Thrusting : One Night In February

The Blue King Club was situated along Old Street in the East End of a London. It was an unassuming place housed above a row of Georgian shops.

It was one of London’s best kept secrets during the sixties. It was not as exuberant as its West End neighbours, there was nothing about the exterior that was welcoming, let alone to let you know it was in fact a nightclub.

To the unassuming passer by they would just assume they were walking past a Haberdashers and an Asian restaurant. Yet sandwiched between the two was a brown door.

A knock on that door and Fred, adorned in his favourite flat cap and nursing an old shrapnel wound in his leg, would open it inviting you up the cramped staircase.

Once you had ascended the creaky bare wooden stairs, a sharp right would take you through a beaded curtain and into the main area of The Blue King.

First timers were always surprised having travelled up the most narrowest of staircases how large the club actually was. It filled the top floor of both the Haberdashers and Asian restaurant that neighboured below.

Immediately to your left was the bar area made of mahogany with the occasional stool dotted around it for the casual patron just popping in for a quick fix.

Along the wood panelled sides was a small corridor that led to the less than luxurious restrooms. The Male cubicle often occupied by a patron who has seen too much of the show that the girls put on.

When not out on show the girls would be housed in a tiny changing room towards the back of the club. It was no bigger than a broom cupboard where they would scramble for any available space to change into a variety of lingerie.

On the opposite side behind a thick wooden door was a larger room. Inside a huge desk dominated the middle with a larger leather chair behind. This was the office of Jimmy Calvin, the owner of The Blue King.

In essence Jimmy was just a petty criminal with unrealistic dreams of being a big time gangster. His office was adorned with photos of all the celebrities, sports stars and those higher up the echelons of the underworld he had met.

Despite Jimmy’s lofty ambitions he knew his place in the hierarchy. He was small fry, a loner who could only be relied upon for the odd job. He was rarely trusted with anything important.

He acquired The Blue King after he took the blame for some crime carried out by someone in The Kray’s firm. ‘A little favour for Reggie’ is all he used to say about it. Five years inside and he emerges as the proprietor of his very own nightclub.

The larger Firms were wary of Jimmy simply for the fact that unchecked ambition can lead to negligence. For his part, Jimmy was largely content with his little slice of the London underworld. He ruled The Blue King and this kept him from doing anything stupid

Every night he would emerge from his office, dressed in a tuxedo, his cummerbund straining at the expanse of his belly. His hair was always slicked back with a middle parting. His rosy cheeks would flush, smiling as he observed his kingdom; dramatically lighting a cigar to emphasise you were on his turf. He had beady little eyes and an upturned nose, which the girls thought made him resemble a pig; Piggy Calvin is what they would giggle after he had done his obligatory tour of their dressing room.

He’d then move to the centre of the club amongst the tiny circular tables covered in red velvet tablecloth, a small green lamp provided limited illumination. Here is where the more important guests would sit and those who Jimmy wished to impress the most.

Should they require a favour from him they would engage in conversation, otherwise there would be some brief pleasantries before Jimmy moved to edge of the bar and sat observing the Kingdom he ruled.

Although his resemblance to a pig was clear I often felt he was an owl. I would catch sight of him from where I was on the stage.

I could see Jimmy craning his neck and observing all those who walked in. He wanted to be noticed. He wanted to be somebody. I, on the other hand remained content to be unnoticed. In this place it was good to be nobody.

I begun working at The Blue King when I was sixteen in the cloakroom. Jimmy gave me the job as a favour to my Dad who wanted me out of his hair. Even though the relationship between Jimmy and my Dad soured I stayed on at the club, working my way up to selling cigarettes, followed by a brief stint behind the bar to eventually being the resident club singer.

The latter occurred by accident when the normal singer failed to show, Jimmy approached me and asked if I could sing. My vague response of ‘a little bit’ was enough to secure me the position.

Jimmy didn’t care about a singer. No one turned up to hear me sing a few Alma Colgan numbers. They were there to ogle at the girls while finalising some shady deals.

The girls paraded on stage as the less refined men at the back of the club whooped and cheered getting their quick arousing fix. Those at the tables would sit in quiet contemplation, studying the girls, choosing which one would provide company later on. A quick word with Jimmy and he’d ensure that the girl of their choice would provide a suitably entertaining climax to the evening.

I was never ‘chosen’ and that suited me fine. I could live with the shouts of ‘take your top off’ as I sung, the awkward silence as I finished and walked to the bar. It never bothered me. Sing, have a drink, get my money, go home. It was a simple uncomplicated life.

Yet on that one night in February my life got incredibly complicated.

I had just finished singing Sugartime to the echo of horny silence and with a happy shrug left the stage to get myself a drink, a straight whiskey which I would swallow in one before meeting Jimmy at the end of the bar to get my wages, then it was down the stairs, a cheery goodbye to Fred and home.

Every now and then a few men would try it on but my demeanour quickly told them I was not interested. Besides I only had to ignore them for five minutes and then then voluptuous Scarlet would be on the stage and I would no longer be in their thoughts.

I would like to think I was attractive enough to justify the attention of the men who frequented the club. But they came here with a certain expectation. They could take what they wanted. If there was the slightest bit of effort involved in they would quickly lose interest.

Therefore I was not totally surprised when a guy approached me. He was tall, completely bald, sunken cheeks and pinhole dark eyes. His smart dressed indicated he was one of Jimmy’s preferred guests.

“Mr Karpinsky would like you to join him” he said he a deep Eastern European accent

“Who’s Mr Karpinsky” I replied.

He pointed over to the furthest table and there sat a overweight man with a heavy black beard, his beady eyes staring over at us.

I wanted to say no but I caught the gaze of Jimmy who was watching. He gestured with his eyes that I was to comply with the request to join Mr Karpinsky .

“Fine” I reluctantly said, grabbing my drink and following the tall man to the table.

I sat down in the vacant chair next to the demanding Mr Karpinsky, who moved closer towards me.  A combination of cigar smoke, alcohol and body odour filled my nostrils as his large frame pressed against me.

“You sing like an angel” he said, his voice had the same eastern European accent as his colleague although slightly higher pitched which surprised me given his size.

He placed his thick hand on my thigh as he continued “You look like an angel”.

It was clear by the way his stubby fingers worked their way up my dress what his intentions were. There was no attractive quality about him. I had no desire to fulfil whatever grubby plan he had in mind. I could see Jimmy watching owl like from his perch at the bar.

A gentleman would intervene, see my vacant expression and offer sanctuary to the women being manhandled. But not Jimmy. To Jimmy we were all his property and he was happy to loan us out to the right sort of people. In his club the girls were bargaining chips and commodity he could trade.

As Mr Karpinsky’s fingers continued their journey all I could think about was grabbing the bottle of champagne and smashing it over his large flabby head. But I knew if I did that I would not have a job to return to. Besides, I was unsure how Mr Karpinsky’s colleague would react to me bludgeoning his fat friend to death with a bottle of the cheap shit that Jimmy pretended was high quality champagne.

It was difficult to think with Mr Karpinsky’s wandering hands.   I needed to formulate a plan on how I could get out of this with preferably my job and dignity intact.  I excused myself politely and walked towards the restrooms.  Jimmy’s steely gaze following me on my journey.

I paused in the narrow corridor just outside the entrance to the Ladies. I breathed deeply, the smell of the toilets a strange welcome relief to the putrid odour of Mr Karpinsky. Suddenly I felt someone nudge into me.

“Oh I am terribly sorry” said the man responsible.  He was impeccably dressed in a three piece suit, his hair was jet black, dazzling blue eyes and although he must have been in his forties was very attractive.  I did not reply, part of me wanted him to try something on with me.  Rescue me from the clumsy fondling of Mr Karpinsky but he just smiled and disappeared into the Gents toilet.

I opened the door to the Ladies and splashed water on my face. I contemplated how long I could conceivably stay in here. Perhaps the likes of Scarlet or Divine would distract him enough that he would soon forget about me and I could just go home without his hand taking that any further lumbering steps up my dress.

I heard the low hum of the music indicating that Scarlet was just about to start her show. I dried my face and left the toilets. As you exit, to the left at the far end is a door which lead to a fire escape and into the alleyway adjacent to the club. The girls call it their Escape Plan if things ever got too much. All I had to do was turn left and I would be free, keep out of Jimmy’s way until he calmed down and then back to work like nothing ever happened.

