bells. J told me that Hergest Ridge wasn't that good and I should get Ommadawn instead. I hate getting things out of order, however. I cannot watch a TV show unless I have seen all the episodes of all the series in order. Fortunately, I had made some money by doing a portrait of a neighbour's dog and had enough to buy both records.
Coming out of Smiths we ran into Dobs from school. I introduced J and he looked straight at her chest which, as usual, appeared to be trying to burst out of her slightly too tight blouse. After we had had a brief chat we headed off around the corner to the bus stop. "Your friend likes my tits!" said J, accusingly, as if I did not. I apologised on his behalf but she said she liked them being appreciated.
On the bus back home her Nordic mood seemed to have lifted and she chattered away as usual. Everyone was looking at her out of the corner of their eyes as she was so obviously foreign. I wish I could have told her that English people don't talk on public transport but didn't want to upset her any more.
That night, despite her protests, I put Hergest Ridge on the record player. Although it is widely regarded as the weakest of Mike Oldfield's initial trilogy of releases I have always liked it. Lying next to J, I put my arm behind her neck and she cuddled up closer than we had before. Pretty much, so far, in my interaction with girls I had responded to their initiatives but I sensed that J wanted me to "try it on" to use the phrase employed at school. This is something that women expect of men, knowing full well that they have the ultimate power of refusal to cooperate. 'You have to make the first move and if we don't like it we will soon let you know and possibly never speak to you again!' You might also get the 'I like you but not in that way' response. Or, at least, that was what if felt like as I slid my other hand on to the hip of her denims. A number of possible targets had entered my mind but I chose her hip as it wasn't as aggressive as going for her bust but was rather more intimate than her arm, for example. It also enabled me to stroke her thigh, as I did, and, fortunately, she didn't say anything or, worse, flinch.
At one point, I decided to make a move and so kissed her. Her response was very enthusiastic indeed and, much emboldened I rolled on top of her and gently pushed my knee between her denim clad thighs. She opened her legs immediately and I gently rubbed my leg against her hot groin for some time as we carried on kissing. J was a more aggressive kisser than A had been; her tongue was much more active and her mouth seemed, well, wetter; her saliva dribbled down my chin. She put her hands on my bottom as I flexed my thigh muscles against her groin and she soon started to grind her hips. Unfortunately, at this point, side one of the record finished. We broke apart.
"I thought you would be a shy boy and I would have to seduce you!" she said as we caught our breaths.
"You make me feel not shy!" I said.
"I can feel!" she laughed moving her leg against my erection. There was no way to hide it but she didn't seem to mind at all. She told me that I had now officially discharged the kiss I owed her but she pointed out that she still owed me five. I asked her if she wanted to start now but the mood had been broken so I turned the record over and we lay next to each other once more.
Next day she wanted a walk, so we went into the park where there was a small playground for children with swings a roundabout and a slide. She insisted I push her on the swing, although I knew that they were for children only and thought someone might complain if they saw us but it was Sunday morning and quiet. She wanted to use the slide although I thought that her bottom might get stuck on the way down. I didn't say anything, of course. She walked over to the metal slide and obviously changed her mind as she just sat on the iron steps each of which was was formed into the words 'Wicksteed Kettering' the name and place of manufacture of the maker.
"I'm sorry I have been in a grump!" she said. "It is my time of the month and I am moody!" Slightly shocked by this intimate admission (A had never said anything about this woman's issue) I pretended to be all understanding and adult about it. I laughed and said I thought it was because she was from the frozen north. She then got very defensive about Finland and said that Finnish people were not grumpy. She then realised what she was doing and laughed. "Kiss!" she said and I leant in, as she sat on the steps and we had a long, wet lingering one. We walked down towards the river through the little wood next to the abbey. From the park to the river was a hidden path against the abbey fence and sheltered in thick trees. We stopped halfway for a proper snog and I put my hands on her bottom. She straddled my thigh and I got stiff very quickly, not just from her hot groin but also her breasts pressed against me. "Tonight we will listen to Ommadawn and take some clothes off!" she said.
