DOPPELGANGER; socialist erotica




I knew the moment I laid eyes upon him, all hot and furry and dishevelled, peering at a battered iPad over his dodgy but très cool NHS spectacles that I had to have him...furthermore that I would.


I could smell the sexual tension and repression in his overly worked brain and social conscience just begging for a night off...and well, I was due on my period in 3 days time and was horny as fuck and felt like a night (getting) off myself...


I knew, from previous dalliances with this breed of man that flirting would have to come largely from me, to begin with, at least.


These sorts of men don't do making clumsy first moves or throw out flares, for fear of stepping over the line of respect that SHOULD be (but generally isn't) present in male female flirtatious dynamics. No, I would need to be the one to seduce him...

...and seduce him I did...

He told me his name was James but I keep accidentally calling him Jezza as I watch his placid little face break as the ecstasy of being touched, intimately, by...a woman! Seeps into his bones. I'm gathering it must have been a while for this conscientious bespectacled prototype. Sat on the chair next to him, my warm, wet mouth covering his strong black coffee tasting lips, with my hands up his frayed, Indian cotton, faded yellow shirt.

All I'm doing is touching his right nipple, whose erectness I am gathering (by the spirals in his beautiful eyes) is mimicked elsewhere on his body... his skin is moist and warm to the touch. He is soft, like putty and his glasses have half fallen off his face as his tousled furry head lolls back in pleasure.


'My name is James, not Jezza'


He says to me and I realise that I too have been lost in a state of pure fantasy. Like I've been transported back to the many nights alone in my bedroom playing the banjo and fantasising about my favourite socialist pin Chairman Corbyn...


I feel...a little bit bad for calling him Jezza, but come on! It's fricking election night! That has been the name on the tips of so many folk’s tongues in this last few months. It's perfectly acceptable, in fact normal to call a man you've just met and are getting off with in the pub by that name under such harsh vacuum like circumstances... non?


He excused himself to go to the toilet. I thought as he left, that he had some kind of facial tick. My initial thought was that it was cute but didn't seem very...natural... but the thought has just dawned upon me, that maybe, maybe he was winking at me, in that kind of Carry On type way... you know 'I'm going to the 'toilet' (wink wink, nudge nudge)'... did he want me to follow him? Shit! Did he? Or have I just lost it, cos I'm embellishing the night time Jezza forays, or did he just ask me to go and take the nipple touching further in the toilets? What if I get there and he is just standing there looking confused with an actual facial tick? What then? I'm the sexual predator, that's what... fuck! All this campaigning in the last few months has worn me thin. Have no idea which way is up anymore... but seemingly my legs have voted and I'm walking towards the toilets...


He doesn't look confused. His shirt is open. His furry chest and erect nipples saluting my perceptiveness and his brown corduroys making an exciting looking tent in response. His eyes, previously all spiralled and puppy like, all of a sudden have taken on a vulpine like quality and look like they could do my tensions damage... I lock the door behind me and enter, with excited nervousness and as I turn around, he is there. Smelling of something sweet and salty. Close enough to almost taste.


My new socialist pin up in the making... eyes deep and hypnotic. Hands calm and firm upon my thighs. Mouth vivid now - wet and curious...


Oh James! I think to we lose ourselves in rhythm and heat and cries...





How do you rate this article?



(S)llew la Wulf
(S)llew la Wulf

Yet another artist screaming (colourfully) into the void. I like to dance. I write. I do self portraiture and i draw... I cover topics ranging from racial bias to female sexuality to capitalism to rape culture and of course, love ❤️


A selection of writing about love and sex, the pursuit of, the absence of and the midst...

Send a $0.01 microtip in crypto to the author, and earn yourself as you read!

20% to author / 80% to me.
We pay the tips from our rewards pool.