“…Yes, you should love yourself. Fall in love with your body and the way you look and talk and walk. Love the things you do and create. Love to be good, and love to be bad. Believe what you do and say is the gospel according to you…”

“That’s fucking bullshit! So, all this loving yourself bit, does it come naturally, or do you have to learn it?”

“Well it should be natural man, like a tree growing in a wood. Slow and natural, like moonbeams and stardust.”

That was me talking to a guy on Hampstead Heath earlier today. I had a few cans of Stella and took a couple onto the Heath whilst walking my Staff, I’m the disbelieving one, the one swearing, I always swear when I’ve had a few. He looked a bit down and out, but not smelly and dirty, but dishevelled and untidy, I can’t really tell these days, some folk look like tramps and their millionaires. I look worn and tired and I’m poor and on benefits. I look after my dog more than myself. I was sitting on a bench next to a pond in a part of the Heath called the Vale. A guy came up and sat down next to me. He said hello and asked if that was my black dog sniffing about and I said yes. He complimented saying he was a lovely dog. Thanks, I said. Then he asked why I was drinking when I was surrounded by so much beauty. I didn’t answer him and took another drink. He prattled on about the blueness of the sky and the greenness of the grass and the trees, the stillness of the water and how it rippled and sparkled in places. I agreed and said it was a lovely day. It was Saturday the 25th August and it was a lovely warm blue sunny day.

I drank the last dregs of lager out of the can and squashed it and put it in the plastic bag which held another full can, I took it out, cracked it open and started drinking. The guy sitting next to me stared out at the pond, he had his hands on his knees and a smile on his face, he reminded me of Forest Gump. He started chatting a load of New Age crap. Stuff about how everything is connected. The trees to the grass, the birds to the trees, bees to the flowers. How we are all connected. That we are all brothers and sisters and that we should love one another, but most of all, ourselves. I listened to him and tried to keep an open mind about what he was saying. He even recited a verse he had composed whilst sitting there, but I kept thinking is this guy after something, more than lightly my arse.

I finished the can of lager, stood and put my rubbish in the bin next to the seat. I said goodbye to the guy sitting and walked off, walking along the path that skirted the pond. My dog ran ahead. I looked back and the guy was still sitting on the bench, staring out over the pond with his hands on his knees. Despite myself, some of what he said stayed with me. The stuff he said about loving yourself and believing in yourself sort of hits home.

I’ve not worked for a while and pissed away most of this month and last month drinking cans of Stella, been doing about eight to ten a day and I feel unhealthy illegal bahis and bloated. Like a fat lump of morbid gloop, whatever the fuck that is. I’m off again, thinking about a load of shit. Putting myself down and getting all depressed. The booze is rotting my mind. I’m lucky enough that I have a trade, well, sort of, getting bits of painting work, cash in hand. I’ve been lucky the last few months in that I’ve managed a good bit of regular work, it’s getting me by, paying for this poison I’m pouring down my throat.

I walk through woodland and the sun sparkles through the leaves. The sound of bird song is everywhere, and the scent of plants fills the air. My dog runs past me and chases a squirrel. I want more lager. But I take a moment to appreciate the beauty that’s about me, but inwardly I don’t feel the same for myself. I walk out of the woods and down a grassy hill which leads me onto another tarmac path. It leads me past the Hampstead ponds and I sit on a bench and rest a while, I can see the off licence from here. My thirst gets the better of me and I call my dog and clip on his lead and walk to the shop. I tie up my dog outside. I go in and buy six cans of Stella, a Cornish pasty and milk for when I sober up and want tea or coffee, wondering when that will be. I leave the shop and untie my dog, he wags his tail and we walk toward pond Street. We walk past busy cafes and a pub. Folk are laughing and smiling, happy to be alive on such a lovely day. We pass the Royal Free Hospital and track down fleet road and past a fish ‘n’ chip shop, the smell of fried fish makes me hungry, “later perhaps,” I tell myself. We cut off Fleet Road and past another busy pub and walk through a small wood which leads me to the estate where I live. I open my front door and I’m home. I let my dog off the lead and he gulps down water. I crack open a can of Stella and put the rest in the fridge. I sit in the garden and drink my can. I have the house to myself for two weeks, I’m into the second week now. I live with my mum, it’s her house and she’s on holiday with friends.

The garden looked colourful in the afternoon sun. There were birds chatting and bees buzzing and annoying flies scooting about. The neighbour was having a Bar-B-Q and it smelled great, it made me feel hungry and went to the kitchen and opened up my Cornish pasty. I put it on a plate and cut it into three sections, arranging the slices side by side on the plate. I coated one slice with brown sauce, the next with ketchup and the third slice with Coleman’s English mustard and took my lunch back into the garden and ate it greedily, it was gone in two minutes, I was hungrier than I thought. I got back up and went into the kitchen put the plate into the sink and grabbed another can of Stella and the radio. I plugged in the radio and put it next to an open window, switched it on and cranked up the volume, I sat back in the garden and drank Stella, listening to Magic FM.

