Guest Blogger: Lana Citron

The Fantasy Bus

9.08

And late

Girl exists London Underground

Bound for the office

Short skirt strides shortened

Clickitty clack heels upon pavement

Clocking in for a day of interminable boredom

Girl takes up appointed position

As temporary city company receptionist

'Good morning.'

Duties consist of sitting with a smile on her face

'Good morning.'

Harder than you may think

So you mustn't


Security guards take it in shift to sit bedside Girl

On this fine,

'Good morning.'

Arnold, a Northern, racist, homophobic

Not his fault environment in which he grew up

Keeps Girl company

9.30


The morning rush subsides and strange

A slow bus trundles along the road

Strange it is painted blue

It is noticed

Eyes are averted from papaers, screens, coffee machines, office seats

And.... oh la la

the big blue open top bus comes to a stopoutside Girl's glass doors

Drum roll and a cough to clear the Maestro's throat

'Ladies and Gentlemen behold the beautiful the sensual, erotic, exotic...

Three lovely ladies

Fun gals come to brighten up your day,'

The Maestro pinched a proffered bum

'Cheeky,

Come take a closer look-

See'

'Caught on camera by the TV crew

''Looksy, we know you want to.'

Girl gets distracted and red-blooded Arnold has already fled

She goes to have a decker

It's not every day you get to sample the best of British journalism

3 TITTY LADIES BARE ALL IN CITY WHOPPER SHOCKER

Smoked glass doors are opened wide

Girl and Arnold step outside

'Woah, she's a ride,' says Arnold to Girl.

'Go on gorgeous, give us a twirl.'

'Awight boys,' calls out Titty One, 'We sure gonna have fun.'

And slowly and oh so teasingly

She pulls her t-shirt up over her body revealing her...

And the crowd yell

'Cor, look at the knockers on that.'

Tasty

Tasty

Very

Very

Tasty

And tastefully exhibited

The important bits hidden behind a golden bikini thingy

9.43


A good crowd has gathered

Fun for all means men and Girl

She doesn't seem to notice, neither do they

Otherwise preoccupied with Titty One

Her hips, bra straps, and her bum

Sway in opposing directions

man calls out, 'get a move on some of us got work to do.'

Titty One satisfies

Her great big boobies are espied

The bikini thingy cast aside

How dutifully displayed


Titty One is most refined

Shows them off like a good little girl

Like she's a good little girl

Flutters her eyes, never done it before

then switches to acting like a dirty whore

In tune, the bleating audience sing the all time classic

'Get your tits out for the boys.'

9.45


Like vermin they appear out of nowhere

Tools down, headed for the spectacle

the crowd has grown like a pregnant woman

Lines of males at windows

Windows opened for the first time ever

Cheering and the like

Then Titty Two joins her pal

She really is a horny gal

'All for you,' coos Titty Two

'But mustn't tell the wife.'

And she pouts out her tush wagging it like a puppy bitch

'Could do wiv a piece of dat.'

'Wouldn't know what to do.'

'Would too.'

Fisty cuffs are formed, punches thrown

'Boys, boys there's plenty for all.' says Titty Three

She lifts up her top, 'See, see.'

9.50

An enormous blob of dribbly drool

Descends down the building forming a pool

Titties titillating, tight trousered crowd

Girl taken in goes along for the ride

She cheers those ladies on

'Bravo... bravo...'

Focus switches, Girl comes into view

Full frontal, fully clothed

9.52


Males are disconcerted, don't know what to do

Very unbecoming behaviour

From a proper lady

Most unsettling

Definately not right

Girl should be behind her desk

Out of sight

The men feel cheated

It's their show

They attack her with cries of

'Lesbo... Lesbo...'

Girl shouts back,

'Would you blame me, look at the state of you lot.'

The Titties laugh

'Good on you Girl,, they shout their support

men lose face, bosses lose money and it's back to work boys

9.55

The crowd disperse and the wheels on the bus go round and round, round and round...


Author of five novels, Lana Citron is also a consummate hoarder of kisses and currently working on; 'A Life in Kisses', check her out at www.oneoffkisses.com or at The Big Chill this year or should the fancy take, on the 4th plinth in Leicester Square on Agust the 9th between 9-10am. This edited piece was originally published in Lara's first novel, Sucker and kindly donated to Burlesque Against Breast Cancer, not to mention performed last Monday at the Book Club Boutique.

