Adequacy front page
Stories Diaries Polls Users

Home About Topics Rejects Abortions
This is an archive site only. It is no longer maintained. You can not post comments. You can not make an account. Your email will not be read. Please read this page if you have questions.
Concrete 0%
Metal 11%
Wood 5%
Linen 16%
Cotton 0%
Soil 11%
Grass 16%
Sand 5%
Stone 11%
Glass 22%

Votes: 18

 A Day on the Town

 Author:  Topic:  Posted:
Sep 16, 2001
Ambling down Princes Street in Edinburgh is a passable experience in summertime. Although those dreadful pipers are out in force on a summer’s day, skirling out a dreadful, dissonant dirge from dusk till dawn, this aural nightmare is alleviated by the abundance of well-groomed girls who in their multitudes are a pleasant prospect for the prematurely weary eye of a young pup such as I.

It isn’t often that I am free to wander unattended through the town. My mistress keeps me on a tight reign, and is very strict with my behaviour, but sometimes I break free from my gaol and spend a day out on the town, sniffing around the seedier districts and generally having a time of it until, alas, circumstance forces me to return to my safe womb, my hell in heaven (or more prosaically, suburbia).


More stories about Sports
America wages psychological war on Iranian soccer team
Sports- The direct cause of Racism in America today.
Kill Yr Idols: Tiger Woods
Newbie's Guide to Online Gaming
Football & Fascism -- Prima Donnas and the Superman
A Day on the Links
Brett Favre Must Be Stopped
Why They Should Abolish the World Series
We must invoke the Monroe Doctrine!
Sports and the Homosexual Cover-Up
Amateur Golf and the Computer Criminal

More stories by

Lolita's World: The disturbing tendencies of the modern man.
Why we must increase Space Weapons research - a proof from the Drake equation.
The British Empire - Why it was so good.
Goths and Vampirism - A final solution?
Kill Yr Idols: Tiger Woods
Models - Stormtrooping superbitches of the Fashion Industry
Don't look at me.
A paean to masochism: A new philosophy of life.
Why America needs laws against flag burning.
AOL - The Saviour of the Internet
An Analysis of Marketing Techniques in Supermarkets.
Football & Fascism -- Prima Donnas and the Superman
Kill Yr Idols: Usamah bin Muhammad bin Laden
Using the Myers-Briggs System for a Better Society
Real Men use Realdolls?
George Harrison Dead: The World Mourns
Why I want to be an American Citizen
My jollities in town have some purpose, however – to find a girl. A loving, lustful, leery lass who doesn’t just sate me, give satisfaction, but takes me beyond to the little death the Chinese are so fond of. Pleasure is merely the pursuit of death after all, the desire to reach a state of perfect equilibrium where one has no desires anymore. I like to take this process to an extreme, by extending it from the physical (seeking absence of hunger, sex drive, thirst) to the metaphysical. This is the purpose of the terrible risk I have taken today – by disobeying my mistress and escaping my bondage, I have assured myself of punishment when I return, tail between my legs, tomorrow night. This is the price of temporary annihilation.

Seeking these things in a modern city such as Edinburgh is difficult. I have to find a girl of a certain type, convince her to spend the night with me, and convince her to do the things I like. I have, at best, 24 hours to achieve this.

First stop is the high street then. Princes Street on a Saturday afternoon is rampant with the pretty girls, of all races, creeds and colours, a crucible of promise. With the elegant Georgian buildings that one side of the esplanade, the other side opening out onto the free heights of the Castle and the blemished Old Town, sick with a thousand years of vice and hypocrisy, it is perfectly poised between two different worlds. However, the reason I come here is not to look at the view, but to lure some female that this sliver of commerce has attracted.

Looking around, I see many interesting girls from many parts of Europe. Not just native girls, but Braque Du Bourbonnais, Braque D' Ariege, Cão da Serra da Estrela and best of all Owczarek Podhalanski (a particularly nice type of girl with Eastern European passion, and aristocratic aloofness). I trail a few, smelling their scent, enjoying their musky, perfumed odour before settling on a bewitching girl as my mark: Perro de Presa Canario. This female has Latin motions, purposeful and swift, coupled with a haughty and delicate air.

