[GlitterEyes]

Source

Glyn wanders into the diary room and begins jamming his mitt on every number and sniggering. He hits six, then nine. "Six…nine," says automated Big Brother. "Sixty-nine!" gurgles Glyn, making a perv face like Rik from The Young Ones. "Sixty-nine!" hoots Glyn, who is overjoyed by this comedy gold dust. The more I look at Glyn, the more I think he's a virgin. How convenient that all Glyn's sexual partners appear to be mysterious women he met up hills that he's never spoken to again.

Glyn reminds me of the boys in my class who'd come back after summer break with tales of mystery "dead-pretty girls on holiday" they'd been rutting senseless. It was always glaringly obvious that they'd actually spent two weeks in a caravanette with their mum and dad, drooling at girls over the top of their Terry Pratchett novel, with their cherries wholly untroubled. "Sixty-nine!" shouts Glyn again, working himself up into an accident.


Thoughts? Harsh? Spot on? Don't care? Lol..