“I hope you ain’t thinking of leaving Mr Karpinsky on his own.  He’d be most disappointed”

I turned to see Jimmy leaning up against the wall.

“Look Jimmy….this is more what the girls do.  I am just here to sing” I would have continued my pleading but the look in Jimmy’s eyes clearly told me it was futile.

“The girls work for me. You work for me. It’s important we keep our guests…..entertained” he instinctively licked his lips as a he said the last word.

Moving closer to me he continued “Your rent is due at the end of the week, ain’t it? Be a shame if you didn’t have the money to pay him. I hear your landlord will expect something in return if you can’t pay up”.

“Jimmy….please…”

He cut me off by putting a finger to his lips and making an irritating shushing sound “Now Mr Karpinsky requires a little alone time with you, so you’ll find him in my office.  I suggest you hurry up now”

A brief thought of punching Jimmy’s arrogant face and running out the fire escape crossed my mind but it would only be a momentary win. Jimmy was not the sort that would take such impertinence lightly, he would see it as a betrayal, a declaration of war. I couldn’t fight him on my own and I had no-one to help me.

Maybe a few years ago things would have been different. The mere mention of my Dad would have stopped Jimmy from ever making such demands but those days were over. I was alone. Jimmy controlled me and I saw no option but to agree to his demands.

I submissively walked back into the club and across the floor, passing Scarlet who was in the process of removing her bra to the enthusiastic cheers of the audience. I caught her eye as I passed, I thought I saw sympathy in her expression. I had seen her many times go into Jimmy’s office, she knew what I would experience behind that door.

The brief journey to the office seemed to take forever, the music and the cheers a vacant echo in my mind. I felt like a prisoner on death row taking their final walk. I was in a daze and only alerted to the fact that I had reached the door when the handle pushed against me.

I took one final futile look around the club, a desperate glance to see if that suave Gentleman was about to rescue me but all I could see was Jimmy back on his perch watching me.  I turned the handle, opened the door and accepted my fate.

When I entered it was clear that Mr Karpinsky had not intention of just wanting me to sing for him. There was to be no romance or companionship. He was in the process of unbuckling his trousers when he said

“Ahhh there’s my angel”

His trousers dropped to the ground exposing his chubby hairy legs. His underpants quickly followed, a tiny penis emerged from the two overhanging flaps of fat which in any other circumstance would have made me laugh at the thought of a tortoise poking its head out to eat some lettuce.

I stood there not moving, still clinging to the hope that someone would barge through the door and end this bizarre and unwanted coupling. 

“Don’t be shy” he said “I won’t bite…..It won’t bite.” He grabbed my hand and placed it on his penis, he let out a satisfied moan as his hand encouraged mine to stroke him.  

His idea of foreplay was simply to lift up my dress, pull down my tights and bend me over Jimmy’s desk. I felt nothing; whilst that could apply to the vacancy of my thoughts at the point it could equally apply to the fact that I actually felt nothing.

The only indication that he may have been having sex with me was the feel of his large flabby frame pressed against me and comically emphasised grunting.

That’s all I can really remember, his weight getting heavier and heavier on my back, his foul odour filling the room. I was suffocating. Literally suffocating. I just wanted to throw up. Then it stopped. He didn’t cry out in orgasmic pleasure, I felt nothing to indicate he had climaxed, he just lay on top of me.

It seemed like an eternity that I was under him. His full weight trapping me on the table. Then I noticed…. he wasn’t breathing. The possibility there may be a dead guy inside of me was encouragement enough to slide myself from underneath him. It was not an easy task and the momentum caused him to rock back before slamming face first on to the edge of the desk as I prised myself out.

He landed in a heap on the floor, one of Jimmy’s ornaments had fallen off the table and lay by Mr Karpinsky’s lifeless body.  My initial thought was simply ‘Jimmy’s not going to like this’.

I contemplated moving the body, but aside from the difficulty I had getting the lumbering mass off me I did not know what good that would do.  There was only one way in and out of the office so I couldn’t just say that Mr Karpinsky had popped out to get some cigarettes.

Maybe I could just go speak with Jimmy and explain what had happened, but he was not the most understanding person at the best of times. Besides, the bruise that formed on the side of Mr Karpinsky’s temple meant that ‘He simply died’ would be treated with some suspicion.

My only option was to run. I quickly rearranged my clothes, wiped the tears that formed in my eyes, opened the door and just ran across the club. Jimmy, in his curious owl like way, noticed me running but by the time he had hopped off his perch I was down the corridor and through the fire escape.

I took the rickety staircase two steps at a time fearing at any moment that either Jimmy or Mr Karpinsky’s lanky colleague would catch me. The fact that I had fled meant that I had abandoned any chance It was settled – I had killed Mr Karpinsky.

Tears spilled from eyes as I breathlessly made my way down the staircase.  I cursed myself – You should have just turned left when you had the chance.

I tried to put aside any thought of what might become of me.  My only goal at that moment was to get far away from The Blue King as possible.  I would figure everything else out when I was safe….if I ever could be safe.

I jumped the last few steps and sprinted down the alleyway.  My chest cried out in agony as I pushed myself to run as fast as I could.  As I neared where the alleyway opens onto Old Street a car pulled across the entrance.

They’ve already found me.

I stopped. Breathing deeply, I looked back into the gloom of the alleyway and thought I could hear footsteps coming up after me. I was trapped. There was nothing more I could do than hope they would listen to reason.

The car window routrolled down. It was not Mr Karpinsky’s colleague but the attractive gentleman who had bumped into me.

“You’re in danger” he shouted to me “But I can help you.  Get in.”

He opened the passenger door. Whilst I avoided getting into stranger’s cars I had little choice. With the sound of footsteps getting louder in the alley I ran round to the passenger side of the car and hopped in.

Little did I know this would be the final car journey that Molly Jones would make.

Thrusting : Prelude

Where do I start?

At the beginning I suppose.

But where did my life as Labia Lefeure actually begin?

She didn’t experience the growing up poor in the East End of London. It wasn’t her who had to fend for herself due to the absence of parents.

Labia didn’t throw those punches at school because she couldn’t take the teasing of her tattered uniform anymore .

It wasn’t Labia’s lips that David kissed during that careless fumble down the alleyway one summer’s evening.

Those formative years belonged to someone else….another me. A nobody called Molly Jones.

Labia’s story, the one I am telling, begun on 12th February 1967 .

That was the day that she was born. Neatly coinciding with the death of the previous me and with it the life I could have led.

Labia’s birth did not take place in a hospital but instead it was in a little nightclub hidden away in the grimy streets of the East End.

There were no midwives encouraging the soon to be Mother to push but instead a crowd of jeering men shouting futile words of encouragement that I might take my top off.

Proud Fathers were replaced by absentee husbands, taking a detour from a busy day at work to get a quick release before returning to their dutiful wives.

Labia didn’t grow up surrounded by a multitude of siblings, she had a different family. Perhaps there is some similarity here, we don’t get to choose our family and Labia certainly didn’t get to choose hers. Someone else did and that person would prove to be far worse than any overbearing Father.

He put together Precious Comfort Love Thrust, created a family so dysfunctional that what we experienced in four years was enough to fill a lifetime. Fights, love, betrayal, tragedy and somewhere within all that…music. But as you will read music was very much secondary to everything that Precious Comfort Love Thrust was about.

And it all began on that fateful evening in February when Labia was born…..

When I was born.

That night if I had just said no I’d still be simple Molly Jones. Maybe I would have made it as a singer, perhaps I would have settled for the quite life as a secretary, got married, had kids and led a perfect life living in a three bedroom semi in Essex. By now I would have grandchildren at my knee, wistfully seeing out my remaining years playing bingo and complaining about the weather.

Instead I said ‘Yes’ and the life I should have experienced evaporated instantly. No turning back.

Why I agreed to his request is something I have often thought about. Perhaps it was the exuberance of youth. Maybe even by the age of 20 I had tired of Molly Jones; when he asked me the question I was desperately looking for a way out of my life.

He approached me with the opportunity to be someone different. To swap one life for another. He just neglected to tell me what the cost of this new life would be.