I follow her a little, perhaps for an hour. If she notices me I see no sign, she is calm as a still sea. I keep this up for an hour or more, being careful to observe the habits of my mark. I scrutinise her like some syphilitic pirate, casting my eye over her costly cashmere overcoat and soft leather straps. I watch her enjoy some matured Mediterranean meat, drink cold, icy water and lick her lips with the relish of the ruined.

It isn’t long before she tires of the delights of the town centre, and leaves for the weary walk home, to a nice, ruffled bed (I imagine). Time for our lives to cross, I think. I fall back, perhaps 50 yards behind, and trace behind her for the next couple of miles. I can tell she has some way to go, she is not expensive enough for a Georgian townhouse, too expensive for the inner city – she is a creature of the suburbs. These run of the mill girls are often sneered at, as middle of the road, middle browed & middle class, without the brute passion of the working class or the sophistication of the upper, but any connoisseur well knows their merits, knows they combine the best of all the worlds. Her still appearance, I think, conceals strong, unstoppable tides, which when on the rise will drown those out of their depth.


Running swiftly upon her, I take her with a grab at her neck. Some say I am rather wolfish, and though for the most part I keep these behaviours quiet, now is the moment to slake them. It is a struggle; she bitches and writhes, slipping away from my jaws and down an alleyway. Chasing, I am losing myself to instinct. The brief, close up smell I had, my nostrils buried in her nape, is a powerful aphrodisiac and steels me for a weary pursuit.

It is passionate stuff. I can hear others commenting on this chase across the city, and she is sometimes vocal, testing my resolve, feeling me out through her submissive testing. Running away is a powerful statement.

I catch her a few more times. By now we are in the docklands, divorced from human oversight on this Saturday evening and free to indulge. I catch her some more, but she is powerful, passionate, she escapes my clutches at each instance. I know I have the better of her though, I know it is just a matter, as always, of time.


At last the bitch is mine. It happens in a flash, really – we are both tired from the chase, and when she finally submits to me, I grab her, bite her neck and back, feel her rump against my stomach as I take my dues. Some people, naturists and the like, think the woods and open wilderness is best for trysts, but if you ask me rough trade is best dealt with against concrete walls, the contrast of flesh and hard, unforgiving stone and metal is like love and lust. She is whimpering terribly now, but I wont relent however much she struggles. Not until I am sated will my teeth stop biting and my limbs cease clawing over her small, struggling body.

Spent, I leave her and run, run home where I must go for regeneration, and punishment for the night’s activities. My mistress is harsh when I have been out on the town like this, she will chain me up and remove my freedoms for a week or more, but I know if I am good I will get this chance again. My mistress always forgives.

And so home, home to my kennel and tartan blanket, and fireside spot. It is all worth it, these luxuries are good but not enough. I hope I see that girl again. It can be lonely being a family pet, you know?



Mercy! (5.00 / 2) (#5)
by chloedancer on Sun Sep 16th, 2001 at 02:33:03 PM PST
Or would that be merci?

At what point did the human animal deviate from the understanding that, despite the trappings of civilization, we remain animals, as well? Food for thought.

Danke (5.00 / 1) (#6)
by bc on Sun Sep 16th, 2001 at 04:57:57 PM PST
Dunno, but I think since we started wearing hush puppies and flannel trousers it's got worse.

The invention of the shoe in general has a lot to answer for, the way it seperates us and seals us off from the outside. You are aware of your animal nature if you walk across a field in bare feet, alright.

♥, bc.

Trappings of "Civilization" (5.00 / 2) (#8)
by chloedancer on Sun Sep 16th, 2001 at 06:40:04 PM PST
I have a cherished theory that the reason why "professional sports" exist in the world we've created is because we no longer have to hunt and kill our own food. (Hunting for bargains at the local grocery store just does not provide the same level of satisfaction...) On the whole, using sporting events as an outlet for our "fight-or-flight" instincts, particularly in the capacity of being a spectator, makes no sense. There are too few instances where our instinctual survival skills are exercised, IMHO.

