I have had an enthusiastic response to my offer to pen the Irish version of Fifty Shades of Gray. (See Forty Shades of Green). I am simply waiting for both the Catholic church and the Democratic Unionist Party to come out against the idea, and then, with large sales assured in Easons, I shall venture into print.
Followers of the Crone ( I shall respect their anonymity) are flocking to share their own stories of love on a small island. I am not talking kitchen coitus.
How he longed for just one more glimpse of those glorious peaks. Would the mist ever rise over the Mournes?
He groped the crotch of her control top panty girdle. Absolutely sopping wet. It would need another hour on the radiator.
One touch and she lit up. He pulled down the brim of his duncher and lit his own damp dog end, sheltering it inside the lapel of his well worn tweed.
She came in a rush. She never missed the sale at Bishops of Coleraine.