Guinevere Delacourt's Journal

What a bloody day. Early this morning, I went over to Parminder's and guess who was there? JACK. I know, we're all shocked. Anyway, he was painting some scratched windowframe or something, standing there without a shirt, and can I tell you that this young man has been getting some sun? No, really. I need to get it through your bleeding heads just how gorgeous those flecks of white paint looked on those beautiful brown pecs. I just want to know how you get a girl who looks like Olivia and a bloke who looks like Jack out of the same parents, cos honestly... He doesn't look like either of his parents, and he sure as shite doesn't look like his sister. Are you adopted, Jack? You're certainly sexy.

Anyway, after he was through doing all of that, we sat down and ate Thai food on the living room floor. We kept making Jack try things, new things, and he was really accommodating, even though he hated almost everything and insisted he was going out for a burger, parting ways with us just before we left. They had a long, slow, lovely kiss, and it was gorgeous seeing her so happy. I couldn't believe she let him grope her arse and you should seeee how hilarious it is when she tries to kiss him back. Someone needs to get her a little wooden steppie-stool with her name painted on it. Remember those, Dutchy? We each had our own. Lmao. Red paint. Someone find one that says 'Parminder', yeah?

Anyhow, me and the Kaur Hor went down to the shops and we went mad in the lingerie areas. We were naked and fully ridiculous, completely owning the fitting rooms as we tried one disreputable thing on after another. I was more adventurous than she was, of course, but she WAS shockingly daring today. She tried on some fleshy things and some thongy things and some flossy things and some sheer, lacy things. I was being norty enough indeed, flirting with our gay attendant and walking round in the shop in the underpants. The woman who owns the place told me I should model the clothes if I can get rid of the silver from my stretchmarks. Lmao. Cheers. Cow.

We wound up spending more money than either of us are worth in there, and it's really a humbling thing to put down nearly a thousand dollars on the counter and walk out with ONE bag in hand. One. But then, that's underpants shopping for you. I got a PVC kitty though. Optional crotch. *thumbs up* (Or fingers. A girl can hope.)

JJ just gurgled and flirted with the attendant boy the whole time we were in the shop. LORD. You should see the way he was with that little gay man! All dimples and gurgling and waving his arms around, kicking his feet, grinning at the lovely homo. I don't know why I should be surprised. His name is Julian, after all. And of course my Nelson, known fondly by some as Nollie, was a right stroppy bootheel with my lovely friend and everyone else, refusing to talk to anyone new until Parminder offered to let him hold the things she'd decided against. He was having such a ball with the silky bits against his face and the negligees on his arms and neck. I swear, between my two sons I could stage a QAF comeback. One won't stop flirting with everything rainbow-related and the other one's going to be a tranny.

Parminder went home and I went home and we texted about the underpants for a bit. Then I got an invite from Cyrek, so I went round to his place, which was completely empty but for the poor soul on the floor with his pillows. At least he isn't completely paralysed by the pain anymore. He's been lying on his side and whatnot, now. His walking is better, not as stiff. His dosage has been reduced, he's on oral meds, which is good. He can lie on his back for short periods of time but it's not very comfortable. Ryan remained true to her word and bought him an extremely expensive masseusse's chair. I don't mean the sort where you sit in it and it pounds out your knots for you. I mean the sort that has a cushion for back/chest, then it's open between there and the bum, and it's got the headrest/facerest with the hole in it? You know what I mean. It was absolute cake for him to sit in that cos it has no back where his hurts him. It's all open there.

Anyway, I was giving him a little striptease, taking off one thing at a time, first my lovely tweed jacket, my blouse, my skirt, my hose, my scarf. My poshy tweed hat. So I was just wearing a black lacy sheer kitty, touching him here and there, taunting him with the fact that the thing didn't have a crotch, either. Gorgeous, right? He didn't need further invitation, just sucked his fingers and put them inside from where he sat with that glazed-over shiteating look on his face, and I'm standing with one foot on the ground and one on his thigh, rocking against his lovely long, thick fingers and one strategically placed tip of a thumb, nipples so hard I swear they were chewing through the sodding material. At last, I took off the thing, climbed onto his (condom-wrapped) cock, and I'm riding him with my feet up on the edge of the chair, spreadeagled, and he's twisting one of my nipples and rubbing my clit and I was getting closer and closer and closer and closer

and closer
and closer

and closer

and closer

and it felt so good and
i was
so
so
so
sososososo

so close

but

OOPS. MAMA SITARSKI HAS THE KEY TO THE HOUSE AND SHE MADE SOME PIEROGIES FOR HER BABY.

I really do wish I had a polaroid of her face, devastated as I was to have missed my orgasm.

Sigh.lmfao.

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