Guest Blogger: Den Rele

Breast is Best

I remember a time when a handful was plenty
and all that you needed was a perky pair
but these are the days of the mammoth mammary
of humoungous hooters and big bags of air
of gigantic goombas, GGs and Jordan
and yayas stretched far as a yaya would dare

And I long for a time when a handful was plenty
and all you needed was a perky pair
A time before plastic and silicone implants
a time before big baps became a career

when a boob was a boob and it didn't much matter
whether yours were beestings or bosoms or boulders
as long as you had a nice pair of jubblies
happily jiggling down from your shoulders
before gigantic goombas, GGs and Jordan
and yayas stretched far as a yaya would dare

If only, If only, we'd all band together
us women with chesticles varied and rare
and tell all the lad mags to stuff their bajongas
and take to the streets, fine tittied and fair

With our bristols and bombs, our norks and our jugs
badoinkies, bazoombas, bethas and dugs
highbeams and hummers, honkers and hooters
melons and numnums, knockers, bazookas
our ying yangs, our yazoos, our racks and our wah wahs
babaloos, cha chas, torpedoes and tatas

We'd all spread the word, and start conversations
about all those excuses for self mutilation
like "My body needed more symmetry"
or "my bigger boobs make me feel more womanly"

We'd kick Wonderbra in the "hello boys"
fling out the chicken fillet - oh, joy of joys!
We'd demand bras that fit, not that we fit the bras
and tell all those stupid car show wankers
that our mounds were not made for selling their cars

And we'd take a look at our endless variety
and accept at last that all boobs should hang free
Because every woman in her heart knows this best:
That a breast, is a breast, is a breast, is a breast.

Guest Blogger: Graham Buchan

Quit

The peach dribbled down your breast
and I smoked my last ever cigarette
inhaling your beauty
and stubbing out my future
under your lowered eyes


Holy

Your breasts, holy
an altar, a font
receive baptism of my ejaculate
and I kneel
and we share
Holy Communion


To Serena

I want to be your sports bra,
As you zip about the court,
'cos there's one thing you can count on:
my unwavering support.

Oh let me hold you firm and tight,
as you smash the opposition;
I can guarantee your boobs
will not stray from position.

And after final victory
as you unwind in the shower
I will sigh, on the locker room floor,
That was my finest hour.

Oh I want to be your sports bra;
I really couldn't be keener
to hold your boobs, big and bold
my beautiful Serena.

Having graduated as a Chemical Engineer and after slumming it for thirty years in the film industry, Graham Buchan finally got round to writing poetry, short fiction and reviews. His books include Airport Reading and There is Violence In These Vapours (both from Tall Lighthouse) and has been on the radio and the telly.

Guest Blogger: Naomi Woddis

Come, Sleep

Once each nipple was a weathervane,

my pert sun rising beneath a clavicle horizon.

Now an estuary of stretch-marks inks me.

When your calendar is a theif, stealing

all your hours, I'll be the pillow after the dirty

washing of your week. You, who have sucked

the day dry of all its milk, rest your head

between the bookends of my breasts. Come,

sleep with me.

Naomi Woddis has featured at the O2 Wireless Festival, Theatre Royal Stratford East and the Queen Elizabeth Hall as part of the London Literature Festival. Her innovative collaboration online invention, Poerty Mosaic (www.poetrymosaic.wordpress.com) is gaining in international popularity. Her pamphlet "Life is Music" was published in 2007.

Guest Blogger: Emily Breen

My name is Emily Breen. I'm a columnist for Essex magazine The Edge and contributor to movie site HeyUGuys.co.uk. I recently completed my first novel Trading Up and am working on the second. I live in Chelmsford and I am a regular at the Book Club Boutique. This is my recent contribution from the Burlesque Against Breast Cancer night there.

