Oh Boy!!

Lady Pants Confession #7

Probably had one too many wines at the staff party last night- apparently when I came home I was meow-ing at my flatmate whilst eating 2 minute noodles.


Nice one.

Update 3 - !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hi Lady,

I'm thankfully not marking the exams - they don't pay us post-grads enough to make us mark them on top of all else. So, I actually have time on my hands now. And I'd love to catch up for a coffee or drink. I was really pleased you were in my class, you're the kind of student every tutor wishes they had. You always had something insightful to say, so I thank you for that, you helped make teaching all that much easier. 

So, perhaps next week sometime? Anytime is good for me except for Wednesday and Saturday nights. I'm in [some suburb], but happy to meet anywhere.

I hope you have a great weekend,

Hot

********

So. what the FUCK am I going to wear????????????

Update 2 - I grew balls

Dudes. I did it. Email sent to the Hot Tutor. Well, I made my flatmate press the send button and then I hid under the dining table for a while.

ARRRRRGH!!

So, here is the email I sent (thanks to Captain and Stephen for holding my hand through the composition process):

********

Hey Hot,

Hope the exam marking is treating you well! Thanks for a  great semester – it’s been about 9 years since I did any study with the English department, and I kind of wish I never left. I was pleasantly surprised at how engaged I could be at such an ungodly hour on a Friday morning with minimal caffeine intake. Speaking of coffee and other beverages, when you have more time on your hands would you like to catch up for one?

Lady

********

Look, the worst he can say is no. And that will be a bit embarrassing. But (a) I'm clever, (b) I'm good company (if a bit strange), and (c) I think I'm pretty hot, quite frankly. So yeh. Can you all remind me of that tomorrow??

Pray for me...

Pants xxx

Update 1 : Hot tutor

Now I've submitted my exam for the subject I had with hot tutor, I'm considering sending off a wee little email either (a) cutely thanking him for a wonderful semester, or (b) blatantly saying I want to jump his bones. I'm - brace yourselves, it's true - a bit nervous though? If you can be arsed have a little read through the following email exchange, starting from the bottom, and let me know what you think of the tone going on there. And also, suggestions for email content will be greatly appreciated. Christ, since when am I bashful?


C'mon, guys, I need you to help me out here!!

*******

Re: Exam Question‏

From:	Hot Tutor (Hot.tutor@gmail.com)
Sent:	Friday, 11 June 2010 4:22:53 PM
To:	Lady Pants (Lady.Pants@hotmail.com)

Hi Lady,

yes, David replied with, "just write on either passage, not both."

All the best for the exam, I'm sure you'll nail it,

Hot

On Fri, Jun 11, 2010 at 1:12 PM, Lady Pants ‪

‬ wrote:

Hi Hot,

Thanks for that - I'm presuming the same thing, but just didn't want to risk it seeing as it is an exam after all.

Cheers,

Lady

Date: Fri, 11 Jun 2010 12:34:18 +1000

Subject: Re: Exam Question

From: Hot.Tutor@gmail.com

To: Lady.Pants@hotmail.com

Hi Lady,

I see. David hasn't put "Write on one" above the Ginsberg passages. My guess is that you write only one like the others, but I have just emailed Dave to be sure before I give you a definite answer.

I'm about to be out of touch for about 3 hours, so if I don't hear back from Dave in the next 10 mins, I'll be back on here at around 4 or 5pm, and I'll give you an answer then. If it is one, Dave will probably adjust that question online so nobody else has the same question, which is a legitimate one.

I'll be back in touch soon,

Hot

On Fri, Jun 11, 2010 at 11:57 AM, Lady Pants ‪<Lady.Pants@hotmail.com>‬ wrote:

Hey Hot,

In Section A of the exam, do we have to consider both Ginsberg excerpts? For Poe and Whitman we are only required to write on one...

Thanks,

Lady

Peter (G'day!) Russell (G'day!) Clarke!

