Little Frigging In The Wold

On Having a Man's Pointer

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Fri, 24 Feb 2012 11:59:00 +0000

At times of tribulation and trepidation, many of the ladies of Little Frigging have found relief from their difficulties by receiving a pointer from Grand Uncle Stagnant. It takes a gentleman of his outstanding achievement to help a lady overcome her vicissitudes and to enable her to have both a spring in her step and to feel herself on top of things again.

A gentleman of experience – and some of Grand Uncle Stagnant’s experiences would even embarrass a member of parliament – is always a great aid and comfort to any lady who finds herself unable to achieve any satisfaction in her life, especially when her gentleman acquaintances prove unable to come up to the mark and thus leave her unfulfilled and bereft.

Of course, at such times as these many ladies prefer to turn for a helping hand, or some mouthings of comfort, from their lady friends. I – for one – am not one to pooh-pooh such informal arrangements, especially if they are tempted to record their entanglements for posterity and for those of us who take a connoisseur’s interest in such close encounters of the female kind.

However, Grand Uncle Stagnant is always more than willing to put himself in the hands of any lady who feels that her current shortcoming can only be resolved by having a man’s pointer assist her towards rectifying the lack of satiation in her life.

Complacency in the Perverse Arts and Sciences

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 23 Feb 2012 12:06:00 +0000

Of course, there is always the danger that a certain amount of complacency will ease its way into your practice of the perverse arts and sciences at some point. Maybe one day you will find you llama somewhat less beguiling than normal, perhaps there will come a time when the thought of the dexterous manual manipulations of a brace of dairymaids leaves you somewhat less than your normal upstanding self. Perhaps even the thought of a plumber wielding his tool around your outlets does not get you all hot and bothered and close to dropping a stitch in your knitting.

Well, whatever you state of ennui you can rest assured that such feelings will pass. Often, it is just a matter of pulling yourself together or something equally uplifting or reinvigorating perhaps something as exciting as creosoting your garden shed or rearranging your tinned goods cupboard in alphabetical order can get those primal urges flowing once again.

If all that fails, it goes without saying that everyone at your local village hall orgy night will, once they see the state of your predicament, all rush with alacrity to give you a helping hand to perk you back up again.

Little Frigging Adult Education and Edification Classes

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Tue, 21 Feb 2012 12:00:00 +0000

Despite having the world’s leading university (formerly the farm cowshed) for the study of the perverse arts and sciences, we here at Little Frigging have not forgotten our duty to inform and instruct those who wish to learn more about the aforesaid arts and sciences without the formality of taking a recognised system of study leading to qualification.

Therefore, we in the village with interests or expertise in all the various perverse arts and sciences offer a range of evening classes in everything from the best way to grout a wallaby right up to and including Olympic-level perverse arts such as fully-consensual nude hang gliding (with a goat) courses.

One of the most popular courses we offer is Grand Uncle Stagnant’s Guide to the Best way of Fondling a Brace of Dairymaids. This course is – of course – fully hands-on and offers a practical guide to getting to grips with a brace of well-oiled dairymaids without having to put down either your pint or your pasty, or even miss the vital last few minutes of whatever sporting fixture is currently on TV. Obviously, therefore, this is a course for well-advanced perverteers only. Most of the gentlemen taking the course are quite-noticeably well-advanced in the trouser region before the course begins, especially when they see the training dairymaids arrive in the class and begin setting up the equipment on the benches.

For a full list of all courses, please see the list displayed on the notice-board in the Little Frigging Village Hall pre-village hall orgy vestibule.

Nature Walks with Grand Uncle Stagnant

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 15:30:00 +0000

For those new to the arts and sciences of rural perversions, I would suggest a good introduction to the field; as well as the woods, the duck pond, the village pub (The Pervert’s Appendage) and the lawyer swamp would be to take one of Grand Uncle Stagnant’s Little Frigging Nature Walks.

These nature walks are offered to interested tourists (as well as people who are just nosey buggers) for a reasonable price (depending on what Grand Uncle Stagnant thinks he can get away with) during the summer months.

On these nature walks, Grand Uncle Stagnant will point out all the points of perverse interest found in the English rural environment. For example, tourists will get the chance to see the dexterous manipulations of a brace of dairymaids who are wiling to offer willing parties a change at some hands on experience, the erotic use of the post office queue, right through to offering a taste of the cake shop manageress’s baps.

