You Won’t Eat A Girl Out?

Forcing anyone to do anything is not cool, we all know that. No new life lessons there. Nagging someone until they finally snap and say ‘FINE, Ok, I’ll do it’ is also not cool. It’s the same amount of terrible just metered out slower. Like slow poisoning.

Any kind of telling people that they have to do something or that they are obliged or that it’s your right to it, is just not cool.

And that is not what I’m doing, let’s just make that clear from the outset. I’m not telling anyone that they are lesser or having an easy dig at their sexual preference. I wouldn’t do that.

What I am certainly going to do is rip asunder a ludicrous stance with flimsy arguments purported to be ‘brave’.

 

First off can we stop naming things ‘brave’ just because someone with a modicum of articulacy, calmly reveals to us some awful personality trait or tendency; some pseudo shocking stance that isn’t what the rest of the internet agrees with. It’s not brave, being openly gay in Africa is brave, this is bullshit. I’m so very tired of this label bandied about when a lot of the time it’s just someone revealing what a little shit they are.*

Of course there are some brave revelations, people saying things that are unpopular, but no less true. People revealing things that might see them ridiculed or vilified or bullied. Of course there are but I’m talking about the bullshit ones.

 

So, this guy William Lloyd, writing for The Tab, wrote about how he won’t go down on women. Ok, tell us why this is the case Will? And on he goes to tell us how brilliant he is at it but that he did it the once – that’s right folks just the once, and he was so freaked out by it he never did it again. Apparently she squirted in his face and he was so utterly sickened and disgusted by this that it traumatised him for life. Jesus, could you imagine this guy in a delivery room?

Anyway, let’s go back a second and take a look. Ok, so it’s his first time ever doing it and he gets hit in the face with (what he calls) piss – we’ll gloss over whether or not it is just for a sec. If I got hit in the face with a load of ejaculate the first time I went down on someone I’m not sure I’d be too mad about it either. In fact I won’t let someone come on my face or into my face, whatever is de rigeuer for facials, I wouldn’t know, as I won’t let them happen. I can see how this might not have been pleasant is my point. BUT… BUT…. Boys have, accidentally come near my head or in my hair or other places. It hasn’t stopped me wanting to try it again. The first few times (and at least I gave it a few) that I tried anal – an altogether more invasive action I might add, I didn’t like it and I wrote it off. BUT I was a hell of a lot more stocked up on the experience of it and had a far more robust argument as to why I didn’t want to do it; He was huge, it really hurt and it didn’t turn me on.

And. I didn’t write it off for life.

You can read about that herehere and of course here.

 

If you aren’t turned on by something, then you shouldn’t do it. You shouldn’t be doing anything in a sexual context that you don’t want to do – not least because that’s not hot for your partner. I don’t want anyone going down on me unless they are getting turned on by it, and certainly don’t want anyone there if they feel they are obliged to. I am definitely going down on a guy because it turns me on. So Will if you were there calmly and articulately explaining that you’ve done it, you do it and you have experience of it with a few tries, but ultimately felt that it just wasn’t anything that turned you on? Well I’d have a lot more time for you and your refusenik stance on it. But your argument that the first time you did it traumatised you and so you’re being brave and ‘coming out’ with this unpopular statement? Lame. It’s no better than a 3 year old who won’t eat broccoli. And just like a 3 year old, no one wants to coach you along and bribe you into it.

I hope you’re just as understanding when whoever sleeps with you doesn’t want to do something that turns you on.

 

The other point in your long winded with no supporting tenets article was your assumption that all guys who profess to love it are faking it, or that it’s like The Emperor’s new clothes. Just because you don’t like it you find it unfathomable that anyone else could love it? Can you see the irony in that? Seriously can you? You’re over there talking about how everyone shouldn’t be so shocked at your stance while at the same time seemingly shocked to the point of disbelief that it is loved by others?

 

You don’t like doing it, that’s perfectly fine. We don’t all have to like the same things. How boring would that be? But you don’t do yourself any favours with your explanation as to why.

I’ve been sexually assaulted and I still like sex – so your arguments ring null and void to me. Which leads me to think there’s some other reason. No one’s forcing you to do it but there seems to be a hint of pride in your declaration, as if you’re some vanguard of a movement and that men are going to be liberated from the shackles of cunnilingus because you were the first person to come out and say it?

