Ugly South Coast Flashers
Have occasion to motor doine to the South Coast to attend to matters financial and try to work in a spot orf R&R whilst at it. Brighton, Seaford, Cuckmere Haven, Birling Gap, Eastbourne, Fairlight Cove doine to Hastings. Me old stamping groinde, in the ‘30s a place orf stunning scenery and fine open roads. A time orf the Body Beautiful, Health and Efficiency and many fine fillies en masse in tight shorts exercising oit doors for Blighty. Fairlight Cove a Naturists paradise, many fine fillies indeed. Oh yes.
Alas the sirens orf War heralded in darker times, innocence lost, concrete coastal defences, new roads and a new breed orf perverts among the forces orf the world assembling for a crack at Hitler. Came the peace Coastal Sussex continued to attract the nonces and perverts in droves but the old sensibilities, the tacit agreements to keep ones predilections within doors, were lost forever. Thus to modern times, accursed times, where a pervert seemingly lurks behind every bush or ornamental bench tossing orf.
Only the other week Yours Truly was resting his weary old arse on a bench overlooking The Channel one fine red streaked evening watching the distant propellers (alas no brave roar orf Merlin engines) orf the windfarm chopping up the flights orf unwary migrating birds. Just wish me old Purdeys (finest English shot gun ever made) had the range that far. A kind orf Idyll – then I’ll be buggered but this ugly little toad orf a filly lurches oit orf the lavender twilight, whips up her hoodie, pulls doine her joggers and treats YT to an eyefull orf sagging tit, Dawn French gut and decrepit minge. Giggles then lurches up the path, turns, bends over and presents Yours Truly with the promise orf some vast pimply pink cheeked heaven. Your Reporter made his excuses and left. Thank Christ for me hip flask.
Another for instance (one orf many). T’was doine Cuckmere with me great nieces, sweet little fillies that I have under me tutorledge when bugger me some ancient old pervert stands at the side orf the path, pulls a Les Dawson face and whips oit his fossilised old piss tube and starts spraying a copious spot orf Golden Rain at ‘em. What would you do in the circumstances? No mobile signal, miles from anywhere, no prospect orf Old Bill? Precisely. Swift heft to the manky cunt’s balls with me old boot got him sorted oit. Pissed up me leg though the bastard.
As to Fairlight Cove was doine there early to observe the wildlife, had a few nips orf me single malt to get me started and dozed orf lulled by the hum orf the honey bees and the sea air. Woke hours later with the sun high to find meself no longer alone but surrounded by towels laid doine at discreet intervals each occupied by a naked fat old cunt wearing a bobble hat and plarstic flip flops with a finger up his arse. Every so orften one cunt or other would pop up and start parading his rancid old bits aroinde. Came the inevitable and Yours Truly was visited. A bag orf old flabby skin and flaking testicles loomed over YT.
“You new around here? No need to be shy. Lovely warm day so just drop your trousers to begin with. We all had to start somewhere. I’ll show you the ropes.”
“Fuck Orf!”
Happily he did; and not over me.
Nominated by Sir Limply Stoke
