Welcome to my world

Thanks for coming! Please stay, enjoy the ride and feel free to participate at anytime.

Total Pageviews

Thursday, 24 April 2014

Unrequited



It was her birthday.  She sat among her group of friends at the cafeteria table, resplendent with half eaten cake bearing its jammy centre which oozed and clotted on the plate.  Striped bags stood in a disorderly line, protecting gifts and sprouting gauzy coloured paper from their mouths.  Cards, some standing and others fallen or still sleeping in their pastel covers, taking up space on the table; a table wearing a picture of companionate emotion. And whilst it was all so touching and stroked her soul with belonging, her emotions were elsewhere.  

The chatter of her friends like a white noise in the background. It was present but she couldn’t hear it properly. Because she wasn’t there.  Tuned out and captivated with the form across the way.  His shoulders as he stood talking to his peers, strong and steady and moving solidly under his sweatshirt as he gestured with his arms. The way his t shirt underneath moulded to the base of his neck. A place she’d like to brush with her lips. The perfect shape of his hands as he lifted them to his face, the length of his beautiful fingers that she longed to feel tracing her skin.  Holding her hand within them.  Stroking her hair.  She’d dreamed of how that would feel and not just when she was sleeping; she dreamed with her eyes open.  His mouth.  Oh my god his mouth.  Soft, full lips that made her weak with a hunger to taste them.  Just to watch them as they formed the words she couldn’t hear. To study the shape they made. Just one kiss.  Just one and she could live happily forever. The way they broke into the cutest of all smiles and made her heart lurch.  A heart already swollen and bruised from being too small to hold the bounteous desire.  A mania of which he had no understanding.  Oblivious to its yearning.  How could he not feel it?  
She visually traced the contours of his face to his eyes.  Windows full of questions and glorious thoughts.   Soft eyes, like swirls of chocolate.  Pools she wanted to drown in.  She was drowning, falling into them hypnotically....

He was looking back at her.  Too late to turn away.  Her heart quickened.  Her breath caught in her throat and dried her mouth.  She flushed, conscious of the moment and caught out in her trance. 

“Happy Birthday.”  He mouthed across the room and smiled. Immediately returning to his audience, leaving her insensible and  bereft at the same time.  

His words hung in the air, floating above the other gifts; the best present of all.  But not present in her reality.  He may as well have been a thousand miles away.  A vision behind a screen.  Untouchable.  

I love you, she thought.

Her friends were leaving the table now.  Moving on.  They said things to her and she replied but she didn’t know what anybody said.  Auto pilot fully ensconced.  They all left bar one.  Louis stayed at the table, watching her, watching him.  The way she sat transfixed with her chin on her hand.  Her fingers twiddling with the jangling, hippy bracelet on her wrist.  Mousy blonde hair falling softly on her cheek and pooling at her shoulders.  Biting her bottom lip as she was lost in the reverie of her thoughts. 

“You know that people should climb mountains for you.” Louis said, trying to break into her world.

She turned briefly and gave a smile, but not with the eyes.

“Show me the mountain.”  She said determinedly.  But not to him.

Louis gazed upon her face as she watched him leave the cafeteria.

I love you.  He said, internally. 


Wednesday, 23 April 2014

Timeworn




Aged over years.  Each crack and line evidence of another stroke from time’s cruel hand; symptoms from the stretch of of the journey.   Once polished and erect,  standing proudly in front of those that travelled through and left. The beauty that was coveted and cared for eroding with every fracture and trespass.  Each opening and closing scarring the surface and peeling away the layers of protection, leaving a weary resemblance in its wake. A spaghetti pot of cerebral noise from the past turning into an exhaustion of mind numbing disassociation. Language slips away and fails. Consciously unconscious. Hanging by a thread in emotional tatters; faded and left to rot. 

Tuesday, 22 April 2014

Speed Dating



The door said “No Clowns”  Well that was sure to be a lie. Probably full of them. 

Annabelle pushed it open and made her way upstairs to the banquet room where this facade was being held.   She didn’t want to be here and would have preferred to be at home, in her onesie with a glass of wine watching Game of Thrones and relishing in the poisoning and demise of Joffrey.  However, she’d promised her friend that she would attend since she was one of the “love makers’ running the event.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!”  Diane had insisted.  “How bad can it be?  You only have to talk to each person for 4 minutes! And you need to meet someone.” 

 “No, I really don’t need to meet someone.  Really. And 4 minutes is a long time if you don’t like them.”

“Please..PLEASE.. I need the numbers.  There’s more guys than girls.  You never know, you could meet THE ONE. “

Annabelle rolled her eyes even though Diane couldn’t see since she was on the other end of a phone. It was an automatic response to the fanciful notions people had.  Annabelle had never had a problem meeting guys in her life.  She just had a problem maintaining interest and getting rid of them when the novelty had worn off and they didn’t meet her expectations. Her friends told her she was too fussy and intolerant.  She reminded them that these were qualities that had endeared them, her friends, to her in the first place.

