Princess Diana



Yes... You knew her as "The People's Princess" but I used to call her "The Scream Queen". I've never heard anybody wail so much during sex!

One sunny day in 1986, I was waving down a cab in Holland Park, London. As I got into the taxi, a rather butch-looking looking woman wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses knocked on the window. I asked the taxi-driver to wait a minute as she had an air of familiarity which I couldn't quite place...



I wound down the window and she mumbled something about "paps", "coming", "flashing", "shooting" and I honestly thought she was a transexual hooker from Eastern Europe asking me if I'd like to ejaculate over her breasts. Then a crowd of men started running down the street shouting "Die!", "Die!" at her. So sensing that she was obviously in trouble, I did the decent thing and let her in my cab.

Once inside the cab, she took off the sunglasses and cap and I instantly recognised that it was none other than the Queen Of Hearts herself, Princess Diana!

The first thing I noticed was how broad her shoulders were. Even allowing for the shoulder pads of the 80s, without her jacket she looked like Colonel Abrams. She was built like a brick shit-house.



The next thing I noticed was a distinct smell of Toilet Duck. I later realised that this was because she stuck her head down the loo to throw up whenever she became sexually stimulated.



We got to Kensington and she asked me if I wanted to come in for a cup of tea. Well, even I as a gay man was transfixed by her radiant presence and mesmerised I agreed... Besides, I was mentally dialling the News Of The World in my head to deliver the headlines for next Sunday's newspapers...

ok

BinaryJustin said:

as a gay male, you should know "cup o'tea" means "having a shag". Ask Boy George.

and you have too much time on your hands today. way way too much. perhaps you should have something else in your hands to "pass the time"?

(Continued)...



Once inside her apartment, I was immediately struck by how small it was. Not what I expected at all. The room was mostly white except for the red chimney breast. I sat on a moth-eaten beige couch and in the corner of my eye, I noticed what appeared to be a chair draped in purple velvet fabric. She caught me staring at the purple mound in the corner of the room and she laughed, "That's my throne!".



On the mantelpiece was an odd collection of ephemera: A Wham album on cassette, A picture of Mother Theresa, A porcelain Kermit The Frog and a copy of Ayn Rand's 'The Fountainhead'. She went over to the mantelpiece and lit two huge joss-sticks which smelled of burning rubber, jasmine and mushroom soup.




She sat beside me on the couch and passed me a bottle of poppers which seemed to appear from nowhere. I took a sniff to be polite and she rammed the bottle up her left nostril and inhaled depply. I started to feel a bit woozy we both giggled like schoolkids. The temperature in the room rose to unbearable levels and as I laid my head back, I realised that 'Lady In Red' by Chris De Burgh was playing softly in the background. I was being seduced.



I turned and smiled at her and she grabbed my crotch. I sat upright in shock and questioned, "What about Charles?". She leaned into me and said, "Fuck the jug-eared bastard. He can't give me what I need. Only a sensitive nancy boy like you can fulfill me."

I was a little taken aback but thought, "what the hell?" as she started to unbutton my pants and I pulled off my shirt. Her breasts were humongous. She thrust her now-naked busom into my face and barked, "Lick my dirty pillows! Lick them now, faggot!"



I started to caress her bazongas with my tongue, unsure of what I was actually supposed to do with them. I mean - I don't even think my mother breast-fed me. My mother's doctor had told her not to, because of the huge concentration of valium in her bloodstream.

So, I started to make farty noises on her titties with my mouth because I was getting bored. She flinched at the rasping emanating from her pink jugs. "Ooh, more!", she screamed, "MORE!".

I blew raspberries into her fleshy melons until the phone rang. Moving away from her sweaty chick-bags, I said, "Shouldn't you pick that up? It might be important." Diana looked at me quizically for a moment and then got off the couch to answer the call. I was relieved because by this time, I'd turned purple due to lack of oxygen.

Diana physically adjusted her potty mouth, by biting her lip before speaking, "Hello? Yes? This is she. Oh. Mummy. Yes, hello Mummy". She widened her eyes and mouthed out to me silently, "IT'S THE QUEEN".



I couldn't really hear the conversation but I could tell by Diana's tone that she was being berated by Liz for something or other. It was all, "yes, mummy", "no, mummy" and Diana grabbed her boobies and shook them at me as I looked on, agog.

