Real paradigm of a day - got an invite to Jack's 18th tomorrow, but Harriet will be there - and there's the rub. Literally - the thought of it sent me straight into a wankspasm. I wonder whether if you wank enough to the thought of someone you kind of actually are going out?? How am I going to deal with seeing Harriet? I'm so indifferent and basically just bored by her that whenever I think of seeing her I start to feel sick and like a big hole is opening up inside me (but then I also kind of want to put my dick in that hole).
I've been thinking really hard about it and I think the best thing that could happen is that, just before the party, I die. I was thinking maybe I see a kid about to get hit by a truck and I dive out to get the kid and fling it away, but the truck hits me. Maybe 'Search For The Hero' by M People is playing from somewhere, I don't know. The truck driver gets out and holds my body, screaming "why am I such a stupid truck driver!?" My body is limp but still fit. I look at him and simply say "I forgive you", even though his only job is to competently drive a truck and not hit people and he's overpaid and probably a union firebrand. The crowd around him tell him he's a stupid idiot for hitting me, but I say "forgive him, he did not knew not what he did". "Wow", says a brunette, 19, pleasingly curvy.
Then at the party Harriet is talking to Jake or Chris or one of those prick guys from debating society. And the rumour starts to spread - a whisper at first, but then someone turns the music off, makes an announcement. Will Strobb is dead. It hits her like a wave. A wave made of ice. Then it dawns on her, like a dawn, that I am truly gone forever. She goes to the garden whilst someone puts that loud sad song from 'Amadeus' on. Beyond tears (though actually no tears would be good) she thinks, numbly, "I should have sucked him off". But it's too late. I'm dead. She can't suck me off.
The wind moves through the grass, the trees sway. The last movement of my soul before its ascent? She feels a presence, a familiar inkling of piercing intellect and Lynx Africa...maybe the wind slightly brushes her tit, she loves it. She realises what a dumb tart she's been and maybe she thinks about ending it all and joining me in the fields of Ambrosia...but actually no it'd be better if she lived the rest of her quiet, chaste life in lonely regret.
But I need to develop a backup plan in case I don't die...
Wanks: 4 (the wind-spirit tit grab was good for a couple).
