All of the following are genuine conversations. Genuine does not always mean serious!

Robin Hill & Sarah Hartwell

Another newsgroup chat-up . Engineering style
(Note: Swarfega is thick, gooey soap used by mucky mechanics, WD-40 is a water-repellent oil for mechanical items)

Swarf-Boy: Male colognes? What's wrong with Swarfega, WD-40 and hot steam on oily brass?

Shepherdess: Tell me more Swarfega -boy ....... drool, drool

Swarf-Boy: Ah, Swarfega. glutinous, green, sensual, lubricious. Shiny and inviting, translucent and virginal in the tin, grab a handful with greasy, black-as-lucifer's-heart hands, fresh from delving into the nether regions of some primeval mekanikal device. Work the cool emerald nugget of glop between one's fingers, savouring its slightly medicinal scent as it mixes with the dirt and corruption, seeing its verdant heart shot through with swirling black tendrils of dirt, like the marble cladding on the walls of Satan's bathroom. Marvelling at its magical, nay, cabalistic ability to slough off the sticky filth, leaving hands and forearms pink and shiny where once was only impenetrable blackness.....

Ooh, I was well away, there. D'you think I ought to send this in to Swarfega for their next advert? Imagine David Boreanaz stripped to the waist, gapping the spark plugs on his open-topped sports car, dark and underlit on a steam-washed garage set with the obligatory spotlamp-behind-slowly-turning-ventilator-fan while Charisma Carpenter, thin cotton dress sweat-slicked to her sinuous curves, suggestively runs her fingers over his box spanners...

Who said engineers can't be romantic...? (Almost everybody, actually. It's our lot in life... All right, look, I'm waiting for the Sun system to start up, ok, and I've nothing to do at the moment. All I have to entertain me at the moment is my imagination, and I've already run the AA man and the shepherdess daydream... ooh. too much information...)

Shepherdess: I feel you working your Swarfega-coated hands silkily around my jawline and neck, sliding sensuously downwards to my shoulder leaving trails of green Swarfega and virgin golden engine oil. The clean scent of the green glutinous fills my nostrils as your other hand clasps the small of my back and pulls me towards your oil-stained body. You overalls are pulled down to your waist and the firm, sculpted muscles of your chest glisten, oily with Duckhams very best. You smell of an intoxicating mixture of Castrol grease and the clean hot smell of a freshly oiled, smoothly running V6 engine.

Your hand has slipped downwards to cup my breast and I feel you rolling your thumb and forefinger together. Shouldn't you be fondling my nipple? Instead, you are apparently marvelling in the silky, soapy feel of Swarfega between your thumb and finger. I place it on my nipple. Your other hand is sliding further down my flesh towards that secret place, already so well lubricated; a well-oiled cylinder awaiting its piston. The soapy taste of green gunk makes me retch. You are still rubbing your thumb and finger together, but have entirely missed my nipple! And don't for one moment think are going to place that grimy, black hand covered with mucky black used Swarfega anywhere near my secret places, thank you very much.

Okay buster, just one inch further southwards and I'll hit you with my shepherdess's crook, understand? Your slippery hand is is sensuously massaging my buttocks ..

Where do you think you are putting that finger? What do you mean your hand slipped?

Don't say I didn't warn you ..

All such transcripts claim to be genuine, however Dragonqueen can personally vouch for this one which was written to amuse an email friend. Both parties had watched a documentary about behind-the-scenes at a phone sex operation - the gorgeous voices often belonged to far-from-gorgeous women who were knitting, smoking or picking their noses while giving aural gratification to the caller.

It's time to let your imagination run wild. You will have to imagine the husky voice.

I'm sitting at the PC wearing only plastic foodwrap (it's cold in the room and I have gooseflesh so I look more like a plucked chicken in a refrigerator cabinet), red stiletto shoes, my devil's tail and my nicest smile.

I need a strong master who can make me beg, make me really beg ... on my knees. Do you want to be my master now? Do you need a servant of your own? I promise to be a humble servant and kiss your shoes as a mark of respect. (Now stopping to loosen foodwrap so I can breathe and take off stiletto shoes which are too tight). I will kneel with my face pressed to the floor as a sign of respect for my great master.