“Fine.  What time and when?”

“Monday.  7.30pm. Thanks Annie!”

So here she was.  Straight from work in a pencil skirt suit and an oversized handbag full of gadgets and paperwork.

Diane and some random bloke were at the door as she walked in.  They were sitting there with a bunch of tickets and stuff.

“Is there a raffle?”  Annabelle enquired, sarcastically.

“Yay!  You’re here!”  Diane stood up and hugged her.

“Yay.” Annabelle said dryly.

“Here. This is your number and badge. Let’s go to the bar and get a drink and I’ll fill you in.  Is that OK Jack ? “  She turned to face her colleague who wafted her away with an arm gesture and smile. 

“Badge and number?  God, I feel like cattle.”  Annabelle noticed her name with the number 6.  “You’ve missed a couple of sixes from this... And what’s this thing?” 

“ It’s called a speed dating ticket.”  She turned her attention to the barman.. Can I have two glasses of your house merlot, large please.”

“ Is the barman playing?”  Annabelle asked thinking that he looked very appealing in his jeans and t shirt.  Plus he poured wine all night.  Win.

“Haha!  Nooo.  He’s just here to serve and ply you lot with alcohol!”  

“Yes.  My point...”  Annabelle considered that the perfect liaison. 

“The speed dating ticket..”  she continued..”On here are a list of names and numbers, like yours.  If you like someone and would be interested in seeing them again, you put a tick in the box next to their name and number.”  She pointed to the boxes on the paperwork.

“It would be so much more fun if I just ticked them randomly, right now before I met them.”  Annabelle suggested.  “See if serendipity really existed.”

Diane shook her head and smiled as Annabelle took a large slug of the red nectar.  She was going to need a few of these to get through this debacle. 

“Oh, to make it easier I’ve written a pitch.  Roughly about 2 minutes long.” 

“What?”  Diane put her head back and laughed.  “  It’s a romantic meet not a business networking event!  Just go with the flow.”

“Im just controlling the flow, is all.”

A bell rang and Diane excused herself as the event was about to begin.  Jack stood up and went through the rules and regulations and how it all worked.  Annabelle wasn’t really listening and instead motioned to the barman for another glass of wine. 

She took her seat, as all the women were asked to do and carefully placed her glass on the table.   She hated it already and felt stupidly self conscious.  Reaching down into her bag, Annabelle pulled out her scripted pitch and flattened it on the table in front of her just in time to see David, # 21, sit down on the seat in front.  A freckled faced red head, with a big goofy smile and an opened necked, white shirt. Seemed like he was trying to pull off the Prince Harry look but it wasn’t quite working. He appeared confident but his hands betrayed him by twirling the pen round and round in his fingers.

The bell rang to indicate the start of the 4 minute freak show.

“If you want, I’ll go first,“ said Annabelle, remembering just in time to add a smile at the end of her words, “I’ve made a pitch to save awkward pauses and suchlike.”

“Oh OK!  Cool.  Begin.”  He motioned with his pen.

She picked up her paper.  “I don’t quite know it verbatim so forgive me as I’ll have to read from my notes.” 

DATING PITCH

BIO:  I’ll seem like the life and soul of the party but actually that’s not true.  I can only do that in small doses.  I much prefer to do my own thing and hate having my chaotic routine messed up unless you’ve got something that’s going to wow me.  I’ve not listed those things as I think that’s your job to find out.  I’d rather cut to the chase than you pretending to be interested in banal details like what my favourite colour is.  My favourite colour is mood dependent.  When it comes to moods I’m like a roller coaster so if you don’t like rides get off now.  I’ll probably be the best fun you’ve ever had if we gel on some level but that’s going to last, roughly around six weeks when you either get pissed off with me or I with you. If you don’t intrigue or beguile me after this time limit, I see no point in wasting each others time.  Let’s just live in the moment and move on. 


Key points:

I’m not a morning person unless it involves bacon.  Chirpy demeanor before noon makes me edgy.  I suppose I’m more of a night time person so if you work shifts then we’re off to a non starter. 

Please don’t wear an argyle tank top on a date unless you can pull it off in Paul Smith coolness and if you’re too vain and materialistic I will find you shallow.  

Im both cerebral and imaginative so you will never get the same answer twice.  If you start to get confused it’s best to leave.  

 I don’t play games so if you try and manipulate my affection by ignoring me and being unreliable and/ or narcissistic I’ll probably just tell you to “Fuck off”.

Other than that I’m pretty easy going and give awesome blow jobs. 

  Annabelle added that bit at the end on purpose to gauge reaction to in your face, inappropriate comments.

David dropped his pen.

“Any questions?”   Annabelle offered, knowing there was about 30 seconds of her time left.

“ Err.. No I think I’m good.”  David smiled.  At the table.