Sigh.

I doubt it.

 

Anyway, I won’t be sleeping with you any time soon so I’m not sure why I care? Maybe because I want to speak up for all those guys who begged to go down on me, who came up rock hard after eating me out. All those guys who were ready to fuck me after eating me. All those guys that I had so much fun with – who were pretty convincing in their delight at having their tongue in me. For them I say ‘You don’t speak for all men, you don’t even speak for the average guy, you only speak for you’

 

 

 

 

 

 

*I am not calling this guy a little shit

The OkCupid Disasters

So although I’ve given up – I think there’s a few guys out there who think I’m an utter bitch because of our interactions. And that’s fine with me, I’d rather they thought that than knew the way harsher truth.

 

I’ve had about 5 OkCupid dates. They’ve mostly been pleasant but also mostly fruitless. And there’s one guy out there who really and truly believes that we didn’t have a second date because he lied about being a smoker. It’s not why. I mean, yeah, I wasn’t at all thrilled about that but it’s not why I didn’t see him again.

 

We had been exchanging messages for a little while, he was funny and sharp and I liked his quick wit. And when we exchanged numbers he actually rang. Unprecedented. And to my delight he was just as funny and quick-witted on the phone. This boded well.

We agreed to meet up on a Wednesday and have a couple of drinks. And it went downhill from there. All his suggestions are for pubs outside of town conveniently near where he lives? We finally agree on town, as that’s the ONLY fair thing. I arrive a few minutes late and text to say I’m nearly there – he responds saying blithely that he’ll be another 10. I was literally 3 minutes late.

So I get myself a drink and text him where I am in the bar. He gets himself one and comes and finds me. Straight off he does not look as good as his photos but not dramatically unlike them. And I hate his clothes, but I have come to expect that I will hate the guy’s clothes. I never win that sartorial lottery and I’ve fancied enough and lusted after enough guys whose clothes I’ve despaired over. So that’s not enough to put me off, it rarely is. (Twice, that’s how many times not only didn’t hate them, but actually swooned over what my date was wearing)

After the initial ‘Hey how are ya’s he suggests we go to the beer garden, I was unaware this place had one but as we walk out it’s actually a large and quite busy area. We find couches in the corner and settle in. The chat is ok, although he’s less interested in asking me questions this time and doesn’t do so much laughing.

And about 2 drinks in he starts smoking. He pointlessly and half-heartedly asks me if I mind and then doesn’t even check my reaction. Which is decidedly nonplussed. He either clocked my response and ignored it or he was actually oblivious.

But smoking is like peeing and once the seal is broken then that’s it. It was all systems go. And as we were outside there was no barrier to him smoking; he didn’t have to keep leaving my company to have another.

 

I’m trying to be funny and engaging but I can’t gauge anything from him he’s not giving me anything. Including not being quick enough on his round.

Eventually it’s getting really smoky out there and he is oblivious to my discomfort but he’s decided that it’s time for a change of venue so we cross the street to another pub. It is most definitely his round so I say I’m going to the loo as we walk in, and ask him where he’ll be after he gets the drinks. He just says I’ll spot him.

So I come back from the loo and he’s stood by the side of the exit to the smoking area? He hands me my drink and nods come on. I am really sick of being outside, it’s not that warm and the sun went down ages ago.

This smoking area is one of those really rubbish ones; small, cramped not nice to be in, populated by auld fellas with no sense of smell or taste still working and very, very badly ventilated. It can’t have been at all compliant with the regulations but so many of them aren’t.

We step one foot inside and I refuse to stay. It might as well have been a bookies from 1983 it was that smoky.

‘I can’t stay out here’ I say, and he just gives me a questioning ‘no?’ as if he cannot at all comprehend what my discomfort might be. So he says come on, and nods to heading back inside. Or so I assumed. But no. He walks through the bar and straight out to the street. Where he makes me stand with the drinks as he smokes yet another fag. I am shivering and he hasn’t even noticed. When he does finish I insist that we head back in.

I’ve really had enough at this point. I don’t think there’s enough chemistry and I’m somewhat bemused that someone could either care so little for someone else’s comfort or be so absolutely ignorant of it.

