The Seven Year Itch.

Taking a wee break from Convict Criminology for a while. My Master’s dissertation writing is now under way and my mind is becoming acclimatised to blanking the world out and overcoming distractions. I’ve been taking long walks along the tow-path towards Belfast and in the other direction to Lisburn. Good weather a frequent companion these days. My mind wanders as I dander past and near to places of teenage adventures with childhood friends but more importantly to conquests and unexplored domains of girls. The female of the species have a always been a mystery to me and indeed I suppose to themselves as well. Once I discovered what domains where and how mountainous regions could bring such strange stirring I never looked back. I needed to be in them around, smothered and consumed by them. I’m not going to talk to or mention old girlfriends as a couple of the more serious and lovely ones are now back in my life. I’ve survived jail for six years so don’t need to end up getting murdered now.


Just before I went to nick I was involved in all sorts of hedonistic goings on. The mix of cocaine, alcohol, men being outnumbered by women by 7/1 in South Africa and having a Belfast accent sort of allowed me to be like the proverbial kid in a candy shop. I’m not going to go into the gory details but for the last year, before I went inside, that’s all I lived for. So, about a week after my arrival, I spoke to an old timer who told me to “forget about everything you love and need. If you don’t this place will kill you and it’ll be the longest time you ever do.” A few months later I got twelve years and did just as the old boy had said “I blanked ‘everything’.” For those of you who are unaware of my previous blogs I’ll include my first instance of breaking that advice –

Catford Police Station 2007
I’d love to be able to take a shower or simply get washed. Coffee’s en route, I’ll just have to sit here and chill. The madness begins all over again like a relentless recurring nightmare. If you end up in the machine you’re fucked.

Asked for some toilet roll, was given eight sheets, had a pee, missed the toilet, would like to wipe it up, but can’t be bothered going through the indignity and embarrassment of asking for another eight sheets of toilet paper; having to explain why I missed the toilet in the first place.

Sitting here with the biggest boner I’ve had since my birthday five months previous. Not the best time or place for this to happen. My thoughts turn to the librarian at Lewes again, would love to hook up with her in a different life. Now convinced they put something in the food there, yours truly has never stood to attention like this at Lewes. That department has been defunct for the past three months, hardly had a sexual thought, honest. Now I find myself walking round a police cell, bollock naked, with a raging hard on. He looks quite well, the old John Thomas, but this is neither the time nor the place.

No sooner have I put my clothes on and a WPC opens the flap with my coffee. Two minutes earlier I do believe I would have had some explaining to do or maybe I’d have got lucky? Sheepishly sip my coffee; if only she knew.

Shit, my gut is massive; really do need to get some sort of treatment. It’s recently ballooned; as if someone was standing beside me blowing it up with a foot pump. The timing of events never in my world is constant source of wonder. These few press ups and sit ups have made me decide to embark on a fitness regime as soon but as soon as I sit down they bring me a stodgy microwave breakfast meal. Well, I think I’ve died and gone to heaven; toast, beans, poached egg and sausage, culinary heaven.
Mmm, healthy or what?

You see, you whinge, moan and complain about how bad your life is and how fucked up the system is and all of a sudden they make it all better by giving you two slices of toast. The egg looks like heaven, haven’t had a fried egg for three months either. The creative devil in me takes over and I chop up the egg, sausage, and beans and put them between the two bits of toast. Result, the best toastie I’ve ever had in my weird and wonderful life.
Finish my breakfast and use the Lav’. Fuck me, no soap, toilet paper or towel. Wash my arse in the sink and dry my hands on my jeans. No health and safety issues in this place, eh?

Next I’m allowed to have a sink wash, toothbrush and toothpaste in the wee sink (bird bath) in the corridor guarded and observed closely by two beautiful WPCs. Not joking they are gorgeous. Was going to strip off and throw my cock out to see what happened, but thought better of it. After all I did just get some toast. I told them of my antics in the sink back at Lewes roughly twenty four hours ago. They were having a good laugh; knew secretly they wanted it, honest. Personally I was kaking myself in case yours truly raised his ugly head again. It’s been five months since I’ve had a bit of nookie and I’m standing half naked, only in jeans, between two gorgeous women. Oh god, I can smell their perfume; forgotten how much I enjoy the company of women.
Away with ya, ya dirty wee beast.
Get yee away from me Satan.
All joke on the side; the two WPCs where very kind and helpful in a very awkward and embarrassing situation and I thank them for their help.

