Procrastinations is written (or, in some cases, merely edited) by John Coxon.
Credit is given to material that is ripped off gratefully accepted from others.
Issue 2 first published Tuesday 20th July 2007. HTML version published Monday 13th August 2007.
Future issues may be published. You have been warned.
If you are looking for the PDF version of the paper version of this fanzine, it can be found here.
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So it was my second Octocon, my third convention, and I was 18.
After winning the Golden Gopher award at my first Octocon, the national Irish Science Fiction convention, I was asked to help co-ordinate the gophering hole. This was pretty cool and I even got invited to a couple of committee meetings. It was all good and a gentle in to the machinations and runnings of conventions.
I was helping with Nigel Baker, a decent fellow a few years my senior. He had had a bike accident and was a bit fubar’d by it, and hence I was brought in to assist.
The convention itself was rather excellent, we managed loads of gophers – where are they now, I wonder. We had stacks of free drinks – soft drinks, but even so, free was such a great price. There was the twenty-four hour video room, but because there was a Duty Committee member bedroom, we got to share that, which was grand, as it was also free. Money was tighter than a duck’s arse in 1992.
Anyhow, everything was rather excellent. I met many nice people, got Terry Pratchett to sign a book for me and generally had a good time. The disco was good and I enjoyed the company of many of my friends, most of whom were older and wiser than I, but looked out for me (you know what I mean, John).
So I met a girl. No, I met a lady. She was well older than me, by maybe 10 or 14 years – I am not sure really, but she was a nice, well-built lass, who was in a frisky skirt, had nice sheer nylons on, and a decent pair of court shoes. I was interested. A friend was interested in her friend, so it was good. It was the end of the convention and we were all sitting round big tables celebrating its success. It was darkened, I was young, slim and possibly charming.
My hands drifted up skirt like, and I knew this to be a good thing. An older lady had to be a sure thing, like no strings hassle. It moved from the heaving bar area to the car park, the four of us, then we split up, and I ended up in the back of a Ford Granada Estate. Things happened fast and I remember there being nylons all over the place.
I wasn’t as well paced as I am now, but it was very satisfactory from my point of view. Being a youf, I was full of it and talked no end of shit as we made out, at HST speed. I really enjoyed blowing my load, and, big bonus, the lady seemed to really enjoy her orgasm lots, although I was no expert.
Grand, I thought, that was lovely, and within minutes, I was looking to get back to the bar, and that was OK, as the lady decided to head on herself, but wanted to meet up again. I wasn’t offended by the idea of further sexual encounters, so thought that was grand. We swopped phone numbers, and I hugged and held her as that’s what she wanted, I just wanted to get that shit over with and get back to the bar.
The con ended and life got back to normal mostly. I was working in a local shop, having left school and avoiding college.
So when I got home from work on my first day back, my dad had some messages for me to contact a lady. Cool, I thought, although I hadn’t expected to hear so soon.
I returned the call that evening, and the conversation went all sort of really wrong.
I started off thinking about arranging another fuck, and it was all about me meeting her for relaxing times, and maybe meeting her parents, and going for a meal and generally loads of stuff that schoolgirls waffle about when they eventually meet the boy of their dreams. I asked about the sex, but this wasn’t a priority, getting to know one another better was, and doing stuff together.
At last the proximity alert defence mechanism started to bleep and I realised that perhaps this lady wanted some sort of relationship. Jesus.
A relationship, sure, wasn’t that what I was trying to foster with the girl of my own age, from round the corner, this lady was meant to be my muse for my Marquis de Sade dreams.
I sorta explained that all this was happening a bit too fast for me, could she ease off a bit? I don’t think she took any notice.
By the end of the week, my dad came to me and asked what the story was with this lady, and what should he say. I said I had made an error of judgement and that she wanted something I didn’t. His discretion and aplomb attitude took me strangely by surprise, and he started to run interference for me. I am not sure what he said, but he was liable to say anything. For instance recently he told me to tell someone he knew that he was fighting as a Merc in Chechnya. So I imagine I might have been shipped to Bosnia or something.