 

So he asks do I want another drink, I don’t. I say it’s late and I’ve to get up in the morning. And then it turns farcical. He is harbouring notions that I will go back to his, which is WAY on the other side of town. Actually outside of town, fecking miles away. I laugh and tell him I have the bike outside. And so the tack changes and he starts with the assumption that he’s coming to mine?! Again I tell him that it’s a light little fixie and wouldn’t carry both of us. He’s confused at this as he had assumed that I would ditch the bike and we’d get a cab to my house! HA!

I tell him I need it to get to work and his response is to suggest that I cycle home and he follows me in a taxi.

I cannot be polite anymore, I am laughing now. Probably a mistake on my part.

 

 

I finish my drink and he walks me to my bike. Or, more accurately he takes this time to try to convince me that the night is not yet over. I am feeling so awkward at this point. I don’t know how to cut this off and I have to cycle after probably 5 drinks.

I unlock the bike and keep it between us. But he manages to kiss me anyway  – oh god. A kiss from someone who’s been smoking all night.

It’s actually not that bad. He’s actually a good kisser and doesn’t taste as bad as he could have. But still, it was me being polite, I knew this was going no further.

 

Ok, thanks, night now, oíche mhaith. Bye.

And I was off on the bike. Flying home.

 

When I get there (it’s not too far) I have texts from him questioning why I didn’t bring him home, and telling me it wasn’t too late for him to turn the cab around????

 

 

Ughhhhhhh where to begin with this. IF I was into you all of that pushy persuasion would have seemed reasonable and I might have liked it and I might have caved. But you were wholly uninterested in my needs or desires or what I might have liked out of the date. Which all adds up to tell me that you wouldn’t give a shit about what I might want in bed or anywhere else, it was all your own agenda.

So, no thanks. I had to decline.

This I did not say to him.

 

I didn’t respond and then 4 nights later I get a text from him ‘I see you’ve been looking at my profile!’ OkCupid has a function that tells you if someone has looked at your details. And I decided to tell him the truth. I told him that I had indeed been on looking as I wanted to confirm a few things I thought I had picked up wrong. He’s a clever guy, I really did think that he would have sussed it. But no, he wanted me to spell it out. His profile clearly states that he’s a non-smoker, I was surprised that we spent our whole date in the smoking area – I tell him. And then he gave me this spiel about having given up but then having a big night out and going back on them…….. yawn.

I don’t care.

Because it’s not even about him lying about it, I get it, giving up is hard and people need support and encouragement, I’m not suggesting that I don’t acknowledge that struggle or that I wouldn’t be supportive to someone who was trying. But the whole of the date demonstrated his absolute lack of even a shred of courtesy. It was all about what he wanted and what was going to make him comfortable. None of which gave me any impression that he gave a shit about anyone’s needs but his own. And that is why I had no desire to see him again, not because he lied about being a smoker.

 

But let him think what he wants. Nothing I could say would change his lack of courteousness.

 

I feel no guilt or responsibility.

 

 

 

 

There is a guy I feel a little bit bad about. He messaged on a Sunday as I was on the couch in a delicate heap. Very vulnerable anyway, even without the hangover just because it’s Sunday. So we’re sending a few messages, and I cop on that he works for the same company as me. This is odd but ok, it’s a good company. We’re chatting on and off for an afternoon and eventually he gives me his number and says to drop him a text on whatsapp. And he never hears from me again.

This is why.

So I enter his number and up pops another picture of him, as you get with whataspp. And I do not like this pic at all. He doesn’t look as attractive, I predictably, hate what he’s wearing and more than that I hate what he’s doing in the shot. (he’s not murdering babies or eating puppies mind, just to qualify. It just makes me groan with tackiness)

And the whole thing is like a bucket of water over me. I suddenly see through my stupid Sunday self-pity and realise that we didn’t have this great connection, I was just happy to be talking to someone while not having to make the effort to see anyone I actually knew. And all our conversations were pedestrian and benign and mostly focused on what we do to alleviate hangovers. I can’t start texting this guy, then meet him just to confirm that we have nothing in common and I then have to avoid him any time I’m in the offices that he works in. (It’s thankfully not my office). So I just stopped responding….. I feel a bit bad about that. But I do believe that ultimately I did us a favour.

 

 

I have no idea what I am doing but I know what I’m not doing; wasting anyone’s time. Especially my own.

Fresh Clean Filth

I’m so bored in this meeting I can’t keep myself focused but this is nothing new. I can’t stay awake in nearly any meeting.