This, needless to say, built a great feeling of anticipation over the rest of the day. When J came into my room after dinner there was an electric atmosphere that had been missing before.
"Shall we take some clothes off now?" asked J, as I put the record on.
I said that would be nice, as I bolted my door as quietly as I could. I wan't sure how many clothes "some" might be. I was wearing jeans and a short sleeved shirt, If I took the jeans off that might look a bit pushy. If I took the shirt off that would reveal too much skin. But she had seen me in my swimming trunks anyway.
I wan't worried about my body, although teenagers weren't nearly so body conscious then. Although, I had stopped my sprinting due to a calf injury at Southern Counties I carried on with the press ups and sit ups we were encouraged to do by Mr F, one of our scary gym teachers, Mr F wielded a short wooden plank in P.E. class and if he thought you weren't working hard enough, were late to class or committed any other seemingly random offence you would get a swift crack across the backside with it. The other gym teacher Mr K, was even more terrifying as he was a sarcastic Irishman who taught maths. This was one of the subjects I was very glad to give up the previous year, His favoured punishment for doing badly or not concentrating in class was for the offender to chase the seagulls off the school field. He would pick a time at random. Five minutes, six minutes etc. However, many seagulls remained standing on our 30 acre school field when time elapsed was how many lines (times 10) you would get. You had to frantically cover the whole field scaring the birds into the air and hope that, when the time came, as few as possible had landed again. The other boys in class would helpfully count for him.
J solved the problem for me by removing her blouse, so she was standing there in her bra and jeans. She looked at me and I pulled off my shirt. "Good!" she said. I started the music and we both lay on the floor again. This time she lay on top of me, like A used to do. She was a lot heavier than A, though. I could feel her bra pressed against my chest. A often didn't wear a bra if she was wearing a sundress as she hardly needed one. J's bra was a huge construction with what seemed like an immense amount of fabric in it. Her bust was really enormous.
I began to stroke J's naked back as we kissed, down from her knobbly neck vertebrae to her bra strap, a quick jump over and then down her spine to the top of her jeans. She didn't object so I kept doing it. After about three or four long, slow strokes like this she reached behind her and undid her bra strap to give me uninterrupted access to her backbone.
She kissed my chest, on which her head was lying. She sat up, her bra hanging loosely and she pulled her bra off. It was dark in my room but light enough, given the street lamp outside to see a pair of huge breasts with enormous areolae. "Do you like?" I told her they were a wonder and she supported them with her hands, jiggling them, distractingly. "We do tops off! You kiss and lick them!" she said,lying on her back on the carpet.
I started tentatively with little kisses that avoided her large nipples. He breasts spilled down her ribcage like collapsed puddings. I started to stroke the outside curves with my fingers and was soon holding them and grasping them as I kissed the soft meadow between her breasts. I started to kiss her nipples and her teats became erect as I did so. Until that moment they had been quite flat. I was literally licking them into prominence. Moving from one to another, like a plate spinner, in case one subsided while I attended to the other. J was squirming with pleasure and stroking my neck and back. I wriggled up to kiss her lips and pressed my groin against hers. I started to grind against her and she rotated her hips. All the time I was stroking the sides of her breasts, bulging out like two fat cushions.
She pushed my head back down and got me licking her nipples again, while continuing to stroke the side of her breasts. I put my knee between her thighs and I am certain that she came at that point. I didn't want to ask as it seemed a bit pushy but she stopped moving and relaxed. She told me she thought that was another two kisses repaid; one for each breast.
She went back to the spare room not long afterwards which was disappointing as I had hoped we might have another session, after a brief pause, as I was still stiff as anything. I wondered if I had done something wrong, Gone too far or not gone far enough. A had been much easier for me to understand but then I knew her much better.
The next day we went to Windsor to visit the castle. My sister wanted to come but my mother wouldn't let her, much to her annoyance. "At least the other two weren't fat!" hissed my sister, as I waited downstairs for J. I said that I didn't think J was fat any more. "How would you know? You only ever look at her tits!" said my sister, employing an uncharacteristic vulgarity.
