-diversion en el metro-

A big black woman rubbed her even bigger tit against my hand this morning on the central line of the appraised London Underground.
Naturally I was annoyed, yet I decided not to be intimidated by this audacious rude fat dyke and took great pains not to move my hand
from the pole I was holding.
Trying to completely ignore the repetitive rubbing of a va va voom sized breast isn’t that easy though, and I started an internal mental battle with myself.
The thing is, even that I was so defiantly not being intimidated by this lardy lezzo,
she was most definitely having some scale of intergalactic orgasmic nipple masturbation for free on my expense.
This counts as commuter abuse.
My sexual services don’t come cheap to any man, or at all to women.
I mean, she hadn’t even bought me one tequila shot and she thought she could take advantage of me.
Disgrace.
Here she is, seven in the morning in the crowded underground, trying to get a tit wanking freebie.
Truly, an abominable disgrace.

Some sort of exotic fever of perversion has hit London women lately.
Perhaps the secret sect of masons that really rule England with their shadow government, have poisoned the Smirnoff Ice supply in order to see more girl on girl action.
In the past few months, more women have been making unruly advances on me than in the sum of all my previous years.
And two of them, guess where? The London Underground.
Modern day joint of debauchery and lechery.
Has being lesbian or bi become hip suddenly?
Or has it always been so?
Did the fact that I pierced my face instantly throw women into a frenzy?
I guess this kind of madness would be tolerable if it didn’t extend into ones friend network, which is exactly what happened, again,
last weekend when I was taking part in the festivities of george fourth in Brixton.
My jolly and beautiful irish friend Libby tried to convince me all night that it would be a great idea to kiss her.
With amusement I declined the honour and passed it on to my loco Spanish compadre Alberto. Coconut, as it is, respectfully.
Why? Because he has a cute face of that of a colour of coco, and he is small and mad like a nut.
Only logical. :)
Well perhaps this horny behaviour is one of the dangers of ecstasy.
(Not that I ever experienced it back in my pill popping years, all I did was completely loose my memory and sometimes hear a radiator speaking to me).
Maybe everybody is tripping on a new form of ecstacy and I remain ignorant to the fact, missing the boat of horny lunacy.
Maybe there is something to kissing girls and I am just turning into an old prude.

Back in the tube I decided to fight for all the innocent girls like myself that get harassed by women, and concluded that some sort of confrontation has to take place.
The big fat mama should be thrown into the other end on the power scale.
I raised my eyes and stared her right into hers with the fiercest defiance, imagining daggers piercing her retinas.
“ Having a good time there lady?" I asked.
Now I am still not sure if black people can blush ( perhaps mr.google can help me later in the matter), but whatever it was that made the embarrasement obvious, body language, blushing or something other, was of grand proportion.
The response was genuine. It was also that of a surprise and bafflement.
Clearly she had been half asleep or lost in thoughts, and after blurting out dozen excuses she retaliated back into staring the tube carriage floor.
(I sometimes wonder if other people see three dimensional land-scapes and figures on the blank surfaces or if this is another relic of my drug infused years).
She hasn’t, after all, been rubbing her nipple on me whilst in the throws of multi-layered pleasure waves.
Guess not everyones nipples are as extra-orgasmicly-receptive like mine.
Goddamn.
I kind of felt sorry for the fat “dyke”.




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