Of course, grand Uncle Stagnant also offers those who sign up for his walks a chance to see the herds of domesticated hairstylists as they sweep majestically across the open meadows in search of fresh holiday brochures and practice their mating dances around their handbags under the shelter of the riverside trees. Also for those of a more robust constitution, there will be - at their own risk – a chance to visit the lawyer sties and – possibly see some litigation in action.

For those willing to run the risk of imbibing some locally-made cider there is also the change to see the now rare fully-bearded folk singers in their natural habitat as they wrestle with wild accordions, feral banjos and untamed guitars and indulge in their fearsome mating cries.

Then, to round off the tour, there will be a visit to the Stranger’s Gallery in the Little Frigging village hall, where the tourists can watch a village orgy in all its glory. Also – for an additional fee – partake of the half-time tea and cream cakes and mingle with the orgy-goers themselves, perhaps picking up a few tips and pointers to take home with them after a long, informative, and – hopefully – deeply arousing day.

The Little Frigging Ladies Sex Aid and Knitting Club

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Fri, 17 Feb 2012 12:07:00 +0000

The ladies of Little Frigging are always keen to give each other a helping hand with their new devices whenever the situation warrants it. Not only that, each lady in the village can count on receiving full oral comfort from her fellow ladies in the village whenever she needs it too.

Only last winter for example, the village Ladies Sex Aid and Knitting Club found themselves stranded together at the post office – where they were holding their twice-weekly gathering – by a freak snowstorm that blocked all the entrances and exits to the Post office up to several metric inches deep.

Seeing that they were cut off from rescue by their menfolk, who had all bravely gathered in the snug of The Pervert’s Appendage to ensure that the pub’s extensive stock of fine ales and connoisseur ciders was safe from frost damage, the women immediately snuggled down together to give each other the warmth and comfort of each other’s bodies.

Several days later when the men managed to sober up enough to manage the tricky business of staying upright long enough to manoeuvre themselves out of the snug of The Pervert’s Appendage they discovered – to their consternation – that all the snow had melted.

Rushing around to the Post Office – immediately after closing time – they were all eager to make sure that the village womenfolk had survived the ordeal, and to offer their assistance should any women have become accidentally undressed during their confinement in the Post Office.

Luckily, we found the women had managed very well on their own, although a few of them said they had suffered from stiff jaws and a couple had very sore wrists for the next few days. All of them though were smiling broadly and made promises to meet up again as soon as possible for a coffee morning, where they could again compare noted on the relative merits of their various sex aids and knitting patterns.

The Little Frigging Village Show

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 16 Feb 2012 15:29:00 +0000

Of course, like most rural villages in England the denizens of Little Frigging are not adverse to showing off the size of their plums and melons, the length of their marrows and any other such demonstrations of size and prowess at the annual village show.

However, during the winter months it is the size of a man’s sprouts that tend to occupy the thoughts of the ladies of the village, especially if exposed to a sharp frost. Many of the village ladies would say that a man’s sprouts nipped by the frost have a nicer flavour than those not so exposed.

Therefore, it is often the case that during these colder months the gentlemen of the village spend the frosty nights out in their fields, allotments, gardens or even their smallholdings exposing their sprouts to the elements in order to satisfy the cravings of the village ladies.

Come farmer’s market day, then, the ladies of the village are always very eager to peruse the displays put on by the proud sprout producers to check the quality of goods put out on display for their edification. Many of the more experienced women in the village (and most are very experienced indeed) claiming they can tell the quality of a man’s sprouts by mere touch and the way they respond to a robust fingering.

Once back home the ladies delight in dipping the fresh sprouts in warm butter before getting down to giving them a nibble before moving on to the rest of the main course laid out on the table ready for them to fully indulge themselves to the point of satiation.

The Joy of Socks

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Wed, 15 Feb 2012 08:55:00 +0000

But soft, so we’ll have to wait awhile for things to firm up a little. While we are waiting, maybe we could peruse together this rather delightful tome I happen to have about my boudoir. It is entitled The Joy of Socks and is a useful and interesting appendage for all sorts of kinky and even perverse bedroom activities that make any use whatsoever of hosiery and such related garmentry.

Of course, as a perverteer of good standing any frequent peruser of my organ will be well-versed in the use of fetish mittens and even the erotic possibilities of the duffle coat for outdoor perversions during the colder months… and winter too.

