Daniel Guy's Blog

COPYRIGHT (C) 2002 by DANIEL GUY Part One It was a bright, clear Sunday morning as Siona arrived at her therapist's large country house, twenty minutes after she had phoned him to make the emergency appointment. Her therapist was called Dan, a good-looking man with black hair and sympathetic brown eyes, who led Siona through to his consulting room, at the back of the house and invited her to sit in on the large black leather couch. She was comforted by the fact that even though she had only been in therapy for three weeks, Dan didn't seem bothered about being disturbed at home on a Sunday. She sat down and lit a cigarette. "So tell me, Siona. This nightmare you had last night. What exactly was it about?" Siona was still shaken by the dream but was able to recount it clearly. "It was terrifying. I was sitting in a strange room. I was drinking something, but I don't remember what it was. I started to feel weak, like I was very ston

by Daniel Guy. I glance over to a street market and catch sight of a stall of cheap, gaudy coloured toys.  A beautiful young Indian girl reaches up and lifts from a hook a pink plastic doll, wrapped in clear cellophane.  She inspects it, feels the small soft rubbery body through the protective wrapper, runs hers thumb over its face, chest and groin and then squeezes it hoping the toy will squeak. I gasp audibly.  For some strange reason I feel incredibly aroused, imagining that I am that doll, tied and naked inside the clear semi-inflated protective bag, gripped tight by this gorgeous princess.  The bulge in my jeans is clearly visible so I walk away, looking around at the people in the street to see if they have noticed.  I try to walk nonchalantly, deciding that as I am dangerous in this present state, I must find a place to de-spunk.   Then I remember.  I have promised my partner to save my sperm till Wednesday.  We haven’t fucked for seven day

Frank is deep in thought.  He sits alone on a wooden bench by a park on the edge of the city’s industrial zone. His bike leans against a nearby tree.  Behind him are bushes and trees and beyond them a park.  He smokes a roll up and gazes out at the grassy wasteland leading down to a canal, and beyond it a crumbling Victorian pumping station,  some bushes and scrubland, electricity pylons and a row of decaying factory buildings. Some project at work didn’t materialise, so he’s been idle for a week, and for Frank that’s dangerous.  If he’s not occupied, his thoughts naturally gravitate to sex, and it doesn’t take long before he is wired, obsessed and horny.  He’s been single for a year, kicked out by a girl friend who wouldn’t tolerate his occasional interactions with men. Men are generally easier to find if you just want gratification.  You just trawl the websites, the profiles and personal ads and usually it doesn’t take long before you hook up with someone h