Monday, June 29, 2009

Seventeen Ways Of Bedecking A Naked Human Resources Manager

Well, now as you probably already know all seventeen ways of bedecking a naked Human Resources Manager with the contents of your pick ‘n’ mix bag, there is probably very little point in my further elaboration of this point, especially now that Woolworths is – sadly – no more. So, now that we have the naked Human Resources Manager here, and the lemon meringue has set, let us tarry no more.

Glossing over the point of contention – usually covered in my Philosophy of Perversion lectures - of whether a naked, in this case, Human Resources Manager can still be classed as a Human Resources Manager when she no longer wears the clothing typical of a Human Resources Manager. It therefore follows that there must be some doubt as to whether it can still be called perverse. This, obviously, is yet another example of the Perversion Paradox. So let us leave it there and hurriedly go and fetch the sex spatulas, before the Human Resources Manager gets bored and wanders of to see what Strom Thighhammer is doing with his tool down at his blacksmith’s forge.

This does, of course, quite aptly demonstrate a further important point about the perverted arts. It is always good to keep your devices, implements, oils, unguents and so forth all in their own drawer with easy access from wherever it is you tend to go about practising the perverted arts. Although, this in itself can become problematic if you are a devotee of outdoor deviations, woodland perversions, or something even more exotic such as deep-sea perversions or illicit supermarket deviations, when some sort of portable (and if the occasion warrants it – waterproof) sex utensil container is not only desirable, but essential. However, now is not the time for a full and frank examination of your accoutrements, so we will leave that for a more opportune time.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Weasels In Bondage

There are times when it seems that the utilisation of small furry mammals in an erotic or perverse context could be construed as going slightly beyond the bounds of what is acceptable. However, this only goes to show the inherent misunderstanding of the nature of the perverse by anyone who holds such a view.

Anyone who has spent any time with, say, a water vole, a badger, or even a dormouse, will be under no illusions about just how perverse these creatures can be in their natural habitat.

It was the great David Attenborough, in his 1990s landmark nature series Weasels In Bondage who first brought the perverse nature of Britain’s woodland creatures to the attention of the general public. Up until then it was always assumed that the occasional sight of a grey squirrel in fetish gear was a result of the growing encroachment of humanity into what were once those animal’s natural habitats that was the cause of such manifestations of the perverse in this country’s wild animals.

However, it was the episode of Weasels In Bondage that showed a vixen in peephole bra, stockings, suspenders and leather thigh boots dominating a tightly-bound male badger in a secluded dell, that first made people realise that the sexual antics of woodland creatures were not so unimaginatively straightforward as they had once so naively believed.

Attenborough, through some very skilful natural history filming was also able to demonstrate that Red Deer engage in wife-swapping parties deep in the more heavily-forested parts of the woodlands, whilst it is not unknown for groups of otters to engage in consensual water-sports fetish nights.

There is also some sketchy evidence, so far without any photographic proof, that there are a large number of transvestite barn owls in Hampshire, who regularly go out on night hunting expeditions in full evening dress. However, we will have to wait for firm evidence for the existence of such practices before adding them to the list.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Little Frigging Amateur Operatic Society

Once you have your bank manager placed upon the sideboard with the weasel sellotaped to the LEFT-hand side of the DVD player then you can see about whisking up the unguents to the required consistency for application to the front wheels of the naked vicar’s roller-skates. Until then it is probably best to leave the pineapple slices in the vicinity of the post-mistress until you have finished vigorously towelling-off the librarian and her assistant.

Now, I’m sure that many of your own quiet evenings with a few close friends have gone as smoothly (if you did remember the lubricating unguents, of course) as the evening described above when we in the Little Frigging Amateur Opera Society undertook the undress-rehearsal for our version of Mozart’s Marriage of Figaro.

As it happens, I do enjoy assisting the cake shop manageress, Fanny Knickerless, improve the coloratura of her arias. At least, whenever I can get the firm grasp on the devices that such a strategy necessarily entails, even without the good tailwind and a hand-cranked turbo-weasel usually needed to help ease her into her bel canto.


Be that as it may, and it might as well be, until at least Act II, where we must get the salami prepared for the scene where the Countess secretes Cherubino in the closet.

Then, of course, we will have to get the traffic warden ready to receive the watermelon in the Finale, whilst the badgers dance around the suitably-restrained stockbroker festooned with pineapple rings about his person in readiness for the closing aria.

We do feel there is no reason why, after a few more undress rehearsals, we should not be ready to give our first public performance sometime in the early summer, providing, that is, that the orchestra can get his violin repaired in time.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Woodland Perversions – A Practical Guide

So, what becomes of the broken sex weasel grommet? It is a question I am sure much on your minds of late, what with the dire world economic situation and a political ‘elite’* who demonstrate all the competence of a remedial beginner’s class at a school for village idiots. But, still, we do not gather here to speak of such Moorlocks. There are more interesting things afoot, especially when we all don our thigh-length fetish woodland boots and – of course – a hat.

Yes, for we are going down to the woods today in order to sample the delights of some of the more esoteric woodland perversions, some even utilising that good old woodland perversions standby – the stick.

Here you will see why the thigh-length boots are central to the woodland perversion experience**, every putative woodland pervert - however keen - should be mindful of both brambles and nettles (For example, when undertaking The Banker’s Just Reward perversion). Although, in some advanced perversions both plants do have their uses for now we will steer clear of them.