Do you like it when I beg like this? Make me beg some more. I am a bad servant and need someone to make me beg (sh*t, I also need to go to the bathroom and this foodwrap is stuck onto me, have to peel it off somehow). I am grovelling now, master, do you like it when I grovel? I am crawling on my belly and whimpering for mercy (or for more? You will have to decide), abasing myself and fawning like a spaniel dog (where are the scissors, I have to remove this damn foodwrap somehow), rolling on the floor (trying to get out of the foodwrap) and begging abjectly (for someone to come and help me out of this bastard foodwrap!).

(Husky voice goes up an octave in panic. I can't get out of the foodwrap. I look like a shrink-wrapped chicken [complete with goosepimples] and need to use the bathroom, something not possible when wrapped in plastic and looking like a transparent Egyptian mummy - except Tutankhamen is better looking than me, even though he's been dead for around 2000 years. maybe 2000 years wrapped in bandages [you can help with that bit] and buried in the desert will do the miracles that Body Shop make-up can't do for me.)

I promise to be a good servant (promises, promises) and kiss shoes and the hem of your jeans and plead for my merciful master to be kind to me and not beat me too severely (if he can get me out of this damn foodwrap it will also be appreciated). Is there anything else my master demands from his most humble and unworthy servant? Perhaps to reward me for being obedient even though I am a most unworthy servant. (Finally got out of the foodwrap, but it was holding bits of me in place and now my boobs, belly, bum and everything have sagged like a sweatshirt that has been washed too often and gone baggy, and I have cut myself with the scissors).

I don't think I would be any good on phone lines, oh master, I can't stop laughing.

In fact you can see the seductress in clingfilm at Clingfim Gallery


Private Newsgroups are not just for exchanging information. They are also places for meeting people very strange people!


An 18 year old, HandJobBoy, tried to chat up HornyBitch on a chat-room. HornyBitch enlightened the chat-room participants as to why she had turned down HandJobBoy's offer. The following electronic romance between Hornybitch and SupaStud then took place in the chat-room. Is it for real or were the participants winding up HandjobBoy? Either way, it was entertaining.

HornyBitch: These days I find men over 40 a damn sight more attractive and much better company.

SupaStud: I'm 41 and the photos you attached looked okay. Is it a date?

HornyBitch: Oh dear, do I sense desperation? Are you more, or less, desperate than HandJobBoy? The photos are pretty old.

SupaStud: They looked fine to me. Have you changed that much?

HornyBitch: Well if we meet you need to bring 2 paper bags. One to go over my head and one for you to wear in case my paper bag falls off <G>

SupaStud: No I'm not desperate. Do I need to be? Like the 'double-bagger' comment ... what will we be doing for one of them to fall off? ;o))

HornyBitch: I'm open to suggestions. Nothing kinky, mind you.

SupaStud: What's wrong with kinky? Mind you, my idea of kinky is keeping the light on ;o)

HornyBitch: You're okay there, personally I prefer the light off. Otherwise prospective partners run screaming the moment I remove attire. They demand compensation for Post traumatic Stress Disorder after sight of me.

SupaStud: I won't run off. Promise.

HornyBitch: No you won't run off. LOL. I won't let you. Can I bring the handcuffs and blindfold?

SupaStud: Why?

HornyBitch: I'll need cuffs to stop you running off. You'll need blindfold so you don't gag at sight of me. Are we still on for that date?

SupaStud: OK, but I won't run anywhere as my ample beer belly will batter me to death. You'll have to be on top, otherwise you might suffocate when my beer belly descends upon you. What's this about removal of a tyre?

HornyBitch: With your beer belly and my spare tyre, we could do sumo.

SupaStud: LOL. Sounds like fun. Anything else I should have handy apart from cuffs and blindfold?

HornyBitch: I'll need a cushion to rest my knee on or my bursitis will flare up.

SupaStud: No problems. I have spare pillows.

HornyBitch: I have to bring my TENS machine for damaged back. TENS machine has other uses. And heat-rub for my rheumaticky ankle. I'll be careful not to get the heat rub anywhere sensitive. And my heart monitor - do you have a power socket nearby so i can plug it in?

SupaStud: Bring a double-adaptor cos I need to plug in my 'erectomatic' suction aid. A spare elastic band would be handy too.