Australian TV chef from the 80's, back before it was fucken pancetta this and goddam sumac that.

Careful: It has swears.

What Pants did today

I sat on the pontoon at Pier 2/3, eating a mandarin in the sun, and life felt pretty good. The ferry came, and I sat at the bow. I took some photos of the exhibits, but I'm not posting them, because you should get off yo' ass and go see for yourself. Yep, even if you aren't in Oz. Get on a plane. Seriously, its worth it.

Here's the history lesson: Cockatoo Island is the biggest island in Sydney Harbour. It used to be a jail... bitch of a thing to escape from. A lot of the buildings were built by convicts, and there are some great examples of Sydney sandstone structures. From the 1900s until 1992, Cockatoo Island was an industrial dockyard, and during WWII it was used as a site to repair ships. Now days Sydney Harbour Federation Trust assumes control of the island and has embarked on major restoration. Forget all this, its a fucking cool place to visit. Beautiful and creepy... 

No! Don't fly away! You're thematically relevant!!

My eyes! The googles do nothing! (I like this picture. A lot)

Me taking a picture of him taking a picture of me taking a picture of him taking a picture of me taking a picture of him taking a picture of me....An old dude with style, even if he is a bit suss (Then again, I WAS wearing bright orange eyeshadow with cleopatra eyeliner, ice-pink lipstick, skin tight black shiny pants, a stripy blue and white t-shirt, a white frilled long sleeve shirt and my fuck off Vivienne Westwood black marbled winged platforms (linky), so I looked quite a sight). 


....And then my phone/camera ran out of batteries, the cunt.

a collage of fuck - part 2

By your parents' pool, after we drank your reserve tequila and a bottle of red wine (only later did we find out it was french and very expensive), oh and fucked once or twice in your perfectly neat bedroom with lots of pillows and designer sheets. I was standing naked in the moonlight, leaning on the railing looking out into the black water and boats beyond your monolith of a house. You walked over, naked too, handed me a cigarette and hugged me... summer was long gone and it was a little cold besides. And as can be expected when you are pressed up against the ass of a girl half bent over, you were soon hard and inside me. I drank my wine and kept on smoking and we laughed at the porn-ishness of the whole scene as the boats chinked at their moorings.


*******


I'm covered in bruises and raw from our time together. It's the late in the afternoon before I leave and neither of us are sure if you'll ever see me again (although, of course you do). A few minutes ago we were considering what we would have for tea, but now my face and tits are being pushed into the mattress with my pussy exposed high in the air and you're fucking me in your vicious inimitable style. Leaning forward, you grab a hank of my hair and force a kink in my back which makes me gasp. You don't miss a beat in your violent thrusting as I feel you face next to mine,  wet with a tear or two and you shakily whisper your question: "are you my girl now?"


********


You've watched me get undressed for my bath, and I am drunk and laughing as I turn on the faucets. Things get serious...you grab me again and push me up against the towel rack on the wall. I know you've taken your pants off, but I can't look at you because I've known you so long. Pushing up on the metal bar I wrap my legs around you and slide your cock into me in some graceless (yet none the less impressive) simultaneous movement. 


We get in the bath, and you complain the water's too cold, but I don't care and tomorrow my cousin will tell me all she could hear was my screeching laughter as she tried to sleep in the room next door.


*******


I'm torn, babe, its  been too much, and even you are utterly fucked, no pun intended. But every time you touch me I am wet again, which sets you off, and next thing we're wincing as you fuck me again and surely this has got be to some kind of record?? Anyway, this time its different. Oh, you've touched me in that way that you do and my pussy has melted for you again, sure. But this time, you wrench my legs open as I lay on my side, and trap them like that with your knee. And as you kiss my neck and squeeze my nipples cruelly, and with your other hands you play with my pussy in a manner I'd normally consider too rough. It's even worse because I'm so sore. I reach around for your dick but you brush my hand away and growl in my ear. As I feel my legs weaken with the start of an orgasm I'm surprised because you aren't touching me the way I like to be touched at all.. rubbing my clit too hard, and doing that thing they always do in porn, the slapping of the pussy thing I always see and think "WHO actually LIKES that?".