The cans of Stella soon went. I must have been drunk because I was singing illegal bahis siteleri loudly along with “Hard Habit to Break,” by Chicargo, and a tear ran down my face, “Fuck!” I said and wiped the tear. It wasn’t long after I polished off the last can of Stella and staggered to the shop to get more alcohol, only this time I bought a bottle of Glens vodka and a carton of cheap orange juice. Time was creeping by and it was heading into early evening time. I was drunk and started thinking about women. I always get horny when I’m drunk, but I’m a horny bastard when I’m sober too, so what’s new. When I was working and had a little extra money, I would seek out a prostitute when I was drunk. But I never had the extra cash today.

I topped up my vodka and went upstairs to my room and opened up my lap top and searched out free porn. My cock went hard when the pictures of naked women came up. I flipped through the selections and picked out a slim black lady with tight black hair, fat red lips and white teeth. Her tits were big for her size and had black nipples. I loosened off my jeans. She was being fucked by a white guy. I looked for a guy with a cock about the same size as mine.

I pulled my jeans down to my knees and dropped my boxer shorts. My cock was at full stretch and spitting a little cum. I took it and wanked as the guy fucked the black lady. I put it on pause and plugged in headphones and put them on my head. I took it off pause and she screamed into my ears. “Yes,” she said. “Fuck me hard. Yes, yes. Harder. Mmmmm! Mmmmm! Yeah! Yeah!” I wanked harder and I wanted to feel what they were feeling, wanting so much to be there, to be a part of it. I put it on pause and pulled up my boxer shorts and jeans. I headed out of the bedroom but was pulled back, I took off the headphones and threw them on the bed and rushed down the stairs.

I didn’t want to lose the mood or go off the boil. I went to the vegetable rack in the kitchen and took out the biggest, thickest carrot I could find and ran back upstairs with it. I took a condom from the stock I keep, just in case, and ripped open the packet and rolled it down the carrot and went to the bathroom and took my haemorrhoid cream from the cabinet. I dropped my jeans and boxer shorts, sat down in front of my lap top, but forgot to grab a toilet roll. I jumped back up and quickly walked to the bathroom and took a roll. I tripped on my way back to my bedroom, when my jeans wrapped and caught around my ankles, and fell. “Fuck!” I said, got back up and sat back in front of my lap top. I took off my jeans and boxers completely and greased up the carrot with the haemorrhoid cream and put it to one side. I put my head phones back on and pressed play. The black lady moaned into my ears. They broke apart and she went down on him. She made gulping and slurping noises. My cock had gone back to semi, so I wanked it. “Come on,” I said. I stopped and spat onto my cock, then into my hand and rubbed the spit onto my pommel, it felt slippery and warm. canlı bahis siteleri I slid my hand up and down my shaft and rubbed around the pommel, it felt like I was getting a blow job. I stared at the close up of his cock in her mouth, I stood, and pushed the screen back. There was only her head and his cock bobbing around in her mouth when I looked down at the screen. I wanked and pretended it was my cock and she was on her knees blowing me. I called her Trish and moaned her name as I wanked, she slurped in my ear, my cock went back to solid.

The guy pulled his cock out of her mouth and he lay on the bed. She got on top of him and his cock disappeared inside her and she went back to her sexual moaning. I sat back down and parted my legs, my arse knot opened. I slid down in the chair. I pushed my arse forward, so I could reach down and touch my open knot. I took the lid off the haemorrhoid cream and squeezed a big blob out onto my fingers. I pushed my finger inside my arsehole and spread the cream, pulling out my finger, I spread the rest around the outside of my knot. I was ready.

I parted my legs wider and picked up the seven-inch carrot. I wanted to feel what she felt, or as close as. She bounced on his cock and her big tits slapped and bounced. I slowly pushed the carrot into my arse, it felt intensely sexual. It made my cock go harder and I wanked it. I pushed it further and it slid easily, the cream coated my piles and numbed them. The carrot was cone-shaped, and I had to push a bit harder as I got to the thicker part. I pushed the carrot hard, my arse gulped it and swallowed five inches. It went in deep and hit something soft and I cum instantly. I wanked faster and shot spunk like I’d not done for a long time. My spine tingled, and I felt as if I’d had ten-thousand volts shot through me. My heart beat fast and then slower. My cock went soft and I took the carrot out of my arse and the head phones off my head. I felt so satisfied and sat back in the chair and closed my eyes. Five relaxed minutes passed. I sat up and took some sheets of the toilet roll and wiped my cock. I took more sheets and covered the carrot and slipped off the condom and wrapped it in the toilet paper. I lost interest in the couple still shagging and closed up my lap top. I sat looking at the carrot and, in my drunkenness, said “What’s up doc?” And laughed out loud.

I went down stairs and put the carrot back in the vegetable rack. I poured myself three fingers of vodka and added a splash of orange. I took my drink and sat in the garden. The radio was playing “Who Wants to Live Forever” by Queen. It was still warm. I lay back and listened to the music and thought about the guy I met up the Heath. Then I thought about my wanking episode with a carrot up my arse. “Love being good. Love being bad. It’s all moonbeams and Stardust.”

I thought about a short verse the guy had recited to me and I recited it to myself, it stuck in my mind: “The trees around the willow, The shadows on the trees, The birds are singing cheerfully, Singing songs to me, The sun shines bright and gallant, And brightens up my day, But I love the night of moonbeams and stardust in the trees…

Of moonbeams and stardust

Of moonbeams and Stardust…” I fell asleep.



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