I am reminded of the denial of our animal selves on an almost daily basis. There are personal care product lines devoted entirely to masking our own personal scent, after all. And then there's the rituals associated with the cultural notion of beauty, particularly for the female of the species. I still find it odd that I have to brighten my coloring with makeup and change my scent with perfume for the express purpose of drawing the attraction of the opposite sex. Aren't the females of several other species generally of a less distinguished appearance, with the males competing for recognition with the display of their colors? How on earth did we humans get that part of it so wrong?

Naturalistic fallacy, and a few others. (5.00 / 3) (#9)
by elenchos on Sun Sep 16th, 2001 at 07:57:25 PM PST
Such as generalizing from unrelated examples. There are other species where the female is more colorful than the male. What could you prove from any of that? Or from the fact that dogs and wolves like to roll in smelly things to mask their own scent? There is infinite variety in nature, and all we can do is describe it. Nature does not prescribe to us what is "right."

After all, with all the variety of different ways that humans express their sexuality in cultures around the world, we can observe one thing: people are reproducing expeditiously. Nature, to commit another fallacy, is quite satisfied with that. Anything beyond that simple "requirement" (and we are not even really obliged to meet that one) is up to us -- it's all elective.

So makeup, frilly dresses, whatever. Some of us like lingerie made of black leather held together with wire mesh and complicated laced steel cables and bits of chain. Worn by really tall, dark women in spiked heels. With lots of tattoos and piercings. And those metal finger-plate things, you know?...

Well, never mind that now. The point is, what makes any of that "wrong?"

I do, I do, I do
--Bikini Kill

Sport is barbarous (5.00 / 1) (#10)
by bc on Sun Sep 16th, 2001 at 08:07:44 PM PST
We have in fact covered this aspect before. dmg's excellent article exposes the rotten cancer of racism and conflict that sporting spectacles engender. The most popular sports do provoke the old adrenalin response, because the sheer violence surrounding the stadium and the fear of being chanced upon by supporters of the opposite team make you feel as if you are in the transvaal 20,000 years ago, involved in a bush conflict.

And then there's the rituals associated with the cultural notion of beauty, particularly for the female of the species. I still find it odd that I have to brighten my coloring with makeup and change my scent with perfume for the express purpose of drawing the attraction of the opposite sex. Aren't the females of several other species generally of a less distinguished appearance, with the males competing for recognition with the display of their colors? How on earth did we humans get that part of it so wrong?
It depends on the era I suppose. The Regency period was noted for its foppish dandies, and, if Esquire is to be believed (a publication I must stress I never read, just hear tell of - iat likes it though, the beautified fellow), men in the 21st century are donning moisturisers and eyeshadows and mascara, buying endless amounts of creams and lotions, and generally taking up where the Regency folks left off. The peacockish male is making a comeback!

Of course females still tend to take rather more care, but every girl I have asked the question of has furiously denied that they do it to attract men or impress anyone, saying instead that they take such care 'to feel good'. Bollox.

Anyway, I've always been a fan of the more natural looking female. Nelson had it right when he sent a missive to his mistress saying just "Will be in port in 3 days. Don't wash." The musky smells and natural look are just more, umm, attractive and realistic (usually. And females who look 'natural' very often acheive this through some very careful grooming. So it's hard. But wtf, image is everything for some little things).

♥, bc.

This is Bob Barker ... (5.00 / 1) (#7)
by number nine on Sun Sep 16th, 2001 at 06:25:55 PM PST
... reminding you to help control the pet population. Have your pet spayed or neutered. Thank you and good night everybody!

Considering the content (0.00 / 1) (#13)
by Anonymous Reader on Mon Sep 17th, 2001 at 08:40:40 AM PST
bc should be spayed or neutered


All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective companies. Comments are owned by the Poster. The Rest ® 2001, 2002, 2003 The name, logo, symbol, and taglines "News for Grown-Ups", "Most Controversial Site on the Internet", "Linux Zealot", and "He just loves Open Source Software", and the RGB color value: D7D7D7 are trademarks of No part of this site may be republished or reproduced in whatever form without prior written permission by and, if and when applicable, prior written permission by the contributing author(s), artist(s), or user(s). Any inquiries are directed to