However, indoors during the colder months, and winter, can often be quite cool too, especially when your central heating boiler decides it needs a bit of a rest. Therefore, the use of socks can become essential, even if it is just to keep the frost from nipping at a gentleman’s accomplishment.

Not only that, the use of socks also prevents the possibility of proceedings coming to an abrupt ending due to the sudden shock of parts of the naked person coming into contact with ice-cold feet. This especially applies in such perversions as: the Kitchen Maid’s Preamble, The Cost Accountant Loss Adjustment and The Plumber’s Wrench, which all require careful and accurate placement of the feet to achieve their full effect.

Furthermore, if there are any lady admirers of my organ who possess a pair of thigh-length socks – ideally in a rainbow pattern – could they see me later for a full and frank discussion of matters arising.

CPED* UK

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 09 Feb 2012 12:00:00 +0000

‘Wait’ she said, shifting slightly so that she had her bush between where we were secreting ourselves and the distant flame-lit ceremony taking place across on the Much Fondling village green. ‘I’m sure they will bring the cauliflower out when the church clock strikes midnight.’

I crawled closer to her bush and gestured for her to pass me the binoculars. It took a second or two to refocus the binoculars, but what I saw then brought a lump to my throat… as well as to my trousers.

Out on the Much Fondling village green, the ceremonial Lord High Baster of the Roast Dinner was wielding his gravy ladle with the ease and dexterity of one well-used to such arcane practices.

The naked librarian over whom he was ladling the mystic unguents was chanting the ancient dark rites along with the rest of the villagers gathered there. Never before had I truly appreciated the full erotic force of a medley of Cliff Richard’s early hits.

I glanced across at Maureen, secreted there behind her bush and nodded. ‘Yes,’ I whispered and swallowed ‘Any time now… any time soon they will bring out the cauliflower.’

It was far more than we had expected when our undercover perversions squad got the call to attend the UK’s Central Perversion Enforcement Directorate’s Head Office. There had been rumours, of course, but the commissioner assured us that he and the weasel were just good friends. However, once he saw that we were prepared to accept his word as a perverteer of good standing, he began to outline our new mission.

Apparently, there were some other rumours doing the rounds that didn’t involve the CPED UK’s commissioner and his weasel, concerning certain perverse activities in the vicinity of the village of Much Fondling which could contravene several EU directives of the Rude and Naughty, including use of an unlicensed gravy ladle in a perverse act.

Just as Much Fondling’s Post Mistress arrived with the watermelon and the ceremonial water pistol, Maureen decided we had seen enough. She turned to the four policemen accompanying us and told them it was time to stop secreting their helmets and to come out from under Maureen’s bush to make an arrest.

Luckily, we were just in time to stop the High Baster of the Roast Dinner from pouring a ladle full of cheese sauce over the awaiting cauliflower. Once the awaiting villagers had begun to anoint each other’s naked bodies with the cauliflower cheese, it would have been too late to stop the debauchery from getting out of hand. From past experience not even the mallards on the village duck pond would be safe after something like that was allowed to run rampant and unchecked.

Fortunately, we were there to save the day. As the policemen led the handcuffed miscreants away, Maureen began collecting the evidence.

‘This cheese sauce is still warm,’ she said to me, with a glint in her eye.

I looked around; everyone was out of sight, putting the suspects into the van.

‘Perhaps we ought to check that it really is cheese sauce,’ I said, wiping a sudden sheen of sweat from my brow. ‘I… I’ll… I’ll get the cauliflower.’

‘Y…ye… yes…’ Maureen said, already unbuttoning her CPED UK uniform tunic as I rushed across the village green to grab the cauliflower.

*CPED UK - Central Perversion Enforcement Directorate UK.

First Tentative Year-End Results

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Tue, 07 Feb 2012 15:27:00 +0000

NOW as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye, In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones Appear and disappear* as they play blindfolded hopscotch across the minefields of all your darkest nightmares. On this dark winter morn, when each breath taken is like the sharp frosty intake of doom deep into the body, we stride manfully, and womanfully, across the hoar-encrusted field and on down towards the Accountancy Sheds. There to gaze in wonder upon the first year-end results of the new accounting period.

Still, young, delicate, their ink barely dry – this is a marvellous time for both Maureen and me – our breeding accountants have produced their first annual year-end tax returns. Even the delights of self-assessment pale into insignificance as we gaze in awed wonder, albeit with slightly itchy earlobes, on our young accountants cuddling and nuzzling their first real figures as they snuggle down against the chill of this winter morning, their calculators clutched tightly in their paws as they sleep and twitch and dream of double-entry.