Many a woodsman will speak of the importance of having a good firm stick – or ‘wood’ as the cognoscenti have it – for poking into the bush when out on one’s Woodland Perversion Rambles. Many is the time when a female companion will show just how grateful she is to have your wood on hand to poke deep into the bush at such opportune times that may arise during the course of your perambulations.

From the above you will – hopefully – come to the conclusion that a gentleman about to undertake any Woodland Perversion should always make sure that he has firm wood himself before taking his postmistress, assistant librarian or even cake shop manageress into the undergrowth. Otherwise, the putative event could be a considerable disappointment to his lady friend and lead her to decline any similar offers he makes in the foreseeable future.


*elite is of course used here in the high ironic sense.

**Yes, I do indeed remember The Woodland Perversion Experience. For those who do not a very fine early 70s psychedelic rock band. Their 1971 album Are You A Naughty Lady is regarded as a classic of the genre and should be in every serious fan’s collection, as long as no-one makes the mistake of actually trying to listen to the interminable thing all the way through.

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

(Not) The Beast From The Swamp


It begins, slowly rising out of the swamp like a lawyer at dawn. We clutch our poking sticks to our chests in trepidation as the vague shape stumbles out of the mists towards us. Then, as the features of this unknown beast resolve themselves out of the heavy mists hanging over the swamp, we realise that Old Feebletrousers has – yet again – taken the wrong turning on his way back from The Pervert’s Appendage and spent the night sleeping it off in the swamp.

Of course, we should all be concerned about a person of Old Feebletrousers’ advanced years spending the night in the cold fetid swamp, but it seems to have little or no effect upon him. However, since he does, at the best of times, already much resemble some kind of (semi-)ambulatory swamp, then it is difficult to say whether it ought to become a matter of concern to the rest of us, especially if it means we have to remain downwind of him for any length of time. For it is often difficult to say where the swamp ends and Old Feebletrousers begins, especially in these thick early morning mists.

It is also hard, but leaving that to one side for the moment (where it rests more easily against the thigh), it is difficult to precisely judge the age of Old Feebletrousers himself. It probably won’t be possible to know his precise age until after his death, when there may be the chance of carbon-dating some of his more intimate nether garments, which probably haven’t seen the full light of day since before WWII.

So, despite, or maybe even because of, his advanced years there seems little in the natural world that can do much damage to Old Feebletrousers, whose attitude to the illnesses and diseases that so often beset the rest of us is to deliberately ignore the affliction until it gives up and goes away. Perhaps we ought – in these days of enlightened environmentalism – to be more concerned about what damage Old Feebletrousers is doing to the swamp rather than by what the swamp could do to him.

Monday, June 22, 2009

First All-Village Orgy Advice

‘If in doubt, always grease the wallaby first,’ wise words, I’m sure you will all agree. It was always the advice I received from Grand Old Uncle Stagnant when I, as a callow young man, first began attending the all-village orgies in the Little Frigging village hall. It seems a long time ago now, mainly because it was - indeed – a long time ago. So now when I look upon the young men and ladies of the village as they arrive at their first orgies, never quite sure of where to put their coats, or what to do with their small furry animals, then I can feel a smile of indulgence. For we were all – hard as it may seem – young once (including Old Feebletrousers and Grand Uncle Stagnant), and until they can find a cure for it so everyone else will have to go through those awkward and often-troubled teenage years.

The first all-village orgy is always a difficult time for the teenager. There is the social awkwardness of seeing people, usually met about the village, engaged in acts that would make a porn star reach for the small print of their contracts and their reading glasses. There are people the youngster has known, looked up to, or pitied, for years, stretched out all around the village hall wearing the kind of fetish gear usually found only at the very back of a wardrobe belonging to a member of the clergy, or a very senior politician. Not only that, normal small talk can seem rather inconsequential when trying to – for example – discuss the weather with someone engaged in an intimate act involving a watermelon, a vicar and several freshly-grouted wallabies.

All-in-all, then, a rather awkward time indeed for the first-timer in any orgy situation, and one us more seasoned* practitioners ought to attempt to alleviate. Perhaps we could do this by seeking out the newcomers and taking them in hand, or under our wing, (dependent on what fetish gear is being worn at the time) whenever possible, until they have overcome their tribulations.


* in my case, a marinade of lemon juice, white wine, black pepper and just the barest trace of extra-virgin weasel essence.

Friday, June 19, 2009

Woodland Rites

Clutching our sex spanners close to our palpitating chests, we wormed our way through the entangling undergrowth towards the very edge of the clearing. There we waited, tense and trepidatious, as the scene unfolded before us. Of course, the sheep were there, freshly dipped in exotic unguents and resplendent in their various fetish gear, glinting in the moonlight and casting weird and wonderful patterns in the flickering glow of the bonfires. There were weasels and badgers too, glistening brightly with freshly-applied erotic oils and lubrications. The air was heady with the scents of perversion.

The drums thundered and rumbled, slowly reaching a crescendo of paradiddles when suddenly from the centremost and most elaborate of the tents there emerged the Lower Crotchstaine Master of Perversions. He was tall, muscular, naked – except for a wallaby-grouting apron. He stepped into the fire-bright centre of the clearing and stood arms akimbo, whereupon the naked virgins* of the village immediately began to coat his whole body with freshly-warmed badger-spleen oil. Even at the distance where we lay concealed, it was still a heady scent on the midnight breeze.