For years I’ve tried to forget I was even a part of Precious Comfort Love Thrust but try as I might I just kept getting dragged back into it.

Even news of his death brought me no comfort. I thought it might bring me a sense of freedom but instead it just reminded me of the hold he always had over me.

All because of that one night in February.

Then there was Stef…My poor sweet Stef. She didn’t deserve to die alone in that place, no-one knowing what she truly achieved, what she meant to the band….to the country for that matter.

I know I am on the same path as Stef; to die alone taking all those secrets to my grave. My life hidden away in some secret vault never to be revealed.

Yet she had that suitcase. A collection of vague memories that to the casual observer would seem nothing more than unwanted memorabilia of a band long forgotten. Why she kept that stuff is a mystery to me.

I was surprised to be alerted to a reference to Precious Comfort Love Thrust online. Even more surprised that the curator of our curious history was some blonde girl who thought Unicorned Squirrels would make a good story.

I could have sat back and just watch her create an acceptable version of Precious Comfort Love Thrust; one that even I would find pleasant; a place in history we did not deserve. Although the way she works to schedule I’d have been lucky to still be alive before she got to our first tour.

But even if allowed Selina j to reveal Precious Comfort Love Thrust to the world it would be a lie. The entire life of Labia Lefeure is a lie. If this is to be my swan song surely it should end on the truth? My one final ‘Fuck You’ to him and to truly honour those forgotten.

Dick, Vanda, Kaku, Regis and of course, Stef.

So, I write this story.

The true story of Precious Comfort Love Thrust.

The true story of Labia Lefeure.

The true story of me.

And it all begins on the one night in February.

Precious Comfort Love Thrust : It’s All Changed

Regular readers will be aware of my discovery of the mysterious band, Precious Comfort Love Thrust.

You can read about it here and here . I am also aware I’ve not written much more about them. Whilst attempting to navigate through the contents of Stef’s suitcase can be time consuming that was not the reason for the absence of content.

Something happened.

The other day I was partaking in my daily jog around the East End (…. okay I was walking….. to buy alcohol) when I noticed an elderly woman just standing on the corner gazing over the road at a Vegan cafe.

Having walked these streets with my dad I am used to elderly people looking confused at specialist vegan restaurants but there was something about her that made me stop.

She was dressed in a long rain mac which seemed unnecessary in the heat of the London sun. Her hair was bright white and although her skin showed the ravages of time you could tell she once beautiful…indeed still beautiful.

Concerned that she might be lost I asked if her she was okay. She looked at me with dark eyes which still sparkled, albeit betrayed by the lines that framed them, a clear indication those eyes had witnessed some unpleasant moments.

She returned to looking over at the vegan cafe and spoke, her voice was hoarse and whilst I caught a twang of cockney her speech was more refined

“Over there used to be a club” she said wistfully “I used to sing there…back in the day”

I thought she must just be lonely and was happy to indulge an elderly lady in a trip down memory lane.

“A lot’s changed around here” I replied “So you were a singer?”

She turned to look at me, the dazzle in her eyes faded as she shared this memory with a stranger “You could say that, although there..in that club…I became something different”.

I was intrigued with what she meant but the guarded, cryptic responses led me to believe she was not really in the mood to reveal anymore and the awkwardness made our discussion brief.

I politely said “Gotta rush. Been nice talking to you.”

As I begun to walk away I heard her call out “She didn’t deserve to die alone Selina”.

By the time those words had registered I had turned the corner and although double backed to ask how she knew me the elderly lady was gone.

I hadn’t recalled given her my name. How did she know who I was? The identity of this mysterious woman stayed with me throughout my shopping trip, although by the time I had reached the tills I just resolved she must be some family member I had forgotten about; we have a lot of them in our family.

I gave this encounter no further thought until very recently when I was collecting my post. It was the normal dull stuff; bills and passive aggressive letters from the Residents Committee but crammed into the small box was a brown envelope. It simply had my name written on it and had been hand delivered.

I went back to my flat and opened it, prepared that it was just going to be a full report from the Residents Committee of my most recent infringements. But as I pulled out the thick wad of paper it was something far more surprising than things I’ve done to annoy my neighbour.

It was the small note attached to it I read first. It said;

Selina,

If you’re going to tell our story, tell it properly

Here’s the truth.

L

I looked at the front page of the manuscript which read ‘Thrusting : The Unbelievable True Story Of Precious Comfort Love Thrust”

At the bottom was the identity of the author…. Labia Lefeure.

That elderly lady was Labia!! My brain chimed in with the obvious, hoping that no one would notice how slow it had been to work that one out.

I cursed myself for missing the opportunity to speak with her. I had so many questions. I fumbled through the pages hoping to find some contact details for her, but there were none.

All the answers to my questions would be in this document and so I poured myself a large glass of gin and read the words of Labia (pronounced La-Bi-Ah by the way).

I had polished off nearly half a bottle of gin by the time I had finished it and then I had to read it again because I could not believe what I just read.

There was always a mystery about Precious Comfort Love Thrust. There had always been something peculiar about them, at the end of the day they all just disappeared without any trace.

Labia’s manuscript provided all the answers. Where they came from, why they suddenly disappeared and what Pirouette Angel was.

Before this manuscript had mysteriously appeared I thought I was beginning to work everything out about PCLT. But as I re-read every word Labia wrote I realised I had been wrong about everything.

The story of Precious Comfort Love Thrust is still an amazing one. Perhaps even more amazing than the one I thought I was telling. It still needs to be told. But it’s not for me to tell it. It’s for Labia to tell.

So, coming soon exclusively to my website I shall be serialising Labia’s manuscript.

The true story of Precious Comfort Love Thrust…. Her Story.

The Chastity Of Selina

Epiphanies.

They’re a wonderful thing. That blissful sense of realisation that sweeps across us bringing much needed clarity; a bright light that breaks through the darkness which has kept us static for so long.

They can happen often and occur when we least expect it, whether it be while walking the dog , having a shower or just commuting to work.

My particular epiphany happened to occur at quite an awkward moment; it was whilst on my knees. As much as I would like to say I was praying for some divine intervention the reality was quite different.

Although I may have mumbled ‘God just hurry up’ , it was not directed at some omnipotent higher power but instead to the guy who had spent the good part of ten minutes happily, albeit disappointingly, thrusting into my mouth.

He had positioned ourselves in front of a full length mirror and was engaged in some exaggerated hip swivelling punctuated by husky moans of ‘yeh’ that made me wonder if he had asthma.

You want me to massage your balls or just pass you your inhaler

It was a cheeky curiosity that made me look in the mirror. This was not the first time I had indulged in some reflective randiness and I was used to seeing who stared back.

It was Her….Lina. It was always Her. That lustful thirst of hers never satisfied.

Yet strangely on this occasion when I looked it wasn’t her… it was me; and I didn’t like it, not one single bit.

I immediately pushed the guy away releasing his saliva coated cock from my mouth and stood up.

“What the fuck!” he exclaimed.

“Yeh. We’re done. I’m going home” I replied

“But I’m not finished”

I walked towards the door and turned towards him “Ain’t my problem. Have a wank and stop moaning”.

I left to the sounds of him calling me a bitch, whore and a slut. Names I’d been called so many times they hardly registered anymore.

Now I would love to say this is the end of the story. Conclude this final, yet brief confession with the words “And Selina realised the error of her ways and became a Nun. She was last seen living on a mountain in Switzerland having probably saved some kids from Nazis.”

Yet that’s not how it ends. Far from it. My brain, clearly harbouring some ambition to be a Reality TV host chose my journey home to show me my ‘Best Bits’.

A carefully edited compilation of every quickie, tug and suck before returning to the studio for comment. My only reply was ‘No that was Lina’. A preposterous excuse that was starting to wear thin.

By the time I got home my brain had changed from TV Host to Annoying Friend Who Wants To Tell You Everything You Did On A Drunken Night.

As I drifted in and out of conscious they were there perched on the edge of my bed.

And then there was time you did this.

When I woke in the morning with a heavy head it followed me round my flat

And what about when you….

I was due to pop round to my friend’s Pru house for coffee. Whilst I contemplated cancelling I thought perhaps listening to her drone on about the renovations she had just completed in her house would prevent my brain from pulling out the bell of shame.