[*WB Yeats – The Magi]

Dairy Fresh Hot Strumpets

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 15:30:00 +0000

If you wish to utilise only the finest butter for your hot buttered strumpets, then it stands to reason that you will need to visit your local dairy in order to get your hands on some farm-fresh butter before those very strumpets cool down.

As you know, if you make a habit of coming here and examining my organ in any depth, the village of Little Frigging has some of the most adept dairymaids of any quaint English rural village. To have one of those dairymaids serve you with a fresh pat of butter, straight from the churn is – indeed – to enjoy a deeply invigorating gourmet experience, second only to having you pickled onions handled by an expert in the fondling of shallots.

Furthermore, whilst at the dairy it is always useful to enquire if the dairymaids are offering any free samples. It is often very instructive to see the erotic uses a brace of dairymaids can put some farm-fresh cheddar to, and the kind of places they can secrete a cream cracker for your satisfaction.

Not only that, they will also help you to produce your very own fresh cream with a hands-on demonstration of their particular churning methods, not only that if you want it whipped, the dairymaids are more than willing to oblige.

Seasonal Fetish Gear

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 12:14:00 +0000

Anyway, now that the festering season is well over and even the sales of seasonal fetish gear are drawing to a close, with sales of holly-based bondage harnesses seemingly being far greater than anyone would have suspected, as well as erotic reindeer dressing up kits again at a seasonal high.

Snow-based perversions have – due to global warming – once more seemed very popular, especially with the added piquancy of sleigh balls and thermal jockstraps for the more well-blessed gentleman who finds it a bit too snug when he – as tradition dictates – attempts to tuck it into the tops of his wellies.

As for the ladies, fetish mittens are – of course, essential – as well as the new Splodge and sons Pulsating Penguin 2100 with built in intimate warming circuits and fur-lined handgrips and ankle-rests, as well as a laser-guided sight for pinpoint accurate pleasurable sensations.

Not only that, for the lady who enjoys having a well-rounded bearded gentleman ensconced in her smouldering orifice in the small hours of the night there are costumes available for that very purpose, including a large sack for him to empty into her stockings at the moment of crisis.

All in all then, the sales of these goods in the post-festive season all points to something more than just flying reindeer to pique the interest once next Christmas comes around, so if you hurry you may just be able to get your mittens on someone’s cheap baubles before the shops clear the stocks away for another year.

Up before Dawn

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 15:14:00 +0000

As you are aware, especially if he has prodded you in the back in the village orgy half-time buffet queue, Grand Uncle Stagnant is a fine upstanding gentleman, despite his advanced age. He, himself, puts his longevity down to always getting it up before Dawn in the mornings. Dawn herself regards this as rather a good thing too, except when he prods her awake out of a particularly intriguing dream in order for her to admire his accomplishment.

If you are a regular peruser of my organ, you will also be very aware that Grand Uncle Stagnant doesn’t believe that advanced age should be any bar to putting yourself about a bit. Therefore, most mornings, once Dawn has set off to help Rosie practice her fingerings, Grand Uncle Stagnant goes about assisting the dairymaids in order to improve their grip and wrist action ready for the next time the cows are in the milking shed.

Not only does he do all he can – and as often as he can – to keep his body in fine fettle, Grand Uncle Stagnant is a firm believer in keeping his mind active too. Therefore, during the lunch hour, he is often engaged in the traditional philosophical debates that take place every day in the snug of The Pervert’s Appendage, before taking the afternoon off for some much needed rest and resuscitation with a brace of dairymaids in the haystack, before preparing himself for that evening’s orgy in the village hall.

Vital Village Orgy Essentials

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 16:04:00 +0000

Now, obviously in any village orgy, or even any competitive inter-village orgy, from the local leagues right up to the World Inter-Village Orgy Cup, there is always one constant that is vital for the participants to enjoy the full benefits of the perverse experience.

Here I, of course, speak of the Nice Cup of Tea.

As perverteers of long-standing, I am sure that the perusers of my organ need no further reminding of the bounteous benefits of the Nice Cup of Tea. Although, there are rumours that there are some on the continent, and even some out in the colonies, who do not re-invigorate their orgy-going experience with a Nice Cup of Tea, I’m sure that no-one here ever considers such an offence against all that is natural and good in the perverse arts.

