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Camy

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Blog Entries posted by Camy

  1. Camy

    Sad

    By Camy,

    The news of Green and David's accident followed by Green's death and Chaz's suffering has me devastated, and I'm trying to work out why. I don't know them in real life, I hardly know them here. It's not as if we talked in live chat. I've only been here a short while and only know of them through blog and stories.
     
    I think it's because this is a site for fiction, and this is not the way the story was supposed to go. I'm very angry at how unfair life is, and very, very sad.
     
    ------
    Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best
    That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
    Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
    And one by one crept silently to Rest.
     
    'Tis all a Chequer-board of Nights and Days
    Where Destiny with Men for Pieces plays:
    Hither and thither moves, and mates, and slays,
    And one by one back in the Closet lays.
     
    The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
    Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
    Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
    Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
     
    - The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam (translated by Edward FitzGerald)
  2. Camy

    Sunday, bloody Sunday

    By Camy,

    10am I was dragged from what I vaguely recollect being quite a nice dream by the damn telephone. I'd got to bed around 4am after being suckered into clicking on a pop up ad that took me to a site for laser eye surgery - facinating, but sleep would have been healthier. So I shamble to the phone and it's M my 'soul mate', you know, the one I want to shag senseless but am too frightened to ask.
     
    We were supposed to be at a car boot sale (English 'boot' = US 'trunk') at midday. This basically involved me in driving twenty miles, picking him and a load of old rubbish up and driving another twenty miles to a muddy field and selling said crap to strangers who probably wouldn't want it anyway. It was drizzling. I made feeble excuses and went back to bed.
     
    4pm I wake up. Really depressed. I don't normally get depressed, and consequently don't handle it too well. I'm rude to all an sundry, and not even the cats aren't talking to me now.
     
    Oh well.
     
    Camy
  3. Camy
    I am frankly amazed at how some authors produce huge quantities of quality writing week after week, so I googled and thought I'd post some facts from Lee Masterton's article: 'How long should should your story be'
    Short Story
    1,000 - 7,500 words
    The 'regular' short story, usually found in periodicals or anthology collections. Most 'genre' zines will features works at this length.
     
    Novellette
    7,500 - 20,000 words
    Often a novellette-length work is difficult to sell to a publisher. It is considered too long for most publishers to insert comfortably into a magazine, yet too short for a novel. Generally, authors will piece together three or four novellette-length works into a compilation novel.
     
    Novella
    20,000 - 50,000 words
    Although most print publishers will balk at printing a novel this short, this is almost perfect for the electronic publishing market length. The online audience doesn't always have the time or the patience to sit through a 100,000 word novel. Alternatively, this is an acceptable length for a short work of non-fiction.
     
    Novel
    50,000 -110,000 words
    Most print publishers prefer a minimum word count of around 70,000 words for a first novel, and some even hesitate for any work shorter than 80,000. Yet any piece of fiction climbing over the 110,000 word mark also tends to give editors some pause. They need to be sure they can produce a product that won't over-extend their budget, but still be enticing enough to readers to be saleable. Imagine paying good money for a book less than a quarter-inch thick?
     
    Epics and Sequels
    Over 110,000 words
    If your story extends too far over the 110,000 mark, perhaps consider where you could either condense the story to only include relevant details, or lengthen it to span out into a sequel, or perhaps even a trilogy. (Unless, of course, you're Stephen King - then it doesn't matter what length your manuscript is - a publisher is a little more lenient with an established author who has a well-established readership)
     
    Page Counts
    In most cases, industry standard preferred length is 250 words per page... so a 400 page novel would be at about 100,000 words. If you want to see what size book is selling in your genre, take a look on the shelves. If the average length is 300 pages, you're looking at a 75,000 word manuscript (approximately)
     
    One reason it's harder for a new author to sell a 140,000 word manuscript is the size of the book. A 500+ page book is going to take up the space of almost two, 300 page books on the shelves. It's also going to cost more for the publishers to produce, so unless the author is well known, the book stores aren't going to stock that many copies of the 'door-stopper' novel as compared to the thinner novel.
     
    Remember, these word- and page-counts are only estimated guides. Use your own common sense, and, where possible, check the guidelines of the publication you intend to submit your work to. Most publishers accepting shorter works will post their maximum preferred lengths, and novels are generally considered on the strength of the story itself, not on how many words you have squeezed into each chapter.
    ---
     
    Camy
  4. Camy
    Since it seems to be de rigueur to have a track of the day, which btw I think is wonderful, I thought I'd waffle on about my album of the week. And definitely in my list of all time favourites.
     