 

So my mind wonders to this guy. I think about how I would like it to go.

He’s standing in front of me, already there, waiting for me to enter the room. I walk in and close the door. He says nothing but gestures with a slight nod of his head that I should walk over to him. He doesn’t break eye contact and when I’m about a 2 feet away he gives that tiny almost imperceptible nod for me to get on my knees, and I hesitate, then smirk but duly do.

I look up at him and smirk again as I can tell he’s getting hard and he hasn’t given me any instruction yet. Slowly I open his belt and his jeans. He still hasn’t said anything but just as I go to release his cock he bends down, cups my head with his hands and says gently into my ear ‘You didn’t think it was going to be that easy did you?’ My mouth drops open and I make a little noise because yes, yes I did think that it was going to be that easy.

‘Get to your feet, I’m not letting you have what you want. I’m going to take what I want’. I stand up and he lifts me gently onto the table and then stands between my legs, holding them around his waist. He leans in and kisses me and again shakes his head and says ‘I can’t believe you thought I’d just let you have my cock in your mouth, now do as I say and stay quiet’.

He keeps kissing me, deep, engaged and I hardly notice how deftly he’s gotten my jeans open. But he can’t get them any further so he has to stop kissing me. ‘Lift your arse, I need these down further. I lift, and he pulls them down just past my thighs. He leans back in to me and licks up my neck to my ear and he sucks it, pulling on it hard. And once again I almost don’t notice him yank my knickers down – they obligingly move a lot easier than my jeans.

He pulls away from me so he can get a look, he knows I was waxed for him yesterday and he can see the perfectly smooth mound and the neat little crease. He grins at me then spits on it and rubs over and back on it with his thumb. I start to make noise and he stops me with two fingers in my mouth. ‘Get them good and wet’. When he takes them out he’s not happy, he wants them wetter. He tells me to spit on them and straight after I do he has his mouth on me with his tongue deep in my mouth and one hand behind my head. And for the third time I am ambushed; while he distracts me with the kiss he has pushed his fingers into me, twisting as he does.

I let out a proper noise, and lose my ability to kiss back, he smiles into my mouth, delighted with his power.

His hand at the back of my head grips my hair and gently pulls my head back, his mouth is at my mouth almost talking into it.

‘You were warned about noise, weren’t you’, the movement of his fingers has stopped and I am trying to lift my hips to pull them back in, but no relief.

‘The longer you misbehave the worse it will get’ and with this he moves his thumb to my clit and ever so gently starts to stroke it. Almost, too gently. I need more pressure and he knows this, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

‘Stop moving, and if you make any more sounds I’ll stop entirely’. I don’t know if he means that, I don’t know if he has the will power but he is very believable right now.

‘Are you going to behave?’

No response from me.

‘Abilene? Tell me that you’re going to behave’

My lip curls in slight defiance and I spit out that I will, sir.

‘Good’ and with that he takes his thumb away and his fingers out. My mouth opens in shock but I suppress the tortured ‘please’ that I know will not serve me.

With one step back from me he grabs the end of either leg of my jeans and pulls them right off. Then stepping back in between my legs he pushes my thighs further apart – my knickers still on me. I love this, I don’t know why having my knickers half down with my pussy exposed just makes me feel dirtier in the best way.

He takes my left hand and sucks two of my fingers and then tells me to hold my lips open so he can see my pussy better. I can hardly control my breathing and I know the cries are going to come soon. He’s surprised that I don’t move my fingers to relief myself and for that I am rewarded. Slowly he bends his head and inhales deeply then steadily starts kissing my swollen lips. Kissing everywhere but my clit, not even using his tongue yet. But his kisses are getting deeper and faster. I know that he will not be able to stop himself soon. And finally his tongue parts my lips and he probes me with it, sucking each side of my clit, up and down the lips. Then making his tongue flat and licking right up the slit til his tongue finally catches my clit and I cry out. He no longer cares, he looks up and me and rips my knickers off, he needs to get in, I can feel his naked desire to have his face deep in my cunt. Quickly he kisses me so I can taste myself, before he goes back down, not to return until he has ripped an orgasm from me.

He kisses my cunt like he kisses my mouth, firm and measured darting his tongue in and out and sucking as he goes. I am moving my hips up to meet his face as I am aching to have him press against my clit so I can come, just as I know he wants me to. But he will drag this out a bit more, this is, afterall his show.