We all are prepared to admit, I’m sure, that there is a place for most beverages in a village-orgy context – up to and including Bovril, I’m sure that as reasonable people we can all agree that they all - including coffee – pale into insignificance when compared to the Nice Cup of Tea.

This must become obvious to everyone when the biscuits and/or cake are brought out during the refreshment break at half-time in the village orgy. Pleasant as the other beverages may be, none of them fits so well – like a well-oiled vicar into a campanologist – as a cup of tea with either cake or biscuits.

Therefore, if you through some unfortunate turn of circumstance find that you – in the near future – are attending a village orgy without adequate tea-making facilities: although I, for one, could not imagine why that should ever be the case. Please remember – at the very least – to take a flask of tea with you if you do not wish to have your orgiastic performance hindered and – possibly - even derided.

Alleged Illicit Practices in Inter-Village Orgy League Matches

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 12:14:00 +0000

It is likely that you – like me – were taken aback by some of the allegations printed in the sports pages of some of the specialist Gentleman's Interest magazines, and on some of the more sexually relaxed sports-related websites concerning illicit practices in Inter-Village Orgy League matches.

Most of these allegations seem to feature unnamed players from unnamed teams talking – for the first time – frankly about the illicit use of certain performance-enhancing substances in Inter-Village Orgy league and cup matches.

It is especially worrying to hear allegations that some players may have been en-smearing themselves with 3-fruit marmalade in order to gain unfair advantage over opposing players, and to enhance their prowess over opposing teams, for whom the very thought of entering a competitive orgy en-smeared with marmalade is an anathema, and contrary to all decent sporting instincts.

However, such is the danger of marmalade endangering what could already be an over-startled chicken during the tense closing half-hour of an inter-village competitive orgy, that all-comers to a village orgy have to undergo mandatory marmalade testing in the undressing room before the beginning of the start of the commencement of the match.

Therefore, any such tales of smuggled marmalade – as well as the illicit use of toast-making equipment in the undressing room can be treated with some amount (I suggest a tablespoon) of scepticism. It would come as no surprise (especially to the otherwise easily-startled chicken) that this is yet another tabloid-inspired moral panic that will soon be forgotten about as the Inter-Village Orgy League enters its final stages over the coming months.

Pervertner’s Guide to the Rural Rude and Naughty

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 12:13:00 +0000

‘It is not easy, finding a way through the undergrowth, sometimes, but then if you have a firm enough grasp on your probing tool a way can usually be found to gain entrance to the more enchanting and secluded groves on our rural byways.’ Such was the opening sentence of Pervertner’s Guide to the Rural Rude and Naughty of England, which was – as time went on – to become the essential guide to Britain’s most perverse rural areas at the beginning of this century.

Pervertner’s as it has become known is indispensable to anyone who sets out on a walking tour of Britain’s more perverse rural villages and hamlets, as well as being quite a good guide to the UK’s naughtiest towns, cities and suburban areas. Pervernter himself devoted his life from the publication of this first volume of his guide to exploring as much of the rural UK as he could, as well as sampling as much of the UK’s famed taste for rural naughtiness as he could. Not only that, he developed the UK’s first rating system for the ranking the naughtiness of the UK’s dairymaids, cake shop manageresses and postmistresses in a way that has never been bettered.

Not even the EU’s brand-new Europe-Wide perversion scale – the Wankometrique. Unfortunately, this is - of course - in metric and, as such, consequently plays down the naughtiness level of England’s assistant librarians can really compare to the Pervertner scale. The Pervertner scale can also be used to measure – with often quite startling accuracy - the hotness of meat pies, the breeding seasons of sheep and cows, the gripping strength of dairymaids and even small local earthquakes.

All-in-all then Pervertner’s Guide’ is an invaluable aid to everyone with an interest in the perverse arts and sciences and should therefore make an ideal gift for the deviant in your life, or for an interested neophyte.

Poking About in the Rough

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Wed, 30 Nov 2011 12:15:00 +0000

Now, there are some gentlemen who – apparently – much prefer poking about in the rough for their balls and discussing the merits of getting a hole in one with like-minded acquaintances. However, for those of us who prefer not to get sand in our crevasses whilst sharing a bunker with a willing partner who makes helpful comments on one’s grip and stance, golf is merely a pastime, and – at that – one with a poor taste in fetish gear.