We took the bus to Staines and then the Salter's Steamer to Windsor. Although now powered by diesel these boats, which still run, were built in Edwardian times or the nineteen twenties. J enjoyed the two hour trip up through the locks. In Windsor, where we had to race around the castle quite quickly as we had only two hours before the return trip, J was very affectionate, holding hands and stopping for kisses.
"Did you have sex with your girlfriend?" she asked, completely unexpectedly, as we looked at the Chapel Royal. I rapidly told her to be quiet until we were in a more private and more appropriate place. I tried to explain the nature of A and my physical relationship without using any words which related to physical activity as we walked back to where the boat was moored. I was finding it very difficult to talk about physical relationships with one girl to another. She kept pressing for details which I didn't give. "Did you do things like we did last night?" she said, not, as I had hoped, abandoning the subject, as I tried to explain the concept of Eton College to her. I said that we had been naked together a number of times. She didn't quite understand this at first as she was obviously just thinking of saunas where nakedness was quite normal in Finland. Eventually, I got over the idea that we had been naked and passionate not just sitting in a hot wooden shed and hitting each other with birch twigs. "Yes but did you stick your thing in her?" she persisted. I conceded that we had been very close but hadn't, in the end. She looked thoughtful and, thankfully, said no more upon the subject.
That night there was more enjoyable breast play. Things proceeded rather further than the previous night as she reached down between us and pulled at my belt buckle. We broke apart briefly to remove our jeans. She didn't remove her knickers so I didn't remove my underpants. This time she sat on top of me, her breasts hanging in front of me like big, succulent fruits. Watermelons, in fact. I kissed and squeezed and licked and sucked them as she slid her cotton clad groin up and down my thigh. I felt her hand grasp my erection through my underpants and then she pulled them down. I lifted my bottom to assist her. I thought that she would rub my cock or, perhaps suck it, but instead she placed her breasts either side of my erection and started to press them together. She moved back and forth so that I slid between them. I started to thrust between them and this delightfully soft friction soon had me spurting into her voluptuous valley. "You came for me!" she said, smiling.at me in the dark, her teeth catching the light from the street lamp outside.
She lay where she was, my spunk drying tightly on my skin as she gave my chest the occasional kiss. She started talking and I was starting to realise that girls seemed to have some compulsion to talk after a passionate act, whereas I just wanted to lay there is silence and stroke her shoulders and neck. She said it was a shame that it was her time of the month or we could have done it but, she thought I should save it for a girl who I would be with for the long term. As she was going this weekend she didn't think it was right to do it when we wouldn't be seeing each other. I said I didn't mind and that it might be a nice goodbye, It I!t !It! So close! If I had said I had done it with A she probably would have done it with me. Except for it being the wrong time of the month. What bad luck! Bugger!
That was the peak of our sexual interaction. The following day she went for another interview in London and later heard that a family wanted her to be their au pair in Spain, which she was delighted with. There were no more nocturnal visits and no more kissing. She later wrote me a note from Spain, thanking me for helping her get over her boyfriend. In retrospect, I had fulfilled some need to prove that she was still desirable, I suppose. We took her to the airport on Saturday and she gave me a rather shy kiss, as my mother and sister were there.
As I later told Dobs, when we returned to school in September, it was getting frustrating meeting mice girls only for them to disappear to far clung places. Still, I reasoned. I would soon be able to find another girl for sexy fun. Oh, how wrong I was.


