August Progress

Coronavirus, food poisoning and…a cold sore

Total sets in UK & Poland: 41

Numbers: 11

Instagram: 4

Dates: 5

Lays: 2

Near Misses: 1

By Country

UK: 18

Numbers: 6

Instagram: 0

Dates: 3

Lays: 2

Poland: 23

Numbers: 5

Instagram: 4

Dates: 2

Lays: 0

Near miss: 1

Night game x1

Czech Republic…… ZERO SETS*

Poland & Czech Republic

To say the month started well and ended on its arse is a perfect understatement. Mere days after recovering from a 2-week bout of covid, I arrived in Poland with a residual Chinese Cough but by and large I was feeling good, looking in good shape and very motivated but in a non-arsed way. I was only in Poland for a couple of days but I contracted a yet undiagnosed form of food poisoning (having had salmonella in Kiev, the parallels are comparable). I believe it stemmed from a curry I stupidly went for on the Tuesday afternoon (the sad thing, it was really good). The 6 sets I did that day ended in an idate as well as a near miss that night. My game was clean and I was enjoying myself. Little did I know what was brewing the next day. I woke on Wednesday morning feeling sluggish and tired as I packed my bags for Praha. I’d put it down to covid fallout. How wrong I was.

The food poisoning hit me an hour into my 6 hour bus journey to Praha. It announced itself with an accute, shearing, ripping pain across my abdominal area. I knew this was serious. I made my way to the box-toilet on the bus and just managed to rip down my jeans in time mustering all of the desperation of a newly uk-minted afgan rapist, before litres of yellow effluent blew-through my tiny anus and into my light stonewash jeans. I perched on the kinky, tiny toilet and noticed a watercolour burnt umber stain on the gusset of my jeans – I had indeed began to soil myself early. I was now fully aware that unless my bag covered my arse, then people would likely identify this mark and ostracise me for it as a poopooboy. I sat, hunched over on the pathetic little toilet bowl. The smell was atrocious. It was the purest, most noxious odour ever imagined by man or beast. It simply wasn’t right. It was worse than anything I’d experienced before in my life. I was ashamed at myself. I reached for the toilet paper holder and was met with a void as my fingers searched franticly for the liberation but all they found was the empty brown toilet roll core pathetically flapping on the holder. I frantically searched around the sink but there was nothing. All I had in my pocket was a tiny receipt from the lunch I’d bought earlier. I contemplated using this to wipe my arse before reality took over. I punched the wall viciously and remembered with hatred the muslim who’d been in the toilet moments before me. Resigned, and with no option, I used my cupped hand and scooped the residue from my anus and thighs and washed as best as I could in a wash basin that was no bigger than my hand under a pathetic trickle of water from a faucet that would only leak water as long as the button was pressed. Some twenty minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom with tears in my eyes. I made my way upstairs and to the rear of the bus. There was a guy sat across from me and he looked happy as he broke his second can of Pilsner Urquell. I glared at him. I was jealous of his clean anus and raged at his smarmy comfort as he sipped away on his pilsner. The hours passed. By the time I arrived at Praha bus station, I was an exhausted, washed-out shitting mess.

The next week was a confusion.

The Confusion

What followed was a phase of my life that I can barely remember or recall with any clarity. I shall simply refer to this period as The Confusion. Over 3 or 4 days I must have visited the toilet 500 times to deposit, on the one hand, vicious torrents of bacteria-ridden brown and orange poison in 2-litre depositions, all the way to pathetic globules of strange, green-gold oily mucus which were accompanied by vicious rasps of innards-air that would result in the hotel inhabitants on all sides of me braying on my wall with their fists begging me to stop the noise. Sleep was broken across the night with bi-hourly toilet visits. One morning, I awoke to find that I had literally shit the bed. The lower-half of my body resembled the skin-tone of a mixed-race aids-baby – the soil and manure had fused and dried into my skin as I slept, and by now the weight had started pouring off me. I stared at the strange sight and giggled. I lay like this all morning watching Children’s BBC.

I would visit the local shops for bananas and water during the small, limited window a post-diaorea opportunity would provide me. On Sunday night, some 4 days into The Confusion, I met with Glen for a walk around Centrum. Later, as I walked home at dusk, I was met by the by now familiar grinding and searing pain in my lower abdominal area. I knew I had perhaps 10 seconds to find a place to release the pollution. The street was busy. Thankfully, a darkened side street of Rumunska was at hand, and I squeezed myself between two parked cars, just as a vicious slew of thick brown sewerage blasted through my petite-anus at unbelievable pressure over a car wheel-arch, over the bonnet and onto the pavement opposite. I began to weep and fell-down in the mess, wilfully absorbing it back into my clothes. It was mine. It belonged to me. I had nothing left, no more self-respect. I felt it was time to admit defeat and the salvation that would ensue. I slept for a minute, but it could have been an hour. I woke with a start, and resisted the urge to go back to sleep. I hurriedly pulled my white but heavily shit-soiled chinos up around my bloated and aching ass-hole. By now, my usually tiny and pretty anus was a pulsating and beating entity that was communicating with me via deep rasps and groans. The noise had to be heard to be believed. I staggered up off the ground, my hands and face covered in slurry, and continued to make my way back to my hotel, but again, seconds later, another vicious pulse of pain tore through my ass, into my gut and into my brain. I screamed like a child. I had nothing left to give. As I did so, two girls perhaps 17 years old walked past me and our eyes locked together as I assumed the misery position and a further arc of sewage was blown all over a white BMW. This was followed by vile, thunderous farts as vicious, high-pressure began to degas from my womb. I locked eyes on them both, imploring them, my hand reaching out to them, with tears pouring down my face, and I muttered,

“Hi. You look French“.

