Saturday 7th May

Record date 20660910

Tomorrow is my first conjoining, but as all days are the same that has no real meaning anymore.  One part of me thinks I should be scared, or at least apprehensive, but like a weary old man I just wave it away.  Apres moi, la deluge.  Who gives a fuck what happens to me?  I am never returning to that state of bored disillusionment my life consisted of for years.  So, almost anything must be an improvement.  And I nearly died anyway, down in that storm drain, or if I hadn’t had the balls to attack that bastard Peter Skinner I might have been killed by his cronies when they had no more use for me.  I felt such a thrill of control when I held that little knife to his throat, and he was so scared he did a little wee-wee in his pants.  I smiled as I saw the wet patch grow on his linen slacks.  Who is up the rope now sonny?

I knew I would be caught, and really I had had enough anyway.  Whether there actually was a ‘reb’ movement out there I didn’t care anymore.  I just wanted surrender, incarceration, clagging or whatever else might ensue.  Even euthen-heaven was better than being fucked so brutally over and over again.  I shudder to think of it now; I try to put that sort of thing out of my mind.  I try to concentrate on better, happier times.  Waking up in a field in France, in a tent, the kids and Cathy are still asleep.  I quietly creep out of my bag and unzip the inflatable tent.  The sun is already high in the sky, but everything is covered in this fine mist of dew.  The tent, our auto, the table and chairs we forgot to bring in last night are all glistening wet and fresh.  And I sit there, in my PJs and make myself a tea on the camping stove; the very one I later hid the laptop in.  I blow the steam off the mug of tea, I can hear birds chirping somewhere above my head, but I cannot see them, too many leaves.  I hear a rustle behind me and Cathy joins me, blinking with the brightness of the morning.  She looks very sexy in those ‘baby-doll’ PJs she wears.  Even after two kids she is really good-looking.  I suddenly want to fuck her, I have a stonking erection.  As she comes towards me, stepping over the guy wires her hair falls in two loose bangs down the side of her face.  Shyly she tucks the loose strands behind her ears.  I point to my dick, sticking up and tenting my PJ bottoms.  She laughs and says ”What are you expecting, Mr Nobby?”  I smile and say “Why you, Miss Pussy-pie.”

But of course we don’t do it.  We haven’t showered, we have no sensitisng lube, the kids are asleep in the tent, we are in a field, there are insects.  Exactly, my dear.    And even though we don’t do it, she just gives my stonker a friendly swipe and I squeeze her tits.  Pumped or not they are superb.  We kiss and I pour her out a tea, and we sit in the early morning sunshine and say nothing, just blowing the steam from our mugs and listening together to the birds. And though we both look for them, there are too many leaves to see them.

That’s all I wanted to say really.  I keep recalling that memory.  So peaceful.  I am ready.