Thrusting : Band Together

I took the first few steps as Labia Lefeure. Admittedly I would have preferred it to be at some gala event yet my new life was to begin walking along a dark foreboding corridor.

There was no gliding across a beautiful red carpet to the sound of applause rather it was to be a tentative walk along a soulless grey floor, the only noise were my heels clip clopping on the worn concrete.

I was not to be dazzled by the flashing bulbs as photographers jostled for position instead the intermittent flickering of the lights above were to be my only welcome to my new life.

Crowds did not marvel at my elegant attire as I strolled proudly across the lush carpet. The dress I wore for the debut of Labia Lefeure was poorly made, stained with mud and probably other dubious substances. I was tired, hungry, a tad hungover and as I followed the strange gentleman who I knew only as ‘The Manager’ the feeling of dread I had experienced in the field returned.

Whilst I had put aside any thought that he would kill me in the field the fact he had now taken me to some derelict building where no-one would either hear my final blood curdling scream nor ever find my body made me once again question his intentions.

My feet hurt and I was not prepared to go on a long walk to my demise. I called out to him in the hope that it would speed up the conclusion to all of this.

“So explain to me all this again” I asked

The Manager stopped walking and spun round. He looked irritated making me wonder if this is just an emotion I provoked or if it was his usual resting expression.

“What part would you like me to explain?” he sighed.

“All of it” I replied

He rolled his eyes and threw his head back staring at the overhead light that seemed to flicker in tune with his visible irritation of me.

“Very well but pay attention” he said with the same tone as my teacher who once lost patience trying to explain trigonometry to me.

“You will be working for MOIST, a specialist department of MI6. Our role is to disseminate secret coded messages, especially to the Agents we have inside SNATCH“

“Sorry? Inside what?”

“SNATCH – Special Network And Tactical Counter-intelligence Hierachy. They are a conglomerate of organised crime, despots and tyrants all with the goal of undermining democracy and destabilising governments for their own greed.”

“And my job to ensure they don’t destroy the world is to sing songs?” I enquired

“Yes over the years we have designed ways of encoding important messages into songs. You will perform at gigs, galas and parties where our inside SNATCH agents will be. Understood?” He said, not waiting for a response but spinning on his heels and walking off.

“One more thing” I shouted out. He turned around with that same look that did nothing to dispel the feeling he really wanted to kill me

“Do I get a change of clothing?” I asked pointing out the stains on my tatty dress.

He smiled, which was more unnerving than reassuring and pulled on a large metal handle, sliding open a rusty metal door to reveal a hidden room filled with all manner of clothing.

“Be my guest” he said “But hurry up you need to meet the band.”

An hour and multiple costume changes later I was standing in what would have been a hangar back in the day when this was used as an actual air base. I would like to have stayed longer trying on clothes. Admittedly, The Manager, grew impatient after I tried on the second outfit, muttering to himself about what was wrong with the first one I tried on.

I’d never seen such an array of clothing – dresses, mini-skirts, tops, boots and heels; and not cheap either, a lot of this stuff were from those expensive shops along Carnaby Street. Places I had stopped at and gazed into the window dreaming of what it would be like to be seen in their attire.

The Manager would look away each time I excitedly changed into whatever outfit caught my eye. When I asked him if an outfit looked okay he would offer a dismissive hand with a “Yes that looks fine, can we go please”.

I didn’t understand his coyness. Maybe he was just being a gentleman but working in The Blue King I was used to Jimmy barging in as I and the girls were getting changed.

Noting the growing frustration of The Manager I eventually settled on an outfit. A black high neck chiffon top, hot pants, white tights and matching knee high boots.

“What do you think?” I asked

“This was the first outfit you chose” The Manager sighed “Come on let’s go”

The walk to the main hangar was a more pleasant one. The Manager still seemed to want to kill me but I happily ignored him. I was not focused on what dangers may lay ahead in being part of a secret spy organisation, I was just happy I got to wear nice clothes.

I caught my reflection when passing a glass frame that probably once housed important war information. I looked different, I felt different. Fingering the expensive fabric I smiled; Molly was now truly gone and it was Labia from here on in.

It was clear the hangar was where I would be spending most of my time; albeit I resolved I would ensure I got back to the clothing room whenever I could.