    I'm obsessed with Pink Floyd. Always have been I guess, though this week I'm hugely into 'The Division Bell'
    Two songs in particular both fit the me of now, and the lifestate I'm in.
     
    'What do you want from me?' is the first, especially the lines:
    Do you want my blood, do you want my tears
    What do you want
    What do you want from me?
     
    The other is 'High Hopes', also sometimes known as 'The grass is greener' All the damn lyrics fit ... so here they are:
     
    Beyond the horizon of the place we lived when we were young
    In a world of magnets and miracles
    Our thoughts strayed constantly and without boundary
    The ringing of the division bell had begun
     
    Along the Long Road and on down the Causeway
    Do they still meet there by the Cut?
     
    There was a ragged band that followed in our footsteps
    Running before time took our dreams away
    Leaving the myriad small creatures trying to tie us to the ground
    To a life consumed by slow decay
     
    The grass was greener
    The light was brighter
    With friends surrounded
    The nights of wonder
     
    Looking beyond the embers of bridges glowing behind us
    To a glimpse of how green it was on the other side
    Steps taken forwards but sleepwalking back again
    Dragged by the force of some inner tide
     
    At a higher altitude with flag unfurled
    We reached the dizzy heights of that dreamed of world
     
    Encumbered forever by desire and ambition
    There's a hunger still unsatisfied
    Our weary eyes still stray to the horizon
    Though down this road we've been so many times
     
    The grass was greener
    The light was brighter
    The taste was sweeter
    The nights of wonder
    With friends surrounded
    The dawn mist glowing
    The water flowing
    The endless river
     
    Forever and ever
     
    Dave Gilmour is one of those rare human beings who can talk with his guitar. And his voice ... High or otherwise his music makes my soul sing and weep in equal measure.
     
    Camy
  5. Camy

    A sad pre-Easter tale

    By Camy,

    Yesterday.
     
    Half way through a boring day at work my other half phoned. She was in floods of tears. We live in the country and one of the four cats, Percy (Sir Perseus Plumb-Puss, a big black bruiser of a softy) had brought in a baby Bunny. Alive.
     
    I arrived home in trepidation. I'm the man (chortle) and as such, and if required, I'm the bastard who has to put poor defenceless beasties out of their misery. Spiders I don't have a problem with: Glass on top, magazine beneath and then a swift lope to the garden. Slugs: no problem either, but Bunnies...
     
    I just managed to get my coat off before I was ushered in to see said Bunny and proclaim its fate. E.D. (Eduardo Domanic Wouk-Wouk, black and white) and Percy were circling the bathroom, while the other two feline killing machines were sunning themselves by the fire.
     
    There, by the bath, I fell in love. He was sooo cute, with a huge head and soulful brown eyes. Unfortunately he was terrified and hurt, and the Cats meowling outside the door didn't help at all. I picked him up and held him in my hand. He looked at me as if to say 'Help!'
     
    After a lot grief, including discussions of vets vs vets fees vs four cats and a countryside full of baby Bunnies vs bankruptcy, I finally took him up to the woods and let him go. He sat there looking really sad and didn't move as I left.
     
    Nature is so damn cruel.
     
     
    Camy.
  6. Camy

    Why Blog?

    By Camy,

    I've been sitting here looking at a blank screen for nearly twenty minutes, and it suddenly struck me why? why do I feel the need to blog - as neat a euphemism for cathartic soul cleansing as one could hope for. Now the Church is in decline, perhaps blogging is the only true confessional left to us. Not that I've ever been to confession...
     
    I blog because I think I have something to add to the day to day 'diary' of my life. But why here? Well... I feel safe here, in that I can say things about a part of my life I am too damn frightened to say elsewhere. I can talk about my life and especially my sexuality in a uniquely secret yet very public way.
     
    Woot!
     
    GA Rocks!
     
    Camy
  7. Camy

    Sunday drear and damp

    By Camy,

    It's raining. It's miserable, and yet I'm ok, when to all intents and purposes I should be as miserable as the day.
     
    I've got so much to do, and I can't get my head around any of it. So here I sit loitering, reading blogs, and trying desperately to find something to take my mind off reality.
     
    I work, amongst other things, building websites. I have updates to three of them, yet it's Sunday, and I'm playing the 'Lords day of rest' card. Come tomorrow I know I'll probably regret the wasted hours, yet they are my hours to waste, and although that makes absolutely no sense, so be it. It's better to be interactive on-line than in a vegetative state watching the tube. I do enough of that as it is.
     
