Oh Valentine's Day how much I love thee. There are so many fellow bloggers I adore and would gladly ravish, but let me just pick my two long time faves to write a tribute to. For you, dear Gorilla Bananas, a picture of me with my toucan and a banana. As Robert Palmer said, "I didn't mean to turn you on."
And for you, Fingers, a private picture of you and me ...I know I said I would never post it on the internet but I lied okay, and all I can say is, why not show off that beautiful bod?
And now, I was thinking what should I give these two lads? First I thought I'd write them an erotic story but I really don't have time, I've got to go coach my lads' soccer team who tell me they are feeling dirty (there's a film I made of them above in case you're interested). So anyway, I found this site where some pretty sad people pay to have a customized erotic novel written about them and their paramour. Type in two names and they generate some turgid PG rated crap. So here you go, Gorilla and Fingers, I need to go sort out that soccer team .... have a Happy Valentine's. Kisses.
Safari Nights featuring Emma and Gorilla Bananas
Gorilla Bananas and Emma were always being mistaken for Posh and Becks
‘Is that everything?’ Emma asked as Gorilla slammed the boot shut. ‘Then lets hit the road!’ As they drove from their home in Baltimore to BWI, Emma put her favourite album by Blondie into the CD player.
Pulling up at a set of traffic lights, Gorilla crooned along, using the steering wheel as a drum, accompanied by Emma’s sing-song laughter.
But as they neared the airport, the traffic thickened, snaking in front of them in an endless metal spiral. Emma cast an anxious glance at the Ferrari’s clock.
‘Do you think we should have left earlier?’ she asked. But before long they’d left the Ferrari in the long stay car park, taken the short bus ride to the terminal and they were standing in the bustling check-in queue. After two hours browsing in the shops, during which Emma slipped off and bought a beautiful basque and knicker set in her favourite colour, peach, they were boarding the plane.
The flight was pretty full, and thanks to Gorilla turning on the charm they’d been selected for an upgrade. ‘You ever joined the mile high club?’ Gorilla whispered as a stern-looking stewardess directed them to their seats in an almost empty luxury cabin. He gestured to a plump businessman with a ruddy face, who’d already reclined his seat and slipped on his eye mask.
‘I don’t think our friend there would notice…’
‘Ssh, you’re terrible!’ Emma chuckled. But as the plane roared down the runway a few moments later, the idea was firmly fixed in her head…
Sex on a plane was such a cliché. But now she was in the mood.
And after a couple of glasses of complimentary champagne with the delicious dinner, which had been served on proper china plates and with stainless steel cutlery, she was feeling brave. ‘Come on,’ she whispered...
Fever In France featuring Emma and Fingers
Fingers had been pounded to within an inch of his life
Laughing like teenagers the couple ran out into the warm evening air. The sun was beginning to set and enriched the colours of the world around them with a fiery hue. The view over the sea was breathtaking from high on the hillside where the spa was located; but Emma wasn’t in the mood for wasting time admiring a view and dragged her lover back to the car. They sped off once again into the countryside, looking for a restaurant. This time they actually found one without any car chases or abductions getting in the way. It was the cutest little pizzeria; cut into the side of a cliff face in a small country village near the Italian border. Neither of them were in the mood for any more pretentiously posh eateries and they were really looking forward to good, honest, filling and most unhealthy pizza. The friendly waiter gave them a small table, with a candle and flowers, next to one of the few windows on the man-made façade. The window looked out over the crooked rooftops of the village and the steep valley below. Pizzas were being cooked in ovens cut straight into the rock and the intense glow from them provided most of the light. It was vibrant and busy inside and the wine was flowing readily. For a second, in between the laughter and the chattering, Fingers drifted off, back to Baltimore and back to his job at Bank of Knobs. The events of the last week had moved so fast and been so intense that the normal world of working and commuting through the rat race seemed a million years away. He smiled and a tingle ran down his spine as he snapped back into the movie-like reality of his present. Emma was sitting opposite tackling a slice of pizza that was altogether too big for her mouth; and dropping stringy cheese all down her beautiful new pink dress. She looked down at the result of the cheese and laughed. A slither of it had landed right between her firm breasts and as she fished it out, pulling her dress away from her chest as she did, a passing waiter caught an eye full. The waiter proceeded to trip over a chair and fling his tray of drinks onto the floor. She felt a little embarrassed but was soon laughing so hard that she felt like she would wet herself. It really was an excellent meal; the pizza had a thin base and was positively drowning in cheese and toppings, like real pizzas should be. Fingers enjoyed it more than the expensive meals they had been dining on, in the exclusive restaurants of Cannes and Monaco since their unexpected windfall.
The drive back to their hotel in Cannes was interrupted by a romantic walk along a deserted beach. There wasn’t much sand left as the tide was high but they walked along the dunes. Despite being late, the air was still warm and soothing. Emma lay back against Fingers and looked into the clear night sky; a million tiny stars twinkled from across light years of space. Back in Baltimore there were so few visible stars, but there on the beach, without clouds and light pollution, they could see forever. She stroked the sand and passed the grains between her fingers. The sand glistened under the moonlight and for a moment the beach became a reflection of the sky, with the sand and the stars. She felt her lover’s breath on the back of her neck as he gently kissed it; his arms wrapped tightly around her waist. Soon they were peeling each other’s clothes off and flinging them to the wind. Time became meaningless and irrelevant as they made passionate love on the beach. She longed for it to go on forever. It was different; gentler, yet more intense at the same time, she felt more fulfilled than ever. The sand clung to her back and bum as she rolled him over and mounted him; riding him like she had never before.
Who am I? Displaced Londoner now living in the States with my two little girlies and long suffering husband. Co-author of hilarious parenting book Cocktails at Naptime www.cocktailsatnaptime.com
My mom's an Austrian, my dad's a Brit, which makes me a Britaustrian, or possibly an Austrish?