Annabelle listened as David talked about himself, his job as a recruitment consultant and the fact that he spent most weekends kayaking.  Annabelle feigned interest and filled in the gaps by asking questions and helping David along.  He was a nice guy but it wasn’t going further than the table.  The bell sounded for the males to move on to the next conquest. 

Annabelle was a crossing out David’s name as the next guy sat down.  She didn’t know if you were supposed to do that or not but there was no room for error.  She had the urge to just scribble all over it in a childlike manner but that would upset Diane.  

“Ready?”  said the voice from across the table. 

“Oops sorry,”  said Annabelle as she looked up into the face of # 22,  Ryan, who looked remarkably like Jim Caviezel.  Good start.

“Errm, right..well I’ll just start from the top then?  I feel like I’m on a conveyer belt.”  Annabelle picked up her paper again, already bored with this get up.

“No need.“ Replied no # 22, gently pulling the script from her fingers and turning it face down on the table, “  I heard most of it.  Nice finale.”  He smiled.  Slowly.  

“Amazing what blokes prick their ears up to.” 

“  I was referring to the fact that you’re easy going.”  He tilted his head on one side, his eyes dancing with mischief. “I get along well with easy natured women.”

“You were supposed to be paying attention to your previous victim.”  Annabelle pointed out.

“ Oh I was, to a degree but you piqued my interest.  I couldn’t help but overhear. So, what is your favourite colour today?”

“Black.”

Ryan smiled.   His eyes never left hers.  She was starting to find him a little bit intimidating but not necessarily in a bad way. There was something about him.  She took a sip of wine for support whilst she tried to think of something to say.  

“Why don’t you just tell me about yourself. “  She gestured with her wine glass, slopping some of the wine onto the paper on the table.  God, she was so damn clumsy sometimes. He watched her as she tried to clean it up with her speed dating ticket, making a pink soppy mess. 

“You like tapas?”  Ryan said softly.

“What?  The food?  Spanish?  Yes...why?”  Why was she suddenly sounding so stupid and behaving like a muppet?  

Ryan placed his hand on hers to stop it from cleaning. Annabelle just looked at it.  Frozen in a moment.  

“Why don’t we just leave, now, and go on an adventure to the tapas bar on the corner.  My treat.”

Annabelle looked up at him.  “We can’t do that..it’s not allowed.  Besides my friend would kill me.”

“Yes we can.  Spontaneity has the wow factor doesn’t it?  Come on.”  He stood up.  A few people turned and looked at him.  He was supposed to be sitting down. Now it looked like they had fallen out before they had got through 4 minutes.

He held out his hand to her. 

Well she couldn’t embarrass him. Well, she could, but she didn’t want to.  

Nervously, she picked up her bag and without daring to look at anybody else, took his hand as he led her to the exit.  He made some formal apology to Jack about having to leave early and as Annabelle looked over at the bar, wondering what the hell she was doing, she saw Diane smiling back at her like the Cheshire cat.



N.B:  There!  There's your happy ending.  Although.....she doesn't know much about him.   He's bound to be a serial killer..... 






Monday, 21 April 2014

Roberto


Following on from Marietta as demanded requested.

Roberto walked towards the cafe nearby Rialto, crossing the many little bridges over the waterways to the master of them all.  He was on the breakfast shift as usual.  He’d be working later than he should, what with the tourist season beginning but that was fine, he’d get some decent tips from the brash Americans on their European fly through. 

The tables outside were being set with red and green cloths by his amigo, Lauro, as he approached. Dressed in his black trousers and white shirt, Lauro was a good looking boy but didn’t posses the same Mediterranean swarthiness or charm of Roberto that kept a captive audience in any situation.  Lauro had tried to emulate his friends style but it usually fell flat.  

“Ciao.”  The two friends hugged briefly and Lauro studied the darkened face of his friend. The smell of rich espresso coffee drifted out from the cafeteria doors and floated on the fetid air of the warming Grand Canal.  

“You’ve been watching her again, haven’t you.  You gotta let her go.   It’s past, amigo.”  

Roberto glanced up with tortured eyes and shook his head.  He couldn’t let her go.  He’d tried and the harder he’d tried, the more she possessed him. 

“What about Nina?  Go with her.  Take your mind of it, man I know I would. The regazza is begging for you.  Marietta will be married tomorrow and you have to move on.”  Lauro set about placing the cutlery and shining the ones stained with water marks with a red paper napkin.   Lauro didn’t understand Roberto. Nina was every guy’s dream. Just the sound of her name made him horny.  She’d give out to Roberto in a heartbeat.   All he’d ever got from her was a drunken kiss after the masked ball.  And god he’d worked hard on her that night. 

“I can’t let it happen.”  Roberto said slowly, palming his stubbled chin and gazing, transfixed at the table in front of him.  

“You have no choice amigo, what are you gonna do, kill the guy?” 

**************************

Roberto worked his shift and played his part, seducing the tourists and pulling in the pretty girls from other shores as they sauntered along San Marco street.  Lauro watched his friend at work, fascinated by his skill and the naivety of the tourists who were dazzled by his ways and felt the familiar pang of jealousy.  