Boobs Have the Power

In the kingdom of the working flat, the breast is truly King

(or Queen) I mean good looks are nice but boobs still reign supreme

Boobs have the power to make grown men do stupid things

Like spend their cash pursuing them, eschewing wedding rings

(A client left the flat one day so lost in thoughts of chest that the following night he struck up a conversation with me in a bar... and then remembered where he had seen me before)

Boobs have such power


One guest star was an Essex girl - a record breaking bird

And when she dropped her H's none among them said a word

Boobs have the power to make a grown man speechless

Jaw agape, Medusa-stoned; some portions of their features

(Some we just wished were silent - when ringing a flat do try to observe etiquette and avoid using the word titties. Remember you are on the phone not appearing in a porno)

Boobs have such power


GFE required a C to conjure girl next door

Others rather pickier denied that less was more

Boobs have the power to make a grown man want to spend

The less bashful of the species often recommend a friend

("It was an F he said, but young and perky, no sag" Certainly Sir that pair is sitting right here, but there is a woman attached - would you like to hear her description?)

Boobs have such power


I really think the ladies of negotiable affection

Have much to teach us amateurs of cleavage misdirection

Those boobs have the power to make a grown man want to vet

Praise or cuss them and discuss them in a land called Punternet

(We might not yet have mastered alchemy, but a good balconette will make even an A cup runneth over. Still, for some, anything that prefixes double-D is the magic number)

Boobs have such power


Boobs have the power to make a grown man cry

And if they try to claim they don't? My dears, the grown men lie

Boobs have the power to make them all confused

We have all the power... because we control the boobs

(When weilding a pair of your own do try to heed the words of the man in the red catsuit: With great power comes great responsibility!)

Boobs have such power. Be sure to use it wisely.

Picture taken by Rae Jenkin of Emily performing 'Boobs Have the Power' at the Breast Awareness night at the Book Club Boutique at Dicks Bar in Soho, on behalf of Macmillan Cancer Support.

Guest Blogger: Sabrina Mahfouz

The Lady with the Amazing Breasts

My boyfriend left me the other day
before he left there were a few things he felt he had to say
He wasn't leaving cos he felt stressed, it wasn't that he didn't like the way that I dressed, it certainly wasn't even that he didn't like what we did in bed...

it was because he had met the lady with the amazing breasts.

Beach brown and round as a pound coin; firm as his dick
as he reached out to touch and she gave him a kicking;
nipples that crippled all feeling in his crotch
and were as dusky pink as his blush

as he began to think about the lady with the amazing breasts.

As he carried on and on I looked down at my own which hadn't grown
since me and Melissa watched Grease in 1993
and held 'I must improve my bust they will get bigger still' Olympic heats
in the heat of a summer house

which would never play host to the lady with the amazing breasts.

Two bags of fat, I always said, who really wants that
hanging heavy off them, banging, bumping
diverting eye-to-eye contact, inviting 'oh what a nice... necklace chat'

I used to say no thanks, not me, I'm happy being able to see my feet.

But I do wonder about the lady with the amazing breasts.

I wonder what she looks like in the mirror as she takes off her clothes
I wonder if she can sleep on her front when she goes to bed
I wonder if she's really aware of what she does to some men's heads
I wonder what it feels like to press a hand, can I quickly squeeze please?

I wonder if, after all, she thinks she's the lady with the amazing breasts.

Sabrina is a performance poet, freelance journalist and currently the Entertainment Editor for Chic Today. You can see her perform on Monday July 6th at Dick's Bar in Soho for Burlesque Against Breast Cancer at The Book Club Boutique. She has a Myspace.

Burlesque Against Breast Cancer comes to Soho

On Monday evening, Burlesque Against Breast Cancer moves to the spiritual home of London sleaze, Soho as we bring our travelling showcase of debauchery promoting 'Ultimate Burlesque' and raising money for Macmillan Cancer Support by hosting at the established literary night, The Book Club Boutique, situated at Dick's Bar, in Romilly Street from 8pm.

Joining us will be cancer survivors, erotic fiction authors, burlesque performers and a whole host of London-based poets who have specially written contributions to perform and contribute to BABC very kindly. These contributions will be featured on here and the BABC website in the near future.

We will be joined by burlesquers... Dolly Rose, Duchess Divine, Jubilee Swoon, Beulah Bell...

Pamina Caruso Brassey will be talking about her fight against breast cancer...

...but we will also be joined by the wonderful Naomi Woodis, Dfiza Benson, Kirsty Allison, Lana Citron, Sophia Blackwell, Tim Wells, Sabrina Mahfouz, Capella Silverangel, Graham Buchan, Den Rele and Joe Duggan...

Entry Free, come and play....