It was early Friday evening in Napoleon Terrace
and earnest preparations were made for the student
disco. Howard and Greg sipped lager as they
waited impatiently for the girls to declare
they were ready. At long last Gallie and Karen
danced coquettishly into the room.
Gallie genuflected.
'Soooo, how do I look?'
Her makeup was applied with the eagerness of
mood that anticipates a wild night out. The
lipstick was a daring mauve and the mascara
underlined her eyes with subtle overstatement.
She wore a white silky top with gold amulet-sized
buttons. She twirled so that her dark red skirt
lifted and wrapped around her black-stocking
clad legs. Howard sighed, miserably acknowledging
to himself that her efforts to please were soon
to be performed before Dominic.
Greg didn't lift his eyes from his motoring
magazine.
'You'll do.'
'Is that
all? "You'll
do?"'
In response Greg looked her up and down with
an almost forensic eye.
'You're gorgeous. You've got more talent than
George Best.'
'Ohhhh, thanks,' giggled Gallie, willingly sated
by her upgraded answer.
Karen moved into the centre of the room, drawing
attention to
herself.
'Well, like, how do
I look?'
'Kas, you look exactly like a spiritual statue
that belongs in a cathedral,' chipped in Howard.
Karen blew him a kiss and posed with a dignified
look and tilted her head to one side with an
air of incorruptible innocence. She fluttered
her eyes and smiled demurely.
'Oh Howie, you're
so sweet! Actually,
I've never been compared literally with a
saint
before.'
'I was thinking of a gargoyle.'
Karen exchanged her affected sacred pose for
a more monstrous posture.
'Actually, you guys are amazing, you really
are!' she chided. 'Without really trying you've
actually insulted my intelligence. And you've
actually insulted my ego. It's my fault really.
I shouldn't ask a question that sort of demands
sensitivity and empathy to an emotionally crippled
moron and expect the correct answer.'
'For Sodom's sake!' cried Greg, playing out
the masculine habit of conversing on a more
literal level to that of the female, 'If you
don't want to know the real answer then why
did you ask the bleeding question in the first
place?'
'Well,
you know what I mean.'
'I know we should bugger off and pull at the
dick-show!'
So it was that the inhabitants of Napoleon Terrace
walked down the night-clad Chillington Road
towards the Students Union. Howard encountered
someone from his course and received an invitation
to a house party. He splintered from his housemates
and, after a few hours in pubs with strangers,
he found himself at the house party. Most of
the partiers congregated in the kitchen, others
were in the candlelit, joss stick-scented living
room. Whilst playing the role of the latter,
he spied an unattended woman, a svelte, pixie-like
creature wrapped in a pale green dress.
'Do girls like you come from heaven or hell?
My religion is hanging on your answer,' said
Howard in a slightly slurred voice.
The pixie-like woman put her mouth to his ear,
and, as she whispered, she placed a hand around
his waist and the other on his face.
'Does it matter when I give such
excellent
head?'
'God exists after all!'
Heart thumping, he took her by her slender hand
and guided her past the amassed students that
littered the stairs. They emerged at the landing.
A couple were snogging in a darkened corner.
There was a queue for the bathroom.
By a miracle one of the bedrooms was vacant.
Howard kicked a couple of boxes of LP's to one
side and threw a pile of clothes off the bed.
He thrust a few boxes against the door to discourage
interruption from the other partygoers and especially
from the owner of the room.
Howard lied with ease of the intoxicated.
'And
this is my pad. Please forgive the
mess.'
'Lets make
more mess!' cried the pixie-like
woman.
'Now, about this
excellent head you mentioned...'
'Actually, I just wanted to
talk to you.'
'Ah,
that's what you meant,
head
as in
tete-a-tete.' Howard slung his
empty wine bottle into a box. 'Upon my word
I knew it was too good to be true!'
'Actually
I'm too good to be true,' breathed
the woman. 'I was teasing you. I
do give
excellent head.'
Howard smiled a small but intense smile and
the woman smiled back. They canoodled hedonistically.
Her hand rubbed his crotch and seized the zipper.
Slowly the zip slid downwards. He felt his innards
curdle with excitement.
There was a deafening crash. The door broke
from its hinges and fell to the floor.
They were expelled from the party with ill grace.
Howard had escaped serious injury for his fellow
revellers had managed to restrain the seething
aggressor.
Fortunately the alcohol softened the shock to
his system. His mind rebounded hastily to sex
and he cordially invited sthe pixie-like woman
back to Napoleon Terrace for "coffee".
His offer was keenly accepted. They walked a
distance, that, when sober, would have seemed
a forbidding and yet in the dark, sloshed night,
seemed to just melt away. Howard impatiently
anticipated resuming the passion with this godsend
of a female.
'We're here!' exclaimed Howard.
He was monumentally thrilled. He couldn't believe
his luck. As they approached the blue door of
the house in Napoleon Terrace he pondered over
and over again how they would have sweet, uninterrupted
sex.
A taxi pulled up. Greg emerged from the back
of it, walked around to the other door and helped
a tall, giggling, high-heel shoed woman out
onto the cobbled road. Howard marvelled at her
ample bosom.
'Ah,' said Howard to his companion, 'it gives
me great pleasure to introduce my housemate,
Greg. He's a bit of a legend-'
'You
bastard!' screamed the pixie-like
woman to Greg.
She slapped him.
'What the bleeding...?'
'Greg, you told me we would be an
item
and you used me and the next morning you ate
my breakfast and legged it, I
hate you!'
Before Howard could stop her, the pixie-like
woman scrambled into the taxi.
'Wait for me!' yelled the ample bosomed woman
in an alarmed voice, 'I'm coming with you!'
'
Sodom and Gomorrah!
Sweetheart,'
Greg pleaded to her with a calm reasonableness
inflecting his voice, 'I don't even
know
this girl. I'm sure all this is just a simple
case of mistaken identity.'
Howard watched in helpless desolation as the
two women were driven from the scene in the
taxi.
'Fuck!'
'Now look what you've done!' rebuked Greg.
'You
bastard!' decried Howard.
Greg shrugged and ushered Howard to his attic
room to listen to some
Grateful Dead.
'You know,' said Greg in between puffs on a
hand fashioned, cannabis fuelled rollup, 'that
chick you brought here. I remember her
very
well.'
'Really,' said Howard sulkily.
'Yeah. She is the perfect woman. Bloody perfect.'
'Why?' Bitter disappointment and miserable resentment
impinged on every timbre of Howard's voice.
'
Why is she perfect?'
'She's platonic.'
'Oh?'
'Platonic
form: she's
the Platonic
form of sex. By Sodom, she's probably the best
lay I've had. I tell you, she would show
Daddy
Satan a good time! If she went up to bleeding
Heaven, she'd corrupt all the angels to the
Dark Side until there was no one left to fuck.
You missed out there mate! Never mind, you know
my motto:
never dwell on a lost bonk.'
Howard grimaced. Fate and Fortune were truly
his foes. They censored the consummation of
his lust and burgeoned his want. What the hell
was it
like to have
sex?
 | | | | |
| From: |
Gronie | Subject: | 2001-12-12 16:21:05 |
| | | | |
| From: |
Knoeier | Subject: | 2001-12-28 07:22:36 |
| | | | |
| From: |
MadPole | Subject: | 2002-01-15 06:27:31 |
| | | | |
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