I spoke to Anna. Anna was a goddess at 32, she was absolutely beautiful, intelligent, amazing and sexually incredible. She was also a great friend through the SF crowd.
She said she would speak to her at the next Irish Science Fiction Association meeting, chat with her woman to woman, get her off my case and explain I am just an uninterested boy after some tail.
So at the meeting Anna went off to one side for a private chat. I was pleased, my problems over, thank goodness.
That was until Anna returned from this private chat with this lady and abused me mercilessly. Apparently, with some intuition and deduction, a number of situations, all rather unfortunate, were presumed to have occurred.
In the throes of frenzied nylon fetish orgasming, I said I loved her.
She was of limited experience with men.
I was the first male (I won’t say man) who possibly made her cum.
I was what she was waiting for, and she would have to have me.
The veracity of these details was beyond me totally and I immediately denied belief, but those wiser than me could see that I had erred on the side of fuck up. This was a big fuckity fuckwit fuck up.
Anna was more annoyed with her than me though, as the lady didn’t realise I was a horny young boy who had no intention of settling down or any such, and that such a naïve approach was laughable compared to my own lustful errors. So Anna was in my corner.
Things seemingly calmed down a bit, and everything went back to normal.
Then there was a party. Everyone was invited; it was one of those start at lunchtime, end at lunchtime tomorrow things. It was great. Everyone who was anyone was invited, and there was good food. It was Anna’s flat and her partner had invited the lady, he being the SFnal link.
The motivation for such an invite may in retrospect have been devious, and Anna was a bit annoyed. I was after all under her wing.
The party went really really well and Anna advised that I should show no interest, keep a safe distance, and if I wished flirt with her a bit. This turned into some light petting which really has to be said was the one most amazing thing that came out of this whole sorry train crash of a situation. Gosh she was beautiful, and I would have married her there and then. Her partner was sloshed and thought this was all great.
He was a good friend, so it was all good.
Some time in the early hours of the morning after much consumption, the lady said that she had a story that she wanted to share with everyone.
It was called Waxing the Moon.
I knew this was shit, but Anna said to be cool, and she sorta held onto me, and giggled and such to alleviate some of the tension, that was obviously visibly building up about me.
So, Waxing the Moon, shall I paraphrase it? This is the nasty shortened version. Imagine loads of Barbara Cartland.
A man and woman meet. His name is Andrew Moon. They fuck. He says he loves her. They fuck some more. They are in Love. Woman falls pregnant. He doesn’t want a child. He decides he is going to leave her. It’s a cold departure, more of an ignore-and-go-away type of break up.
Woman seeks revenge. Seeks out Voodoo doll skills from her friend. Friend helps her. Woman hurts Andrew with voodoo doll. Simple things at first. Then nastier. Very graphic. Friend thinks it’s too much. Friend ends up found dead. Woman puts away voodoo doll of friend.
Woman inflicts certain injuries on man. Eventually killing him with needle to Brain. Child is born. Child has ailments that mirror injuries given to man, including severe mental disability. Story ends with: but at least I know when he says he loves me, he means forever.
Well I didn’t exactly piss my pants, but I could have done. One or two sycophants complimented the story. I thought they were mates.
She then stood up, came over and slapped my face. Not hard, but hard enough. I sat there and took it. Anna stood up and said that wasn’t acceptable behaviour, and asked her to leave.
Tension was awesome, two women, one psycho, one my protector: very different, yet both strong, sizing up, I thought. But the lady eased and decided she should leave.
Just as she was about to leave she approached Anna.
Anna clenched a fist, ready to strike, and the woman kissed her on the cheek. Anna said later that in her eyes it looked like she was going to rip her cheek off with her bare teeth. Obviously some of her frustrated anger was directed at my protector.
One of the sycophants got up and offered to walk the lady home.
They left.
I had a great story, and the rest of the party was awesome. Anna left her partner and all that was SFnal, and that included me. I still miss her, although I have emailed her a couple of times this year and she responded.
The sycophant and lady got married. They have kids. I am happy for them.
