One
mastermind asked me how to use the hairdryer. I suggested that the
red button next to his finger would be a good place to start the
investigation. He pressed the red button and, impressed at my
expertise, used the hot gust to dry his disgusting feet. At least
that whack-job could construct a full sentence. Another eagle-eyed
not-right pointed at my foot and shouted “Primark socks!” as I
put on a sock bought in Primark. And it just keeps happening.
Yesterday, I had a remarkable exchange with a man who looked like
both Ant and Dec.
“Tell
me if this is weird.”
“Yes,”
I replied. “Yes. It is weird.” We were both nude and it was
definitely weird.
“I
haven't said anything yet.”
“You've
said enough. I'm drying my thighs with a very small towel. It's
weird.”
“Not
that. Is it weird that I want to fuck my step-sister?”
I gave
him an old-fashioned look.
“Er,
possibly, but it's somehow still less weird than starting a personal
conversation with a naked stranger.” I was now mimicking the
“teapot” stance of an exasperated nudist, with one hand in the
classic naked-hand-on-hip position, the other gesturing like an
Italian cleaning an imaginary window.
He told
me his story anyway. After confirming that his step-sister is an
adult, that she became his step-sister after they both went through
puberty and that they never lived in the same household as children,
I gave him my almost-sincere naked blessing to make glorious, animal,
consensual whoopee with the daughter of his father's bride. Be sure,
I told him, to tell her how you feel just after she gets out of the
shower. She'll welcome that conversation as much as I welcomed this
one.
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