At the far end an array of musical instruments rested on stands next to a makeshift sound booth that housed a solitary microphone.

Adjacent to this was what looked liked the set up for a mini photography studio. Lights, white umbrellas on stands all circled a black screen.

In the middle stood a large table adorned with a variety of snacks and drinks. My stomach roared a reminder of its growing hunger that had only been temporarily quietened by my enthusiasm of dressing up.

On the opposite side of the hangar was a leather sofa surrounded by a myriad of different chairs, none of them matching. Seated were four people, two men and two women. The females occupied the sofa. One had long dark hair and laid across the length of the sofa, her feet resting in the lap of a youthful Asian girl.

The two men sat on separate chairs either side of the sofa. The larger man straddled his chair, his dark muscular arms crossed over the back of it.

The other man was wiry with long hair and a poor excuse for a goatee. His sunken cheekbones were clearly visible even from a distance. He sat with his arms folded and legs arrogantly stretched out.

“Okay everyone” announced The Manager, clapping his hands “I would like you to meet the newest member of the band. Lead singer….Labia Lefeure.” There was a hint of him rolling his eyes as he pronounced my name.

The seated foursome all stood up and walked over to me as The Manager continued with introductions.

“This is Vanda” he said as the dark haired woman high fived me “She is rhythm guitar but also an expert in covert operations”

Next the Asian girl bounded over to give me a big hug “This is Kaku. Bass guitarist and a wonderful gymnast”

“Regis is the drummer” the Manager continued as the gentile hug of Kaku was replaced by a big bear hug “He’s also the muscle…should we ever require it.”

“And I’m Dick Splash” interrupted the thin man. I saw The Manager wince as he pronounced his name, clearly I wasn’t the only one who got to choose. “I should have been the lead singer but instead I’m lead guitar”

Whilst the others mocked Dick’s singing credentials I noticed over at the far end of the hangar was a piano.

“Who is that?” I enquired pointing at the solitary figure who was hunched over a table next to the piano.

“That is Stef. One of Bletchley’s finest. Her job is to write the songs which will contain the coded messages”

I walked over to introduce myself to her.

“Hi I’m Labia.” It felt a little weird announcing myself by my brand new name.

She looked up from scribbling away on paper. I could see random words in capitals, amongst lines of lyrics; some had been furiously scrubbed out.

Her eyes were perfectly framed behind thick heavy glasses. Stef seemed reluctant to return my greeting. She certainly was not as enthusiastic with her welcome as Regis or Kaku with their big hugs but equally she did not have the arrogance of Dick. There was clearly kindness in those eyes but she looked exhausted.

“Are you ok?” I whispered leaning in towards her.

“Yeh I’m just a…..” she began to reply before being interrupted by The Manager.

“Okay Mol….Labia…. that’s enough let Stef get on with her work. She needs to finish the song before the performance tonight”

“Tonight?!!” I exclaimed “But I’m tired”

The Manager rolled his eyes, a look I had become more than familiar with in just a short time “Oh I’m sorry that evil organisations hadn’t taken into consideration your sleeping pattern before planning their world domination! There is a concert tonight and we need to pass on an important message.”

I watched as he gestured for everyone to do something although everyone seemed unclear what they actually had to do.

“What are we called?” I asked

“Excuse me?” The Manager replied

“The name of the band. What’s it called?”

He waved a dismissive hand “Oh I don’t know maybe something like Labia and the LoveHearts.”

This title was not met with enthusiasm from any of the members of the band. Noting the lack of support he said “Well….what would you call it?”

A variety of names were shouted out by the likes of Vanda and Kaku. Dick wanted the band to be called The Dick Splash Orchestra.

Whilst everyone shouted out suggestions I glanced down at the notebook Stef had been writing in. She had split the page into two columns; one side were the lyrics to a song and the other side was a list of words that she crossed out. I was drawn to the remaining words still visible.

Precious. Comfort. Love. Thrust.

“What about Precious Comfort Love Thrust?” I offered, a suggestion which was met by that same, familiar look from The Manager.

It was Regis who broke the silence “Yeh I love that. Precious…Comfort..Love…Thrust”

Kaku and Vanda repeated the name with similar approval. Dick, on the other hand, still attempted to push his suggestion.