HornyBitch: I suppose you prefer the machine cos viagra reacts badly with your blood pressure pills? I have some jubilee clips you could use, but last time I tried them on a guy they caused gangrene and spontaneous self-amputation.

SupaStud: I'd like to try out the TENS machine. It might work better than the suction erectomatic. Don't worry about the heat-rub - I use it for lube during hand-jobs.

HornyBitch: Do you mind if I keep on my beer-bottle-bottom glasses, only I can't see more than 6 inches without them.

SupaStud: You won't need your 'I can see six inches' glasses if I leave the 'erectomatic' attached...

HornyBitch: I'll park the Oxygen cylinder nearby so I can use my breath mask, ooh about every 3 or 4 mins when exerting myself.

SupaStud: Can I bring my goat? I'll need something to lavish my affection on whilst you're taking in oxygen between ciggies.

HornyBitch: I quit smoking cos my breathing was getting bad, so

SupaStud: You quit? I like women to stub out their ciggies on my chest.

HornyBitch: had to quit. Cigs make the O2 cylinders explode. Do you mind the smell of Tiger Balm, only I need it for my chest. You can help rub it in if you like.

SupaStud: LOL. Of course I'll help rub it in. Like I said, I use that stuff for lube.

HornyBitch: Also, can you have a commode handy - my IBS is giving me gyp and sometimes I can't make it to bathroom in time.

SupaStud: No problems about the commode. I suffer incontinence so I fully understand.

HornyBitch: Okay. Be careful my HRT patch doesn't peel off on you, it can cause unwanted growth in chest region and undesirable shrinkage elsewhere.

WiseAss: Did you hear the story on the radio 4 about a guy whose internet date turned out to be 60 and she had the body of her former housemate in the freezer.

HornyBitch: SupaStud, I've been thinking about things in the light of recent news reports. It's not that I don't like the sound of you but WiseAss is right. D'you mind if I call off our oxygen cylinder fuelled, goat-inclusive date? At least for now?

SupaStud: But I have everything ready <(ba-a-a) ... shhh.> I just need to get some fuel for the chainsaw as I only have a fridge-freezer...

WiseAss: Can you guys please take this somewhere else? I feel sick.


Two users of an engineering company's newsgroup decided to run an agony thread after "Agony Uncle" sent a cute photo to "Confused Female Engineer". "Confused" is well-known on the NG for her tomboyish interests. Remember - these people are engineers!

Confused Female Engineer: Dear Agony Uncle, Thank you for your cute picture of the cuddly kitty cat rolling around on the mouse-mat. D'you think if I rolled over like that, I'd look cute and someone would come and tickle my tummy? Maybe I should work on my fluffy, cuddly aspect as a process improvement? I'm not having much luck with the truck-driving, DIY-enthusiast image at present.

Agony Uncle: well rolling around looking cute is worth a try... but you may get some strange looks from people.

Confused: Hmmm, cuddly, fluffy power-drill wielding scary woman with penchant for truck-driving? Besides, I'd fall off the mouse mat!

Agony Uncle: Like I said, you may get some strange looks from people.

Confused: No change there then. So you think that "fluffy, cuddly" may not work for drill-wielding maniacs and I should stick to "come over and see my compost heap sometime"? What if I drove round in my truck offering sweeties ... sort of "hop in, my good man, here's a Mars Bar, you'll need it!" ? It's not normally the sort of advice you see on Clare Rayner's agony aunt page .....

Agony Uncle: Dear Confused Compost-Lover, I'm not sure the fluffy cuddly drill-wielding combination will be entirely successful, but you never know, may be worth a try. Maybe you will get more success combining the compost offer in as well?

Confused: Dear Agony Uncle, Please advise on how best to accomplish this combination? Should I put fluffy covers on my drill and cover myself with the compost (which is a bit fluffy itself due to fungus). Should I retain or ditch the clingfilm &'creosote part of my image as being too scary for the average engineer? I am not sure whether to use the compost or the creosote. Creosote would at least repel flies. Also, should the modern woman carry power tools in her handbag on a first date just in case a shelf needs fixing?