Then, as the drums grew even more frantic, from behind his back, the leader produced the biggest pair of sex spatulas I have ever seen in my lifetime. Beside me, I heard Maureen gasp. I put my hand out to steady and reassure her. She was trembling at the sight of those spatulas… and so was I.

‘Steady, girl, steady,’ I whispered, trying to keep the awe and fear from my voice as I felt her trembling with the deep primal urges brought on by the sight of such an immense pair of sex spatulas about to be wielded by an expert.

Moments later, the sacrifice was bought into the centre of the clearing, strapped to the ceremonial shopping trolley. I gasped out loud as I saw that it was the librarian from Lower Crotchstaine. Surely, I thought, no one would be foolish enough to risk applying sex spatulas of such a magnitude to a naked librarian! Such theories have been – tentatively - put forward in some of the more esoteric and arcane Journals of Theoretical Perversions, but no-one has ever dared to suggest even attempting such a dangerous experiment for real. The danger of a fallout of highly sexually-active particles from the bringing together of such elemental sexual forces as a pair of giant sex spatulas and a suitably-restrained naked librarian is just too overwhelmingly arousing to contemplate.

I had no choice.

“Stop!” I said, emerging from my secretion. I fumbled with my clothes and then pulled it out. There were gasps from all the virgins** as they saw what I wielded in my hand.

“Bloody hell, It’s a Fully-Authorised Perversion Inspector!” cried the Master of Perversions as he saw the badge I held up in my hand. Quickly divesting himself of his wallaby-grouting accoutrements, he suddenly lobbed the immense sex spatulas at me. “Quick, Leg it!” he cried diving into the thick woodland.

Unfortunately, one of the large sex spatulas caught me with a glancing blow to the inner thigh and suddenly everything went dark.

In what seemed like only moments later, I began to feel myself again. Soon I was erect once more. But it was only to discover Maureen kneeling in front of me, in a perversion-proof protective suit, slowly easing the enormous sex spatulas into a sexual-deviance proof container. All around her the rest of our Perversion Inspection squad rounded up the last of the ‘virgins’, putting them in the back of the van, alongside the slumped and defeated, and fully-manacled Master of Perversions.

“Wha… what happened?” I said, “I remember… I…?”

“You were hit with a giant sex spatula, remember?” Maureen said with a hint of concern. “So, obviously, you became instantly aroused, which meant that your brain was quite suddenly deprived of blood as it all spread towards your… well,” She stood up, after checking the container was sealed completely, and began to remove the Perversion-Proof protective suit. “You must have fainted from the sudden loss of blood,” she said.

I nodded warily.

“I see the effect hasn’t fully worn off, though,” Maureen said, grinning as she dropped the protective suit on the ground, swiftly followed by the rest of her clothes. “Maybe I could help you with that?”


*Or nearest approximation thereof.

** ‘Virgins’? Yeah, right.

Thursday, June 18, 2009

Blowin' Free

Well now, as it happens today sees the first day of Little Frigging’s Annual Village Free Fondle Week. All the denizens of Little Frigging have decked themselves out in their traditional free-fondling outfits and fondling mittens, and we have al been furiously polishing our sex spatulas in readiness.

Of course, these days these traditional rural events are often staged for the tourists, in order to remove as much money as possible from the tourists whilst they are here. Hence, the costumes have become more colourful and ornate while the traditional Free Fondling rituals and events themselves have grown elaborate and more camera-friendly.

In the past Free Fondling Week always began with a parade of virgins down the village High street. But latterly the Little Frigging vicar, Rev. Counter, has felt a bit foolish walking down the street in a parade all on his own. Especially after the parish meeting a few years ago when his eligibility for entry was called into question after the campanology incident in the bell tower when he and his own churchwarden were found pulling on each other’s bell ends.

Therefore, nowadays the opening Free Fondle week parade is open to more or less anyone who fancies a fondle or two, to kick the week off with a bang (when the fondle gets past the initial stages that is). On Free fondle Day itself; there is a parade of many decorated floats down the High Street, each featuring a scene based around the theme for that particular year’s ceremony. For example, last year the theme was Animal ‘Husbandry’, so a good many of the floats saw variations on the idea, with the ladies dressed up as sheep whilst the men mainly wore only their best Formal Dress Wellies.

This year the theme will be Scenes From The History Of Little Frigging, so many of the floats will be almost afloat themselves with the copious amounts of alcohol that the more significant scenes from Little Frigging’ historical past seem to have involved, as well as scenes of the utmost debauchery and explicit cream cake consumption.

For example, Grand Uncle Stagnant and I will recreate the scene from the 1960s of the village’s first Immolation of The Hippy, where Uncle Stagnant will play the hippy, I will hold aloft a box of matches and some tinder and Labia Entanglements from the Post Office will keep a firm grasp of the mallard duck.

All-in-all then, should the fine weather hold, it should be a spectacular day out for one and all and a chance for many tourists to partake of the experience and come away fully-satiated after spending far more than they had originally intended.