Blowjobs – SHAME!

Handjobs – SHAME!

Quickies up against the side of the chip shop – SHAME!

Whatever it was you were doing at that club – SHAME!

With my head full of painful fog, as if all my hangovers had returned for a repeat performance, I wearily made my way round to Pru’s house.

I must have not been looking my best when I arrived because the moment she saw me she asked “Are you okay?”

I gave the automatic response of saying I was fine. It was my default setting like my very own Out of Office response.

I’m sorry Selina is not available right now she’s presently in turmoil as the fabric of her fragile life unravels but she wants you to know she’s doing just fine. Please leave a message after the primal scream.

Normally, my friends would just accept my short declaration that I was fine and we would get on with our day. I am certain they didn’t believe it for a second and would try and tease it out of me by sporadically asking me again but my wall was up and standing firm.

However, this time, it was different. As I gave my stock answer of ‘I’m fine’ I made eye contact with Pru, whose expression was one of sympathy tinged with a school mistress ‘I ain’t falling for that bullshit anymore’ look.

Did she know? Was seeing her new duck egg bathroom a ruse for some intervention?When I walked in would all my ex-lovers be sat there ready to pass judgement? Is that why she got an extension done?

Whatever the reason as I held Pru’s gaze the wall came tumbling down and I cried. A lot.

While Pru and I are best friends she is also the one I have clashed with the most. We are two totally different people. She is organised, precise and graceful. It had been a regular topic of discussion as to how someone as chaotic as I could form an ever lasting friendship with her. I guess we just balance out the universe.

She was also a qualified psychiatrist and despite her best efforts to avoid doing it we often found ourselves being psychoanalysed.

“Selina do you think your desire for another gin is to mask some deep rooted issue stemming from your childhood’

“Pru you always do this . It’s your round. Get the fucking drinks in”

However, for once, I was glad I knew a psychiatrist. As I embarked on telling her my sordid tale I was unsure whether I was speaking with Pru the Psychiatrist or Pru the Friend but she listened. Occasionally she would steer the conversation with an odd question and I did see her write stuff down, although unsure what it said.

Buy more paint for the hallway

Get a new friend

I told her everything; about my over bearing compulsion I had to engage in sexual activity, how it made me feel and, of course, about Lina. It felt weird to be saying this all out loud and even as I heard myself talk my brain chimed in with ‘Oh you are fucking crazy’.

To her credit Pru was thankfully not judgemental. She never once interrupted me with a ‘what the fuck!’. She didn’t suddenly wrestle me to the ground and shove a crucifix in my face chanting ‘The Lord beseech you leave this girl’.

When I finally finished, my eyes red from crying and my voice hoarse, Pru calmly wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to me.

“I’m going to suggest a colleague of mine sees you” she said

“What for” I replied

“I think you are bipolar” she said, rather matter-of-factly.

“Well I’m bisexual so it makes sense. I am learning a new language to get the full set” I replied with a smile, which quickly disappeared when met with Pru’s stern expression.

“This is serious Sel. I believe you also have what is known as Hypersexuality”

“Oooh sounds like a superpower” I joked but stopped from exploring the possibility I may be one of the X-Men by a look from Pru.

“But why do I have to see someone else? Why can’t you help me?”

Having asked the question I then paid no attention to the answer, preoccupied with the revelation I had some weird sexual compulsion.

Anyhow Pru’s reasoning was ‘something something I wouldn’t take it seriously something something too close something something conflict of interest something something’

However, I persisted “Pru I’m not going to talk to a stranger. I will listen to you. I promise. Just help me. Please. Tell me what to do”

She cocked her head to one side sympathetically “Well firstly you should stop seeing that side of you….this Lina… as a completely different person.”

“So setting up a Twitter account for her was a bad idea?”

Something something dissociative

“And you need to stop engaging in any sexual activity”

“Done” I replied boldly without much thought “Easy peasy. The virtuous life of a virgin from here on in for me.”

“And that goes for masturbation too”

“Fuck off Pru!”

“See! This is why you need to see my colleague” she exclaimed.

“I’d tell him to fuck off as well. What about a little masturbation?”

“Sel!”

“No toys. Just fingers. A little play”

“Sel!”

“A quick rub? No sexy thoughts I’ll just rely on friction”

“SELINA!! I think we are getting a little distracted by discussing masturbation”

“You were the one who brought it up. It does mean I’ll have to cancel my Catwoman comics subscription now…..”

Something something you’re definitely seeing my colleague.

When I left Pru’s house (after an extended farewell to check we were still friends) I felt good. A weight had certainly been lifted. The dark fog that had circled in my mind had cleared. I had purpose, a new start and for the first time ever I felt I was in control.

My mood was a complete juxtaposition to how I begun the morning. I put my earphones in and scrolled through my phone to play some music.

That morning the music was simply a tool to drown out the storm that raged in my mind, but now it was a compliment to my mood. A soundtrack to celebrate a new start. I scrolled through the playlists and settled on some random Pop. I laid my head back on the seat of the train and closed my eyes as Don’t You (Forget About Me) played.

In the days that followed life was good. I woke each morning feeling elated and that stayed with me throughout the day. Pru still checked in on me, a psychological halfway house before I could meet with her colleague.

Something something Bipolar something something manic something something moods

I’d even started to question if I needed to see her colleague at all and went about my life as if the events that had culminated in me sobbing in a heap in my friend’s newly installed kitchen were very much a thing of the past.

I had made a few changes to my lifestyle. I no longer went out drinking every day after work and when I went out with my besties I found myself leaving early. Pru would always be the first to leave and often we just wave her off before declaring this is where the real fun can begin. But I found myself getting up with her and announcing that I may have an early night.

Oddly, it was this behaviour that prompted my friend Mel to ask me if I was okay. Clearly, my vacant expression, the tired look and disappearing off with random strangers had not previously been a cause of concern for her.

I even begun to not go out every weekend and stayed in to have what I declared to be ‘Me Time’ although absent the masturbation which I continued to argue with Pru is something I should be doing.

Then one Friday night I was sat alone in my flat, half watching Netflix and half congratulating myself with solving my mental health issues with zero therapy and medication when I suddenly received an unexpected visit. A visit from a most unwelcome guest who I had assumed had permanently gone.

Let’s Go Out And Play!

Lina’s arrival surprised me. Normally she appeared accompanied by a cacophony of noise as if she was emerging from the very bowels of hell riding a chariot. There was little that was subtle about her but I had been too wrapped up in premature self congratulations to hear her triumphant return.

I’m horny. Let’s find someone

I tried to ignore her but she persisted. Her demands would cut through the sound of the TV I turned up to try and drown her out.

Her piercing demands echoed around in my head bringing with it the darkness that Lina bathed in. I knew what she wanted and I knew she would not stop until she got it.

Let’s go find someone. You’ll feel better.

I felt deflated. The sound of her in my head a depressing reminder that I couldn’t win. She’d always be there.

This is how it was. How it’s always been. Lina holding my head hostage until she got what she desired. Despite my new beginnings I knew I did not have the strength to defeat her and contemplated relenting, after all what harm could be caused by just allowing her to have that one final carnal feast.

I didn’t even really have to move, one text and I could have the appropriate suitor for Lina at my door. I could hear her purr in anticipation as she encouraged me to scroll through my phone.

She salivated like someone choosing their ideal takeaway;

Not that one – we want it dirty

No we had an Indian the other week

How about a mixed starter for variety?

As I delayed giving Lina what she wanted a glimmer of an idea shone meekly through the darkness that swirled inside my head. Maybe I could beat her? But I needed confirmation it would work.

I stopped scrolling through my contacts and pressed call. But it was not to summons a horny guy who would satisfy Lina, instead it was to speak to someone who Lina absolutely despised.

“Hey Pru… sorry to trouble you. Do you have a moment”

“A little busy Sel. It’s our anniversary and we are having a get together”

“Oh sorry to disturb but ….. Wait ….. you’re having a party and I wasn’t invited?”