“Very well” said The Manager, raising his hands to quieten everyone down “Precious Comfort Love Thrust it is. Now everyone get to work!”

I gave Stef a brief smile before watching The Manager leave the hangar, probably regretting his decision he allowed us to choose our own names.

Giving a little wave to Stef I walked over to join my band mates. My stomach gurgled, unsure if it was just hunger or fear of the unknown. Apprehension for this mysterious new life I had signed up for.

All you got to do is sing I told myself, that’s what The Manager had said.

Twelve hours later I would realise he hadn’t told me everything.

Thrusting : Laa-Bye-Ahh

Four hours after agreeing to the bizarre proposal from a mysterious well groomed stranger I was standing in the middle of a field somewhere on the Kent/Sussex border.

I would have loved to have enjoyed the crisp, clean morning air that usually I am starved of in the smog ridden city. The feel of the fresh breeze bringing forth memories of family day trips to the coast,

However my thoughts at that present time were not to recall some pleasant time of building sandcastles with my dad. Any sweet recollections were barred by one pressing thought – this stranger is going to kill me.

I battled through the hazy pain in my mind caused by the alcohol I had consumed to piece together how, in the space of a few hours, I had gone from singing old standards in a sleazy little club to standing in a field. The only logical conclusion I arrived at was that the only reason someone would drive you out to the middle of nowhere was to kill you.

I had contemplated the possibility he wanted to have sex with me but discounted that on the basis that there were plenty of other places he could have chosen. Besides he struck me as the sort of guy who would require ordering room service after an orgasm not wiping dirt from his knees.

He had definitely told me he was a spy and from what I had read about spies in novels they took people to fields to kill them. If he had said he worked for the Environmental Department rather than the Ministry of Defence then I may have just assumed he wanted to discuss the migratory pattern of swallows or the importance of flood plains.

I looked around and all I could see was fields. It had rained overnight and the unkempt grass shone in the dawn sunlight that yawned across the horizon.

In addition to the usual thought of why did I drink too much there were two other particular considerations that occupied my mind; why he wanted me dead and whether I could make a run for it.

There was a futility in spending too much time contemplating either. I assumed he had lied about being a spy and actually worked for Mr Karpinsky and was just getting revenge for my role in the death of his boss. In any event, knowing the reason for my demise would provide little comfort; especially if I took the second option of attempting to run across a seemingly endless drenched field.

I had never given much thought to my eventual death preferring instead to just enjoy my existence as best as society would allow. However, it never occurred to me it may end in the middle of nowhere with my final moments being me screaming whilst looking like I’m wading in syrup. I had hoped it would be a tad more dignified than that.

Any belief I could overpower him sunk as fast as my heels into the sodden ground. One attempted leap and I would fall down, laying face first in the mud so he could conveniently put a bullet in the back of my head. I weren’t prepared to make it that easy for him.

I breathed deeply as I watched his hand slowly reach into the inside pocket of his immaculate tailored suit. Yet he didn’t pull out a gun but instead a silver case; the morning light briefly glistened off the shiny surface as he delicately opened the lid and took out a cigarette. Looking up at me he offered the case.

“Why do you want to kill me?” I asked, deciding my only option was to discuss my imminent murder.

He looked at me quizzically and then referring to the cigarette case said “Oh you’re one of them that thinks these are dangerous. Nonsense they’d put warnings on them if that was the case”

“No. I mean you want to shoot me in this field”

“Why would I want to do that?” He replied lighting his cigarette “Come on. This way”

I watched as he turned and walked up a steep incline. Although he hadn’t denied he was going to shoot me I nevertheless followed him, attempting to be as graceful as I could as the ground tried to swallow me up. I just hoped wherever we were going they had a Shoe Shop.

This mysterious man waited impatiently at the brow of the hill as I unceremoniously attempted my ascent. Each laboured step was met by a look of frustration from him.

Eventually I managed to reach him and he pointed out into the distance to what looked like a large metal shed. It was a curiosity amongst the lush green fields. Those who liked architecture might have marvelled at the impressive iron structure. I was just pleased that it sat on concrete and I wouldn’t be walking in a swamp for much longer. My favourite pair of heels were ruined.

