taking a girl surfing ~ the manual ~ (2) travelling north
continued from here
There are times, as it is widely understood, when men have a diminished capacity for taking the full and responsible advantage of a ladies polite and well meaning attempt at seduction. We are not talking about the normal scenario in this instance, the one we are all familiar with where the woman covers herself in hot chocolate and flicks off the bedroom light just as you exit the bathroom in a cloud of masculine lotion and exotic body oils.
– and somebody will have to wash the sheets.
(… to continue) We acknowledge that passion trails the caravan at those times when a man is about to engage in a fearful and armed conflict, or take part in a job interview, or be expected to spare that ten minutes before dawn when he knows the conditions are perfect. (We are talking about the surfing conditions here in case you are a new to this place) – Morning glory is not everything it’s cracked up to be under such circumstances.
So we have the delighful Wendy just sitting there five minutes into the trip north and there’s her hand and all her long silver-topped fingernails resting warmly on your thigh – you glance over at her and she smiles the smile of Mona Lisa – then she digs a nail in, just so.
Your schedule is as follows:
Drive for four hours before stopping at that little pie shop the other side of Kempsey.
Eat, etc.
Drive for four hours before hitting the Superbank at least half an hour before Occhilupo, Fanning, Parkinson and the thousands that dog their footseps claim ownership.
Surf.
Drive back to Byron after taking in Cabarita and Boggingar and that secret spot just north of Bruns wall.
Surf.
Grab a feed in town and a room at Shearer’s Lennox place, get up early and don’t wake the bastard up.
Surf.
Wendy’s schedule is as follows:
Stop the car at the nearest Travelodge.
Chocolate and oils.
Get up in the morning. Late.
Repeat the C&O
Go shopping at Westfield Plaza up by Gosford way.
Spend the rest of the weekend in a Terrigal Crowne Plaza Ocean Suite.
Repeat the C&O’s.
Nothing can prepare you for this test; on the one hand we have nestled beside us a beautiful woman full of the juices of love, and on the other a desperate man six hundred miles away from his love of juice – Scratch around all you like in the collection of surf literature, even Tracks ‘ The Surfer’s Bible ‘ can provide no solution to this desperate urging of blood and comingling of basic passions. Hers and yours.
There has to be a compromise ..
petebowes.com 
Fuck Shearer’s place. Spiders the size of a mid-sized Manhattan highrise scampering forth, hither and thither about the premises? No thank you!
That is, of course, assuming Ms. Wendy doesn’t sport crabs of a similar size and stature to said spiders.
Oh what a web you’ve woven, boss.
I’m worried about the compromise our man must make, and the justification for making it .. and has Wendy got enough chocolate for a long weekend?
…. I somehow doubt that young Stevo will be part of the solution
Nope, Shearer will be off lapping at the testicular region of his mentor, Stu Nettles… hoping for a few crumbs from the King’s table… heh heh…
As for compromise, I’d sacrifice the Superbank in a heartbeat if it meant Cabarita with a few million less blokes. And if the reward for a few hollow rights meant a gladiatoral tussle amongst the sheets with chocolate and oil then count me in!
Oh… and Ms. Wendy being a part of the tussle would be cool too.
God !!! I think i remember that car !!! LOL 🙂
At least you could have cleaned it out Jo, the car dealer wasn’t too happy with the old roaches under the passenger seat.
I was too busy with my hand on his thigh 🙂 LOL
If only you ladies knew what sort of complications that behaviour resulted in – here’s a bloke trying to change down a gear or two for safety’s sake and here’s your hot hand of love doing the bloody opposite – We are only human Jo ..
That we only know TOO well – it’s why we do it…