Something something you slept with my brother-in-law something something his wife is there

“Anyway” I continued “I’m gonna masturbate. Just checking that’s cool. Gotta go. Bye. Oh…. Happy Anniversary”

I tossed the phone and laid back on the sofa and let my hand slide down my body, my fingers slipping inside my panties. I let out an instinctive moan as my finger tips touched my clit, embracing it like I was welcoming back an old friend.

I closed my eyes and let my fingers explore between my legs with the same enthusiasm as a dog let off a leash on an open field.

Throughout my self exploration I could feel Lina, on top of me, her nails dug deep into my breasts leaning over and offering alternatives to what could currently be inside me other than my fingers.

Whenever I heard her voice demanding to be fed I dove my fingers deeper inside.

Satisfy Me

I moved my other hand between my legs and began furiously rubbing my clit whilst my other disappeared deep inside me.

Not like this. Let’s do it properly.

I closed my eyes tight and tried to block out Lina but even the damp slapping of my fingers working away between my legs seemed to be on her side, calling out her lusty demand.

Let’s Fuck. Let’s Fuck. Let’s Fuck.

I could feel my orgasm begin to build up. It would not be a climax to a wonderful fantasy, I had resolved this would be the conclusion to a nightmare. As my body begun to shudder this was to be my final act of defiance against Lina. She was not getting what she wants. Not tonight. Not ever.

The increase of my arousal acted as a shield to Lina’s onslaught. I was in a place that I rarely visited, a pleasure palace where only I can be. Lina dug her nails deeper into my breasts, desperately trying to pull me out of this horny haven and into her domain of depravity. But with every pinch of my erect nipple I countered by pushing my fingers deeper inside me. I writhed on the sofa as this horny tug of war continued.

With a few final wet advances of my finger I let out a roar…. a huge Fuck You Lina shriek… I shook as I absorbed this defiant orgasm, sending electric pulses throughout my body to finally cleanse me of all things Lina.

I laid still on the sofa, wet, exhausted, breathing deeply. It was silent. Blissful silence. No darkness invaded my mind. It was over. Lina was gone. She was finally gone.

So we’re going out to fuck now?

Bollocks! Plan B – offer Lina out for a fight in a junk yard.

The intensity of my orgasm had left me drained. I rolled wearily off the sofa And precariously padded to the bedroom flopping face first onto the bed.

Lina was there, perched on the edge still repeating over and over her demands. But I was too tired to listen.

Something Something hard from behind

Rather than leaving me susceptible to her insistence my exhaustion gave me the unexpected power to ignore her. As I closed my eyes I resolved I would ignore her tomorrow, and the day after and the day after that. The only flaw in my plan was whether I would have to continuously masturbate myself into oblivion each time. That might get awkward.

I am interested about switching energy supplier but can you just wait there while I go aggressively masturbate otherwise this could end up with us having reckless sex.

Before I welcomed the solitude of sleep my brain offered a solution. Normally it was my worst enemy but feeling sorry for me it offered one final moment of clarity, a simple declaration that it had always been an ally. My mind presented to me the conclusion to the epiphany that had begun on my knees sucking some undeserved penis.

You are Lina

That night when I had looked in the mirror I was reminded that I was Lina. But I hadn’t fully appreciated the final part, the bit where I released the cock from my mouth, stood up and walked away. I chose to do that.

I chose.

It was the absent conclusion that had been shrouded in shame for so long but now rose shining brightly in my mind.

I am You.

Lina’s voice drifted away as my eyes became heavy. In the silence that remained lingered a simple realisation. I don’t have to listen to her anymore.

I am Selina………And I am in control.

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

EXT. A BAR IN LONDON – NIGHT

It is raining. The glow of the bar sign reflects off a puddle in the road which is disturbed when a black cab drives past. We see two people run towards the entrance of the bar , their long coats pulled over their heads to shield them from the rain. As they open the door to bar the low hum of the patrons inside can be briefly heard.

INT. BAR – NIGHT

We move in between the people standing in the bar. It is busy. The majority are dressed in business attire indicating they have just left work for a drink. There is no music just the consistent din of chatter and laughter.

We reach the corner of the bar where we find SELINA , 29 , blonde, cockney, sitting on a stool. She is smartly dressed, her hair is slightly wet indicating that she has not long been there. Her nylon legs are crossed, her heels tapping against the leg of the stool. She sips on a gin and tonic as she studies her phone, smirking as if she had just tweeted something non-sensical for attention.

Her attention is drawn to RANDOM GUY, mid twenties , staggeringly attractive who is stood next to her waiting to be served. They make eye contact and she smiles at him.

RANDOM GUY

What do you have to do to get served here?

SELINA

Showing them your tits helps I find

Random Guy smiles a handsome smile

RANDOM GUY

I might go somewhere that’s a little easier to get served. Don’t suppose you want to join me?

Selina smiles and stares into the ridiculously handsome eyes of Random Guy. She delays her answer.

SELINA

Nah. Thank you but I am with someone. Will you excuse me?

We watch as Selina stands up, swigs down the remainder of her drink and we follow her as she walks towards the Ladies Toilet.

INT. BAR – LADIES TOILETSNIGHT

We see Selina standing at the sinks applying lipstick in the mirror. Another woman finishes washing her hands before leaving the toilet talking loudly with her friend. Selina is alone.

She looks down as she puts her lipstick back in her handbag. She looks back up into the mirror and stares cheekily at her reflection.

SELINA

You shut the fuck up!

~Fin~

Precious Comfort Love Thrust: The Beginning Of The Band

In my last Blog Post I described how I learned of the existence of the Sixties band, Precious Comfort Love Thrust. My ambition has been to write the unofficial ‘official’ biography of the greatest band who never existed.

With the limited material available it has been difficult to put into some chronological order the history of the band. However, Stef’s journals have been an invaluable source of information in that respect.

There were two in the suitcase I acquired when Stef sadly passed away at the Care Home. One contained her beautiful lyrics and the other was almost like a scrap book. It contained her musings, or press cuttings, the odd Polaroid photo crudely taped to the yellowing pages.

One of the most revealing sections of that journal is entitled ‘An Interview I Shall Never Give’. Here Stef writes and answers her own questions about being part of the band. Despite playing the crucial role of being their sole songwriter it would seem she was very much in the background. None of the press cuttings seem to reference her yet without her there would be no Precious Comfort Love Thrust.

She was part of the day to day life of the band, jotting down the mood of recording or touring with throwaway observations in her journal like ‘Labia wants out’ or ‘Dick is struggling’

Whenever one writes a music biography of a band normally the reader would come with some basic knowledge of who the band are and have at least heard one or two songs.

It’s likely the first time you ever heard about Precious Comfort Love Thrust is when I wrote about them or you happened upon the Twitter or Reddit sub I set up to share the contents of Stef’s suitcase.

Also normally a music biography can begin with explaining how the band formed. You know, so and so met each other at school, this person left that band to join etc. Yet, Precious Comfort Love Thrust seemed to just suddenly exist. They appeared as quickly as they disappeared.

What I have been able to work out is the Original Line Up consisted of:-

Labia Lefeure – Lead Singer

Richard ‘Dick’ Splash – Lead Guitarist

Kaku – Bass Guitarist

Vanda T – Rhythm Guitar

Regis – Drummer

In their short history the band would go through different line ups. Dick Splash left the band to be replaced by Curt Lingus.

Both Vanda and surprisingly Labia then left, the latter attempting a solo career which saw he take residence for a while in Las Vegas.

The final iteration of Precious Comfort Love Thrust was Labia returning with Kaku and Regis; the lead guitar being played by a host of session musicians.

Yet the history of the members of the band (or Love Thrusters as Stef called them in her journal) is unknown.

A vital part of any music biography is to be able to trace the early life of the band, to give context to the people that would become universally admired by fans. Yet I cannot find anything relating to the members of PCLT. No clue where they were born, who their parents were, where they went to school. Nothing.

The closest was a very small snippet of an interview Labia gave when she sung at the Sands in Vegas. It read:-

I love being up here with the big band, singing the old songs. It’s like being back home in the clubs in the East End of London”

So we know that Labia (which I presume is not her real name) was born in London and sung in clubs before joining Precious Comfort Love Thrust. But how and why remains shrouded in mystery.

As for the others they are like ghosts. It’s as if they were purposely designed to blend anonymously in the background. Labia was the face of Precious Comfort Love Thrust; it would have been her face who adorned the walls of teenage fans and probably helped a few boys through those difficult years.