Although, as Grand Uncle Stagnant often attests, it is good to go for a sit down and a bit of rest and relaxation after your 18^th hole of the day. However that is something easily accomplished by retiring to the snug of The Pervert’s Appendage’ after a village orgy night and resuscitating one’s self with a reinvigorating pint of the landlord’s best and a packet of pork scratchings. Not only that, for those who enjoy a discussion of tactical finesse and how to improve one’s swing, there are plenty of philosophers of the perverse arts and sciences usually to be found in that cosy symposium. Thus, this mass debate will enable the barmaid, or any other lady patron of the Pervert’s Appendage to get as many pointers as she could possibly desire in one evening.

A Firm Grasp of a Gentleman’s Predicament

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Tue, 29 Nov 2011 12:18:00 +0000

There is no more stirring a sight, able to bring a warm glow to a gentleman’s trouser region, than a cake shop manageress getting her warm baps out, dressed only in an apron and oven gloves. Of course, none of us can wait very long to get our hands on her baps, especially when hot and as everyone knows cake shop manageresses are always, always, hot*.

This is, of course, not to say that the other ladies of the village of Little Frigging in the Wold are lacking when it comes to the carnal arts and applied orgiastics. I – for one** - would not wish to disparage any of the other ladies of the village in any way whatsoever, especially the dairymaids with their well-known ability to take a firm grasp of any gentleman’s predicament and not let go until he begs for release. In addition, I would warn any gentleman not to forget those fine upstanding ladies, the Strap-On Sisters, who always makes sure that no man ever forgets their interventions as they forcibly insert themselves into his fundamental meditations and ruminations whenever they feel a gentleman would benefit from the experience they impose upon him.

*This is why, if you want your sausage roll or pork baguette hot, you should always let a cake shop manageress warm it up for you in her oven.

** Or more, if you have the time and your hot strumpets are buttered and ready.

On ‘Just Stepping Outside for a Moment’

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 16:18:00 +0000

Now, as you approach, say, a cake shop manageress with full intent, within a village hall orgy context, it is best to make sure that she is completely aware of your approach, especially if you have just stepped back inside after going out for a breath of fresh air. This will ensure that she doesn’t, for example, drop a stitch in a crucial stage of her knitting, or lose her thread when discussing the shortcomings of their mutual neighbours with a coven of acquaintances when you come upon her unawares.

However, should you have stepped outside during the rest of the year other than the UK’s usual one day of summer; your intent will – no doubt – not be as obvious as you’d hoped. It may even be the case that you need the attentions of a suitably warmly-bemittened bevy of dairymaids before you are once more fully up to the task you have set yourself for the second half of the village orgy.

Furthermore, if you do step outside the village hall on any day other than the aforesaid one day of summer you will have to take care that you do not get you best pair of fetish wellies muddy. When traversing that collection of puddles, loose stones and other detritus the Village Hall Orgy Steering Committee optimistically like to call the car park, it is probably best to bring a spare set of working wellies for such eventualities.

However, unless it is a ‘Bring a Guest’ Village Orgy Night, it is probably best to remove the back legs of the sheep from the wellies before setting out for the evening.

Very Sociable Media

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 12:05:00 +0000

Of course, these days everyone in the mainstream media keeps on about ‘social media’ as though it is all an invention of the interwebnets and the like had ne’er been gazed ‘pon before. However, we in England’s tight knit* rural communities have been networking very socially with each other for a long time now, especially through the typical all-village orgy in the village hall, and – consequently – with the villagers from nearby in the Inter-Village Orgy League. It has even gone international – world-wide if you will, through first the European Inter-Village Orgy Cup and – latterly, since the end of WWII – the increasingly popular World Inter-Village Orgy Cup, where national teams from all over the world (and Canada) compete together every four years in a mutually-satisfying series of competitive orgies until one nation comes out on top.

There you have it (and if you wouldn’t mind stroking it gently whilst you do have it I will soon display my effusions of gratitude for your dexterity). It is proof – should proof be needed, that through the use of the inter-village orgy true social networking can be achieved without any of that tedious arsing about with routers, firewalls and virtual poking (unless that sort of thing gets you aroused, of course).

*A warning here it can become rather… er… entangled if the ladies of the village continue with their knitting whilst engaged in an all-village orgy, especially if the balls of wool get knocked hither and yon around the hall during the proceedings, thus ensnaring everyone in a tangle of moistness, nudity and woollen yarn. This is all well and good until someone in the midst of the entanglement realises they are about to miss their bus and chaos ensues as they attempt to extricate themselves from the wool-bound scrummage.