Agony Uncle: Dear Confused, if you feel it will help then by all means put fluffy covers on the drill. Compost should be saved for a later date, and clingfilm & creosote should be saved until well into the relationship. you know, once he is used to the compost. too much at once can be a bit scary for some, so just remember... baby steps. The modern woman should indeed always keep such precautions in her handbag in case the date has not remembered. even on the first date, this is no longer something to be frowned up on.

Confused: I usually only carry pliers and a smaller hammer (along with eye shadow and lipstick and the 52 piece Kamasa socket set with metric AND imperial sockets). On dark evenings I also carry a car wheel jack. Would this be considered too threatening? Would my heavy duty half inch chuck power drill with hammer setting and 8 inch masonry bit cause feelings of inadequacy e.g. if he only has a Baby Dremel? At what stage can I carry the power jigsaw (just in case the bed legs are uneven and it wobbles unnecessarily) without appearing intimidating?

Agony Uncle: I think a wheel jack may be a little excessive. I would recommend not comparing tool sizes in the early stages but when things have settled down such details should not be an issue. As for the power jigsaw I would recommend leaving that at home until it has been found that the bed legs are unbearably uneven. Besides, a little uneveness adds to the enjoyment or so I have been told.

Confused: Not even a little wheel jack, like an emergency wheel jack, not the full hydraulic version?

Agony Uncle: Definitely not.

Confused: Regarding leaving my jigsaw at home until it has been found that the bed legs are unbearably uneven, you mention that a little uneveness adds to the enjoyment. I would have thought a firm base necessary otherwise the unevenness will surely cause interruptions at crucial times and put one off ones stroke, so to speak? If not the jigsaw, what about my little junior hacksaw? The metal-cutting blade on the jiggy is so useful for when I lose the keys to the manacles. And would the 3 metre extending metal tape measure lead to an inferiority complex?

<Several hours silence, mostly due to laughter from the other side of the office>

Agony Uncle: Apologies for the interruption of agony services, due to technical problems. Normal service will be resumed shortly.

<Silence, due to doing some work>

Agony Uncle: I still think a wheel jack may be a little excessive, even a little one, like an emergency wheel jack. But, if you insist, however, don't say you weren't warned. You believe that a firm base is necessary otherwise the unevenness will cause interruptions at crucial times? Oh no, all adds to the excitement. Apparently.

Confused: So, what about my little junior hacksaw?

Agony Uncle: This is acceptable, for emergency use.

Confused: And would the 3 metre extending metal tape measure lead to an inferiority complex?

Agony Uncle: Not when the other party has a 5 metre extending metal tape measure.

Confused: Sorry to bang on about it, but about those uneven bed-legs - lacking practical experience in this respect, I will have to take your word for it. However, should a leg wobble at an inopportune moment I fear that the result could be painful for one or other party. I will have to conduct further studies as the opportunity arise. Perhaps it would be advisable to take axle stands should any of the bed legs appear unduly rickety? Also, What then are your views on duct tape, G-clamps (no, this is not related to G-spots) and monkey wrenches?

Agony Uncle: Precautions such as axle stands are always a good idea. As regards the other items, I have no monkeys to be wrenched.

Confused: So this is what health adverts mean when they say one should practice such things safely and take precautions? My parents made do with one volume of The Children's Encyclopaedia under the rickety leg of the bed. However by then my parents were no longer practising (AFAIK) so I have no idea of the robustness of the encyclopaedia approach and an encyclopaedia is not adjustable in the manner of axle stands or emergency car jacks

Agony Uncle: You could try tearing out pages until you achieve the correct adjustment.

Confused: During a first meeting however, would it not appear rather "forward" to turn up with axle stands or an emergency jack? Perhaps advertising one's motives when there is no assurance of entering into an axle stands situation? What would be the correct etiquette of this situation and how best should one broach the topic of shoring up the bed in case of strenuous activities? perhaps i should say I have turned up directly from applying under-seal to my vehicle or would that appear a rather flimsy and artificial excuse?


The below will mean very little to those who have never studied electrical engineering. Sparky Gal and Lady Di-ode are long-time sparring partners. Rohmeo was trying to chat up Sparky Gal. (TXTMSG shorthand has been translated)

Sparky Gal: Deadleigh-Sirkit [another user] sez I look a bit like Xena.

Rohmeo: Maybe he means like Zener?