But did the girls have Dick Splash on their walls? Or perhaps others went dressed as Vanda or Kaku at concerts. Maybe in pubs today there is someone holding court that the greatest drumming you’ll ever hear was Regis on the track 4-Nication.

As I begun my study of the Journals of Stef Clancy I wondered about the others. Whether they resented Labia for being in the forefront whilst they were reduced to playing in the shadows? Did Labia have a hand in that? Was she some diva who demanded all the attention? And what was Stef’s role in all of this? Who was calling the shots?

Because whilst it’s possible to gather some information from the journal on all the band members including Stef herself, there is one person (or persons) where nothing appears – the Manager.

Who was the Manager? He (or she) put together a band, signed them to an obscure record label that only produced PCLT records then promptly went out of business. If legacy is an indication of greatness then PCLT’s management team would not appear on any list of Greatest Band Managers.

Is the story of Precious Comfort Love Thrust a story of missed opportunity? A group of talented individuals let down by incompetent management.

Or is it a story about ego? A band self destructing before they have even had a chance to begin.

And this is before we get to the strange appearance of Pirouette Angel……..Whatever that was all about.

Precious Comfort Love Thrust : The Band Who Never Existed

When we think of great bands of the 1960s we immediately think of the likes of The Beatles, The Kinks, The Who or The Rolling Stones.

Indeed if you ask anyone to name their Top Ten bands of the sixties those names would feature. Yet one is unlikely to make any list …. Precious Comfort Love Thrust.

If you mention that name to anyone who was around during that period you might witness a fleeting glimpse of recognition. Study them closer and you can almost see their brain do somersaults as it delves into the intoxicated haze of memories of that decade. The name sounds familiar but their mind fails to provide any further confirmation.

It is not uncommon for bands or singers to disappear from the public conscious. Yet even then they find a way back; whether it be because their song ends up in a soundtrack to a movie or one of your Facebook friends lists them in their Top Ten Bands Of All Time just to appear cultured. You know, those friends who listed the most obscure David Bowie song as their favourite, just so they can say they really understood Bowie like no-one else did.

“I’m telling you if you think Space Oddity is better than ‘Always Crashing In The Same Car’ then you don’t get Bowie….Not like I do”

Nowadays, the internet refuses to allow anyone to forget anything. YouTube will host poorly filmed concerts of some band nobody has heard of playing in front of just 25 people in a pub in Basingstoke. eBay will have listings of all manner of music memorabilia. Wikipedia seemingly just has a page for everything and everyone. Spotify and Amazon appear to offer every song ever written, although Alexa seems dead set on playing the version she wants.

No Alexa I did not want to listen to ‘Sound Of Silence (Disco Version) by Groovy Doug and the Kinkettes

Yet with all these digital tools at our disposal you won’t find any reference to Precious Comfort Love Thrust. The internet offers no support for those who are challenged when they put PCLT at the top of their list of best bands. It’s as if they never existed. But they certainly did.

And how can I be so sure? Because of one woman – Stef Clancy.

A few years ago a friend of mine who works in a care home asked for my help in clearing out the belongings of a long term resident who had passed away. That resident was Stef Clancy

My friend explained that this woman had been at the home long before she began working there. She rarely had visitors and it was believed she had no living relatives.

My friend struck up a close bond Stef whose best years were far behind her. During more lucid periods she would talk about all the places in the world she had visited; but most of the time she would incoherently slur orders at my friend such as ‘Find Loafers”

“The thing is” my friend would laugh “Stef didn’t even own a pair of loafers”

Nevertheless a friendship formed, so much so when Stef passed away at the age of 93 she left all her possessions to my friend. A note addressed to my friend was found in the top drawer of her dressing table. A simple instruction written in Stef’s shaky handwriting ‘It’s all yours’.

This is where I came in as the only one in close locality with a car she asked if I wouldn’t mind helping her clear out Stef’s room. Not that poor Stef owned much; a few items of clothing, some jewellery and a couple of books.

It was rather melancholic that this woman had lived through nine decades and yet the sum total of her life could fit in a cardboard box. And none of it gave any clue about who she was and the life she had led; nor where her love of loafers had come from and indeed why she did not possess any.

However, as I was searching under her bed I found a battered suitcase. The wood grain pattern was scored and faded , the remnants of stickers that had adorned the sides remained, too worn to make out what they were. The leather strap handle was frayed, crudely kept together by electrical tape. When I unlocked the rusted fasteners it was filled to the brim of papers.

“What do you want to do with these?” I asked my friend

“Best keep it just in case any family come out of the woodwork. It might be important” she replied.

“I thought there was no family or anything”

“There was this lady who used to visit her but ain’t seen her round here for a long time.”

So I took the suitcase back to my flat where it remained in a corner of my bedroom. Perhaps a long lost relative might finally claim them or my friend might wish to look through whatever was inside.

However, no one claimed to know Stef and my friend became the only source of companionship for a myriad of lonely elderly folk. Over time the suitcase became buried under a pile of clothes until it was very much out of sight, out of mind. Forgotten much like Precious Comfort Love Thrust.

Then the COVID-19 pandemic happened and with it Lockdown. Out of sheer boredom one day I decided to tidy my room and that’s when I was reminded of the existence of the suitcase.

I messaged my friend to see if any family of the mysterious Stef Clancy. She responded that no-one had before quickly adding ‘if there are any deeds to a Castle in that suitcase remember she left it to me.’

There was no treasure to be found amongst the papers, well the sort of riches my friend was hoping for. The suitcase was full of artwork, photos, notebooks and album covers yet strangely without the vinyl in them.

All of them contained the same name :- Precious Comfort Love Thrust.

A quick Google search provided no results for this band but this stuff all looked real. I am no archaeologist but I can tell if a piece of paper is old. This was genuine stuff.

The notebooks contained the lyrics for songs written by Stef herself. Seemingly Stef was something of a lyricist perfectionist determined to have key words included in the song. On each page a list of words were written in the corner and crossed off as they appeared in a verse or chorus.

I searched everywhere I could to hear one of the songs written by Stef but each time it produced a negative result. Despite having no music to sing the lyrics along to there was a poetical quality to them. Stef had adopted her own stanza form. Each key word would be assigned a number and this would feature in exactly the same place in every song.

A further dive of the papers revealed Tour Schedules, release dates for albums and singles. There were photos of their concerts yet strangely they seemed more to concentrate on the audience than the band members themselves.

In respect of the members of Precious Comfort Love Thrust there was little about them. A few bios written for Pop magazines but not much else. No photos of the band except for one of them….Labia Lefeure, the lead singer. She seemed to adorn the cover of many of the albums. Once again a quick search on the internet produced no results.

Who was she? Who were they? I live during a time of Cancel Culture but what could this band have done to be simply erased completely?

For days I tried to find out anything about the band but never any positive results. My hopes of unravelling this mystery faded yet as I looked upon the album artwork and read Stef’s beautiful yet cryptic lyrics I decided I couldn’t keep this to myself.

I decided to set up a Twitter account for Precious Comfort Love Thrust so I could share these curiosities. Maybe someone in the big bad online universe could shed some light and help me unravel this mystery.

And if not at the very least ,to a small degree, I could try and return Precious Comfort Love Thrust back into the public consciousness. Because as I rifled through the mass of ageing papers I knew there was a story to tell.

It’s not my story. It’s the story of Stef, Labia, Dick, Vanda and Regis.

It’s the story of Precious Comfort Love Thrust – the band who never existed.

Super Sentient Sex Dolls From Saturn : Part Six

So we arrive at Part Six having completed Part One , Part Two, Part Three, Part Four and Part Five. Say what you’re like about this series but at least we are doing this in order.

Quick recap – I have seamlessly and without any fundamental plot holes whatsoever been able to legitimately establish the existence of the Sentient Sex Dolls, put them on Saturn and convincingly return them to Earth.

Anyone still paying attention to this will recall that Gina may not have been the only sex doll who returned from Saturn. So this part introduces the remaining sex dolls – the Version Deltas (or VDs for short).

There are four VDs left and we are introduced to them outside a biker’s bar on the outskirts of town. Because whatever town you live in there is always a convenient bar filled with bikers.