The call ended and I asked what the problem was. "Oh, I was supposed to open some hospital or animal shelter or something. I completely forgot all about it because I was getting loaded on tequila with Tiggy Legge-Bourke all afternoon". Diana sat back down. "Not to worry", she said as she grabbed my fuzzy-spuds, "they dusted off the Queen Mum and wheeled her out. She'll do anything for a gin & tonic". Diana knelt down on the couch and stared at my throbbing man-meat. "Ooh!", she squealed, "your royal highness!". With that, her lips enveloped my masculinity, I closed my eyes and wondered when I was going to get my cup of tea.


[Edited 10/29/04 7:28am]

Diana murmured, "Lie back and think of England", then she rode me like a pony. I didn't have to lift a finger - well I had to lift something, but other than that it was actually quite relaxing.

I was in a trance of disbelief as the mother of our future monarchy's titties were dangling pendulously in my face. She hissed, "Kiss the royal jewels!", but I was having none of it and bit onto a cushion instead.

As 'Karma Chameleon' reached the first chorus on her stereo, I gave up my seed to her hungry womanhood.



I was spent and lay there bewildered as to how I'd managed to have sex with a woman - albeit a very mannish woman with an asexual 80s hairstyle.



Diana suddenly turned green and looked like she'd been possessed. She jumped up off me, ran to the mound of purple velvet in the corner of the room, ripped off the drape and underneath was a gold-plated toilet.



I lay there on the couch mopping up my man-cream with the purple velvet as she lurched into the toilet bowl, coughing and retching.



I pulled on my clothes and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Don't touch me!", she spat, "Get your filthy hands off me, you dirty commoner".

I left her there, spewing her guts up in her golden latrine. I felt used and empty but also felt sad. The sadness was the realisation that we'd never meet again.

Although Diana never lived long enough to become Queen, at least she had a chance to come with a queen for a day.

We shall never see her like, again.

Frank Sinatra



They didn't call him 'The King Of Swing' for nothing! Frank was a pill-popping bisexual with a voracious sexual appetite for both girls and boys.

I met him in the November of 1954 in New York City. I was working in Manhattan as a radio announcer for WZ4Q whilst spying on Mc.Carthy for the British Secret Service.

The radio station's offices were situated on the corner of Lexington and Fourth and I was slap-bang in the middle of post-war hedonistic New York. Winter had arrived early that year and there must have been six inches of snow on the sidewalk.

I was chatting with the lobby receptionist, Fanny Batter about booking tickets to see the Rockettes at Radio City Music Hall that Christmas. A short skinny man sauntered up to the desk and said, "Hey! Kids! Stop chewing the fat and get a fella a cup of java!". I only realised whom the man was when Fanny replied, "Yes, sir, Mister Sinatra". Fanny left the desk and I was alone with Frank. Even in his thick overcoat and scarf, I could sense that underneath was a lithe young man with the sinewy toned body of an Olympic swimmer.



Frank turned to me, "You a flit?". I had no idea what he was talking about. I stammered, "No, Sir. I'm English". Frank reached into his pocket and drawled, "Yeah, that'll do". As Fanny came back with his coffee, Frank passed me a business card with contact details for an office in Los Angeles. His blue eyes pierced into mine. He took the coffee from Fanny and sipped it as he said, "Sometimes, Frankie gets a little... bored.... You dig? Frankie likes to party? You like to party, kid?". I nodded pathetically and even though I had no idea what he was fucking going on about, his worldly voice and the smell of Aramis was making me horny.



Fanny put down the phone she'd been talking into. "Mister Sinatra?", she called to Frank from behind the desk, "Mister Weinspleen will see you now". Frank put his coffee cup down on the desk and walked into the office of Mr. Weinspleen.

Little did I know that in less than 48 hours, I'd be involved in a drug-fuelled orgy with Frank, Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe.

That night, I went back to my lonely, cold, dismal apartment in Queens. Thank goodness that I had my daughter, Susie, my maid Annie and Annie's daughter Sarah-Jane to keep me company.





As well as working as a radio announcer for WZ4Q and spying on Mc.Carthy for the British Secret Service, I also supplemented my income by addressing letters. Yes it's true, the Reader's Digest paid me big bucks to personally address their mail with my fancy-shmancy handwriting.



I was awfully tired but I sat down in the kitchen to address another batch of mail whilst Annie fixed us all some Tater-Tots and meatloaf for our supper.