Ask the new desk sergeant about my medication, which is long overdue. She politely and authoratively tells me what they are allowed to do. They must phone another FME to come and examine me again and to issue me some drugs; it’ll take around an hour depending on the traffic. So, I patiently wait and she arrives about forty minutes later. She is very helpful and gives me a good check up and listens attentively to my concerns. I can feel the lining of her underwear on my shoulder as her hip presses against it. Oh God, how did my body become so sensitive! She explains her own concerns and states that she is genuinely concerned, confirms my concerns and confirms her fears to the desk sergeant who also becomes concerned. Now I’m concerned. The tablets go to work straight away.

Have been struck with a startling realisation which is: I’m surrounded by beautiful women in uniform. Apart from the ones locked up, there are no men in the fuckin station at all. There’s a doctor, four WPCs and a Desk Sergeant, all women and all supermodels. Not a friggin ape in sight. Supermodels and handcuffs! Oh, happy days. I suddenly develop a Cheshire cat grin; sitting on my hands dangling my legs from the bench, a bit like a school boy waiting to see the headmaster. One of the models asks me if I’m OK. I bite my bottom lip and nod my head while the slobbers run down my chin. Aagghh the bells, the bells. Receive a few strange looks, if only they knew what I was thinking. The wee Irish devil and I are having a very nasty party.

Over the coming years I always looked back at that day as I realised how much I missed being around women. Roll on June 2013 and my unleashing into society and the possibility of reuniting with the opposite sex. Five stone heavier and totally devoid of Love for anyone or anything I set about the re-integration process. As much as the scenery was lovely when I got down to it I couldn’t find me mojo. It had left me. I listened to the other guys talk about their conquests and what they were and were not going to do to their wives, girlfriends and unsuspecting females in Northern Ireland. I thought to myself, poor them, it’s all about proving, it’s got nothing to do with sharing or exploring. I suppose, for me, it’s got more to do with age and the fact that I never need to prove myself to any one again. There are probably a thousand different reasons but to be honest the only time I felt comfortable was with two of my ex loves. Not girlfriends or flings or ships in the night. I think my weight had a lot to do with it and the irony of this is that all I need is a good woman to work some weight off me! I’d be back to full fighting weight in no time at all.

I recently plucked up the courage to have a drink. It has left me feeling relieved as I didn’t turn into the lunatic who craved a cure and to continue as if there was no tomorrow. I picked up the courage to invite an old flame round. We laughed, we listened to music, we shared a few bottles of wine and after a good bit of kissing it was time for bed. When I heard her fall off the toilet and pass out on the floor I sort of figured the game was up. I put her to bed and staggered off to the spare room. The next morning I felt terrible and thought to myself I ain’t going through that balix again. The girl is a lovely girl, great company but I realised how long it had been since we seen one another and how fragile we both were. It left me sad. On the other hand I met up for drinks with one of my previous loves and we had an absolute hoot. Talking about life and sharing the things we’d got up to too. Cheeks were red and it was nice. Really nice. I met with my first love and we too shared similar stories and this time my face was the only one red. Not from embarrassment but more to with “Oh God you would so not get away with the teasing you gave me as wee boy.” We talked and laughed and shared stories and it was then that it hit me.

I thought, hold on a second here mate. Your are able to talk and share with complete ease with beautiful women who haven’t been in your life for twenty five or thirty years. What on earth is stopping you from doing the same with complete strangers? These girls have allowed me to realise that what has gone from me isn’t the act, my seven years of virginity, causing me to become dead from the waist down. Its more to do with being in women’s company and having a laugh and allowing them to like or dislike me as me. I’m not everyone’s cup of tea but what I do know is that I love. When someone smiles they light up the room. When a women smiles you see beauty. When a women smiles at you? That’s when you get your mojo back. A women smiled at me a few weeks ago at conference and it’s left me tingling. A female friend on Facebook posted an up close pic of herself and a friend trying on bra’s (You know who you are). It was not pornographic. It was lovely. Glorious, soft mountainous ranges, exploration, to boldly go where no man has gone before (I use that term loosely at our age) and to discover that life is too short worrying about being fat or thin or good or bad or rich or poor et al. We are who we are and after seven years of doing without many things I’ve realised its time to start being me again. I’ve just put one of my old favourites on Youtube and I gladly share –

About micsirwin

I'm a Postgraduate student at Queens studying Criminology, writer, poet and lover of integrity, dignity, respect and morality
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