A few weeks ago, I was intrigued to find pages on the internet that chronicled the chief ways in which individual scribes found themselves titillated. I was quite shocked at the brazen way in which many of these depraved writers talked so openly about their naughty-bumpy habits.
Thankfully a wandering guardian of public morals was good enough to spend a weekend moaning about all this shocking filth which he’d spent several hours seeking out and reading, and so the powers that be on this blessed epistlular forum removed all the smut so they could take it home and bash out a quick one over them in private.
But the mind of the mysterious Mr Turtlewind often moves like glacial flow – imperceptibly slowly yet with unstoppable momentum. And just a few short hours ago I woke up with wobbly knees:
‘I have to write about what turns me on!’ I squealed › Continue reading