Wednesday, June 17, 2009

The Hairstylist Mutterer

It seems that Stoatbeliever Applesauce is the name on everyone's lips here in the heart of wild hairstylist country. He has become known as the 'Hairstylist Mutterer' for his seemingly supernatural and uncanny ability to tame and then control these skittish creatures. For hundreds of years now humankind has had a strong - but often uneasy - relationship with hairstylists. They are a necessary - even, at times, essential - creature for most people to deal with, but - it seems - few of us are fortunate enough to be able to communicate with them in such a way as to get them to do our bidding. All too often people come away from their encounters with these creatures with a hairstyle that is unsatisfactory in some way.

It seems that Applesauce's secret, as far as it can be deduced, is to engage with the hairstylists on their own level. To see him work with a partially-trained hairstylist is an education in itself. For example, when the hairstylist begins to speak of holidays, Applesauce doesn't just make the usual vague noises of semi-irritated assent, he actually mutters back about his own holidays, those he has recently taken and those he is planning to take. The effect on the once-skittish and nervous hairstylist is amazing to behold.

There has been a long - and seemingly unsuccessful - attempt by the hair products industry to get ordinary people to take notice of the myriad of hair products on the market using all sorts of techniques from pseudo-scientific hogwash right through to the mindless prattle of 'celebrities' seemingly only famous for having very shiny hair capable of moving in slow-motion. All of these products, though originally intended to lessen the trauma of hairstylist/human confrontations by enabling people to 'take control' of their own hair maintenance arrangements, has only served to widen the gap between hairstylists and their customers, often to a point of mutual incomprehension.

But, until the arrival of Applesauce, no-one has ever really tried to understand these strange hairstylist creatures and their often uneasy relationship with the human race. So, if Applesauce's approach is right, then there will be no more need for the seemingly endless parade of advertisements for even more unnecessary - and increasingly absurd - 'hair-care products', instead humanity and hairstylists can - at long last - learn how to communicate properly with each other and hairstyle disasters will then become a thing of the past.

Tuesday, June 16, 2009

The Cunning Linguist

For those men who may, for perfectly obvious reasons of inadequacy, have trouble meeting and getting on (and off) with the ladies in attendance at their local all-village orgy I have some words of advice and encouragement.

Firstly, the importance of personal hygiene. If even your herd of pigs, or even farm-assured lawyers turn away in disgust (in the case of the lawyers without even first checking your bank balance) then you may need to consider having more than your usual two or three goes in the sheep dip a year, and consider having regular baths, ideally utilising both soap and water.

Secondly, No matter how little she is wearing, and in most village-orgy situations this generally amounts to not much, or even less. It is rude* to stare, it is even ruder to drool, or to ask if they are real. It is not considered polite to request her to hold your wherewithal without being formally introduced, and – unless you are unusually well-blessed in that department – she will not be immediately impressed by the size, or strength, of your ardour.

Thirdly, is the importance of eye contact. No, not there, or any of the other interesting bits of the female body. Make eye contact with her eyes and try to stop your own eyes from wandering too far away too often, especially towards the bar and especially, especially towards other females in your vicinity, especially those younger, slimmer or in any other way more attractive that your current interlocutor.

Fourthly, despite the firm evidence of the existence of handbags, it has now been conclusively proven that women are intelligent, sometimes merely only two or three times as intelligent, as the average man. This does mean they do like to engage in conversation, but not always about any strangely suppurating malfunctions of your body, no matter how copious or oddly-coloured the discharge, and – especially – not the offside rule.

Fifthly, This use of the tongue in pleasing women is what separates those of us who know, love and understand the fairer sex from those of you who just stand on the sidelines of the orgy pitch cursing your fate before taking yourself in hand for the long pull homewards.


*This is not rude in the good way

The Lawyers Go To Market

Well, there you go then. Isn't that nice? The first of the lawyerettes has now produced its first writ. I suppose it is a bittersweet time. It is nice to see the lawyerettes grow up from spawn to tadlawyer and then into lawyerettes without too much harm or mishap befalling them. On the other hand, though, it also means that the vast majority of them will be going to market to be sold on to the big city law firms, small-town solicitors' offices and so on. However, for those poor adolescent lawyers that do not quite make the grade, there is no other option but a slow sad decent into the mire of politics.

Still, looking around at the young from this year's hatching, I can see several potential breeding pairs. They may well be worth keeping back here in the lawyers sties. Then we will have to see if they can be persuaded to breed with each other without any threats of legal action against their potential partners, or any outbreak of the dreaded pre-nuptial agreements*.

Therefore, if all goes well, we will be breeding pedigree Farm-Assured lawyers well into the 21st Century down here in Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold. Maybe - in time - they will grow to be as world famous as our Premium Quality Hand-Reared Free-Range Organic Hairstylists, but who can ever tell?

*Such a virulent disease can spread like wildfire through an entire herd of breeding lawyers if not checked immediately on discovery.

Monday, June 15, 2009

The Advancing Years

Now, I’m not one to stand on ceremony, that is unless it is necessary for the gentlemen present at the aforesaid ceremony to be standing proud, and then, if so, I will be at the forefront, standing as proud and erect as a man of my advancing years can be.

However, time does take its toll, and the… er… increasingly mature amongst us gathered here should be aware of that. Of course, in your prime you no doubt managed to partake of three or four orgies a day, with time off to indulge in whatever in-depth studies of the perverted arts and sciences you were involved in at the time, as well.