Late in the afternoon, when the next workers came to take over their shift, the two friends sat at a back table of the cafe eating risotto ai funghi and drinking the remaining half bottle of Bardolino left by a party of diners.  The mask of Roberto now removed and the vision of agony and frustration revealing themselves.  As Lauro ate his lunch, Roberto sat writing on the back of his invoice pad, lost in a world of his own. 

“What are you doing, amigo?”  Lauro tapped his friends hand with his used fork as he chewed on a mouthful of food. 
He watched as Roberto signed off from his writing with his name.  A big curving ‘R’ with the rest of the letters rounded and clinging to their line.  Even that was handsome, thought Lauro.  Even the way his name looked on a piece of cafeteria paper.

“It’s a note, to Marietta.”  Roberto stared at at him, holding the folded paper forward as he continued. “I want you to go to her house, tonight, tell her to meet me at 7pm.  Beg her.  I’m going to see Hugo and see if I can talk the stupid, old guy out of the wedding.”  He pushed the note under Lauros dish and stood up.

Lauro placed his fork down, steadily.  “This is a mistake, amigo.  Think about it.  You can’t stop this. “Per Carita, you lost this one.  Be done.”  

“Please.  Just do it.”  Roberto scraped his chair back under the table and left. 


It was already just after 6 pm when Roberto reached Hugo’s home.  He’d walked rather than catch the water taxi as he’d needed the time to calm down and collect his thoughts.  Role play the scenario in his head and think about what he was going to say.  As soon as he had seen the house, the rage had flared up again.  It was a modest but pretty looking place and where his love would be living tomorrow as a kept woman.  

Hugo was in the kitchen preparing a light supper after his long day at work.  It had been a good day though, a day where all his work colleagues had been in high spirits about his wedding tomorrow.  They’d sat and drank the vineyard wine at lunchtime and tried to get him drunk but he’d only had one glass.  He wanted to feel perfect tomorrow and remember every detail.  This was going to be the most wonderful day of his life.  Enzio, his father-in-law to be had handed over 2,000 euros before he’d left for home.    A small gift to take his daughter on honeymoon somewhere.  As he placed the flowers he’d bought for his brides arrival tomorrow, in a vase on the kitchen table, he imagined being away somewhere with Marietta and exploring everything about her.  
He heard a loud knock at his back door just as his pasta needed draining.  He poured it quickly into a colander and went to answer, expecting his neighbour with his wedding suit. 

Roberto stared at Hugo as he opened the door, wondering how Marietta would be able to look at this face everyday for the rest of her life.  How would she be able to sleep with this old man.  It repulsed him.  

“ We need to talk.”  Roberto tried to make the words sound as even as he could.  He clenched his fists tightly in his pocket as he waited for Hugo to respond.

“We have nothing to speak about.  Please leave.”  Hugo responded calmly, bracing the doorway.  

Roberto had never hated anyone so much in his life at that moment.  He raged forward, pushing Hugo hard in the chest and breaking his stance. Hugo stumbled back, crashing into the farmhouse table behind him.  Roberto seized his opportunity, grabbing his shirt collar and pinning him to the table.

“You marry her and I swear that I will kill you.”  He spat.   “You don’t touch her, you don’t go near her,  she is mine.”

Hugo desperately tried to free himself, punching the sides of Roberto’s torso with his free hands.  “You are a crazy fool. She chose to marry me.  It is I who will give her a life not you.  You are a regazzo inutile, you can do nothing for such a fine girl.
Although older and more controlled, Hugo’s attempts to break free from Roberto were futile.  The boy was lithe and fit and fuelled with a raging temper.  Roberto lifted Hugo like a rag doll and slammed him back into the table with such force that the panels split in two and crashed to the floor with Hugo on top, knocked out cold between the old, splintered wood and broken roses.  Roberto wanted to break the mans face and not stop until he was pummeled into nothing but the sight of him lying there, like a discarded marionette made him realise the trouble he was already in.  He stood, motionless over the body, breathing hard and trying to gain control of his thoughts and the shaking in his legs from the surge of adrenalin.  He glanced around him.  Maybe someone had heard the commotion as the back door was still open where he’d forced his way in.  He noticed the kitchen clock above it, 6.37pm.  Merda!  The meet with Marietta was at 7pm and he was cutting it mighty fine.  He had to get through to her, he had to.  Roberto turned from his nemesis and ran out of the house towards his love. 

********************************

Lauro stood outside looking up at Marietta's window.  The shutter doors were closed tight. Damn, he was hoping to attract her attention from there.  He didn’t want to knock on the door and be greeted by Enzio.  Her Father didn’t like him either.  Not because he’d ever done anything wrong to the old man but because he was Roberto’s friend and guilty by association. As he stood, wondering how the hell he was going to get this stupid note to the virgin princess, he saw Isabella, Marietta’s friend, approaching the side door down the tiny Venetian street.  He ran forward to attract her attention before she disappeared inside. 