Now as you will have immediately appreciated from reading the previous five parts I do extensive research to ensure authenticity.

So we have four naked sentient sex dolls walking into a seedy out of town bar frequented by bikers. As they walk in the bar goes silent. Two bikers playing chess look up. Another biker sitting by the fireplace reading Voltaire takes of his glasses and looks towards the entrance. A group of bikers practicing the cha cha slide turn off the music and study the new arrivals.

One of the bikers approach the quartet of sentient sex dolls “Well well well. What do we have here?” he asks “Some pretty ladies just walking into our bar. And as naked as the day they were born. You know what this means guys?”

The bar erupts with whooping and cheering, although some choose to politely clap. The biker continues “That’s right! We have enough people to make up our Twister Tournament”

As further cheers erupt it is made clear that these sentient sex dolls are not in the mood to play Twister. Indeed, to fully emphasise their hatred of any party board games one grabs the wrist of the biker and twists it hard. He screams out in agony and another biker rushes over;

“Hey stop that. He’s our best hope for the Inter-Biker Table Tennis tournament later this week”

The sentient sex doll looks at him and says “I need your clothes, your boots and your motorcycle”

“Really?” Says the Biker “Cos I am a little overweight and my clothes would just hang off you. No you need to be taking Slim’s clothes over there”

The Sentient Sex Doll walks over to Slim and snaps his neck and begins to remove his clothes.

“Wait!” says the Biker “He may be slim but he has big feet. His boots won’t fit you. What are you? Size 5? Size 6?. You need Dainty Pete’s boots.”

Snap

“Looking good now we need to accessorise. Gruff Stu’s belt would really accentuate those hips”

Snap

“Now I am thinking a leather jacket to really finish this look off. Mad Matt has the best”

Snap

“Beautiful. The blood splatter really does emphasise that glowing eye. When I saw you walk into this bar I saw vulnerability. But now I see you blossom into the woman I know you can be…”

Snap

In his dying breath the biker hands his keys to the sentient sex doll. “Be careful the throttle sticks a little”

As we watch the now fully clothed sentient sex dolls ride off on motorcycles we cut back to the strange laboratory as unnamed menacing man is given an update by generic underling.

“Sir four of them are on the move”

The menacing man replies “Good. They will come here. That’s in their programming.” He pauses menacingly, the silence confirming how menacing he is “But there needs to be all five. Find me the other one”

Before we leave this part a quick check in with Spencer. Realising he will struggle to keep Gina hidden from his Mother he decides to introduce her as a Foreign Exchange Student.

So Spencer’s mother unknowingly meets the sex doll that her late husband was screwing just before he died.

Spencer’s Mother: Very pleased to meet you Gina

Gina: You never liked to swallow

Spencer’s Mother: Excuse me?

Spencer: Nothing . She’s French

Spencer quickly ushers Gina upstairs and begins to lecture her on not mentioning having sex with his Dad when he is interrupted by Paul calling him. Paul is in an agitated state.

Paul: Spencer I’ve been watching the videos of Gina with your Dad.

Spencer: That’s gross. What is wrong with you?

Paul: You need to see something

Spencer: Paul I’m not interested in watching my Dad have sex with a sex doll

Paul: No you don’t understand. He didn’t die coz of the crash. He was already dead.

Spencer: What? How?

Paul: It was Gina. Gina killed him

Spencer turns to look at Gina who is sitting on the bed. Her eye glowing a deep red.

To be continued

Super Sentient Sex Dolls From Saturn : Part Five

Following on from Part Four is this Part… Part Five. It’s kind of the middle of the movie.

The majority of this part is taken up with Spencer trying to hide the existence of Gina the Sex Doll from the likes of his mum and would be girlfriend, Becky.

Whilst he could have just left Gina in Paul’s basement he did not totally trust him not to keep having sex with her. Paul’s excitement could visibly be seen as he studied all the things that Gina could do.

Spencer was unsure if a sex doll could be broken but believed if anyone could break her then Paul and his extreme horniness probably could.

For some reason Spencer feels the need to treat Gina with respect and not use her for the primary purpose she was built. He is a gentleman towards her. So he decides to just shove her in the wardrobe in his bedroom.

The next morning, Spencer awakes to find Gina on top of him, slowly lowering the waistband of his pyjamas;

Spencer: What are you doing?

Gina: Your morning blowjob. That is how you like to start the day

Spencer: No!….I mean….No I don’t need you to do that

Gina: You do not wish me to perform oral sex upon you and tell you how big you are?

Spencer: No.

Gina: Do you wish to simply have sex with me then?

Spencer: No

Gina: Handjob?

Spencer: No….I do not require you to do anything sexually with me.

Gina: I am confused. That is my Primary programming. Are you unhappy with my service. Do you require any upgrade? Should I notify Control you wish for me to be replaced by VD?

Spencer: VD?

Gina: Version Delta. Although reports are they are quite buggy. But if you are no longer satisfied with my service then I shall commence the Retirement Protocol.

Spencer: No wait… do not retire….what else can you do?

Gina: I am programmed to provide sexual gratification in 234 different ways.

Spencer: Anything else?

Gina: My secondary duties is to ensure the safety and security of who I am assigned to and ensure they are comfortable.

Spencer: Which involves?

Gina: Mainly domestic chores.

Spencer (looking around his untidy bedroom): Well there you go. I would like you to ummm tidy my room.

Gina: That I can do.

Spencer: Just don’t go downstairs

Spencer leaves Gina in the room and goes downstairs, he grabs a slice of toast from his mum and heads out.

We catch up with him later in the cafe. He is sitting at a table flicking through his phone trying to find out any further information about the mysterious sex doll.

“What ya doin’?’ asks Becky and joins him at the table. They chat and it’s clear she is into him and all Spencer has to do is make the move. But just as the conversation heads towards him asking her out there is a commotion.

Dean and his Band Of Dicks start cheering and whistling. Spencer looks up and sees Gina has entered the Cafe dressed in just one of his sports shirts. She sees Spencer and walks over to him.

Gina: I have completed the task you assigned to me. I even put those magazines under your bed in alphabetical order although presumed Slutty Co-Eds Summer Edition should go before the Autumn Edition.

Spencer: What are you doing here? How did you find me? I told you not to go downstairs

Gina: I have completed my task and require a further assignment. And I am able to track you within a fifty mile radius. I also obeyed your instruction not to go down the stairs by instead jumping out the window

Becky: Spencer? Who is this?

Spencer: ermmm….this is …umm Gina….. she’s…..um my cousin. She’s come to stay with us from…ummm….France

Becky: Hi Gina. I’m Becky

Gina (cocking head to one side – Android thing) : I recognise you from pictures Spencer has underneath his pillow.

Spencer: Gina!! (To Becky) – She’s joking. French humour.

Dean the dick walks over and addresses Gina in own dickish way

Dean: Well well well. What do we have here? Don’t waste your time with this loser darling. You need a real man to satisfy you.

He grabs his crotch to make the point and Gina cocks her head (Android thing) and replies

Gina: Are you suggesting you wish to use your 4 1/2 inch penis for sexual gratification. I am not assigned to you for such a service

Some of the Gang of Dicks snigger and Dean stares sinisterly at Gina

Dean: You’re quite a mouthy one. Maybe I should use this (he grabs his crotch again) to shut you up

Gina: I can change the size of my mouth to adapt to any size. For yours I would have to make it smaller.

More laughter and Dean walks towards Gina. Spencer stands up instinctively to intervene but Dean shoves him away. Gina grabs Dean by throat and lifts him up. He is flaying around, choking.

Spencer: Gina. Let him go.

Gina: But he is a danger to you. Your safety and security is part of my duties.

Spencer: It’s fine. He’s not a danger. Let him go.

Gina releases Dean who falls to the floor clutching his throat.

Spencer decides its best to leave and ushers Gina out the cafe turning to Becky to whisper ‘She’s French’.

We conclude this part with a brief return to the strange laboratory where we saw a currently unnamed menacing man acting menacingly.

Well he is still giving off the menacing vibes as he asks for a progress update report.

There appears to have been five of them sir. Four are the newer VD models and one is an older model who we have been unable to trace.

The menacing unnamed man looks up and says ‘Find Them’ menacingly.

