What I Did On My Summer Holidays.
By Dr. Cam Sexenheimer.
Firstly I slowly undid the buttons of her blouse, revealing her heaving breasts. Her pert nipples stood to attention in the cool winter air.
I called the left one Henrietta. The right one had no name... or if it did, nobody could remember it.
So, hey there, Gentle Reader.
Look, I have a question for you.
When someone throws the words "What I did on my summer holidays" at you...
A. Think of something a small child would write in primary school upon returning from their summer holidays?
B. Think that it would be an appropriate title for a piece of EROTIC LITERATURE?
I would suggest that the correct answer is A.
"Who I did on my summer holidays" is perhaps an appropriate title for a piece of EROTIC LITERATURE, but not WHAT.
I got into an argument about this point on Friday night, with this cat at Melbourne Grogblogging, which I'm told I attended.
The details are beginning to come back to me.
I remember talking to the sister of the guy who was in those anti-dope ads where the druggo is sitting on the couch and his friends are like, "Come on, let's go to the party" and he's like, "Maybe later" cos he's so fucking STONED.
Her brother was couch guy... I knew the guy who was like, "Let's go to the party."
Small world, eh.
I need responses to my questions... my old homie Bill Muhlenberg of the Australian Family Association and Myself await your heated answers!