“Isabella! Isabella!”  Lauro steadied himself and grabbed her shoulder.  “Please, can you give this to Marietta.  It’s from Roberto and he wants to meet her.  Tonight.”  He held the letter out for her to take.  Isabella stared at it for a moment.  Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.  She was her best friend; her bridesmaid for tomorrow.  Maybe she should just leave it but she knew Marietta well. Her true heart was not with Hugo but with Roberto. This was possibly the last chance for her to either come to her senses or remain on the road she had chosen.  Isabella snatched the letter from Lauro’s fingers.  “I’ll see she gets it.”  

Lauro watched as Isabella shut the door behind her.  Should he wait? He checked the time.  It was 6.38 pm and Roberto would be coming in 20 minutes.  He hoped his friend hadn’t lost his temper at Hugo’s.  Lauro knew this was a stupid idea and as much as he felt for his friend he was also secretly pleased that Roberto hadn’t got what he’d wanted.  It made a nice change.  Maybe it would knock him down a peg or two or make some of the other girls see him differently.  He walked a few yards down and stood at the corner of a short alleyway with a dead end.  He’d stay a few minutes just to be sure before he left. He leaned back against the wall and pulled the hip flask from his pocket.  One more slug of cognac left.  He knocked it back and felt the flush of fire as the liquid coated his throat.  He saw the door open slowly.  Marietta, in a thin white slip, bare footed, her long raven hair waving down to her waist. Lauro watched as she gently and carefully shut the door so her Father wouldn’t notice.  So, she was coming out to meet Roberto.  He didn’t think she would, not at this late stage.  That guy seemed to get everything he wanted.  Marietta stood still in the street, looking around for signs of Roberto in the dark night that was lit by one yellowing light.  It made her look all the more beautiful.  Like an angel.  She tiptoed further down, nearing where he stood, in the shadows.  The silky shift slip following her delicious contours as she moved.  She reminded him of a frightened deer; lost and confused but somehow aware of unknown danger lurking nearby.  It made him think.  Imagine.  Her beauty was so perfect it almost begged to be flawed. 

As Marietta reached the corner Lauro pulled her by the arm and covered her mouth. 
He walked behind her, keeping one arm behind her back and his other over her face until they reached the end of the short alley.  The feel of her sashaying body as he held it close only heightened his need.  He pressed her against the old wall and nuzzled his face into her hair.  She smelt like spring flowers.  Delicate and fragile.  Mesmerising.  “Shhhh... He whispered.  “One move, one noise and I’ll cut you.”  She whimpered and trembled, frightened but obedient.  He removed the hand from her mouth slowly to test her.  Just the occasional, gentle sob escaped as she forced herself to hold them in. To do as she was told like she always did.  He allowed that hand to drop to the top of her thighs and feel its way under the silk to the soft, untouched warmth that had been barred from all men.  Even from Roberto. 

*************************************

 Roberto was running hard. Using the built up passion and anger inside him as a fuel to get to Marietta.  He should have taken the vaporetto to be quicker but the queue of tourists, who couldn’t seem to walk around Venice, had been too long.  He didn’t want to be near people. The time told him that he was already 3 minutes late.  If he missed her he’d never forgive himself.  As he reached the street where he’d watched her, brushing her hair in the window, he saw the flashing lights on the two cars of the carabinieri. Roberto stopped as he saw the gathering of people.  Faces he recognised.  Marietta’s crazy Father, shouting something in the street.  He walked forward, quickly, not taking his eyes from the scene but unable to reach it before he was grabbed by the two officers and forced against the wall.  His hands cuffed behind him as one of them pulled his head back roughly by his hair and said,  “Roberto Rosellini.  You are under arrest for the assault on Hugo Savelli and for the rape of Marietta Agosta.” 

Saturday, 19 April 2014

Queasy (Like Sunday Morning)



The taste of vengeance and vomit were the first things Beth noticed as she came to in her parents American king sized bed. Vengeance:  The punching result of mixing Diamond White, cider, Carlsberg, Special Brew and a double Vodka.  The race to neck them had been fun at the time but the puking in the bath an hour later whilst Oliver had held her hair back from her face, wasn’t.  It hadn’t worked.  The crusty remnants of dried sick were evident as she tried to peel her head from the oversized pillow.  The room swayed and her head felt like it was holding a thrash metal concert.

  She sat up gingerly and brushed against a body beside her clad in skinny jeans and a tight vest top. A thick padded bra, protruded from the skimpy t shirt and the scalloped edges were caught on the girls pendant necklace.  Mid length, mousy brown hair covered the girls face apart from the gold sleeper in her pierced nose.  Who the fuck was she?   Beth didn’t even recognise her.  And why was she in her parents bed with a random girl and not in her own?  She tried to remember but needed a drink fast.  She clambered out of the side of the bed, heat building in her body from the toxins and made her way to her parents en suite, pulling down the short, black body dress that had made her feel so sexy not a few hours back but now made her feel like a sullied tart.  The toilet was being hugged by an unconscious lad with dark curly hair.  His left cheek, moulded to the porcelain and his body coiled around the base as support.   She recognised him as one of the upper sixth form.  Not someone she spoke to but a mate of Charlie’s and his lot.