Dropping me off at my house in the midday winter sun, I give you a kiss, and one to your dog Honey. There's this awkwardness, like you want me to ask what all the other girls ask you, but I'm too proud, so I smirk and step out of the car into the midday winter sun. I walk down the drive, and I'm nearly at the front door now, and you haven't driven off, you are still looking at me, and I know you are wondering if you should have asked instead. I turn around and smirk at you one more time, and you hurriedly drive off.


I see you in town still, and out every now and again. You are starting to look old. The day before yesterday, I saw you on the headland, I pretended I didn't see you and you pretended not to see me, but as I walked past I felt your eyes burning just as before. 

Holy Crapping Crap! Rose Burne, Bum sex and Ba-ginas

Some small genius alerted me to the existence of the vids below, which feature Rose Burne in character as pop star Jackie Q in a new film with the oddly attractive man whore of the century, Russell Brand (Fuck me, Russell Brand!!). Not thinking about stringed instruments the same way again, btw.

I'm somewhere between shocked and highly, highly amused. Some people are suggesting it goes too far, but I don't think so... but hey, don't listen to me, I'm just a filthy slut who likes parody?

Oh and FYI not fucking safe for work at all, unless you and the boss habitually talk about taking it in the clacker and vaginal tightness.

a collage of fuck - part 1

I was still trying to process what you said, laughing, lying half on the mattress on the floor and half on the carpet. And you kissed me. I whispered to you that I was happy. We kissed and kissed, I remember you running your tongue over my teeth, you laughing, tapping them with you fingers, saying how perfect they were. Exploring the spot where the inside of my bottom lip mets my gum, and for some reason this was achingly erotic. I was scared and paralysed by desire, so I didn't touch you. But I felt you hard against my thigh, and neither of us acknowledged it.

When you ran your hand over my ass and noticed I wasn't wearing knickers beneath my tight pants, I was ashamed. But then you rested your fingertip in my wetness and I felt myself melt for you, terrified of you touching me at last and at the same time ready to faint from the anticipatory breathlessness of it all. I brought your fingers to my lips to taste myself, but all I could taste was your skin and then I knew I really was in love and even now my eyes well up as I type this tiny sweet memory of you.

********

We'd lie in bed for hours, fighting over who'd cuddle who's back. I'd won this time, and we were looking out the window at tree tops twilight as you lazily stroked my tits and got progressively harder. And then you were inside me, one hand on my hipbone, the other around my throat, as it always was between us towards the end and I cried out with the little breath I had left.


********

In the morning, naked together, under the glaring light of what we had done. You had you fingers inside of me as I played with my clit and tried to not let your flatmates know how close I was to coming. You could hear me breathe, though, and you pushed my other hand down to your cock. But I felt weird about it, so after a brief moment I moved it away. And then I was coming coming coming, wet all over your hands and mine, and I was only momentarily aware of you burying your soft moan in my shoulder as you added your own wetness to my thigh, though I'd barely touched you at all.

********

You place your hand on my back, on my heart chakra and looked at me with your haunted doe eyes and told me I was sad. I said I wasn't but it was a lie. You see, I was in love with your best friend, though you didn't know it, in fact, didn't even know I knew him. I fucked you because of your connection to him. Later, when he and I had lived out our fate, I'll remember with a wry smile that you were infinitely better in bed than he was.

We lay there clinging in mutual sadness (you hated her, you loved her) and midway though what must have been our 16th fuck that night/morning, we stopped, me on top of you as you sat, my legs around your waist. We stopped, and you rested you head against my breast and I rocked you gently in your misery and felt sad for you.