    I often wonder what life would be like if computers and the www hadn't come along. All of us 'closet cases' wouldn't have anywhere except our own heads to be angsty.
     
    I also wonder what I'd be doing. I've always fallen from job to job, never with any end goal in sight. Whatever I've found interesting, or within my ability to do I've done, and I've always managed to get by. Yet the world is changing so rapidly that I'm finding it harder and harder. Take computers. If you spend the time to keep up with the latest trends, new software etc you'd never have time to actually do anything. Inevitably you fall behind, and then find yourself redundant. The best thing is to fine a niche and become a guru in that niche. That's... Boring.
     
    My handwriting has become almost indecipherable, though my keyboard skills improve on a daily basis. In another hundred years will we have lost the ability to write by hand entirely? Perhaps we'll come full circle, and one day someone will pick up a bit of chalk and draw on a cave wall... Hmm.
     
    Sunday's are sent to try us. This one is succeeding. Sorry for the waffle.
     
    Camy
  8. Camy

    Coolness and Delight

    By Camy,

    Birthdays are very peculiar things. When you're a small they're wonderful. You get STUFF, often a party, and mostly people are nice to you... You can get away with an awful lot of mischief too!
     
    Then you get to a point where the Birthday becomes... a weency bit of a drag. You celebrate because you feel you should rather than wanting too, and you often find you're celebrating to make other people happy; and honestly, that's just perverse.
     
    That's where I was: 'Jaded' would encapsulate the feeling pretty well. The next stage on is probably curmudgeonly and let's not go there for a good while.
     
    So: Today it was my Birthday, and it was brilliant! I did exactly what I wanted to do without upsetting any of the 'but wouldn't you like to?' or 'We've organised...' people. I told them in advance I was spending the day 'chilling' and voila! That's just what I did!
     
    Mmmm.
     
     
    Camy
  9. Camy

    The B Season

    By Camy,

    The local Birthday season starts in just under five minutes. All my friends appear to be either Pisces or Aries... Is this odd? I must start reading horoscopes. Possibly.
    Anyway Tomorrow/Today it's me. According to my stats here I shall be 100. That's old! Gosh.
     
    Camy (the old)
  10. Camy

    Sunday

    By Camy,

    OCD. Hmm. Both Kevin and Patricky think they have it, and I just wrote a reply on Patricky's blog saying it was all twaddle. Then it crossed my mind that I have it too!
     
    Whenever I go to the beach I have to find a stone with a hole in it. I mean it's not a total compulsion, but I do get annoyed if I have to leave without finding one. Luckily there are lots of stones with holes in them, otherwise I'd probably need a straight jacket.
     
    This 'stone with hole' thing started a year or so ago. Now I have a large bag of stones with holes in them and possible OCD too. Ah well.
     
    The weather was fantastic today: Clear blue skies, with just a hint of the spring to come, though still chilly. Sadly I've been stuck indoors. The cat, who is on my knee as I write, would like to send her regards.
     
    Camy
  11. Camy

    Rocky Mountain Oysters

    By Camy,

    I was trying to think of another name for this blog: I ponder a lot, and really 'A bunch of Balls' wasn't doing it for me. So I googled, as you do, and damn me if the truth is worse than any of my putrid mental fictions.
     
    Those who live in the good old US probably know already that Rocky Mountain Oysters are Bulls Bollocks cooked and apparently eaten with a side helping of Chips. I was, and still am frankly amazed, and feeling rather squeamish.
     
    Yelch. Real Oysters are bad enough.
     
    Camy
  12. Camy

    Points to ponder.

    By Camy,

    I need an editor. I thought I probably might need an Editor at some point but after reading some of the excellent prose on this site, and having read a lot of utter twaddle elsewhere it finally struck me that one of the main differences was Editor. With Editor good, without bad.
     
    So now I want one, how to go about it? I know there is a thread about the subject, and having read it I'm no further forward. It seems to me that the relationship between Author and Editor is a bit like a marriage... And I don't know how to go about that either. Something else to get angsty about.
    ---
     
    I spent some time today with M, the guy I want to live with until we're old and decrepit. I sat in his room watching TV. He was lying on the bed and kept giving me these odd looks.
     