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Reporter: Mike Sexton
KERRY O'BRIEN: The famous Spanish artist Salvador Dali once described Australia as the most surreal country in the world.I don't think that was meant as a compliment, but if anyone is entitled to that opinion it is the man considered the greatest artist to emerge from the surrealist movement that flourished between the two world wars.While Europe was the centre of that movement, Australia also has a history of surreal art, albeit one that hasn't often been celebrated by art lovers and critics.That's now changing, thanks largely to the efforts of two men who have amassed the biggest collection of Australian surreal art.And they're now putting part of this collection on public display for the first time.Mike Sexton reports.SARAH THOMAS, ART GALLERY OF SOUTH AUSTRALIA: Andre Breton, who was really one of the core surrealists in the early years in Europe, he defined surrealism as pure psychic automatism.MIKE SEXTON: It's not easy to define surrealism and the art that it spawned.It was inspired in the early 20th century by the father of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud, who explained surrealism as a meeting of the conscious and the subconscious, the place where dreams and reality meet.The most famous of all surrealist artists was the eccentric Spaniard Salvador Dali, whose dream works featured bizarre images like melting clocks.Dali and others like him triggered a surrealist movement in Australia.SARAH THOMAS: Australian surrealism really gets going in the late 1930s.Before that time, there were artists really since the mid-1920s who were looking at European surrealism, so essentially Australian surrealism is influenced very directly by artists such as Magritte and Dali and Duchamp and others.MIKE SEXTON: Despite being a distinct movement, for almost half a century Australian surrealism remained all but shunned by art collectors and critics.RAY WILSON, ART COLLECTOR: It didn't fit with landscape artists.It didn't fit with the idea of Nolan and Kelly.I mean, Australian art really focuses on the myth and the landscape and surrealism didn't fit that in any way.MIKE SEXTON: But it wasn't shunned by this pair of Sydney businessmen.James Agapitos and Ray Wilson had been collecting art for years when they came across this painting by James Gleeson called 'The Attitude of Lightning Towards a Lady Mountain'.They liked it so much they dedicated themselves to exclusively collecting Australian surrealist works.JAMES AGAPITOS, ART COLLECTOR: We started knocking at doors because we were determined to put a collection together within a certain period of time, and if it wasn't us getting out and knocking ON certain doors, we would never have put it together and never succeeded.MIKE SEXTON: As their interest and knowledge of surrealism grew, so did the lengths they would go to to find pieces, and often the circumstances were almost, well, surreal.JAMES AGAPITOS: A man's house was damaged during the hail storm of 1999 and he found in a garage a painting.He thought it was of no importance, but eventually at Christie's it got a very good price.And because he wasn't ensured, the money from -- RAY WILSON: Our extra $20,000 paid for his uninsured roof.MIKE SEXTON: But while pursuing what they called their hobby, the couple realised they were doing more than building a private portfolio.They had put together the best collection of the Australian surrealism.JAMES AGAPITOS: When we started putting the collection together, we also realised that we were documenting part of Australia's development history, which was overlooked.And the hobby, the project, was becoming multifaceted and was taking -- RAY WILSON: A much larger scale than we ever intended.MIKE SEXTON: Now for the first time, James Agapitos and Ray Wilson are sharing their passion.About 90 works, equivalent to one-third of this incredible collection, will go on a national tour, starting Friday at the Art Gallery of South Australia.Today in Adelaide, the pair saw for the first time what these pictures look like when displayed somewhere other than the walls of their home.RAY WILSON: To see it through a curator's eyes, a professional curator's eyes, I think it just looks wonderful.MIKE SEXTON: This is unlikely to be the last time the works are hung publicly because the art lovers have already thought long-term about the future of their collection.JAMES AGAPITOS: We decided that the best thing to do was to leave it to Australia and for the enjoyment for the generations to come.RAY WILSON: Too much hard work went into putting the collection together just to see it broken up.MIKE SEXTON: Which means in the years to come, the nation's art galleries will be competing for the honour of housing the 300 or more works.SARAH THOMAS: It's definitely a wonderful collection, and I'm sure there'll be a lot of interest in this collection from various institutions around the country.MIKE SEXTON: In the meantime, James Agapitos and Ray Wilson will continue hunting for works.Their dream is that this exhibition will inspire interest in surrealism and perhaps flush out one or two more treasures.RAY WILSON: I think the tour of our collection and the book will actually generate interest and artworks will come out of wardrobes, cupboards, off walls.People will perhaps realise that perhaps that ugly picture on the wall is worth a little money.