********

After a dinner at the Japanese/french fusion place, where the owner in horn rimmed specs flirted outrageously with you (I think his name was dave), we came home to the apartment and watched a little of the news. I sat close to you in my cream silk dress, and soon I was tired and lay my head in your lap and in a little while I felt you warm and throbbing next to my cheek as you put your fingers in my mouth to suck. And later as I ground my pussy down on you, your fingers dug into the flesh of my ass. And you were coming, my poor baby boy, coming like it hurt you, then you titled your head back, your face in your hands,  broken, baby and exhausted :"oh shit.... oh shit.... oh shit...."

Lady Pants Confession #6

I caved...

I shaved!!

And now: A really crap poem...

I now have a smooth baldy minge,
But I liked it better with a fringe...
Whilst this might sound quite absurd
my cunt looks like a vile baby bird.
Or, if into my subconscious I further delve,
the fanny belonging to one of twelve.

I put my hands down there, there's nothing to hold
my pussy is goddamn freezing cold!
But it'll grow back, it'll be ok
Perhaps I could get a crotch toupee?
Oh! I miss the lovely fur coat  upon my squack
Pubes proud and lustrous, long enough to plait.

I'm Big in Jap-pants

Today I'm going to tell you a story about Tokyo, toilets and disappointing lollies. I should be writing a my exam paper - and I do have a cracking first paragraph written for my close reading of Ginsberg's A Supermarket in California - but I'm tired from last nights dramas, being woken up by booty calls (oh yes, oh Jesus is well and truly in da house... but not yet in ma pants) and having my brand new stalker/possible axe murder** ring me at 8 in the morning.


Where was I? Ah, Japan. My mum's youngest brother, P.,  ex bong-puller extraordinaire fell in love with a wonderful kick arse Japanese woman, E. They met in Surfers' Paradise, where he was living at the time, and where she was studying. Anyway, after a year or two living together, her visa ran out and she had to move home. My uncle was devastated. He decided to follow her to Japan, first obtaining a certificate in teaching english to non-english speakers. Es father did not approve of her choice in a 6 ft 3', hairy, balding, coarse white Australian - she is from an incredibly wealthy family - and so my uncle slept in what might best be described as a closet masquerading as a studio apartment, teaching English by day and sweating out pure THC (he'd given up) and developing nasty heat rashes by night. He'd amuse himself, occasionally by teaching his student how to say "lorry" and "lolly". Hours of fun, apparently.


P and E fell more and more in love, despite their separate lives. P proposed to E down on the river bank in Tokyo, and to all our astonishment, she accepted (E is a bit of a favourite in our family). E's last name was to become Elliot, and the adoption of a surname with double l's for a Japanese person, even one who speaks English as brilliantly as E, is quite a big thing.


Invites were distributed, and my mother and I found ourself on a plane to Narita Airport, and subsequently navigating the Tokyo rail system in order to find our hotel. Four and a fucking half hours later (I found the right train line despite everything being in Japanese, but I put us on the all-stops tour of Tokyo suburbia), we arrived in a terribly expensive shoebox. To find we couldn't check in for another 2 cuntly hours. Mum and I were totally shagged and in desperate need for a shower, but we left our bags at the hotel and wondered through the Ginza district, looking like tall dishevelled bums amongst flocks of pristine designer dolls, and found ourselves a sandwich shop so we could have something to eat, a coffee and a motherfucking cigarette.


Problem 1. Japanese love cheese. It's something quite special there, cause it's usually quite expensive. But the cheese they put on sandwiches is.... not cheese. You know how the yanks have weird orange cheese? Well in Japan, the shit is literally plutonic. Also, don't get me wrong. I loves me some Japanese Mayonnaise. But Jesus christ, I'd like a little bread with my mayo soup, thanks!


Problem 2. I was a smoker at that point. Loved a darb. Mad for a ciggie. But even for me 30+ people smoking inside in a confined area whilst I try to eat mayo, fluro cheese, something they may be reconstituted lettuce and bread is a little hectic. 