    A whole raft of futures flashed through my mind. Obviously there was the one where we are living happily together (with the house, white picket fence, roses blah blah blah). But then there was one where he stays with the guy he's with at the moment (M is a career for A: a young man with cerebral palsy, who is very manipulative). I try really hard to be nice to A, when all I want to do is shout at him, tell him to F off and stop using my friend. M seems oblivious to all this.
    ---
     
    Ah well. These things are sent to try us.
     
    Camy
  13. Camy

    Blogging Schizophrenia

    By Camy,

    I'm rather like that parrot in the Monty Python sketch. I'm pining, but not for the fjords. I want... I want some defining person to enter my life and tell me that it's really all going to be OK.
     
    I blog here (well duh) and elsewhere too. Here I am probably as whole as I can be, in that I'm reasonably happy to discuss my sexuality; or as happy as I'm going to be anywhere I guess. However, and here's the rub: I can't be completely 'me' without talking about what else I do, and that scares the shit out of me. It's the 'outing' concept. Conversely on the other blog, and online places I visit, I can't talk about my sexuality...
     
    So am I turning into more of a split personality than I was before I started blogging here? Is this doing me any good. Should I just bury the sexual 'me' and carry on my merry way. Or what...
     
    I have two very close 'best' friends one male, the other the woman I live with platonically. They both know that I'm gay but they don't know how much I'm hurting at the moment. I guess ultimately there comes a point when you get fed up pretending and just say 'f**K it this is who I am. If you don't like it I don't care.' I can't seem to get to this point without backing away in terror. Not that I show it. I can't seem to cry either, and this oddly really upsets me. Crying is so cathartic, and lord I could use some tears now.
     
    Sorry for the pathetic rhetoric. I'm not out to garner sympathy. I could, perhaps should be writing this privately; but this is GA and where else could I be so anonymously wimpy.
     
    Camy.
  14. Camy

    Albert's Day - Chapter 4

    By Camy,

    Albert's Day Chapter 4
    This chapter contains my first real attempt at writing a sex scene. It was hard (pun definitely not intended) really hard, and I am amazed at how long it took.
     
    I have a few notes I thought I'd share... Though please don't let them put you off reading the story.
     
    1 - Never ever EVER write in the third person. It makes everything so much harder than it has to be.
    2 - Here's an idea. Work out a plot before beginning
    3 - Frequent shorter chapters are better than longer chapters every blue moon.
     
    So I've blown No 1. That's for next time. No 2 is nearly sorted out, and I'm actually resonably happy with the result, and No 3 is a done deal.
     
    This all leads me (nifty segue) on to another slightly harder topic.
    I found and eventually joined this wonderful site, and I'm gay. Well Duh. But I now want to start telling people about this 'startling revelation'... And I find I can't.
    Gah.
     
    Camy
  15. Camy
    Albert's Day Chapter 3 is up for its sins.
     
    I was trying to work, and all I could think about was the story. I've come to the conclusion this is probably not good, but it is necessary. After all, characters, whether in real life or fiction, have lives; and those lives are important... Especially to the one writing them. Fail and they die; not on the page necessarily, but in the readers heart.
     
    I've said that I hate serials because you never know 1) if the writer will bother to finish it, and 2) because I'm really, really impatient. I must add to that that 3) my mind/brain/squidgy thing in my head removes things faster than I'd like. I can read a book, and a while later (year or so) re-read it as if I'd never read it to begin with... So with long running serials with l a r g e chapter gaps - and there are a couple I like, I find myself having to start at the beginning several times, or at least skim read them. This is a pain.
     
    Anyway. I've kind of changed my mind, and for this reason: Serials are fresh. They are a slice of time that you live through with the writer. You don't know what's going to happen, and probably neither does the author. This makes them exciting.
     
    Waffle over.
     
    Camy
  16. Camy
    Chapter 2 of Albert's Day is up on the e-fiction section. Enjoy it or not, I care not a jot. Of course I do really, but we all need a cushion.
     
    I must be addicted to writing.
     
    Ok... So I'm Gay and addicted to writing. Neither of which I'd have dreamt of saying, even in an anonymous blog a couple of weeks ago. Possibly because then it wasn't true.
     
    It's odd, damn odd; how this bit of me has leapt to the forefront of everything I'm thinking, and doing. It's even intruding into music, which I'm quite shocked about.
     
    For sure I'm still in the closet and no one I know in the real world has the vaguest inkling that I'm sitting here doing this.
     
    They know I write a bit, they know I blog... But not here.
     
    It's a start I guess.
     