Transcripts on this website are created by an independent transcription service. The ABC does not warrant the accuracy of the transcripts.


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» 54. Easter Holidays up North...
54. Easter Holidays up North
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New Zealand
North Island
April 30th 2009
Published: July 31st 2009
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Talking parrot
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Nick sledging on the sand dunes
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23 secs
Paula's poi poi practice
10 secs
Maori tribal dance
23 secs
Charmita and Olarse
Distances from Cape Reinga
e.g. London 18,029km, South Pole 6,211km
On Good Friday we went to St. Patrick's Cathedral in the centre of Auckland to witness the procession around the city enter the Church, led by volunteers carrying a full size cross.
Around midday we picked up our old college friend Andrew from the airport and headed further up north from Auckland, predictably called
, and, as we had recently turned back our clocks, it was not until just after sunset that we arrived at our destination of
, our base in the
Bay of Islands
One part of the car journey up there was especially impressive as we came up into the brow of a hill and suddenly the jagged
Whangerei Heads
came into view straight ahead, surrounded by Bream Bay, and as it was dusk the water appeared almost cloud-like and the mountain was like some mythical outcrop from Lord of the Rings. En-route we felt compelled to stop at a famous public convenience in Kawakawa - the
Hundertwasser Toilets
. Commissioned in 1997, they are the last works of Austrian Friedrich Hundertwasser. I have to agree I was pretty impressed. He encouraged locals to take part in creating his work of art by crafting
Good Friday procession through the streets of Auckland
Volunteers carry a cross resembling Jesus' steps to his crucifixion
tiles and windows from old bottles and designing mosaics to decorate its walls (see photo).
Of the all the amazing scenery in New Zealand, it is
The Bay of Islands
that is often ranked near the top of the list, due to its numerous pretty coves and sparkling clear waters that range from turquoise to deep blue. As well as being a natural wonder, it is also the place of ultimate historical significance for New Zealand, as it is where the
Treaty of Waitangi
was signed between 46 tattooed Maori chiefs and the British Crown in 1840, securing British sovereignty over New Zealand. The 150 islands are popular with visitors but thankfully the vast majority of them are not populated.
Known as the hub town of the ever-popular Bay of Islands, I expected Paihia to be pretty touristy but was pleasantly surprised by its peace, beauty and strong laid-back feel. Our lodging was called the Pickled Parrot, the avian host of which was, you've guessed it, a parrot. Mainly resting on its open-air climbing frame, an unexpected challenge was a return journey to the bathroom without it hopping on your shoulder for a bit of variety. I must
Beach view from Waitangi
Where the Land Treaty between British and Maori was first signed in 1840
note that although the pictures here look like I have just punched Andrew, I am in fact amiably attempting to provide an alternative hopping platform on my arm. (Also see video in last blog entry
Received: One Gannet)
On Easter Saturday we visited the place of most historical significance in NZ, the
Waitangi National Reserve
, the site of first permanent contact between European and Maoris, and now where the NZ, Maori and UK flags fly (NZ is the only country with 2 official flags, as well as their well-known commonwealth one, there is The Flag of the United Tribes of NZ).
There are a few focal points: firstly, the colonial-style 1832 Treaty House,
where the Treaty of Waitangi was signed
(the last Maori chief's signature to be added to the Treaty of Waitangi in September 1840 was in Kawhia, where we had been earlier in the month). Secondly the highly intricately-carved Maori meeting house built in 1940 to commemorate the centenary of the treaty, which is unusual as it is for several tribes and not just one, and finally the 35m war canoe, also built for the Centenary, which was carved from two huge
We also watched
Andrew & Nick get into the spirit of things
Haka tribal dance, Waitangi
(and took part!) in a cultural show at Waitangi: Nick was chosen as the guest chief (i.e. 'volunteered' by Paula) to represent us visitors when enacting a traditional first encounter with a Maori, by doing the
(pressing of noses) mutual greeting, symbolizing a sharing of life breath. He and Andrew later got right into the spirit of things by taking part in a rendition of the intimidating
dance (complete with chest thumping and tongues sticking out - scary stuff - also see video).
