dcmarti1 Posted January 31, 2013 Share Posted January 31, 2013 I spent three weeks in Peterborough, Cambridgeshire, UK, in 2004. It is one of the few times in the 8+ year period I have been REALLY happy. The form is syllabic Cameo, at least I hope it is: 2, 5, 8, 3, 8, 7, 2. English windows are opposed to the ones in America. The sun drenched garden room at Butterfly Inn had such tender panes; I was afraid. English desk clerks can be best understood when you are tipsy, certainly when they are from Liverpool. Those young, hot English waiters are best straight. I say that because they ask you to help them avoid girls they do not like. Even if you are gay you can slip your arm around their waist to help. English youth at the dance club segregate themselves by sexes: but a girl half my age came and rubbed herself against my thigh; the music had stopped. Dark hair went well past her broad shoulders, framing ample bosoms. She never told me her name and neither did I ever ask it: she was so drunk. English lads at the dance club worry about your absence and ask around, "Where's the gay American guest?" They ask this while you are in the loo. Young, straight lads who ask questions and then see you, put their arms on your shoulders, and if they are 19 and drunk, they still smile and dance, knowing you're gay. I don't remember his name, nor do I remember the name of the club. I just wish that I had kissed him (as well as the other 3) straightly! 8 years of absence and you are still with me. England, we both reek and rot of wretched Empire! But I want to remember all their names - to dream. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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