    That damn draft button is taunting me.
  17. Camy

    Albert's Day

    By Camy,

    The problem with writing, or for that matter performing, is that eventually, if you're not insanely shy, you want to know if what you do is any good. You want, and in order to grow, need feedback.
     
    I'm a musician, and I love performing once I get over the hideous stage fright bit. I also write both poetry and fiction.
     
    Now I'm told that what I write is good, but I'm told that by people who love me, people who know me, and people who would probably not want to hurt me. So, honestly I can't trust a word they say. Sad, but the truth.
     
    Ergo here I am, not only leaping out of the closet to a total bunch of strangers, but also presenting slivers of the deeper bits of my psyche in the form of fiction.
     
    I guess I couldn't be bearing my soul in a better place.
     
    Anyway Albert's Day is a serial and I've put up chapter one... With trepidation.
     
    In other news I've decided I really am going to bed. Now.
  18. Camy
    I came to write a post about how miserable I was because I had to work all day; and I didn't get to see the last episode of 'Enterprise'; and I've lost the plot entirely with SGI... And I'm still laughing out loud over this entry in RHawes16's blog
    Typos are wonderful things, especially as I'm sure a lot of them are intentional, put in by bored copy typists. Ah well (wipes away a tear) where was I?
    Oh yes Miserable... Not. Thanks Rob.
  19. Camy

    Thanks

    By Camy,

    I have to say I'm totally blown away by the warmth of the comments left on my first post. I was sort of expecting to drivel on for a while before anyone said anything. Thank you. I'm honoured.
     
    erm.. I would also like to add that I wrote this last month and didn't realise that it was on 'draft' mode. Duh. I'm stupid not impolite... Most of the time.
  20. Camy
    I've been tootling around the site, as you do, wandering from link to link.
    The front page is um... 'very nice' but it gives the impression of a backwater, like it's thrown together 'cause it has to be there, a sort of 'hey I'm not tarting it up, I've got other things on my mind' attitude. This could well be intentional, but I'm kind of glad I arrived elsewhere when I first did.
     
    Mostly there is a great top bar with menu, though on some pages it has a banner ad above it, on others the ad is below.
     
    Content is hard to find.
     
    What I'm trying to say, in a rather ham fisted way is that the site gives the general impression of the amateur, when the content, facilities: Board and Blogging etc are so damn professional.
     
    Take Underthehoodster. His story page is both brilliantly conceived and executed. I was hoodwinked and thought it was an external site. Clever. Dom Luka's page (one of the best writers I've read in a long while) is a column of graphic links to the stories. Both do a job. Both work.
     
    I just discovered the 'efiction' bit too. The Zot, (who is on the front page, but not on the 'hosted' page) is to be found here (along with 'replay' by RHawes16 which is fantastic btw).
     
    I'm starting to ramble... This place is astounding, and huge thanks for it; but you need a map, map reader, provisions and a holiday to get around it... I guess that's all part of the fun.
  21. Camy

    First post - Introductions

    By Camy,

    The first post is always the worst. Especially because I'm aware that this is relatively public. Yet not. The people that might read this are at the very least of a like mind, and will not be judgemental... I hope. Even if they are, does it matter? It's true that what people say about what you do or write always matters. But not from the RL point of view of outing me. That is one great joy of the internet. Anonymity.
     
    I'd say I'm probably bisexual with a strong leaning towards men. Not that I'm out about it. Definitely not. Actually I'm probably more non sexual at present... Sex drive is a strange thing. I have it by the bucket load, but never seem to act on it with anyone. I seem to be liked at work, know gay people, fancy gay people, but never take the step that might end in disaster.
     
    Wow this is cathartic!
     
    I'm here for the stories. I think I found the place through Dabeagles site, but then that was a while ago. I used to drop by and never became a member until recently. It makes me wonder why I felt like risking the tiny bit of exposure it needs to sign up. Why not just stay a visitor, read the stories, dream, drool and leave? Perhaps I really am wanting to become myself.
     
    I live in England and went, from the age of twelve to a single sex boarding school with five highly competitive Houses. Later, in my sixth year they introduced girls. Not many, just a few in the upper school. An experiment that didn't affect me at all as they weren't in my house. When I started however it was just boys. Lots of boys.
     
    I'm from an upper middle class family and used to live in London. A really nice part of London. My father was an inventor, and my mother... f**K. So now what do I do. I'm actually shaking. Do I carry on in which case 'someone' might possibly read this that shouldn't. Or do I just use this blog as a muse tool for present thoughts...
     