Polishing his Helmet

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Tue, 22 Nov 2011 12:19:00 +0000

As Little Frigging in the Wold is fortunate enough to exist in a quiet rural backwater with little crime, it means that there is little for our village policeman, PC Ghonnemadd, to do most days, other than polish his helmet.

Of course, PC Ghonnemadd is lucky in that on his daily perambulations around the village there are several ladies of the village all willing to give him a hand to polish his helmet. However, PC Ghonnemadd himself has warned them that should an emergency arise while they are polishing his helmet then the ladies must be prepared to drop everything and to stand well back as he pulls out his truncheon ready for immediate action.

As you may well know, many ladies find the idea of a man in uniform quite exciting, especially if they are in a position to help him remove it. Consequently, PC Ghonnemadd always has plenty of women ready to give his helmet a good buffing, even with the danger of his having to leave the vicinity in a hurry. For example, he could receive an emergency radio call-out to investigate reports of mysterious noises coming from the barn where Grand Uncle Stagnant and a brace of dairymaids retried to in order to, as they put it, ‘choke the chicken’.

Muckibelli’s Prince

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Mon, 21 Nov 2011 13:56:00 +0000

‘Tarry thee not at the sticking post, always strike while the courgette is warm and well-lubricated with the unguent of thy choosing, my Lord.’ Such was the sage advice by the adviser to his prince by the renowned Renaissance philosopher of the perverted arts and sciences, Muckibelli, in his Discourses on the Erotic Uses of the Pineapple., which was intend as a guide to the best palace orgy practices, not only for Muckibelli’s prince, but also for all the royalty of the era.

The Renaissance, as its name suggested, was a re-flowering of interest in the classical times at – roughly – the end of the medieval period. Consequently, many royals, nobles and even some of the wealthy merchants and traders of the aspiring new middle class were very interested in aping – what they saw as – the civilised values of the classical age, especially those parts involving orgies, perversions and other such rude, moist and naughty goings-on.

Renaissance scholars, therefore, pored over whatever works of classical antiquity they could get their hands on, and - as with the internet today – most of what they spent most of their time examining turned out to be the rude and naughty bits.

Muckibelli himself maintained that the Roman orgy was the apex of civilisation, especially in the then-revolutionary way the Romans utilised foodstuffs to enhance the proceedings, as well as their very liberal use of olive oil and other such unguents and lubricants.

Unfortunately, Muckibelli’s scholarship was not as accurate as he’d hoped and he was – tragically – crushed to death under the wheels of a speeding chariot when trying to re-create what he thought was a typical Roman chariot race-based orgy whilst he and his paramour were still liberally-coating each other with olive oil whilst steering around a sharp corner.

However, the writings of Muckibelli that survived went on to become a classic of Theoretical Orgiastics, still studied right up to the present day at the University of Little Frigging (formerly the cow shed).

On the Necessity of Post-Orgy Wheelbarrows

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Fri, 18 Nov 2011 12:15:00 +0000

Now, usually on Wednesdays as we denizens of Little Frigging make our way down to the village hall for the midweek orgy, many of us will of course, have our sex spatulas pre-oiled and ready, especially if we usually encounter an assistant librarian or two in the vestibule in need of a pre-orgy spatula manipulation.

Many of us, as the advancing years force their deprecations upon what was once young, fine and upstanding personage, feel that we need a pre-orgy lift to our ardour. Consequently, encountering a brace of assistant librarians ensconced in the vestibule is always uplifting, even to the most jaded of orgy-goers. This is especially the case if the assistant librarians have deployed themselves in a spatula-ready formation, ready for one to step up and begin proceedings without any of the formalities that often rob these routine village orgies of spontaneity, at least until the turbo sex-weasels are released.

However, by that stage of the orgy most of us will already have used up most of the onion gravy set aside for the purpose (however, the porpoises should have plenty of egg sauce left, if necessary, providing the fishnets do not have too coarse a mesh.)

Still, sometimes age does burden us down, so that by the end of even a light mid-week orgy, many of us feel the need to utilise some one of the post-orgy wheelbarrows set aside for the purpose in the village hall car park to get us home again afterwards.