Now, though, perhaps you would prefer a nice cup of tea and a small chat about the weather, or the state of your delphiniums, with the postmistress rather than a game of Full-Cream Fondle The Weather Forecaster. There is nothing at all wrong with this, as long as you do manage to indulge in the odd (or even quite ordinary and run-of-the-mill) perversion every now and then, just to keep your hand (or whichever other bodily part you may - or may not - prefer) in.

No, we have to look upon our advancing years as a time of opportunity, rather than one of decreasing vigour or even decreasing ardour – although if you find your ardour is more a case of softer these days, then you can get pills for it. It can also be a time for study and the contemplation of the glories that are the perverted arts and sciences. It is a time to appreciate the incredible amount of literature (for the discerning connoisseur) that can now by access through this wonder that is the interwebnets (when the bloody thing decides to work that is).

More importantly, the advancing years should be seen as a time of opportunity. A time for one to finally, clearly, precisely and distinctly to tell the world (with optional appropriate hand gestures) just exactly what one thinks of it.

New Government Tax Proposal

Hopscotch (Nightmare) Johansssenessensen was the first person - ever - to stack 37 ewes on top of each other, at the Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold local farmer's market, in order to impress a young lady (Juicithighs Preponderance). That was, as we all must now know, back in the wild and heady days of 1974.

Since then, of course, stacking 37 ewes on top of one another has become commonplace, even clichéd, especially around Midsummers Day. While it is no-doubt - and demonstrably - true that there is no surer way to the female heart than presenting her with her very own, personal, stack of female sheep, some feel that the practice has now outworn its original usefulness and utility.

This is especially true for those lucky women who now find it difficult - if not impossible- to move around their own homes due to the number of ewe-stacks in their possession, all gifts from besotted suitors.

In fact, the government have seen a chance to make some easy money become so concerned about the number of ewe-stacks that some lucky women possess they have decided to introduce yet another new tax. This will be a tax on ownership of more than five stacks of over 15 ewes, charged at 35% of the current market price for each of the ewes in the stack.

Although, in an attempt to appear to be fair, the government have also announced plans to introduce special one-off transitional grants for the purchase of mint sauce, in order to assist in easing the burden on those over-encumbered with ewe-stacks they find they can no longer maintain.

Friday, June 12, 2009

Post-Orgy Cream Cake Misuse

Now, let me see. No, go on, don’t be shy. As a professional free-range hairstylist herder and farm-assured lawyer breeder, you could say that I’m a man of the world (and Bromsgrove). There isn’t much that I haven’t seen, and not much I haven’t tried - not without suitable lubrication anyway.

Not only that, as a swift perusal of the archives of this blog would attest, I have a wide familiarity with all kinds of small furry animals, especially in relation to their erotic possibilities.

Yes, indeed those do indeed look like weasel footprints.

Yes, indeed, I have seen them on the inner thigh before.

Personally, I would hazard a guess that you utilised some cream cakes, originally intended for the post-orgy tea and cakes for a purpose associated with exploring the outer limits of the erotic. Is that true?

No, dear, don’t worry, we are all young – at least once. Why I remember a time when I… well let’s say it involved a cream horn, a chocolate éclair and a couple of eager young stable girls from Jenny Moist-Gusset’s Little Frigging Riding School.


Anyway, back to the matter in hand…. Yes, indeed, it does feel rather warm… but... anyway… where was I?

Oh, yes. I think what probably happened was that you probably fell asleep after your orgiastic exertions, and still with traces of cream cake around your… er… person. I suppose it is one of the hazards of outdoor orgies at this time of year. There are always scavengers about, seeing what they can pick up from the inevitable detritus around the edges of any human activity, and I don’t mean just Grand Old Uncle Stagnant either.

Just look upon it as a learning experience, my dear. Now while you are here there are a couple of matters you could assist me with. No, there is no need to put your clothes back on just yet.

In fact, if you could just place your left leg here, rotate the melon in an anti-clockwise direction, clutch this marmoset in your left hand and….

Thursday, June 11, 2009

Tourist Trapping

Well, now. It seems there is nothing really all that much happening at the moment, here in Little-Frigging-In-The-Wold. Although, having said that, we did manage to entrap a brace of very lucrative tourists in Mrs Minge Peccadillo's Antique Marital Aids Emporium over the weekend.

Mrs Peccadillo successfully managed to convince them that the old piece in prominent display in her central cabinet was, in fact, the very dildo used with such devastating precision to bring about the defeat of Richard III in the Battle of Bosworth Field, which enabled the Tudor succession to the throne of England.

In fact, though, the piece was found by Old Feebletrousers himself during a badger-mollifying excursion twelve years ago.

Mrs Peccadillo is now - apparently - trying to get the tourists interested in what she claims is the very merkin worn by Kathryn Howard, the fifth wife of Henry VIII, on her wedding night. However, everyone in the village knows that rather than being a merkin, the piece is, in fact, actually Colonel Fizt-Tightly's mislaid toupee.