  Beth ran the tap and slowly bent her mouth towards the cold, gushing water.  She gripped either side of the basin to stop herself from falling.  The rush of last nights poison filling her head as she drank, slowly, trying to sate her parched tongue but not boff up in the sink.  Events began to flood back to her.  The party had doubled from it’s original invitees.  She remembered seeing loads of new faces amongst her crowd of friends and colleagues.  The night had been warm and the revellers had spilled out onto the patio and the lawn.  She remembered someone falling into the garden statue of a water nymph and it cracking in half.  Shit.  Her Mum was going to kill her.  She needed to go and survey the house.  Find her best mate, Helen, to help her make things right before her parents returned from their cruise tomorrow.  And Oliver, where was he?  Had he gone home?  She vaguely remembered him having a football game this morning.  The last she’d seen of him was when he was holding her hair back.  She felt the mortification wash over her as she recalled his soothing words.  Their relationship was only a few months old but she really loved him and was still anxious to be at her best for him.  Maybe he was pissed off at her drinking too much.  She needed her phone so she could check for any messages and so she could text him too. Where the hell was it?  She looked under the covers of the bed and on the dressing table.  God knows where that was.

  She crept out of the bedroom and saw a couple of bodies on the floor.  Two girls were sat up, leaning against the anaglypta wall paper in the hallway, talking and giggling and wildly oblivious to her presence. Empty beer bottles cluttered in groups along the stretch of carpet where they’d landed and glasses with half filled vodka concoctions, rimmed with smeared lippy, sat on the sill of the large hall window.  Broken glass littered the stairs like confetti and she moved her bare feet carefully on the tread so not to cut herself.  The place was a fucking state and panic started to creep into her being. Downstairs, more bodies huddled together on sofas and where they’d dropped, paralytic and spent.  Random shoes were discarded amongst slices of pizza and crushed crisps on the floor. It looked like some giant ogre had picked up the house and shook it.  As she wandered through the open lounge she noticed Ben flat out on the dining room table, on his back, mouth open. He looked like he was dead but the catching snorts that escaped from his throat, proved otherwise.  She peered closer, stepping on an upturned, metal wine cap.  She winced at the pain and hopped on one foot as she pulled the circular top from her sole.  Someone had shaved off Ben’s eyebrows and drawn on false ones with a kohl pencil and written “Bellend” on his forehead.  She giggled, in spite of the throbbing in her foot.   She wandered through the lounge looking for Helen amongst the bodies and over to the patio doors that were still open.  Fag ends and shared spliffs were scattered over the paving blocks.  The statue still down and cracked in half as she remembered and the patio table stacked with what looked like the contents of the whole neighbourhoods, glass recycling box.

   Steve and Jack walked round the corner from the garden.  “Spanking night, Beth”  Steve said, opening up his arms for a hug.  “Feel like shit, though.  We’re off to get a Big Mac and back to kip, mate.”  She let him hug her.  His David and Goliath T shirt smelt like a sweaty pub at closing time.  

“Have you seen Helen?  She asked him as he released her.  

“Nah. Not since she was doing her erotic dance show in the kitchen. Got a video if you want to see it..”  He patted his pockets for his mobile.

“ No, you’re alright. “  She laughed.  God, sounded like Helen had downed one too many.  They’d have a laugh about that later.  The lads went back through the house and she followed them in.  This time she noticed the can of Fosters lager floating on the top of her Dad’s tropical fish tank.  Fuck.  One fish lay lifelessly nearby it in the discoloured water.  Two others swimming on their sides.  Pissed up fish. She was so for it.  

She opened the front door to let Steve and Jack out of the house at the same time as her next door neighbour,  Mrs Cullen arrived back from the supermarket.  She gave Beth a filthy look as she pulled her shopping bags from the car and slammed the door shut.  Beth wanted to die.  Mrs Cullen wouldn’t be able to wait to tell her Mum and Dad about this.  

Beth closed the door and decided to go upstairs to her bedroom and get changed before she got rid of people and cleaned up the mess.  She gripped the bannister hard as she climbed, trying to keep the nauseating feeling of wretchedness and shame at bay. She opened the door to her bedroom and her heart began pound.  Vomit threatening to surge forward again but not from the drink this time.   Gasping, she steadied herself on the yellowing architrave to her room.  There in her bed was her best friend, Helen.  Naked but for the coil of friendship bracelets she never removed from her arm and a simple white sheet, swathed over her buttocks as she lay on her front. The strong, masculine arm of Beths boyfriend, Oliver, draped lovingly across her bare shoulders as he too, lay naked, holding her close. 