Problem 3. Toilets in Japan ARE WEIRD. Hey, I quite like a bidet. Quite fond of a bum squirter hose too. I like a squeaky clean undercarriage as much as the next person. Heated seats? Water noise? What-the-fuck-does-that-do button? WEIRD WEIRD WEIRD. I'd be in the toilet for like, half an hour playing with it all. I even tried to make a song with the sound effects buttons.


Related to point 3 above, I had a little accident on my visit to P and E's nuptial home, located in a 52 storey complex. After some tea and a small tour of a slightly larger and even more expensive shoebox, I suddenly became aware of nature calling. Excusing myself I shuffled sideways down the hall to make use of the facilities. Everything went quite well - it was only a weewee after all - I gave my fanny a little squirt and a wipe, and then I started to search through the wall of buttons to select the 'flush' function. Golly, there were a lot of buttons. "Hmmm. Flush button. Can't seem to... is that it? No, that's the arse blow dry. What about? hmmm..." Figuring the worst that could happen would be a musical interlude or warmed butt cheeks, I just started pushing anything. A few moments into this exercise the phone in the apartment starts ringing. I hear my uncle pick it up (he doesn't speak Japanese, the lazy prick): "Hello? Yes hello. Hello? Yes...no! No! What? No! No! No emergency. No send help. No wrong button. Wrong button. Everything OK! No help. Thank you. Thank you". It appeared I had summoned emergency services. From what I could tell I just pushed something that promised me a fragrant asshole. anyway. Quite embarrassing. (As an aside, I have also done something similar on the plane, summoning the steward who nearly broke down the door).


Tokyo is filled with the most amazingly polite people, fantastic restaurants, and mind boggling stores (my favourite was a four-storey stationery store, I was nearly humping the banister in desire...  or perhaps  the multilevel Hello Kitty store that I got stuck in for 3 hours because I couldn't decide what NOT to buy). It's a massive massive city of which I only saw a fraction, but there are some amazing parks and temples. The whole place is this old/new stew of humanity. 


Their lollies, however, are FUCKED. I'd choose something that would look like a custard lolly pop with caramel glaze, and it would turn out to be semi-gelatious dough with a sweet soy dressing. On a stick... Or the biscuits I got at the wedding? A beautiful cream tin box, emblazoned with Parisian images, and the most delicately constructed and dainty sweet biscuits...that tasted like cheese. Like a sugary Ched. Rooted. Why would you make something so bad-tasting look so good? 


Thank god for Poccy sticks, at least. They are GOLD.


** Yesterday whilst walking around the shops, some guy, who had been walking behind me for a while, came up and started asking for directions. He was a bit odd... he kept forcing eye contact...speaking a bit fast and salivating and a bit shaky...but I thought he might have been a bit touched, you know? anyway, I couldn't help him with the location of the street he wanted, and after some stilted attempt to talk about the natural beauty of the area, he asked if i could help him out by messaging his boss cause he was late to work. Now, I'd already picked up on him being a bit...odd. And maybe a little enthusiastic about making my acquaintance. So I have no idea why I did what I did next - I guess, I hadn't had a coffee or anything to eat, so I was a bit out of it. I sent a message to the number he directed me to. From my phone. With my number. 


And then his phone made a 'message received' noise. And he make this weird lustful face. 


I ran into the shops and hid and tried to compose myself. The fucking cunt has my phone number. 


About ten minutes later about 3 cop cars came screaming through the village - this is a fairly small and quiet beach town, mind you. And my anxiety peaked even higher, visions of him being an escapee or something.


Got a phone call from his "boss"s number this morning, so I guess he wasn't the one the coppers were after. I've changed my voicemail so it doesn't say my name. If he calls again, I might have to talk to the police or something. His face, it was just so weird and creepy. shudder.

On the edge...again

 I'm sitting here at my mum's house, trying to read secondary material for this take home exam I'm doing over the long weekend (I'm writing on Poe and Ginsberg). My Dad's away on business again, and I have to  be here to make sure my brother doesn't hold my mother hostage for 7 hours, or hit her over the head with a plate, or any of the other stuff he's done before.