In the afternoon we took a cruise up along the Bay of Islands coastline, which became the South Pacific Ocean, past several of the larger islands to a place called
Cape Brett
and an small island known as 'Hole in the Rock' because it was a huge piece of rock with a hole large enough for a big boat to pass through - which we did. We passed the place where Captain Cook stopped while in this area, but the highlight of the trip was finding a pod of large bottlenose dolphins. They were bigger (about 2.5 metres long) than those we swam with in Kaikoura in the South Island, and flipped themselves in
Watching dolphins leap in the wake of the boat
Bay of Islands
the water around the boat; as we sped off, a mother and baby (calf) raced alongside us.
On the way back, we got off the boat at the small town of
, directly across the bay from where we boarded the boat in Paihia. This town must have one of the most interesting histories in NZ: originally it was a Maori settlement known as 'Sweet Penguin'; in 1830 hundreds of people died in the 'War of the Girls'; in 1845 the British flagpole was cut down (for the fourth time) by a disgruntled Maori; and the town was generally a hang-out for escaped convicts, whalers, prostitutes and drunk sailors, leading it to become known as "the hellhole of the Pacific" and for Charles Darwin to uncharitably write that "the majority of the British there were the refuse of society"; it also managed to fit in being the country's first capital. Today it is a sleepy village (pop 1,140), and there we saw the oldest church in the country,
Christ Church
from 1847, as well as walking up the hill where the flagpole was felled 4 times, which gave good views over the land and sea. We ended up having
Hoping our Easter chocs haven't melted in the heat
Easter Sunday picnic lunch at Tapotupotu Bay, Northland
dinner in Russell in The Duke of Marlborough Hotel, which claimed to be the oldest licensed premises in NZ, a fitting place for Andrew to sample his first Kiwi beer.
Easter Sunday was another beautiful day, and we joined a coach trip up to the northernmost point of the North Island and back. First stop was a
Gumdiggers' Park
, a forest of very, very old Kauri trees (many dating back 40,000 years). Extracting the useful gum from these trees was hard work but big business in these parts from the 1870s to 1920s, the gumdiggers spent their time in mud probing for gum with long spears, and then digging it up when found, to be used for varnish etc. In this park, there is the oldest non-fossilised wood in the world, some of which is dated to more than 100,000 years ago - this prehistoric wood was covered by peat swamps before the last Ice Age, and sealed from the air, which preserved it. The oldest conclusive age of a kauri tree is 2,000 years.
Back on the coach, following an unsealed road up the east side of the narrowing peninsula, we had a great lunch stop at
Swirls where the Pacific Ocean meets the Tasman Sea
Cape Reinga
Tapotupotu Bay
and Nick had a swim in the sea to work up an appetite. Not our usual Easter lunch, we had to race to eat the chocolate posted to us by Nick's Mum & Dad before it melted to mush in the heat!
At the very tip of the North Island we arrived at
Cape Reinga
, 290m above sea level, its famous lighthouse is where the Pacific Ocean collides with the Tasman Sea. It is a place of great spiritual significance to the Maori, who believe it is "the place of the leaping", where the souls of the dead gather before they enter the next world. According to tradition, the spirits leap from the 800-year old pohutukawa tree on this windswept cape to begin the voyage back to their final resting place in their ancestral island home of Hawaiki.
Our journey back took us down the west side of the peninsula where saw many more picturesque beaches and stopped for a quick spot of sledging down sand dunes (heaps of fun!), but the main highlight was a drive along
Ninety Mile Beach
90 miles - more like 90km, but still impressive!). Wide and long,
Paula & bus driver
On the Ninety Mile Beach "highway"
it is actually an official Highway when the tide is out, where traffic rules apply!! As the bus drove along it for about 30 minutes we enjoyed watching the big waves, ocean surf and fishermen hauling in their day's catch. Continuing on the seafood theme, it would have been rude not to patronise the
Mangonui Fush 'n' Chup Shop
for tea at sunset, as several different people had insisted on it and we could see why for the views as well as the food.