They paused, wide-eyed before the taller one vomited all over a bridal gown shop window before screaming and sprinting off down the street. I didn’t care. I was beyond hope and simply operating in a strange form of survival mode as I skirted the abyss.

The Aberration

By day three I had shed so much weight but I had strangely started to develop a huge and obscene oval shaped belly. It was truly abhorrent. I would stand in the mirror and stare at myself, side-on, just wondering how my stomach could appear so bloated, but the rest of my frame so brittle and stick-thin. How can my body support this, this THING? I’d mutter to myself both in awe and pity as I gently stroked and squeezed the distension. Across the course of the evening, The Aberration was even more grotesque and swollen. Little did I know at the time, but it was in fact a huge concentrated build up of pure methane gas. And it was slowly driving me clinically insane as it exolved into my bloodstream. I began, I think, to fall in love with the beast inside me and convinced myself I was pregnant with a child. I was delirious. Almost at the abyss. Lines of reality became distorted. I was beginning my transmigration into something pure and new. I began to record videos, innocuous ones, at first, and send them to “dead leads” in Ukraine – mainly girls around the Dnipr region. Innocent at first, I would record 15 seconds of footage showing them my baby, explaining how I had transitioned and now lived with man called Sundar. As the evening wore on, the videos became more and more harrowing and indeed, complex. I would cry and explain how I’d never known love like this as I fondled the methane protrubation. In other videos, the passive leak of brown sewage would trickle down my legs which would result in me screaming that my waters had broken. By the early morning I had begun to send the videos to established leads and even to some family members. By now, the gas had begun to abate and I collapsed in a heap, recording my magnus opus as I birthed a long, rasping 23 minute fart direct into the camera, before falling asleep exhausted.

Some six days into the episode I began to initiate a form of recovery. I had at this stage dropped around 20 pounds in lean muscle mass and had aged terribly. My normally well-fitted t-shirts hung pathetically from my body and my cap was barely able to cover my head, my cranium had shrunk around 3 inches. I began to muse on the daygame leads and girls on the month.

Daygame Summary

1. One sunny evening in the UK I saw a tiny little petite asian girl in grey tracksuit bottoms and crop vest top. I followed her down the escalator and opened her on the street. She was a Thai undergraduate student 21 years old and a high 7. Lovely body and pretty face. Conversation moved toward a date on the Saturday night and I arranged to pick her up from her halls in Newcastle. She was wearing a tiny little black dress and white trainers. I told her that we were going to mine and there were no objections. It was a very straightforward experience – I think she was extremely horny from the moment she got into my car, practically leaning across the passenger seat into my lap. She came to mine two other nights and we barely muttered a word to one another. She could speak English she just had no desire to use it, save for the daygame stop where she was surprisingly chatty. She flew back to Thailand permanently on 3rd September.

2. That same night I slept with the Thai girl, I also went back to back with a 18 year old I’d met from a Daygame approach a few weeks ago while in town with Glen. The lead looked dead but some carefully crafted texts while she was away visiting family led to me picking her up and taking her straight to mine (she has been out the night before and wanted a Chinese and a chilled night). This was another girl with an extremely developed sense of her sexuality – enjoying dominance – e.g. choking, spit-play, spanking and dirty talk. She ended up ghosting me.

3. Not sure if I mentioned this one but I’d also met a 26 year old Albanian Greek and we had a few dates before she stayed over. Nice girl. Definitely giving girlfriend vibes. Only issue is she smokes which is a deal breaker for me.

4. Second night in Poland I open a German girl at the bar. Rest was easy going. Drinks and a scooter back to mine.

5. My second day in Poland saw a nice run of 5 or 6 sets that led to good leads and 2 dates (instant date with a stunning 17 year old and near miss with a cute 25 year old later that night. I did have my dick in her, but I have decided against recording this one.

As much as the food poisoning story has some creative flourish (you don’t say), the bulk of it is factual. I spent pretty much all of my time in Praha in a very bad way. From Wednesday through to Sunday I was incapable of anything. I also developed a cold-sore on the Monday (my immune system smashed to bits by covid/food poisoning across August). So I did no sets in Praha in August and only ended breaking my duck as I did a handful of ‘mask game’ sets (hiding the cold-sore) on the Wednesday September 1st. I flew back to England yesterday and now have an unenviable task to nurse myself back to a form of fitness and self-image satisfaction before I fly in 3 weeks or so. I did get to spend quite a bit of time with my Belarus girl which really did afford some value to the trip, while Glen and I walked all the best spots and he gave me a good heads-up on the main areas of Praha to see, daygame etc. I will be back.

August was indeed a very bi-polar month.

BroodingSea