Beach Bums

My Dear Princess and Dear Friends,

Loulou texted Caro today to invite us for another trip to Pekapeka beach* for dips and drinks and larfs. 

The larfs started in the car. Within minutes. We got talking about pooing.

I know. Me. Talking about pooing. That never happens.

Caro cannot poo at work. Some of you may be aware of this. It's the whole trauma of pooing in a cubicle then someone else walks in and SEES you. 

And SMMMMELLS you.

And then they will tell everyone they work with and everyone you know that YOU DO POOS. You are a POOER.

I told Loulou that I am the exact opposite. I have no issue with pooing. "If I have been to your house, I have definitely pooed somewhere in it," I explained.

"Well. Hopefully in the toilet," she responded.

"But I don't understand how you can hold it in," she asked Caro. "I mean. Doesn't it back up?"

This gave me the opening I was waiting for. If you'll pardon the expression. To relate a tale that the Princess told me the other night about faecal vomiting. Which is a thing. That can happen. 

I'm sorry if you are eating breakfast. 

The Princess told me that her friend Lovely Tea Jenny (a nurse) has encountered patients who were SO backed up that it came out up top. 

Fortunately, I know my audience and they were equal parts disgusted and delighted.

We also got onto the subject of what we would be drinking on the beach. I had brought along some sour beers, which I love. Tiger was a bit wary of them. "Some sours can be nice, but some are just SOUR," he ventured.

"The sort of beer that makes your bumhole wink," I said. (This was a phrase I picked up from Dani and the Cop). Everyone liked that phrase. Mainly because it got the subject back to bumholes. 

And then we were at the beach! Thank goodness!

The beach chat was much more upbeat. Sex clubs. 

I forget how it came up. I think Loulou knows a couple of gay swingers and apparently this caused her to be curious about the swinging scene in Kapiti (pre-Tiger). She did a bit of research and considered "dipping her toe" as she put it. 

"Not literally," she added quickly. "I'm not putting these toes anywhere," she added, darkly.

"That would make your bumhole wink," squirmed Tiger.

Loulou went on to say that she quickly changed her mind about the Kapiti swinger community once she saw some of their literature. Which included pictures. Of people who you wouldn't even want to even sit near on the bus, never mind having their privates in your face. 

"And it was all so crap and low-rent," said Linda. "It was all like, 'We meet every second Tuesday at the back room in the working men's club' or 'we get to use the upstairs at the bowling club, but we alternate with the local scout troop'."

"You can just imagine some bloke coming around to check if you've paid your subs," added Tiger. "Right, come out of there right now," he said. "You owe us fifteen dollars for this month."

It reminded me of the tales Reg told about the swinger community in Edinburgh.

"Can you imagine being the cleaner in one of those places?" said Caro, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

Loulou added that apparently swingers just put their dildos in the dishwasher afterward. I suppose that is fairly sanitary of them. 

"You wouldn't want to leave anything in there for the scout troop to find afterwards though," mused Tiger.

And then it was time to go home. On that trip we discussed putting your privates into cold seawater. Loulou was astonished by Tiger's fortitude when the water reached his privates.

"Well that was as soon as I stepped into the water," he boasted. "Basically as soon as I unfurled it."

That is as much of this evening's chat as I remember. I suppose that is probably as well. However, I feel I really should start recording these chats. What a podcast that would make.

S. 

* She referred to it as "Pekadise Beach" which made me laugh.