I beg him to make me come but he won’t, never when I ask for it. This is his pussy he reminds me and he will eat it as he pleases. I am so close to begging when he easily slips two fingers back into me and with a thumb on my clit and his mouth sucking it too I come so hard, shouting his name.

 

He stands back with a proprietorial grin, surveying the mess he’s made of me. Assessing how easily he can get me to this state. As I try to draw my breath he starts to pull his underwear and jeans down. I don’t need an invitation I am off that table in seconds, only delighted to get my mouth on his cock but again, I will not be given what I want.

‘Oh no you don’t. You made a lot of noise so that will have to be punished. Bend over’. As if this is punishment, he spits on his cock, more because he knows I like the sound of it rather than it being necessary, I am soaking wet. And he pushes hard into me as I lay across the table.

Again he gets his hands in my hair and pulls it back as he starts to fuck me harder. Deep, almost out, then slowly in thrusts. I beg him to go faster and he does. He’s so close but he hasn’t lost control. Just before he comes he pulls out and gets me on my knees so I can finally, finally have his cock in my mouth and he gives me what I always, always want. He comes hard in the back of my throat with that noise, that sound that I never get tired of hearing.

 

 

 

 

 

Now, that’s what I was doing when I should have been concentrating on the meeting. I was writing that story in my head. For once, that’s a scenario that hasn’t actually happened….. I just thought of someone and how I’d like them to fuck me but eventually I could only think of one person who could fuck me like that, the one who owns 90% of my wanks and who I will not sleep with again. But good to see he will always inspire – even if I hadn’t started out picturing him in this, which incidentally is how he gets into my wanks also. The fecker.

Airport Sex? – Well almost

There are over 26 flights to the UK from Dublin every day. That’s a lot of flights. And as with anything that there’s a lot of – there’s more chances that something will go wrong.

Nothing drastic – just delays or cancellations.

 

I know this because I fly to the UK a lot. I used to fly there a lot more when the last person I was in love with lived there. And this is one of those short stories.

 

It was Friday, I was going to see him and we were going to Cornwall for the weekend. I worked all day then headed to the airport. The flight was delayed 30 mins. Then an hour, then two hours then cancelled altogether. It was an absolute shambles of no information. Eventually I saw people running off back towards check in. I didn’t know why they were running but I went with them. You could get on another flight, it seemed, to somewhere else in the UK if there was space. So I got on another flight and got him to drive to meet me.

I’ve no idea where I flew to but it wasn’t London and it was somehow on the way to Cornwall and he drove there to meet me.

I’m not someone who usually forgets where she is or why but I’m pretty sure what happened when I arrived is what wiped it from my memory.

 

 

It’s so late when I get there, close to midnight or later and I’ve been travelling since 4:30 that afternoon. I’m pretty worn out. He’s in some parking lot and I tell him to stay there, I’ll come find him. I get on the bus that takes you out into the acres and acres that make up international airport carparks. He’s thankfully parked right by one of the stops.

I get off the bus and see all 6’4” of him standing there. His hands in his pockets, his head cocked to one side and that crooked little smile of his. Calm and relaxed and like I’m the answer to any question he has right now. It’s August and it’s warm and his t-shirt is suitably tight against his not inconsiderable chest. “Hello little darlin” he says in his hybrid accent. I’m about to slouch forward into him and fall against that solid chest I love but I don’t. I drop my bag and I run at him and launch into his arms. He catches me and lifts me higher, he always did this, so that he had me way above him; then he let me slide down his body until my lips reached his and he’d hold me there. Fuck he was strong and I never took it for granted, can I please have that on my permanent record? He eventually let me down to the ground but the damage had been done. I was aroused and he was hard. We stood there kissing harder and groping until I broke away. I grabbed my bag which he swiped out of my hand with a tut, never letting me carry it, and swung it over his shoulder and grabbed my waist and nodded in the direction of the car.