“This base was used during the War” he explained “but since then has been the base of operations for MOIST”

“I’m sorry… for what?”

“MOIST…. Ministry of International Secret Transmissions. It is the Section I head up and who you will be working for” he explained.

“So I’m gonna be a spy?” I asked

“Something like that”

“Do I have to go to spy school?”

“No” he said bluntly before walking down the hill towards the imposing structure.

I followed him with the same grace that had accompanied me on the way up the hill. My arms stretched out to the side as if I were some cool surfer riding an awesome wave, although in reality I was just trying to stop myself from falling on my arse.

If I were to become a spy of sorts I wanted to make a good first impression and rolling down a muddy hill probably wasn’t the sort of thing MI6 would see as a positive attribute.

“So what is it I will be doing exactly?” I shouted out, my voice trailing off as my concentration went from talking to staying on my feet.

He stopped and turned to me, a look of impatience on his face as if he had already explained this to me, which, to be fair, he probably already had. I wondered if alcohol induced forgetfulness was also an attribute that MI6 were looking for.

“You will be singing” he replied bluntly, hints that my persistent questioning may be irritating him, yet I still continued.

“Do I do any actual spying?”

“No”

“Do I get a gun?”

“No”

“Will I have a secret identity?”

He turned toward me once again, even though he was some distance away I could tell he was making no effort to hide his growing frustration from me.

“No!” he replied, pausing for a moment before continuing “You will have a completely new identity. Once you walk into that building the life you knew as Molly Jones would be over”

I ignored the overly dramatic way he had expressed it and spent a brief moment reflecting on my life so far.

A singer in a club working for a slimy boss being paid just enough to avoid the wandering hands of a pervy landlord, all the while walking the streets concerned that one of my Dad’s enemies may use me to exact some revenge. There really was no desire for me to cling on to any of that.

“Do I get to choose my name?” I shouted out after him.

“What?”

“Can I choose my new name?” I asked, hurrying to catch up with him.

He rolled his eyes at every stumble that I took before shrugging his shoulders and replying “Yes. I guess you can”.

I felt a little giddy at the thought of this new life starting. I contemplated my new name with all the care and consideration that parents with a new born child would take in naming their little bundle of joy.

I never got a say in being called ‘Molly’, it certainly was not a name I would have chosen. But now I had the opportunity to christen myself as I embarked on this mysterious life of a sort-of-spy.

Do I pick a super cool spy sounding name? Like, Veronica Voluptua. No. Too obvious and besides people would expect me to speak with a Russian accent.

I was to be a singer in a band so maybe something like Mandy MoonShadow. It was certainly memorable. Sounded cool and the sort of name the lead singer of a band would have.

“Ahh Good Evening Miss MoonShadow your normal table is waiting for you”

Then I recalled when I used to go to the hairdressers. Money had always been tight but I saved enough so each month I could get my hair done in whatever style was fashionable at that time. It was the one luxury I afforded myself to make me feel special. It made up for the secondhand or home made dresses I tried to pass off as decent.

On the table while I waited was a load of magazines that had pictures of these beautiful looking women on yachts or having fun in places like the French Riveria. Living amongst the grime of the East End it was like a different world. A world I envied. A world I so wanted to be a part of.

On the occasions I couldn’t afford my rent and my landlord suggested other means of payment I would escape to that world. His laboured grunts replaced by the clinking of champagne glasses as I attended some luxurious gala. Descending an expansive staircase in a full length dress with far more grace than I had descended that hill on the way to my new life.

I could be those women in the magazine. If nothing else at least by name. It needed to be something exotic. Something mysterious.

“I got it!” I exclaimed “Labia Lefeure”

“Sorry? What Lefeure?” He replied

“My new name …. Labia Lefeure”

“How we spelling that?”

“L-A-B-I-A”

“Labia?” He said raising his eyebrows

“It’s pronounced LAA-BYE-AHH” I corrected him with a sense of pride over my new identity.

He sighed, shaking his head “Very well. Come on let’s get inside”

“Wait!” I said “What do I call you? I mean who even are you?”

“Me?” He replied giving a wry smile “I’m The Manager. Come on…. It’s time to meet the band”

He opened a large metal door and gestured for me to go inside. I placed one muddy foot across the threshold.