Friday, 18 April 2014

Princess Leia



Warning:  Adult Content - If you are under 18 years of age, jog on...


To those who continue:  This is a true and compelling, short story about one of my Blog Followers who finds it amusing to set me up with challenges within my challenge.   Here’s his comment to my Big Reveal :

“Anyway, good luck with it and, just to add to the fun - like last year - I'd like you to try and squeeze in the following words at any point throughout the month (I've made them a bit more difficult than last year, but I know you like a challenge!): “defenestration; brobdingnagian; callipygian, ambisinistrous and "I can't believe it's not butter!"

So, I decided to meet this challenge ‘head on’ and include all of the ‘challenging words’ within this tale.  Seems some people will never learn....

**************************************************************


Mr Mashers dreams had all come true, which made a very nice change indeed.  He’d been going about things in general, as you do, married with two kids and working hard at his job and had often wondered what else there was in life.  Wouldn’t it be nice if some unexpected surprise were to happen and turn his life into a whole new sci-fi, erotica playground, or something like that.

As the saying goes, “Be careful what you wish for,”  for just shy of six weeks  after thinking that, Mr Masher won the lottery.  A cool two million.   The night it had happened found him at home alone.  Well, the kids were in bed and the current Mrs Masher was working nights which was about as alone as it got, apart from when he was working away.

After doing a happy dance, passing out several times and getting way too ahead of himself on the Newcastle Browns, Masher had an idea.   An idea that would change his life.  He hadn’t felt this elated since he was 14 years old and had nicked a bag of lemon bon bons from Mr Bents, sweet shop. 

He decided he wasn’t going to tell anyone about his big win and carry on as normal. He went about setting up investment bonds and other off shore and secret accounts and told his boss he was leaving due to family complications and that it be best if nobody got in touch, as things were a little delicate.  It all went swimmingly and just as planned. 

From Monday to Thursday, Masher would kiss his lovely wife goodbye and trundle off to his pretend work in his very average, run of the mill, bloke car.  Buying an Aston Martin DB9 at this point might’ve put the cat among the pigeons. Off he’d drive, down south to the lovely little Bistro hotel where he’d spent many a night and a week staying over for work. He knew the staff very well and could trust them.  He’d secured the room for a whole year and they were very accommodating as he’d paid over the odds for the service.  He asked if they’d mind if he decorated it, obviously he’d have it made good again if he was to ever leave and the hotel manager was more than happy to oblige.   Being a bloke and all, Masher wasn’t very good at interior design so he hired a couple of top notch designers to get it all spanking for him. 

“I want it dark, ya know.”  He said.  “But with like stars that glow and planets floating around. And blasters and an Enterprise control panel and...and...I want pictures of Princess Leia and manacles above the headboard and phaser guns and lightsabers and...

“It’s a little mixed up, shouldn’t we just stick to one theme?  Either Star Trek or Star Wars?’ The designers had queried, tentatively.

But Masher had money and he wanted it all.   The designers did as he asked cos, well, money talks. And so did the life sized, C-3PO that stood in the corner.

Masher loved his room except it wasn’t just a boyhood dream pad,  oh no, this was now Captain Mashers den of iniquity.  He’d got on the internet and on the phone and done his research better than he’d ever done for any job before.  He searched and he vetted until he found the very best ladies of the night to sate his long time, sci-fi fantasies.

“I need a few girls.”  He’d  said to the brothel Madame, in his best millionaire voice. “One that looks like Uhura and do you have any girls with ridged noses? Like Ensign Ro and ultimately... A Princess Leia lookalike..”

And so it was.  The hookers came from Monday to Thursday and carried out their space duties.

“Ooh Captain Masher. Is that phaser gun for me? “ Gina said huskily, who was fast becoming his favourite because of her callipygian assets.  

“MMMM....”  she purred, licking her voluptuous red lips and straddling Masher on his bed as she unzipped his trousers.  “WOW, now that’s a weapon of brobdingnagian proportions!”  She said as she released the beast from it’s cage.  Captain Masher was quite pleased about this, since the Star Fleet costume he’d donned was a little on the tight side and beginning to chaff his nads.  

“You have a very extensive vocabulary, don’t you?”  Captain Masher said to Gina, the Trekky whore babe. 

“ I can even recite “If”  By Rudyard Kipling, in French, whilst giving head.  Shall I demonstrate? “  She smiled as she lowered herself to his throbbing member.  

He would have preferred that she hummed the Star Trek theme tune to be honest but he wasn’t going to argue. 