 

He goes to get his keys out and as soon as he has it open and has thrown in my bag I push him back against the unopened back door. I kick his legs apart and look him in the eye. He knows what’s up he just doesn’t know how much. I keep staring at him, devouring his retuned desire and while keeping one hand pressed into his chest, I take the other and feel his cock through his jeans. My hand on his chest, pressing him up against the car is really redundant, he has no interest in stopping me from doing what I’m doing. I go back to kissing him while his cock gets ever harder in my hand. He has his hand on my arse and is kneading it, pulling me into him but I need more and I’m going to have it, right here and now. I break off from kissing him and stare wantonly into his eyes and without breaking eye contact I open his jeans and pull out his cock. For the first time he looks around with the tiniest hint of a shy smile, as if to see if anyone’s looking. I don’t care I want his cock in my mouth. It’s late at night, it’s dark and the chances are I will never be here again. For his part, it’s only with hindsight that I realise that outdoor sex is always one of his turn-ons where as I couldn’t give two shits. I’m not worried about anyone seeing, I don’t really care, it’s just not a turn on for me. And the whole getting caught thing? No interest.

But right now at this moment? I just want his cock in my mouth. I want to be on my knees, between his legs and to hear that noise he makes when he throws his head back and says “Oh God” when I take him all in my mouth.

 

I keep eye contact with him as I slowly drop to my knees and I smile at him just before I reach my tongue out to taste the tip of it, before sliding it all in. And he keeps looking down at me until he feels it hit the back of my throat and then he says it, and his head tilts back both his arms outstretched along the side of the car. He hasn’t seen me in two weeks and he is lost for a moment but not for long, he regains himself as I work up and down his shaft getting him nice and wet. He reaches down with one hand looking for my tits and another finding its way into my hair. “Fuck I missed this…” he trails off but I know soon enough he’s going to pull me up and try to get at my pussy, because that’s what he always wants, his mouth on it. I stand up to kiss him and he swings me around and presses me against the car, he kisses me deeply while tearing open my top. He has his mouth on my tits, and his hands in my jeans trying to get inside my wet swollen lips. I can barely stand it, they’re tight skinny jeans and he cannot reach what I want him to. I shimmy them down a bit thinking he can get a hand in better but he smiles a wicked smile and gets on his knees. Now this isn’t what I want; I love head from him but I struggle to relax and while I’m happy to give head in public I’m not so sure I want to get it. I am ravenous for him though and my mild protests are roundly ignored. He can easily keep me pinned where I am as he gets his tongue inside my lips and up to my aching clit. He sucks at it and goes back to the lips, lapping either side and darting back to my clit. I am still futility half pushing him off with equally half-hearted pleas to stop. Another bus then approaches and I insist. I pull him up from what he’s doing and kiss him, trying as always to taste myself. He knows I don’t get off on this but he also knows how much I want him right now. When the bus passes he turns me round and tries to fuck me from behind. I want this, and I want it like this; me slightily bent and him pounding into me, holding my hips for dear life but we can’t get the angle right. There’s nothing for it but to get in the car.

 

He sits in the back seat and I climb on top of him. He has my top open and has access to my tits, I am soaking wet and I go at him with an energy I didn’t think I had. Everything is working, every angle is perfect, every sense is aroused. I lower myself onto his cock and squeeze it. I work up and down on it just to tease us both as I know as soon as I let go there will be no stopping me. It feels tight and full. I sit properly down on him and kiss him deeply then start to rock back and forward on him, I’m so wet and he’s so hard. I can feel my clit being pressed perfectly, I know that a massive orgasm is building and I won’t be able to stop. I grind down harder on him, with my hands holding on to the back of the seat at either side of his head, I hold on and fuck as hard as I can. My feet are planted either side of his hips, where I’d usually have my knees flat, but in this position I have way more purchase and I rock and grind and fuck until I think I’m going to pull the seat up. I can no longer kiss him as my head is flung back and I know I’m shouting my moans of genuine ecstasy. And he holds on tight to my arse and holds himself rigid so I can work him and make us both come. I have a huge orgasm and milk his cock and he grunts ‘Oh god don’t stop’ and 30 seconds later he shoots into me. I collapse forward and he bites my neck with an open mouth, barely able to breath.

 

 

The frustration of the flight bullshit is wholly worth it for having brought about that airport carpark fuck.

 

I know we chatted animatedly for a little while and then I know he drove through the night and got us to Cornwall. I slept in the passenger seat like a baby. I caught him looking at me a few times in the mirror, with a little smile. For that little time he seemed like the world’s most contented man.

 

 

That was possibly one of our last good memories.