Sleepy....story time?

So, I don't know if I'm incredibly innocent, naive or downright stupid, probably all three but this evening, I just couldn't sleep. So, I thought I'd search on my phone for an adult night time story to read. 


'Free Erotic Sex Tales' was NOT what I was after. 

Spotted.

Too many people have revealed to me that they did indeed spot me and my breasts in the long outdoor queue for the sweet shop yesterday. And yes, I was the only adult. 

Fuckers. 

Oh. Dear.

 I just attempted to drive whilst eating a krispy kreme.

Never again.

The juicy jam filling splodged onto the steering wheel; panicking, i began wiping away at the goo which resulted in humiliating random beeping caused by my distressed hand gestures. I resorted to licking it off but then nearly crashed into a parked car. 

Desperate not to lose any more deliciousness I stuffed the entire thing into my mouth then cruised through the town looking ridiculous with my hamster pouches. 

fml.

life lesson no.1

Note to self: In future, never place yourself on a spindly, make-shift-looking rope swing that sits delicately above a puddle of water, especially when alone. You are too heavy. Your arse is obviously going to drop right into the water. And now you have to walk home alone looking like you've wet yourself. Marvellous.


Yours, Penny Lane. xxx

spottybotty.

Imagine the situation:

You are in a luggage container. Indian men galore. You are wearing hideous trousers that have become too large (one too many curries). You have the milkiest coloured botty. And, you have the spottiest rash all over both your left and right cheek. 


Comprennez-vous?


Now, IMAGINE leaving the luggage container to buy a Sprite. Now, hear a shrill from your friend in the background as you walk away from the container, thinking you are holding up your trousers. You hear the words...'THONG!!!!'


Now, IMAGINE realising you had just exposed your milky white, spotty botty to an ENTIRE luggage container FULL of Indian perverts and a platform of strangers.


I need not imagine. Twas pretty grim.


Yours, Penny Lane. xxx

(needs no title)

I was asked by a 26 year old MALE Indian virgin what it felt like 'to have someone inside you'.


I was, quite literally, rendered speechless. An absolute first.


Yours, Penny Lane. xxx

'i practically grew a pair of testicles'

'How so?' I hear you ask. Well... for some time, I have wanted a be able to say 'yes, moi, je suis une L.A.D', only momentarily, you know? For a couple of seconds I wanted so desperately to believe I had 'manned up' and done something kkkkrezy, lived on the edge, gone wwwwilld and basically, all that's associated with being naughty.


So, when I jumped onto the luggage container of an Indian train, I thought that the next 14 hours would be pain free and I would be able to say to my friends that I had truly slummed it and been a massive lad. Alas, this was not to be.


Instead, it seems that most Indians are fascinated by (breasts) white skin, (breasts) girls and (breasts) eyes. Never have I ever had so many mobiles THRUST in my face, or been mentally undressed for 14 hours (at least, I don't think so). My travelling companion and I realised that sleeping was far from the agenda when she felt a pair of hands (not her own) on her breasts, and I had to use my LonelyPlanetIndia guide to protect my vagina. Bliss.


I also ended up in an opium den in a rather innocent fashion. The hardest drug I have ever really had for shiggles is....Calpol, so I wasn't totally 'up' for this new experience. But, how was I supposed to know it was an opium den? The three 25 stone cows guarding the outside of the den did not suggest foul play at all. Even though they were standing in the brick, shabby hall of a house.


The intoxicated gentlemen who led us there was probably a litttttle bit suspect. Ah. All part of life's colourful tapestry... i think.


Yours, Penny Lane. xxx

god gave women.....breasts.

I ventured forth into Nepal for some culture emersion. I felt I had reached that point in my life where I needed to appreciate the world around me.


Error.


By day 2, I had been informed by a (bitter) buddhist guide that I had 'nice' and jiggled his chest. For some bizarre reason, I thought he said 'eyes' and thanked him before it suddenly dawned on me that he was in fact referring to my mammary glands, my bust...basically, my knockers. Bastard. But, compared to actually having one of my 'knockers' GRABBED by an Indian as I waited in Delhi traffic only two weeks later, that buddha situation has faded into great insignificance. 


The pilgrim city of Varanasi was a honey pot, a HONEY POT I tell you, of randy pilgrims all semi naked with only an orange loin cloth 'protecting' their manhoods. Whilst having a deep chat about pilgrims and religion with a skinny, loin-clothed (i'm going to say naked) pilgrim, I couldn't help but feel he was staring at my breasts the ENTIRE time. Talks about Gandhi whilst anticipating a pilgrim erection: slightly uncomfortable.


Ah. The joys of life.


Yours, Penny Lane. xxx

good morning... (naked) stranger!

So, I got the email. And the outcome? My beautiful friend lasted 45 minutes in the wonderful Klute a couple of nights ago, before being utterly seduced by a strapping Rugby player (we've all been there...haven't we?) A night of drunken passion resulted in an 'eurgh, did i really?'-esque expression when faced with the reality of his face at 8am the next morning. He soon left the vicinity of her bedroom, naked, picked up his jeans, grunted his way in to the kitchen, then into the room of a startled housemate, then FINALLY, the door. Still naked. I think I found this so amusing; do you think he realised he was naked as he passed people on the road at 8am? I'm hoping he was like the Emperor from that tale, The Emperor's New Clothes. Fucker. 

Yours, Penny Lane xxx