The toupee went missing during a very eventful orgy in the village hall last September. The colonel, however, refused to claim it as he always regarded any assertion that he wore a hairpiece as damnable impudence of the highest order. He strenuously insisted that his overnight change from a full head of hair to total baldness was entirely due to the experience of being subjected to some very expert ministrations by Miss Entanglements, from the Post Office, during the orgy. This, he claims, sent him bald overnight, gave him backache for three weeks and made him - from that day forth - unable to pass close to a cheese-salad baguette without blushing.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Post-War French Existential Perversions

Now, as we stand here once again, about to embark on this journey deep into the heart of the perverted arts and sciences it is important to examine how they relate to the modern world in a truly existential sense, especially in respect of mint-sauce coated stockbrokers and lightly-restrained systems analysts. Thenceforth, we can see just how and why the use of cream cakes became so central to the truly-perverted lifestyle and how no modern-day all-village orgy can be considered complete without offering a full range of post-orgy cakes for the delectation of its participants.

I think it was the famous goalkeeper, existentialist and pervert, Jean-Albert Camembert, who first formulated the modern existentialist dilemma of the post-war orgy-goer, ‘Can a man and/or woman be truly authentic – in an autonomous and existential sense - when buttering a weasel whilst dressed as a supply geography teacher?’

The answer is, of course, as we now know, yes. But, only if the weasel is placed directly North-East of the stockbroker and downwind from the librarian in the leather tupping harness. Obvious enough now, you would think, but Camembert was writing in a very different time. France had only just emerged from the deprivations of the Second World War, and many of its self-proclaimed bravest resistance fighters were still hiding in their grandmothers’ attics. The French reputation as Europe’s leading sexual experimenters was in tatters, as were most of that impoverished country’s supplies of fetish gear, including the striped shirts, bicycles, strings of onions and berets of the traditional itinerant French perverting ‘Hommes Naughteaux’.


[Hommes Naughteaux]

These freewheeling (mainly because they were too knackered to pedal) freelance deviants would tour the rural areas of France as casual deviants, turning their hand, feet, knees and – if the occasion demanded it – their elbows to whatever orgy, field perversion, rural deviation, or other sexual dalliance needed their assistance.

So, it was not until the America-backed Marshall Plan was well underway, and the French ‘Resistance’ fighters had been tempted down from their Grandmothers’ attics with a promise that ‘the naughty bad men have all gone away now’, could French perversions return to their pre-war levels.

However, once they had been re-equipped with the America-funded fetish gear, the ‘Hommes Naughteaux’ reverted to traditional French method of sitting about in a café philosophising about everything, instead of actually doing it. This lead – of course – to many advances in French Theoretical Perversions, but very little in the way of actual perverted activity, as in the much more practical Anglo-Saxon way. Although, to be fair, it did result in many useful innovative ideas of how to use the onion, the bicycle, and – in advanced cases – the beret, in our actual day-to-day perversions, many of which I’m sure are now so familiar to you they do not need reiterating here.

All-in-all, then, although the French have made great strides in the philosophy of perversion, it remains to be seen if existential perversions will stand the test of time, or become yet another footnote in the fascinating - and often quite arousing - history of the perverted arts and sciences.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

About The Weather

There are times when outdoor, or field, perversions become somewhat problematical. I am sure, by way of example, you are all too familiar with what can happen with weasel liver oil when it is diluted by water, which makes it unsuitable to use as a lubricant, or other unguent, during a downpour. If there is heavy rain in prospect during your field perversions then I would suggest you equip your perversion utility belt with badger spleen oil, rather than the more usual – for outdoor perversions, that is – weasel liver oil.

It is also wise – and here I speak from personal experience – always to make sure the fresh cream cakes, and – most importantly – the sherry trifles are in some kind of wind-proof container. For you do not want your postmistress to be arriving at the point of total satiation just as you have to break off from the proceedings to chase down an errant chocolate éclair that has been blown under a nearby hedge by a squally north-easterly.

During the summer months, I would suggest that any leather jockstraps, latex panties or fetish quantity-surveyor underwear be checked thoroughly for wasps, or other such stinging or biting insects, before donning them. Because, as Old Feebletrousers once discovered, it is not all that comfortable sharing such intimate apparel with a suddenly very confused and annoyed insect, especially one with such a powerful sting.

This can be especially unfortunate if the bondage restraints have been applied before the presence of the now very irritated insect has been discovered. It can be even more unfortunate if any gag or similar device or fetish gear has also been applied and any attempts by the unfortunately over-restrained person to dislodge the errant insect is taken as an eagerness for the deviation to continue, rather than be terminated as rapidly as possible.

So, as in all things, especially any over-indulgence in the post-orgy cream cakes – caution is always recommended.

Monday, June 8, 2009

Exhibition Outdoor Orgies

Anyway, here we are all ready for the first new event of the tourist season. Of course, in these straightened times it is more vital than ever we get as much of their money off the tourists as possible before they re-board their touring coaches and head off over the hills to Much Piddling. That is why we offer discount tickets for the Exhibition Outdoor Orgies on the village green each Wednesday and Friday afternoon (weather permitting*).

Of course, these events do have to be somewhat modified to attract the attention of the now somewhat jaded and over-stimulated tourists that frequent the coach parties you see thundering through the highways and byways of the English rural landscape throughout the summer months. Each coach load is hastily ferried hither and yon to sample the delights of the traditional cream tea, the picturesque architecture, the traditional arts and crafts and many other traditional events that have existed in rural life since the discovery that tourists can be separated from their money with relative ease by those well-versed in the necessary techniques.

