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Friggin' in the Riggin'

by Bernie Bostik

I could hear sirens in the distance, I quickly took my hand out of my pocket and lifted it towards my nose. That's when I had my first sniff. And from that first sniff I was hooked. It was a strange day the first day of my addiction, it started off in school on the last day of term. I hadn't been going to school much for the last year or so but I sort of owed it to my English teacher Mr Hughes, who's classes were about the only ones I bothered going to. He had helped me immensely and was the instigator of me double entering for 'O' level-which I passed. I also wanted to pick up my Media Studies project off him. We were the first school in Cheshire to have media studies on the curriculum and Mr Hughes was an astute teacher of the subject and I was  entertained by the lessons and it showed in my attendance as I never missed one. The project that I was collecting  was my photographic essay on Graffiti (oh how he laughed when I pitched that idea to him). But the smiles weren't there when he gave it me back, just a look of amazement. He was amazed at how skill full some of these artists were. I had a mate Oggy and his mate Geoff Brown were dab hands  at this burning and tagging craze and the kind people at the youthy (Pete Murphy we salute you) had let them go mad on the inside walls and i was there to catch it all on camera.

So there I was sat in English listening to one of many  funny anecdotes by Mr Hughes about his student life (some lessons would just be him story telling for a couple of hours). While Jerome Griffin on my left was tracing a picture off an Iron Maiden LP( he later went on to become a drummer in a heavy metal band) and Sam Jepson (debatable cock of the year) was to my right rockin back and forth on two legs of his chair, I was staring straight ahead to the panty line on show on the arse of Susan Yates skirt (another reason for going to English lessons). Sue was the type of girl that every year had. She had a full rack on her in second year and seemed to be only interested in older men preferably the ones with cars and rumour had it her knickers hit the floor quicker than Ronaldo. I of course was besotted with her and I would gladly forfeit first break down smokers just to spend ten minutes trying to ask her out. I would also go out of my way by about 15 minutes so I could walk her way home, all the time badgering her for a date. She kept telling me that she didn't go out with boys her own age as she found them silly and immature.  Well what was she doing coping for a fella called Stanny  who according to our good old mucker Reggie Rumour  use to go back to her bedroom and try her clothes on and get her to put make-up on him!  If that's not silly and immature behaviour well you can slap my thighs and call me Roger , smoother me in jam I'm a jammy dodger.

This was my last chance, i would probably never see her again ever. So as the lesson finished I started chipping away at Sue yet again. It was Eagle Sports & Social annual football do that night and I was looking for a partner to go with.How could she refuse an offer like that, but she did bluntly, until Mr Hughes intervened and persuaded her to say yes (I think she had a bit of a crush on him). Mr Hughes gave me the Ronaldo'esque knowing wink as I left the classroom jumping for joy.The rest of the school day was spent aimlessly wandering around the school dodging the teachers, which  was very easy to do. You see at the time Penketh High was the 7th biggest comp in England, so getting ones self lost in its boundaries was piss easy. They came from far and wide to attend the school  Penketh (obviously), Sankey, Sankey Bridges, Old Hall, Burtonwood village, Newton-l-Willows, Yank kids off the base,  the Fiddlers Ferry and Cuerdley farmers sons and daughters, lazy couldn't be arsed Catholics who couldn't  put up with the penance of  two bus journeys  to the nearest catholic school(until they built St Gregs),  barmpots that the other surrounding schools didn't want and the Hood Manor Estate Manc overflow contingent.

Now Hood Manor is a funny little place, well it was back then. A good percentage of its occupants were all from Manchester well Salford actually  and more specifically they were all born in Hope Hospital (that's what they boasted anyway). The local the Sankey Arms  was like a watered down version of The Ship. And as  always on any estate there is one family that stands out, Hood Manors being  the Osbournes. The Dad was a bit of a rogue with an iffy past in the Salford underworld and was hard as nails even though he was 4ft fuck-all.The two sons Jason and Julian(who died in a car crash a few years back) were always in trouble with the peelers and also like there father were as hard as nails. I remember Jason-who was a few years older than me-from school until he got expelled. My only contact with him was when one dinner time I walked down to smokers  for a crafty Embo Filter and stumbled upon Jason with his John Bailey style permed head and buff fluff muzzied face stuck up some girls skirt. On seeing me the girl tapped him on the head, when he came up for air he looked at me and snarled "What you looking at?"..."nothing" I nonchalantly replied before walking off with a limp. And that was it. My contact with Julian  was a different kettle of sticklebacks altogether , in the contact being my New Balance with his kite. It was here on  my last day of school as Julian goaded all us down smokers corner, he'd been getting under everyone's skin since the day he walked in the school. And today was the day when everyone had had enough. He got legged across the playing field and when we caught up with him we proceeded to kick the shit out of him. Every time we walked off leaving him on the floor bleeding, he would jump up telling us  to come back and finish him off.What followed was a free for all on the playing fields Hood Manor Vs the rest. Another time I witnessed Julians bravado was when Silcocks Fair was in town and Julian took on all comers  around the waltzers including a couple of grocks who worked on the fair- he was about 12 at the time.

