Ah Kate Winslet.

Let me count the ways.

1.

First of all I’m going to run a nice bubble bath with the purple lavender crap herself has lying around the place.  Then I’m going to light some incest incense and some candles.  Then I’ll put the soundtrack from Titanic on, skipping that gobby cunt Dion or course.  Then I’ll sink in, grab this picture of you and thrash around the tub like Daryl Hannah in a Tom Hanks movie.  I’ll spurt so much that my formally flat ceiling will look like a stippled one from an 80′s home design show.  Then some will drip down and land on your picture, looking like I’ve bukkake’d you all the live long day.  And I totally would.

2.

Then I’d dry myself off, rinse out the bath and retire to the boudoir.  I’d find you in the boudoir, like the living wet dream you are.  You’d be there all nekkid and sitting on a chair beside a mirror.  You won’t be expecting me to walk in with 4 throbbing man inches jutting out proudly from my freshly shaven gentleman’s area, but there I’ll be.  I’ll crawl over and make little puppy whiny noises until I am on all fours right behind you.  Then without as much as a how’d you do?, I’ll be lapping at that deliciously pert crack of yours.  Mmmm, crack.

3.

Then I’d wonder why you’d be looking kind of sad and unsatisfied.  Doesn’t a good tonguing of your brown eye make you feel fulfilled?  Certainly worked for me.  Cheer up, if you’re good I’ll throw you some tea bagging later.  Where’s that smile?  Where is it?  There it is, I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for too long.  Now get dressed, bitch.  We’re going out.

4.

She knows better than to wear a bra when we go out.  This is because it just gives easier access to whatever slutty Apprentice/Big Brother wench wants to get column inches and cop a feel outside a nightclub.  Then we slip her a rohypnol and get her back to our place.  Then she’ll be rudely awoken with some smelling salts to see me trussed up like a pig on a spit roast and her wearing a strap on while Kate conducts the whole spunk symphony.  A Spunkony, if you will.

5.

*Yank.  Rip.  Tear.  Rip again.  Yank.  Rip.  Drool.  Tongue.  Suck.  Swallow.  Boing*

“Hey!  What are you doing down there?”

“I’m diving and conquering your muddy meadow.  Do you still not like that?”

“Fine, you can do it, just make sure you wank that little cock while you do”

“Ok, I’ll try!”

6.

She loves fucking on a futon, does our Kate.  She has to put some effort in though before I’ll even look at her.  The nighty is ok, she’s got no knickers on under that.  So I’ll throw those legs over the arms of the futon and gobble her gooch to within an inch of it’s life.  I’ll be dressed in a white coat and I’ll come up for air to say “Dr. Discharge, at your cervix”. This will make her giggle.  Good times.

7.

Of course it’s not all just mindless and disgusting sex acts with Kate, she has a sensitive side too.  So after a day of knitting by the fire, she’ll throw on whatever she’s knitted and ask me what I think.  I’ll be too busy chewing on those toes of hers while she laughs because she finds it ticklish.  Not as ticklish as she finds my gloopy splooge dripping between her tootsies.  Then she’ll lick them clean and put on a pair of wool socks that I knitted bought for her.  Then we’ll do anal.

8.

Then sometimes I’ll just motorboat those jubblies, get them all saliva’d up and slip my sausage in there before icing those buns with a blend of my own herbed and spiced love gravy.

I thank you.

We all miss things from our child hood.  Not a care in the world.  The games we’d play were always so simple.  Kick the can, Rounders, Tease the Pedo.  All great craic.

What’s that you say?

You’ve never played Tease the Pedo?

I beg to differ.  Any child who walks around anywhere at anytime is inadvertently teasing many pedo’s, especially bare foot, but before I say too much I’ll say this – Teasing the Pedo was one of the most fruitful activities we could ever do.

We were a smart little bunch on our street.  We knew who the local pedo was and we knew he had lots of sweets.  Growing up in the 80′s meant that we were even poorer than we are now, so we had to get our sweets any way we could.  Plus it was before the internet, so pedo’s had to be much more patient or we wouldn’t put out.

Poor thing, he thought he was grooming us, but we were just prick teasing.  Depending on the mood we were in he’d have to get us Dan Bars or Fizzy cola lollies.  This was because there was a phase when different numbers were printed on the wrappers.  If you got a number seven, you got a free Dan bar or Fizzy Cola lolly.  Chances were that if Mr Pedo Man gave us either of those, we wouldn’t have to go near him for an extra day or two.

For a Dan Bar, we’d throw on a tight t shirt and ice up our nipples.

For a Fizzy cola lolly we’d let him tickle us, which was alright really.  Who doesn’t enjoy a good tickle?

If he went all our and got some Double Dip bags or Mr Freeze cool pops, we might even pretend to be asleep while he took pictures of us.

Now, because it was called Tease the Pedo, we never actually did anything.  Other wise it would have been called Finding a Happy Place.  As I said, we were a clever bunch.  When ever he’d tell us to reach into his pockets for the sweets, we’d just giggle and call him silly.  One time he told us he had a special kind of lolly for us, but we said that because we were losing our baby teeth, one might come loose and fall out during eating it.  His face got all scrunchy and he kind of shuddered and squeaked, and all without having to close our eyes and pretend we were somewhere else.

That actually turned out to be a bigger bonus as we’d bring him our teeth when they did fall out and he’d dress up as the Tooth Fairy.  He told us our reward was under his pillow, but as we neared his bedroom the smell of chloroform was getting stronger.  So just like a Sunday newspaper journalist, we made our excuses and left.

That was the last we saw of him.

Couple of weeks later, he was found in a pair of Care Bear briefs and hanging in his wardrobe by a belt with a Punky Brewster video on repeat.

From then on we had to get our own sweets.  So we started bob a jobbing around the estate.  The drunk woman next door who had just been left behind by her husband was the best.  You could fleece her purse and she’d just assume she’d drank it all.  When she went into rehab, we had to resort to shoplifting, but that’s another story.

I would apologise for my behaviour as a youngster, but we didn’t have Playstations or Xbox’s.  We had Atari’s and Buckeroo!, what the fuck were we meant to do?

So what’s the moral of the story?  Protect your kids from Pedo’s?  I wouldn’t worry, your kids are smarter than you give them credit for.

I suppose there is no moral really.  All I know is that if I was still as cute with iced up nipples, I’d never have to buy another packet of Fruit Pastilles for myself again.

I’m getting old, man.