Tell Me You Love Me – The Opening

Recently I pitched a TV series called Ghosts Annoy Her. Since writing it has somewhat evolved.

Provisionally it’s now called Tell Me You Love Me and remains a supernatural tale with the main character being a girl in her mid 20s (although someone in their 30s who can still so pass for 25 will still work).

Unlike my previous ‘pitches’ I just thought I would draft out a few scenes that keep playing around in my head. You know out of my head and into yours.

The opening scene is a seemingly romantic one. Our MC and some gorgeous guy walking hand in hand in the park, followed by a romantic meal and then a glass of wine on a sofa.

He leans in to kiss her and she reciprocates and with their lips almost touching he whispers ‘I love you’. She recoils slightly, a momentary look and then a smile appears as behind the guy a dark mist forms.

It swirls round him, briefly taking a human form before smothering the guy and when the mist disperses the guy lays still, ashen…the life drained from him. The mist disappears.

Our MC stares at his lifeless body, running a thumb over her lips he was just kissing before getting up. It is clear they were in the guy’s apartment and she starts taking cash, jewellery and his mobile before exiting the apartment.

After the open credits we experience a brief dream of the MC. She is standing next to a tree while a guy gets on his knee looking like he is getting ready to propose. We see no more of this dream as in true cinematic style she sits bolt up right, breathing heavy.

We follow her to the kitchen. Her flat is the polar opposite to the lavish apartment we first saw her in. It’s small, grubby and untidy.

She pours herself a coffee and turns on a tiny television. Emptying her bag on to the kitchen side, separating the money and jewellery into three piles. She puts two piles in separate bags and turns her attention to the phone.

As she thumbs through the photos of her and the now deceased gentleman a news report plays in the background;

And the city was rocked today by news that Millionaire Peter Connors was found dead in his apartment this morning. Initial reports suggest natural causes and no foul play is suspected. Whilst a successful businessman Mr Connors had recently been dogged with rumours following implication in the Riletech scandal.

She begins to delete the photos and messages before turning to the TV as CEO of Riletech – Matteus Riley – is giving a statement, mourning the loss of his colleague. She stares intently, with a look of hate in her eyes as the camera zooms into Matteus Riley.

She turns off the TV and focuses on a battered laptop on the table. She clicks on the ‘Riletech Personnel Page’.

The opening concludes as we follow a Detective into the apartment of the now deceased Peter Connors. The rooms are bustling with Police officers, forensic team and the coroner.

Detective : Any idea on time of death?

Coroner: My preliminary estimate is between 11 pm – 2 am.

Detective: And cause of death?

Coroner: Not seen anything suspicious but I will carry out a full autopsy. It looks to me like heart failure

Detective (to an officer): Who found him?

Officer: His cleaner, this morning.

Detective: Strange

Officer: How so?

Detective: Two glasses. Half drunk. Seems someone else was here that night. Have some officers do door to door to see if they noticed anyone leave last night……and check CCTV

Officer: But it’s natural causes and….

Detective: Just do it. Something doesn’t feel right here.

And that concludes the opening. Intrigued?

Super Sentient Sex Dolls From Saturn : Part Four

If you have happened upon this before reading Part Three then you need to go read that first.

Come to think of it, if you haven’t read Part Three then you probably need to go read Part One and Part Two as well. It’s okay, I’ll wait.

Finished? Cool. So we start this part at Paul’s house or more precisely in Paul’s basement. Like Spencer, Paul lives alone with his Mother.

However, unlike Spencer, his Dad left the family home and didn’t die because he was too busy copulating with a sex doll than piloting a space craft.

Paul has a back story which may or may not be relevant and probably don’t want to spend too much time on it. So the best way of doing this is for him to monologue while searching for something in the basement.

“ So when my Dad left my mum she burned most of his stuff. I remember looking out the window and seeing her throwing clothes and that on a massive fire while screaming ‘Die Bastard Die’……Followed by ‘Hope that bitch dies too’. I don’t think she took the break up well.

Anyway, I was down in the basement a while back preparing for Games Night….I was trying to find the little man who dives in the bucket in Mouse Trap….when I stumbled upon this box full of tech and manuals.

My Dad was an engineer working for some company. Clearly my mum didn’t get a chance to burn it….Might have been cos it was a heavy box and mum had put her back out throwing the Peleton that my Dad bought her on the fire….Oh, and she had all those injunctions against her to stop lighting huge fires.

I thought nothing more of it until I saw that symbol on the sex doll. It’s the same logo on my Dad’s box.”

Paul finds the box and points out the symbol and matches it to the one on the sex doll. They eagerly rummage through the box, Paul starts thumbing through a manual and Spencer retrieves a device which has two cones at one end and a cylinder metal plug at the other.

“What’s this for?” he asks

Paul flicks through the manual and replies “That’s what connects her to the mainframe”

“Mainframe?”

Paul looks through the box again and pulls out a tablet “This I guess.”

They move to the Sex Doll which stands still and look to apply the connection. They work out that the two cone shaped looking things go over her breasts. Paul holds up the cylinder tube at the other end.

“Where do you think this goes?” he asks as the both stare at the most obvious place it could go.

Paul goes to slide it between her legs when suddenly a hand reaches out and grabs him by the throat.

“INTRUDER!! UNAUTHORISED ACCESS” shouts the sex doll as she squeezes Paul’s throat. Her eye glows bright.

Struggling to breathe Paul asks Spencer to help him. Panicking, Spencer tells the Sex Doll to stop and that Paul is a friend. She turns her head to look at him.

“A friend? Would you like me to activate Group Mode, Matt?”

“No! And I’m not Matt…. We were just trying to access your mainframe”

“You wish to come inside me? Very well”

The Sex Doll becomes silent and hesitantly Paul inserts the tube between her legs. The tablet powers up and Version Alpha GINA is displayed followed by a long menu of options.

They are briefly interrupted by Paul’s mum shouting down to see what that noise was all about.

“Nothing Mum” replies Paul “Our game of Rummikub just got a little exciting”

“You boys and your gaming” she says

“Wow! This is her Operating System. We have access to everything” Paul says returning to look at the tablet.

They both start looking through the menu as the secrets of the mysterious sex doll is revealed.

Paul: This is why she calls you by your Dad’s name. She was assigned to your Dad and his DNA registered which is close to yours. I can change the name to you. I can also change her hair colour, skin colour, breast size….seems I can also give her a penis if you want…

Spencer: No! Just get her to stop calling me by my Dad’s name

Paul: Probably can make her look just like Becky if you want….

Spencer: PAUL!! Just change the name

Paul: Wow! I can equip her with all manner of kinks…..Not even sure what that one is… What’s this? We can access her memories…There’s a lot in here….involving your Dad. Do you want to take a look?

Spencer: PAUL!!

Paul: oh yeh… sure… he was busy though…the last one is dated….oh

Spencer looks at the tablet and sees the date. It was the date his dad died.

Paul: seems that memory is a little corrupted…. I can do a factory reset …. Do you reckon that means she will be a virgin again cos your Dad….

Spencer: Paul!!! Just change the name and stop mucking about with her. We have no idea what we are dealing with.

Paul: mmm…that’s interesting. There is a hidden mode enabled here called ‘Kill ’ . Wonder what that could mean?

Spencer: Probably why she tried to strangle you. Must be a Security feature or something .

Paul: Yeh probably. But why would a sex doll need a security mode? I’ll just disable it though. To be on the safe side……..All done

Spencer and Paul disconnect Gina from the mainframe and stare at her.

Spencer: What are we going to do with an advanced sex doll that will obey my every whim?

Paul just looks at Spencer.

We leave them staring at Gina the sex doll and cut to a room where people in long white coats are walking around purposefully. They are either scientists or dentists. However as there has been no indication previously that this is a movie about dentistry we can safely assume they are scientists.

We track one non-descript scientist as she walks across the room holding a tablet. She reaches a man who has his back to us.

“Professor. Someone has accessed the mainframe”

Menacingly he turns around. Even more menacingly he takes the tablet. With some additional menace you didn’t think possible because of all the menacing stuff he’s already he done he says ‘Who?’ menacingly.

Who could this menacing Professor be? Who? This and more will be revealed probably at some point.