    I suppose I should create a ficticious background, and people it with the dream family and kick ass friends. This needs some thought. f**K it.
     
    I'm from an upper middle class family and used to live in London. A really nice part of London, in a big Victorian detached house. My father was an inventor, and my mother was good at spending money. I was a late edition to two children, my sister being fourteen years older than me. I guess that really makes me an only child.
     
    I never knew my Grandmother was my Grandmother until I was ten or eleven. Before then she was just my Mothers best friend. I never thought this was odd at the time, and I can't actually remember how I found out. I think I just eventually guessed right. My sister got married and moved into a flat in the basement. At times I hated her, now we get on really well.
     
    I had a few close friends, but oddly, my best friend to begin with was Pie. A girl. Our parents were friends and we used to spend every avilable minute together. Pie was a tom boy in the true sense of the word, and though I know she had dolls, she never played with them. It was all about climbing trees, short hair, jeans and never, ever skirts! We used to have fearful rows, and once... She got me cornered in a shed and was so angry she put an axe through the window. Now she works in health services. I haven't seen her in an age.
     
    Then, when I was thirteen, Page moved in. His Mother was an actress, and he was gorgeous. A year younger than me but much more worldly and mature. He introduced me to what had been, until then, only a fantasy.
     
    So here I am. In the here and now. Jaded, complicated, and wanting... What I guess we all want. A soul mate of a like mind. I have two soul mates. One a girl I live with, the other close by. But that thing is missing.
  22. Camy

    The seduction - pt2

    By Camy,

    I've spent every available minute since Sunday in his company, musically we used to work together a lot, and if all else fails we've recaptured that, and our creative relationship is better in every way ... which is great, but still not where I want to be.
     
    This week has been intense from every point of view. I haven't wussed as yet, but either my brain freezes as I open my mouth, or he looks at me and asks me if I'm alright. Which mentally I'm not. I'm standing on a small rock floating in space and his rock is the only way to go ... and it's there, and I just can't make the leap.
     
    I want to scream, and I can't. I want to cry in frustration, and can't. I want what seems unobtainable, and it's not, it's there - I just can't ASK. More fool me.
     
    Anyway tomorrow we're driving up to London. Yup, that's it, I'll mention it in the car.
     
    If all else fails I can use the 'fancy a shag then?' line - or not. Why is such a simple thing so damn difficult? It's got to be genetic, or I could blame the cats...
     
    Dunderhead
  23. Camy

    weekend 'n' things

    By Camy,

    My Anthology entry has been given the green light by Kitty, which started the weekend off on a good note, then one of the four cats, Percy, brought in a shrew.
     
    Percy is waay cool, 'cause he brings mice and shrews in unharmed to 'present' as his contribution to the housekeeping ... which is ok provided Cody isn't around. Cody doesn't give a stuff about handing over live food, for the benefit of all, she'd far rather eat it ... whatever it is. So they have a fight, and the poor mouse is cowering in the corner, too scared to leg it. Cats shooed away, I finally caught the trembling beastie under a glass and returned it to the woods.
     
    My soulmate, who is ultra good at pretending everything is ok was diagnosed with type 2 Diabetes a while back and I, naive old me, didn't think twice about it. I had a lot of facts wrong, through not doing any research because he said everything was fine. Dumb.
     
    I was put straight by a member of GA who has helped enormously, and I want to publicly thank him. You know who you are.
     
    And that's another weekend gone. Damn.
     
    Camy
  24. Camy

    Buxom Babes

    By Camy,

    I've spent a good portion of the last couple of days thinking about the form of the human body and why it is that I'm attracted to guys rather than women? I love women, and to use a cliche a lot of my best friends are women, but...
     
    I work with a bunch of people I really have nothing in common with, which is annoying. In the UK we have a paper called 'The Sun' and on page three everyday is the naked breasted babe with coyly arranged knickers hiding nothing. The paper is left (I get in late so I'm not sure who buys it - perhaps the Gods put it there to wind me up) on the side, and people sidle up to it in one's and two and have a look. Everyone in the office has to be, or at least seem to be interested in 'The Babe'. So every day I look, and nada, zip, nothing... well, next to nothing
    The regulation chat goes something like
    "Whatcha think?"
    "Cor, look at the knockers on her"
    "Yeah I'd give her one"
    "prefer Monday's"
     
    Don't get me wrong, they're very beautiful, and I can appreciate that, but what is it in my head that make me think, 'now if she were a he...'?
     
    Oh well.
     
    Camy
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