Of course, it is not just the tickets for the Exhibition Outdoor Orgies that we have on sale. There are also the Official Programmes, featuring many full-colour photographic stills from the Exhibition Outdoor Orgies, which make the programmes themselves very tempting to collectors and connoisseurs, especially collectors of fine Gentlemen’s Literature, that often take such trips out to view the traditional rural perversions in person.

Then, of course, it goes without saying there are the half-time refreshments, and a special little added treat of my own invention, which has become very popular indeed. A chance one the event is over to go backstage – as it were and meet the teams who have just taken part in the orgy as they are chauffeured from the pitch in the post-orgy wheelbarrows. As they are assisted from the field, those participants who still have enough strength in their wrists will, of course, gladly sell their autographs to the hordes of fans waiting to congratulate them on their performance on the field, as well as – for a small fee – pose for photographs with their dedicated admirers and fans.

All-in-all then, it is a very enjoyable – if slightly more expensive than you’d budgeted for – day out, and one I get a small commission for recommending so highly to you. So, please book early to avoid disappointment.

*Otherwise – if raining - in the large barn at Trouser-Quandary farm, providing – that is – the cows don’t mind going back out into the rain too much.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Essential Sex Weasel Grommet Adjustments

It sometimes happens that all of your sex weasel grommets have not survived the deprecations of the winter weather without some damage, especially to the delicate, but all important, underside leading edge where they seat up against the manifold flange adaptor on the undercarriage of your sex weasel when it is in the ‘at-rest’ or safe position. As most of you ought to be aware, this will lead to a certain loss of ardour when you attempt to use your sex weasel in any heavily-lubricated session with a brace – or more – of librarians and/or florists. This is true especially when the quantity surveyor in the day-glo thong is placed widdershins, parallel to the ten-yard penalty area of the standard (European) orgy pitch.

The luminescence of the thong too can sometimes be problematical, especially in the early days of spring when the evenings are not quite as light as they are in the heady days of summer, when an outdoor orgy can go on well into the night-time hours, sometimes even past opening time and into the mid-evening television schedules. So it does help to check that you have set your TV recording device of choice before setting off to the orgy.

A word of advice, at this juncture, it is also now wise to check that your sex weasels are securely fastened into their leads and harnesses before you set off to the orgy. This is because a new EU ruling came into effect at the beginning of [April] 2009, making it an offence to have an unsecured sex weasel when not engaged in an orgy - or other sexual encounter - whilst on a main thoroughfare. A somewhat unnecessary ruling for this country, most of us would argue, as the English sex weasel is a far different beast, much more placid and even-tempered than the much more temperamental and capricious European Sex Weasel. But that is by the by, the law is the law – except if you are a member of parliament, of course, where – it seems – obeying the law is often negotiable.

Thursday, June 4, 2009

Health And Safety In A Village Hall Orgy Context

Place the banana parallel to the social worker and then withdraw to a safe distance before igniting the sex weasel.

I’m sure all of you are now familiar with such advice, seemingly given out constantly by the government’s incessant safety campaigns, especially as the start of the beginning of the commencement of the outdoor orgy season is about to get underway. Most of it is – of course - common (and/or village green) sense. However, of late, there has been an increasing tendency for officialdom to get not only over-cautious to the point of parody, but also to become strictly authoritarian in a manner very contrary to the traditional British half-arsed way of muddling through and making do.

British people do often hark back to the days of the blitz – our finest hour – and wonder how such feats of everyday bravery and courage would be possible under the governmental mentality (both local and national) which we now suffer, and quietly seethe.

By way of example, our forebears have oft told the tale of the problems of holding an all-village orgy in the village hall under strict blackout conditions during WWII. Just, by way of example, think of the danger in the pitch darkness of splints from untreated knotholes in the wooden walls of the average village hall, also consider the danger of unattended mop and broom handles left out and not securely locked away in the janitor’s cupboard. Then there was the strict wartime rationing of weasel-spleen oil and badger-related unguents, which often left many a quantity surveyor sorely under-lubricated.

These days there are several pages of rules concerned solely with the most safety-conscious way of trussing up your local cake shop manageress, using only the seven fully government-approved knots. Furthermore, any deviation requiring a well-oiled bank manager, or even a well-marmaladed member of the clergy, requires a visit from a representative of the Health And Safety Executive to issue a fully EU directive-compliant besmirchment certificate, valid only for a single putative besmirching of the person - or persons - in question.

As for engaging in a Pineapple Inquiry without first donning the regulation knee and elbow pads, that is now punishable by a fine of up to £500 pounds and 12 points on your Fully-Qualified Perversion Practitioner licence.

So, if the authorities do not end this over-obsessive Health and Safety attitude soon, then it will not be too long before even putting on one’s waders and bowler hat in order to meet an assistant librarian around the back of the duck pond on a Tuesday afternoon will become far more trouble than it is worth. And that will be a very sad day indeed, especially for the ducks.

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

News From The University of Little Frigging

I am shocked, humbled, pleased - and slightly aroused – to announce formally that I have been made Emeritus Professor of Applied and Theoretical Orgiastics at the University of Little Frigging (formerly the small cowshed at the back of Trouser-Quandary farm). This will enable me to pass on to a new young generation of putative perverts and deviants all that I have learn, speculated wildly, and sometimes completely invented about the wonderful varied - and hopefully, moist - world of perversion, especially in regard to the more theoretical aspects of the Orgiastic Arts and sciences.