So after the annual end of year bust up, I made my way home to prepare for the evenings events. I had a bath and gave the little fella an extra scrub with the soap and I gave it the old Scully treatment (good dosing of talc and aftershave in the scruds) just before leaving the house.  I was half expecting Mad Dog and Mooie  on the top deck of the 13 singing 'love is in the air' as I got on the bus. As the bus got to Lane Ends I jumped off and passed Almo who was on his first rung of becoming a fully fledged Arsonist as he was trying to burn the Library to the ground. I rang the door bell at Sues house and she came out dressed in what I would call a Gypsy type skirt (long  to the ground with ruffles) hiding a pair of ankle high heel boots (do the birds call them pixie boots?) and some lace creation on top showing her ample carpets. Her face was awash with all types of cosmetics making her look about 33. It was then it dawned on me i was going out with a proper women. Would I be able to satisfy her? My boasts about being a boss shag were severely  going to be put to the test. We entered the Sports and social club , she ordered a pernod and black and I had a pint and the rest of the evening was spent with her flirting with all the first team and me a mere under 16's substitute trying to look as though it didn't bother me. It was a hard thing to stomach especially when the star striker  smuggled her away for a slowy , while I sat there taking the wrath off the drunken lads. I wasn't that bothered as long as it was me who got to walk her home and me that got balls deep with her later on. Near the end of the night she staggered over to me and whispered in my ear those magic words 'I'm drunk, can you walk me home?' YYIIIPPPPEEE, there was my green light, it's on, it's on YAAAA!

My mood quickly changed when she told me that due to popular belief she didn't sleep with everyone she went out with, but with the promise of a wank and a grope the Cheshire cat grin soon returned to my face. We ended up on board a small inflatable dinghy that was on a trailer,  attached to her Dads rusty old Land Rover that didn't work and was stationed on her driveway. We quickly lay down and I threw the lips on her straight away. After a couple of minutes of getting her tits out and giving them a quick grope and suck,  my hand swiftly moved down and hitched up the skirt . I put my hand on her mound and started giving it a slow rub with anticipation of what was to follow - like someone waxing a VW Beetle bonnet. I pulled down her knickers and left them hanging off one of her pixie boots and my hands swiftly returned to her mound and I inserted a finger in to the salivating slit that ran down the middle, I had never experienced a feeling like it before, It was silky to touch inside and so warm and wet. My fingers explored every inch of her pussy, playing with her swollen lips before inserting one, then two fingers  into her dripping hole, with her cries of faster, harder in between sucking the life out of my tongue. My little fella was bursting to get out of my cord pegs, and when her hand moved down onto my throbbing member I thought I was going to explode right there and then in my undies. About twenty seconds later after she had freed the beast from it's lair, the beast volcano'd a load of hot molten sausage fat all over her hand. I zipped up rapidly and gave her a peck on the cheek then thanked her before getting off on my toes, never to see the girl again.

I got to Lane Ends after passing the smouldering remains of the Library. And with the sound of a siren in the background,  I pulled my hand out my pocket and sniffed up the sweet yet musky smell that was emitting from my hand and from this  moment I was hooked. I adored the smell (what was it the old fella in that Stephen King film Christine says 'there is only one thing better than the smell of the inside of a new car and that's the smell of pussy). I would later come to adore the taste and last of all,  i would  succumb all  power to the  glorious pussy as all different  shaped labia  griped my shaft like a limpet to a rock, on my crusade that took me all over the globe satisfying  my minge addiction.




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