Goodbye Molly Jones. Hello Labia Lefeure.

The Wet Misadventures Of One Miss Tempani Jones : Episode 2

Tempani sat exhaustedly at her desk. She’d already had quite the day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

The orgasms (and they are certainly orgasms…plural) that Tempani experiences are quite intense. Waves of pleasure flow through her, every fibre in her body alive to the heightened state of arousal.

They are not the sort of orgasm one has where they can simply go ‘that was nice’ before popping off to the kitchen to make a cup of tea.

These orgasms exhaust Tempani and as she stared out of her office window at the rain she questioned whether she would have the strength to make it back home.

Despite her post-orgasmic fatigue she had coped remarkably well at the very important meeting. Indeed, the very important client and his entourage seemed pleasantly transfixed as Tempani delivered here presentation with professional aplomb.

The only time she slightly hesitated was when a raindrop still clinging to her damp hair fell. Like a horny harbinger of ecstasy it spied Tempani’s bare hand resting on the large glass conference room table.

This dirty little drop only had only one goal in mind. It could see Tempani’s finger just waiting. Were the lines in the knuckle smiling at it? Teasing it to descend faster, to fulfil its deviant destiny by sensually splashing down on to that smooth skin and bringing with it the mother of all climaxes.

Yet despite what promise this singular speck of satisfaction held it would fail in its true purpose. With Tempani’s skin in sight and pleasure only moments away she moved her hand to gesture at the screen. The raindrop splashed inconsequentially on the glass table.

Tempani turned to glance at the raindrop that lay lifeless on the table, it’s promise of pleasure unfulfilled. It was at that moment her brain decided to add some unhelpful commentary;

“Cor! Imagine what would have happened if that had hit you? Best of luck trying to show exponential growth in a line graph while having a full on orgasm”

This momentarily caused Tempani to lose her focus but she was able to regain her composure and complete the very important meeting without incident or interruption from any more perverted little raindrops.

When the meeting was over she exchanged final pleasantries with the very important client and returned to her office. Following a brief discussion with her assistant where she asked if she wouldn’t mind popping out and buying an umbrella and a new pair of tights, Tempani closed the door and collapsed in her chair thoroughly exhausted.

The company that Tempani worked for occupied the fifth floor of a modern building in Central London. The abundance of glass meant the architect was not a big fan of privacy and any passengers travelling on the train track that ran adjacent to the building would have a clear view of her.

She would often stare out across the impressive London skyline, it helped her focus but on this day her view was distorted by the rain that lashed against the glass.

The rain was heavy and the way it hit the window made Tempani believe that it was trying to break the glass to get to her. The sound of the rain splashing against the glass seemed to hiss ‘We are not finished with you’.

She moved closer to the window and stared at the droplets that formed on the glass with impatient haste. It was probably her exhaustion but Tempani thought the rain reacted to her. The rain found its journey blocked by a transparent obstacle it slipped and slithered across the pane desperate to reach her. Deciding that strength lay in numbers it grouped together forming a larger stream. Tempani dreamily traced their futile attempt with her finger.

She would write about the events of that morning when she got home in her ‘Rain Journal’. It was a book that Tempani had started when she first realised about this condition. The hope behind the journal was that it would provide some answers as to what was happening. Yet over ten years of entries and it was nothing more than an anthology of questions, frustrations and awkward encounters.

Her gift/curse/affliction (Tempani would delete as applicable depending on her mood) first revealed itself shortly after puberty. An unexpected downpour during a hockey game led to a thoroughly embarrassed Tempani, numerous raised eyebrows from her class mates and the strong suggestion to her parents from the ex-Nun head teacher that they should consider an exorcism.

Several other incidents are recorded in this journal before a two page acceptance that the rain does in fact cause orgasms (the word orgasm is underlined and highlighted).

What follows are a number of experiments and theories, some of which have proven to be useful. Perhaps the most notable is that it is just rain that causes this reaction and not water. Baths, showers, swimming pools have no sensual impact upon Tempani at all. However, a record of a day trip to Clacton-On-Sea establishes that the sea is very much a no go area. Tempani then spends a number of unnecessary pages theorising whether this means rivers as well and when she might end up in a river, concluding that this probably applies to lakes also and repeating the process.