Hairstylists and Unseasonable Weather

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 15:50:00 +0000

Now, look, I know this is usually the time of year when the hairstylists have normally fully prepared themselves for hibernation. However, this year the time when they begin filling their nests with the materials they need to survive the long dark winter nights: chocolate, strong wines and spirits, DVDs, glossy 'How To Do Sex Properly' magazines and instruction manuals, boxes of tissues, and - of course - several hundredweight of next summer's holiday brochures has not come about as normal.

Consequently, the unseasonably warm weather we have experienced of late means that some of the hairstylists are still in holiday mood, contemplating early winter breaks with all the avid alacrity of a rural vicar in a metropolitan porn emporium on sale day.

This - of course - could play havoc with the breeding cycle of the hairstylists, and thereby cause chaos in the livestock markets. It could result in a catastrophe greater even than the Great Sherry Trifle Outbreak of 1976, which resulted in several thousand prime breeding hairstylists breaking out in uncontrollable giggling before, a few hours later, falling over in moaning heaps, begging to be put out of our misery.

Spanish Practices

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 12:02:00 +0000

Hopalong Arsetwanger is – quite rightly, to what's left of my mind – credited with the introduction of certain Spanish practices into the English perverteer's repertoire.

Up until Arsetwanger returned from the Spanish Civil War, where he had taken a wrong turn just outside Barcelona and had spent the majority of the war ensconced in the bosoms of the ladies of a Catalonian brothel, little was known of Spanish perversions in the UK.

These days, most ladies at a village orgy will know that the deft manipulation of the castanets is a sure way to get her gentleman to be upstanding. In addition, she will know just how to swirl her cape so that she can get any upstanding gentleman bearing down on her to place his horn in exactly the right place for her to achieve full satisfaction.

However, it was Arsetwanger himself who introduced an initially sceptical British public to such widening of the then somewhat insular British orgiastic philosophy. However, a lot of Arsetwanger's influence was very short-lived. Not long after his return to these shores, World War II broke out and – of course – brought with it the Austerity Orgies of that period. Rationing meant that even a Seville orange was regarded as a luxury and with the men away at the front; few women had the chance to perfect their handling of the castanets, at least until the American soldiers turned up... eventually.

With the introduction of the American high-speed perversions, production line and drive-in orgies and fast fondling techniques taking such a hold on British orgy-goers during the immediate post-war period, it seemed that the slower paced European and, especially, the Mediterranean orgy practices had fallen out of fashion.

It is hoped by those of us attempting to keep the traditional ways alive, though, that soon more English orgy-goers and perverteers will, one day, return to the more traditional orgy stylings of our common European ancestry and, consequently, Hopalong Arsetwanger’s legacy will be restored to its rightful place at the centre of everyone’s perverse repertoire*.

*Providing they still have enough play left in their castanets, obviously.

The Erotic Use of Cardboard

noreply@blogger.com (Norbert Trouser-Quandary) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 12:36:00 +0000

Of course the use of cardboard in a village orgy can sometimes have unfortunate side-effects, especially if the cardboard gets damp, ripped or trampled underfoot in the rush to the half-time hot buffet. Therefore, the erotic use of the cardboard cut-out film star, TV personality, famous stockbroker, mathematician or - in extremely perverse cases - national politician cannot be recommended outside of your own erotic boudoir, sex pantry and/or cow shed whichever is more applicable.

However, the Little Frigging postmistress, Labia Entanglements, has recently taken delivery of some cardboard face masks originally intended as fright facemasks for use during the recent Halloween period. These have proved (surprisingly) popular for inter-village friendly orgies, especially when the Little Frigging visiting village orgy team went up against Lower Crotchstaine in the recent Inter-Village Orgy Cup tie last Saturday.

The Lower Crotchstaine team didn’t take much persuading to wear the masks as they found them much more attractive than looking at each other, thus enabling the Little Frigging team were to become far more intimate with the opposition due to the Lower Crotchstaine team's use of the masks to obscure their…. somewhat… er… interestingly unusual facial features. Much has been said in the past of the denizens of Lower Crotchstaine and their propensity to keep things in the family, much more than is considered normal in any other rural village community, even in those villages where family affairs are quite common, often due to awkward geographical conditions leading to relative isolation for that community.

Consequently, the Little Frigging players were much more willing to get stuck into the scrum with the Lower Crotchstaine team than is usually the case, Little Frigging managed to score several times in the dying minutes of extra time to win the match and thus move on to the next round.