And the cops are in the lounge room, talking to my brother, and he's telling them I just don't understand his tone of voice when he is abusing me, because I'm a conservative thinker, and I'm just not meeting his standards for thinking.

And I'm wondering: How much more of this crazy can I take? How long until he kills one of us? Where did my brother go?

I hate myself because sometimes I wish he would just kill himself.

...and don't let the door hit your ass on the way out xx

Undoubtedly, I do so hope

To meet my prince upon his horse

But before I do, I’d like some snacks

Before I sit down to my main course

Love is grand, love is true

Hell, love is a bundle of laughs

But whilst I’m waiting for that to come round

I just want a piece of your ass

Sometimes I have a bit of a temper

Sometimes I’m even a bit mean

But I know you can ignore all that

Because you love to hear me scream

Mm-hmm yeh I’m glad you came over

But baby, c’mon let’s be frank

When you walk out in the morning

Don’t expect that you’ll be thanked

Pant-tastic

Hello... well I have been away for ONE WEEK. Which seems an awful long time for a lass who posts compulsively as me. I had my teaching portfolio due last week, which was pure unbridled HELL. I pulled my first bona fide all-nighter in a long time. I had my last tutorial with the hot tutor, and he gave me a copy of Bob Dylan's "Highway 61 Revisited" (we're studying it), but it was blank, and if that ain't symbolic, I dunno what is. I got over 90% on my psychological/cognitive assessment exam YEAH BITCHEZ!! Ahem, I mean, that was quite exciting and rewarding.

Oh and I turned 28 on sunday and was duly rewarded with the most brutal hangover I have had in a very very very long time. I had to abort my mission to put on a DVD because it was too mentally taxing trying to get the machine to work, and trying to read the DVD cases was making me dizzy. Vile.

This putridity was caused by much celebrating the night before with my best friend. We both got dressed to the nines in black frocks (mine was a wrap-style floor length number split to hello) and major shoes, and went to tea in Surry Hills. Then we enjoyed and destroyed several bottles of wine at The Winery, where I found a fond friend in the form of the partly shaven haired lass behind the bar, and some young man who I demanded a pash from come 12 o'clock and my official birthday.

Apres that fine establishment I do believe I went  to some other bar in Surry Hills, where I drank tequila got a 'titty motorboat' from two enthusiastic ladies, and got felt up by the young pashing boy (outside of knickers only, 'cause I'm classy, people), who had followed us there. I don't have a lot of memory after this, but I believe the rest of the evening entailed a visit to several establishments on Oxford Street, Kings Cross and a strip joint (I'm fairly sure of this because I woke up with a female strippers' business card in my wallet) and a cab ride home with disappointing McDonald's and a wee vomit outside of my house. Believe it or not, quite the best fun I've had in a long time.

Anyway so most of my birthday was spent in bed, crawling on my lounge room floor or moaning whilst wrapped in a blanket. I did receive a few text messages from gentlemen callers past, including D-RO - who suggested the reinstatement of our friendship and got deafening silence as a result; and Oh Jesus, who didn't have much to say at all, but wants to see me during the week.

For those of you who know who we are talking about here, you may very well wonder why I would even consider such a thing. Well you know what? He's got a ridiculously hot rig. Well what I consider to be one anyway. Case in point below:

I know he's a dead shit and a dud root. But I've got holidays coming up and I need some amusement, and frankly I have to put my new teaching skills to good use. I could totally do an Interactive White Board preso on the joys of Rhythmic Movement and the Clitoris. I will be emailing the hot tutor after exams, but just in case that doesn't work out....

Anyway, nothing to worry about really. He'll probably get all paranoid and not end up calling me until a month or two down the track, probably around 2 am on a Saturday. When I'll tell him to make like a drum and beat it.

xx Pants