The rapid expansion of higher education in recent years has been decried in some quarters as a dilution of what was once a very high standard of education with lots of what are sometimes called ‘Mickey Mouse’ courses. However, we at the University of Little Frigging are determined that none of the courses we will be offering – once the old cow shed has been swept out – could ever be called ‘Mickey Mouse’ courses. This is:

A/ Because we cannot afford the legal fees for any dispute with the Disney company and their notoriously rapacious lawyers.


B/ Because ‘Mickey Mousing’ is not really what any of would call a bona fide perversion, certainly not up there with Dogging, Weasel Encouragement, Chicken Intriguing, Surreptitious Badger Under-Handling, Sheep ‘Husbandry’ or any other animal-related deviation.

Having said that, however, there have been some intriguing studies done on cartoon-related perversions, such as: The Simpsons Disparagement, The Daffy Delight, The Scooby-Do, The Donald Duck and Cover and – of course – The Bugs Bunny Surprise Carrot Undertaking, which may in the future make it possible for such deviations to be studied at an academic level. However, until they are placed on a more robust theoretical footing, I feel my studies of the nude Marge Simpson, and the erotic possibilities of a deviation involving both Jessica Rabbit and Wilma Flintstone, and a jar of honey will have to remain a private study area of my own.

Of course, as the new academic year approaches I will do my best to inform you of all the new courses we will be offering at the University of Little Frigging in the hope that you will all seriously consider widening and deepening your knowledge of the perverted arts and sciences at our institution.

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of the Rude and Naughty

Now, whoever it was who took down the Throbbing Weasel 90000 from the dildo rail at the back of the village hall during last Thursday’s afternoon Village Orgy, Jumble sale and Tea Dance, forgot to check that the batteries were fully recharged before replacing it.

Although, despite causing some inconvenience to those who wish to make use of the item in question at the next village event, this would not otherwise be worth commenting on. After all, we all tend to overlook such trivial little details, especially when we have to manoeuvre our way through an in-progress orgy to get to the white elephant or, even, the homemade cakes stall at the jumble sale. It is all too easy to forget to recharge one’s devices when distracted by – for example a bargain cruet set, or a splendidly up-swelling cream horn resplendent in all its glory.

However, last Friday was our Yearly All-Village Orgy Preparedness Inspection by Her Majesty’s Inspectorate of the Rude and Naughty (HMIRN). Every year, up to this year, we - in Little Frigging – have managed to win the full five stars from the Inspectorate for our state of preparedness. We - as a village - are able to go from normal routine village activity to a fully outstanding state of orgy readiness in less than ten minutes with all devices ready and fully charged, all oils and unguents at the proper temperature, and all sex weasels primed and badgers fully loaded.

Each villager will be standing proud in their fully-burnished fetish gear of choice, all equipped with a brace of sex spatulas and a full perversion utility belt, all ready to engage in a full-on all-village orgy as soon as the umpire is blown for the start of the orgy.

Unfortunately, when the HMIRN inspectors arrived for the annual check yesterday, the Throbbing Weasel 90000 was only 45% charged, with – therefore – only enough power left to satiate fully less than three librarians and a cake shop manageress in direct contravention of the EU’s Village Hall Orgy Directive of 1985.

Consequently, this year we were only awarded four stars. This was – indeed - a huge disappointment to the whole of the village, and there was talk of what affect such a lower ranking could have on the vital income for the village from this summer’s tourist season. With luck, however, we can more than make up for it with our new displays of Synchronised Orgiastics, and other such fresh tourist attractions I will tell you more of at a later date, and for us all in the village to make sure that come next year’s inspection we are much better prepared.

Monday, June 1, 2009

The More Advanced Fruit-Based Sexual Perversions

We have mentioned fruit-based perversions before, but for those wishing to further their understanding of these more esoteric deviations today we are going to take a look at some of the more advanced fruit-based sexual perversions.

Such deviations as the Loganberry Run and the Strawberry Feel are, quite evidently, more for the summer months, especially in the case of the Loganberry Run, where the loganberry bowler will need a long run up before bowling the loganberries, that is if the receiver is to get the full erotic benefit from the event. With the Strawberry Feel, of course, the long light summer nights will often necessitate the use of a blindfold and – for obvious reasons - it is best to use early-season strawberries, as they tend to be firmer and respond much better to the touch of the perversion racquets, especially on the first service.

With pineapples now in the shops and supermarkets for most of the year, the Pineapple Inquiry can be undertaken at any time, although, the summery nature of the pineapple does lend this fruit-based deviation a certain piquancy when undertaken outdoors in the late summer evenings. Of course, it is important to stress that plenty of lubrication is advised, as well as the application of a slow clockwise screwing motion to the pineapple, so that the Member of Parliament on the receiving end of the Inquiry receives its full effect.

To round off a long summer evening orgy there is no finer – to my mind – perversion that a nice slow Lemon Ménage, especially if the lemons are fresh and the postmistress is languorous, providing - that is – that the warm evening’s exertions have not caused a lamentable lack of stiffness in your meringue peaks.