Her soft warm mouth, with all its cherry promises started to gently suckle on the head of his rigid cock. Her hot, darting tongue circling and teasing until his skin felt like it would rip from the swell of pleasure.  He was close to flipping her onto her stomach, spreading her creamy thighs and ramming her violently from behind to release the almighty need she was creating, as she tongued his hard shaft. Sensing his ache, her mouth closed around him, enveloping every inch of his manhood as she moved her head slowly up and down, sucking and begging for the nectar inside him.  Faster and firmer, her heated, wet mouth worked its magic as she took him deeper and deeper into a place where no man has gone before.  He felt the crescendo of pleasure rage forth as his hot spunk filled the back of her throat with such force, that he nearly caused defenestration. 

Gina swallowed every ounce of his seed and raised her pretty head, a small amount of cum dripping evocatively from the corner of her swollen lips.  

“MMMM,  Captain Masher”  She murmured, taking a finger and wiping up the leftovers on her mouth and sucking on it. “You taste so creamy and delicious.  I can’t believe it’s not butter.” 

Masher’s head was spinning and he was dying for a bacon sandwich.  He paid Gina and said how he’d like her to do that again next week as he wasn’t paying full attention to the French oral recital and didn’t want to appear rude.  She unzipped herself from the red Trekky dress and redressed in her jeans and jumper, ready to fetch her kids from the school run.  

Masher rang down to reception and ordered some fodder from room service and then reached for his notebook and began to write. 

Captains log ( ironically). Stardate 2014. 4 -  Man Trap.  This orally gifted girl could suck a desert dry and come out with a mouthful.  Money is everything it’s cracked up to be and more.  Must order new star fleet outfit.  

He placed his pen and pad on the bedside table and decided to take a bit of a nap.  Not five minutes into his orbital dream, he heard the the familiar clunk of his bedroom door opening. Can’t be room service yet, he thought, opening his weary eyes, they take bloody ages.  As he peered through the darkness of the universal, star lit bedroom he saw a vision of beauty walk through.

“Princess Leia”  He whispered.  What the hell?  They said they hadn’t found anyone quite like her yet at the brothel but that they were still looking.   How had she suddenly come about?    All his girls had key cards so she must have been sent from the madame.

“I don't know where you get your delusions, laser brain.”  She said as she stood there in her long white dress. 

“  Look, Im all up for a Princess Leia situation.  Really, I am, she’s like my ultimate fantasy but I’ve just had the life sucked out of me and well...ya know... I’m getting on a bit now.   I can’t just up and at it like I used to.  You’re gonna have to give me a couple of hours, a sarnie and a kip.”

The Princess Leia smiled and from behind her back produced a large and rather vicious looking whip that looked like it belonged to Indiana Jones.

“Errr... I’m not sure that you’re totally down with the Star Wars vibe.“  Masher corrected, “Princess Leia didn’t have a whip..”

“Well She DOES NOW!”  Screamed the Princess in a voice that was very, very familiar to him as she neared the bed and unfurled her lash.

“Oh my God....Mrs Masher?”  There she stood.  His wife cunningly disguised as his boyhood fantasy.  It all seemed so terribly wrong.  And then he remembered how terribly wrong he’d actually been and felt the dread and fear of ‘found out husband’ coursing through him. 

“Look....I can explain.”  He tried to grab her with his trembling hands but the fear and first crack of the whip across his thighs, rendered him ambisinistrous.  

“ARRRRRRRRR.  That bloody hurt!”   He yelled at Mrs Masher come Leia.

“Save it Han Solo”  She spat.  “You stuck up, half witted, scruffy looking Nerf herder.”

“Actually, I’m James Tiberius Kirk today....”

CRRRRR..ACK!  Went the whip for a second time.  

“You said you wanted to be around when I made a mistake, well, this could be it sweetheart.”  Masher decided to join in with the mixed up role play.  It was a colossal mistake.  

“ You deceitful, evil, cheating, tight fisted, useless sack of shit”  She delivered, eloquently “ And to think of all the times I’ve looked nice for you when all I had to do was sport a hairstyle that looks like I’ve got Minnie Mouse ears and wear a bloody bed sheet with a belt tied round it.  Is that all I had to do to get you going?  Really?  I don’t get this Princess Leia thing, whatsoever! “ 

“Well... It’s actually when she’s in her bikini and...”

“Shut. Up you nauseating numpty!  Here’s how it’s going to go down, so listen up Captain Kirk”  Even Masher was starting to get confused now.

 “You know that dishwasher that you refused to buy me?  Well, I want one that’s top of the range and it will sit in the brand new, farmhouse kitchen of my brand new 7 bedroomed mansion complete with tennis courts and swimming pools and a baby blue, soft top Bentley.  And that, Mr Masher is just for starters and if you don’t comply I shall leave you dead, buried and penniless.” 

Mr Masher thought she had a point but couldn’t resist a bit of a comeback.

“Look, I aint in this for your revolution and I’m not in it for you Princess.  I expect to be well paid.  I’m in it for the money.”  

It was the final crack of Princess Leia’s whip that made Masher realise that the force was no longer with him but quite clearly with her and his fantasy days were well and truly over.  This was it, the final frontier and all that mattered now was that he shut the fuck up and lived long and prospered.