Lady Di-ode: Yeah right. She's a Xena Diode.

Rohmeo: Just let me get Sparky's components on my test bed, plug in and get oscillating. When my current surges her eyes will light up.

Lady Di-ode: Hey Sparky, he wants a Test Jig-a-jig!

Sparky Gal: Ohm my god, resistance may be useless but it is not an impedance. Nothing would induce me to say that it was.

Lady Di-ode: Fluxing hell rohmeo - her resistance is low.

Rohmeo: Actually I find that resistance can be charming and initial reluctance can be positively alluring, but steady-state susceptance is the only sound basis for a long-term relationship...

Lady Di-ode: Step up. Transform her. Step down.

Electro-Slut: I'm just about at the limit of my capacitance for this sort of thing. You guys should bridge your dielectric gap, SPICE up your lives, and rectify this battery of current and alternating potential differences.

Rohmeo: Well I generally find that toggling her flip-flop induces a positive flux for majority carrier injection and subsequent discharge. But beware of dual-supply configurations as sneak-circuit cross-talk can result in at best a max-flat response or even ultimate decoupling.

Sparky Gal: Mho! mho!

Rohmeo: Huh?

Sparky Gal: I am Mhoning. Ok, ok, I'll get me coat.

Rohmeo: Would that coat be conformal?

Electro-Slut: You know, in some redneck areas guys get a special kick from going with a close relative in a derelict railcar in a far corner of the farm - it's officially known as the Field Effect Train-sister

Lady Di-ode: Now that justifies Sparky's ohmic response...

Sparky Gal: I thought a Di-ode was a poem about Princess Diana.

Rohmeo: Yeah, and a poem about her demise in an underpass would be a Tunnel Di-ode?

Lady Di-ode: Bad amplitude rohmeo.

Rohmeo: How about me and you two gals?

Sparky Gal: Three phase?

Rohmeo: ACDC?

Sparky Gal: Sure. I'm bi-directional. You gotta use surge protection though.

Rohmeo: Yeah. I only do safe flux.

Sparky Gal: No use relying on circuit breaker stuff. G/f of mine had pregnancy scare. Had to ask him not to leave it insulate if he wants to meter again. I'm okay - coil.

Lady Di-ode: Will the earth move or more like earth leakage?

Rohmeo: Hey gal, I'm Mr power surge, not a trickle charger!

Sparky Gal: Mom said to find a knight with a white charger. I got me a night with a trickle charger.

Lady Di-ode: Shocking. Surface mount?

Rohmeo: If I ask nice, will one of you gals gimme a blown fuse?

Sparky Gal: Whoa! You want one of us to socket? It won't be my volt if that's as farad it goes. I operate within strict tolerances. Hee-hee and watch where you stick your probe - you don't want to discharge prematurely.

Electro-Slut: Can you guys conduct yourselves properly please. I know the atmosphere's electric an all, and current and motion results in magnetism, but I'm getting kinda jealous. Take the dirty stuff somewhere private like?



Gavin: We've got four Airbus A320s sitting around doing nothing, so we'll borrow one of those.

PDR: We could have one each, and replay the scene at the end of "By Dawn's Early Light"...

Gav: I'm sure that <name of major airline boss> won't mind.

PDR: He's a pal of my sister's, so I'll ask her to put in a good word!

Gav: BTW, our Rolls-Royce owned, Griffon powered Spitfire PR19 was out flying for the first time this year yesterday.

PDR: I'm claiming that for my close-air-support force as my personal transport - purely so that I can supervise the front line in person you understand.

Lovely sound that Griffon makes.

PDR: Proper music indeed - twelve cylinders, four cams, forty-eight valves and a two-stage blower in perfect harmony (everybody say "Aaaahhhhh!!").

Sarah: I love it when you talk sexy PDR :)

PDR: Well how about: Then there's the symphonic rhapsodies of the 4,000 rpm twin crankshafts counterpointed by the impetuous harmonic interjections of the 24 sleeve valves, all underlined with the crude but reassuring whine of the primitive fuel injection system which combine to produce the Napier Sabre - a Concerto in three movements...

I'm yours.

PDR: Vacant possession?

Sarah: Vacant expression more like!"

PDR: Aaah: Essex girl syndrome!


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