There was a knock at the door... Although Annie was elbow-deep in a bowl full of meatloaf mix, I simply couldn't move my fat white arse off the chair. "Annie!", I asked, "Would you be an angel and answer the door for me? I'm up to my eyes in whatever it is I'm doing." Annie smiled gently and said, "Sure Mistah Justin. You sit yourself down, I'll answer the door, then I'll fix you a nice ice-cold glass of my home-made lemonade." With that, Annie walked out of the kitchen towards the front door.

I was struggling with the spelling of Mississippi when Annie came back into the kitchen... "Mistah Justin" she hollered as she wrung her hands, "I tried to tell him that you were busy, but the skinny motherfucker just went and pushed right past me". I finally stood up and asked Annie, "Why? Whoever can it be?". The words stuck in my throat as I looked up and saw Frank Sinatra standing in our slum of a living room, holding a bunch of red carnations.



I took the flowers from Frank, and passed them to Annie to put into a vase. Annie smiled at Frank, "Them sure is a purdy bunch of flowers, mistah". Frank smiled and whilst looking at me, replied "I wanted to get my hands on some pansies but the store was all out".

I blushed and said to Frank, "Oh, Frank, don't tease poor Annie. Have you eaten yet?". Frank shrugged his shoulders and asked, "What? Do you mean food?"... I turned to Annie and gurgled, "Oh, Annie. I'm terribly sorry but I shan't be home for dinner. I know it's Christmas Eve but I'm sure the children will understand. You're so good at covering for me. Why! Just tell the children that I'm dead. I swear I'll make it up to them when I return!"



Annie nodded silently and took the flowers into the kitchen. Frank grabbed my shoulders and pulled me close as if to kiss me. I turned my head away, "No. Not here", I whispered into his ear. "Let me get my hat, coat and bag and I'll take you to a small cafe at the corner of the block where all my struggling model friends meet".

I hastily grabbed my hat, coat and bag and we walked out of my apartment, arm in arm.
[Edited 10/29/04 11:40am]

Man, you didn't meet no Frank Sinatra.....

Frank and I sat at a table within Cafe Grotte. The flickering candlelight danced in his eyes as we chatted non-stop.



"Do you believe in sex before marriage?", asked Frank. I looked at him with a slightly puzzled expression.

"Why, Frank! Are you proposing to me?", I replied whilst grabbing his hand.

"Nah", he grinned, "I'm propositioning you, you crazy fag! Not proposing!". He slumped back in his chair. "Hell", he snapped, "I believe in sex before, during and after marriage... And NOT specifically with the dame you marry". I leaned over and quietly said, "I'm going to walk to the bathroom. Give me a minute and then follow me in". I winked as I left the table and walked across the room towards the bathroom.

Suddenly, my ex-best friend, the struggling model Judy Slagthorpe grabbed my arm. We used to work at the same modelling agency and whilst I could get by posing for dog-food advertisements, Judy couldn't even get adverts for pile-cream.

She was evidently full of more than just the Christmas spirit as she reeked of gin...



"Hiya doll", slurred Judy, "Say... could you lend a gal five bucks, 'til the New Year?". I felt terribly threatened as Judy loomed over me like a huge fleshy hairy giant dildo with not many teeth.

Frank was now at my side. "Justin, is this she-man bothering you some?" he questioned. I'd never seen him like this before, but then I had only met him six hours previously. His manly forcefulness was exciting me.

"N-N-No", I stuttered, "Frank, this is my good friend and fellow struggling model, Judy Slagthorpe. Judy seems to have found herself a little broke". Frank snapped, "Broke? Hell it won't just be her wallet that's broke tonight!". And with that, he swung and landed a punch straight into Judy's kisser. I got caught up in the excitement and started screaming, "Kill her Frank! Kill the ugly panhandling bitch!"

We left Judy in a pool of blood as we strolled into the night air, laughing like teenage girls. Frank quipped, "I guess all she'll want for Christmas now, is her two front teeth!". I looked at him and asked, "Did she have two front teeth to begin with?". Frank pulled me into an alleyway and held me with his manly stick-like arms. "Stop rabbiting, you crazy queer and kiss me". Our lips met and I tongued him so deep, I could taste what he had for dinner three weeks ago. It was lasagne.
[Edited 10/29/04 12:38pm]

this is great

BinaryJustin said:

Hehehe

That is always how I imagine straight sex..
LoL

BinaryJustin said:

Shall I continue?

BinaryJustin said:

Yeah!


this is grrrrreat!