On Easter Monday it was time to head home. As we were driving out of Paihia, the (still fine) weather and a glimpse through the rear-view mirror of the Sea Kayaking hut on the beach proved all-too tempting so we did an about-turn and hired kayaks for an hour and lunched al fresco with yet more sea views. We took an almost direct route home (excepting a cheesery and a winery!), and concluded that a fun-packed weekend was had by all.
Back in Auckland, and before Andrew headed on his merry way south, we dined in a smart Viaduct restaurant (thanks Andrew!) one night and made a collective Shepherd's Pie at ours on the
Sheepworld, where the sheep are pink
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Charmita and Olarse
Paula - Here we are fulfilling a long-held dream of travelling the planet. Through our travelblog have fun joining us along the way! Nick - these are a couple of quotations that I picked up along the way: "In German, there is a word, Kunstlerschuld, which means "artist's guilt", the emotion a painter feels over his frivolity in a world in which people work in a rut that makes them gloomy. Perhaps there is also a sort of traveler's guilt, from being self-contained, s...
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Brief history of New Zealand
The Polynesian Maori reached New Zealand in about A.D. 800. In 1840, their chieftains entered into a compact with Britain, the Treaty of Waitangi, in which they ceded sovereignty to Queen Victoria while retaining territorial rights. In that same year...
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Kawakawa town's famous public convenience
The Hundertwasser Toilets
Andrew makes friends with the hostel host
Pickled Parrot, Paihia
Andrew & Paula on Paihia Beach
Bay of Islands
View from Paihia beach
Bay of Islands
Andrew in the marae (Maori meeting house)
Paula & Andrew in the Treaty Grounds
Replica of a 'waka' Maori canoe
Maori wood face carving
Maori cutural show
Paula attempts the 'poi-poi' dance
Andrew & Nick get into the spirit of things
Haka tribal dance, Waitangi
Stone marking the day when NZ became part of the British Empire
Waitangi, 1840
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9th September 2013
reska ghe
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its cool
i like this
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Gorgeous and functional steak knives with faux tortoise shell handles. Handcrafted in France.
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(WTXL) Tallahassee, Fla. - The Florida Department of Health will discuss regulations for medical marijuana in Florida.
The department's work is being closely monitored by growers, lawyers, and lobbyists, because of the potential business opportunities. The new law makes certain strains of marijuana legal including those low in the euphoria-inducing component THC.
The Aug. 1 meeting is scheduled to start at 9 a.m. at the Betty Easley Conference Center in Tallahassee.


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Oct. 14, 2005
LARAMIE, Wyo. -
Complete Results in PDF Format
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The University of Wyoming swimming and diving team closed out its exhibition schedule on Friday with the annual Brown vs. Gold intrasquad dual at Corbett Pool. The meet was the team's final tune-up before opening their regular season next weekend.
The Gold team, led by junior captains Erin Spadinger and Ron Fogel, won the dual by a score of 235-217. The Gold won both the women's 400 medley and freestyle relays and the men's 400 medley relay along with 13 of 24 individual events to claim the dual win.
Individually, the Gold was led by junior Heidi Thorson and freshman Aimee Stinson who each won multiple events. Thorson won both the 50 freestyle and 100 freestyle in respective times of 24.39 and 53.16. Stinson won both the 200 and 500 freestyles in times of 1:55.24 and 5:07.37.
The Brown team was led by freshman Curtis Smith and junior John Lynch who were the only Cowboys to win multiple events. Smith cruised to a first place finish in both the 50 and 100 freestyles, swimming to times of 22.40 and 48.53. Lynch won both boards of diving, finishing with a score of 481.65 on the 1-meter and 477.45 on the 3-meter.
The swimming and diving team will return to action next weekend as the women travel to New Mexico for a Mountain West Conference dual and the men travel to Fort Collins, Colo. for the Early Bird Invite. The women will take on New Mexico on Saturday at 12 p.m while the Cowboys will compete in Fort Collins on Friday and Saturday.