In amongst the reminders of rain induced orgasms are pages entitled ‘Practical Tips’. Here Tempani bullets points in a variety of different coloured felt tips steps she could take to mitigate the consequence of coming into contact with rain.

Page 7 for instance is the reason why if you asked anyone who went to her school ‘Do you remember Tempani Jones?’ they would reply without hesitation ‘Oh you mean the girl who came to school wearing a poncho carrying an umbrella’.

A melancholic theme of this journal is the bleak look that a young Tempani has on living with this bizarre gift. An attractive and previously outgoing, happy-go-lucky girl slowly becomes more recluse. It is, should you require a reference, on Page 12 of her journal where she happens upon a semi-permanent solution to her troubles – Not go out.

Whilst she reluctantly accepts that her education requires leaving the house she justifies limiting social interaction with a graph, the accuracy of which may be suspect but one can at least admire the pretty colours she chose to use.

Effectively withdrawing from society has its consequence that Tempani painfully reflects upon. Her parents, still reeling from their daughter’s very public sexual awakening, may have been happy she was not sneaking off to see boys but very disappointed she would feign illness to escape a picnic arranged for Aunt Margaret’s 80th birthday.

Whilst she still maintained a core group of friends she had little desire to extend it, her theory was the less people she interacted with the less chance of witnesses of any storm based sauciness. However, even her closest friends would not often invite her to places citing the reason that they didn’t think she’d want to come, it nonetheless frustrated Tempani that she was deprived the opportunity to say no.

Withdrawn and isolated Tempani found the only suitable distraction was her education and with very little distraction she thrived. University beckoned and with it a set of new challenges.

The move from teenager to womanhood is marked in the journal with a declaration that she must live a normal life. It is a mission statement to herself that she would not hide away any longer. Despite this new found resolve she still maintained some of the usual precautions – avoiding large groups and where possible outdoor activities.

Her commitment to leading a more normal life extended to no longer resisting the advances of those who found her attractive. At school she had dismissed any possibility of having a boyfriend finding the notion to be ridiculous (with or without her affliction) but she could not deny her curiosity and desire to indulge ‘in that sort of thing’ (this is also highlighted and underlined).

Her first experience was with Tom after one boozy night at a local pub. His wish of how he wanted to end that evening was made clear before Tempani had even ordered her first rum and Coke. After a number of drinks they ended back in his room for an evening that Tempani would describe in her journal as ‘absolutely fucking terrible’.

To be fair it would be wrong to simply lay all blame at Tom’s drunken fumblings because as Tempani recognised this disappointing liaison led to a scientific discovery – Only the rain could arouse her.

Masturbation was something that Tempani never really considered doing. Why would she? Why put all that effort in if you could simply stick your head out the window and let the rain give you a mind blowing orgasm.

Despite all her ‘experiments’ Tempani had never tried out manual stimulation. Had she done so she would have quickly realised she felt no arousal whatsoever. Instead, this discovery was left to Tom.

Admittedly his technique of prodding at her like he was entering his PIN number at a cash point was not the most masterful way of doing it but it really wouldn’t have mattered. Tempani could feel nothing. She just lay there trying her best to encourage the increasingly frustrated Tom.

However no amount of rubbing would produce any sign of arousal and the faux deep breathing Tempina did to give the impression she was sexually excited started to make her seem like she was asthmatic.

“What’s a matter with you?” Tom said, the alcohol doing little to help control his emotions.

Tempani abruptly stopped that line of questioning by giving Tom a lack lustre handjob resulting in him unemotionally depositing himself over her belly. At least Tempani could put ‘Semen’ on her list of wet things that don’t cause orgasms.

After this non event Tempani spent perhaps too much time trying to make herself manually have an orgasm. Despite her technique being far more refined than Tom’s the result was the same – nothing, not the slightest hint of arousal.

She even tried sex toys but this just resulted in a one page, double sided rant in her journal that she was fifty pounds down and wasted loads of batteries.

Tempani later theorised that perhaps she was cured but the unfortunate consequence of that cure was that all sexual desire had been removed from her. Although she was only twenty she already felt she had a lifetime of orgasms and probably could live with that.

Her awkward experience with Tom happened as England entered a long spell of dry weather and the glorious sun matched her equally glorious mood. She felt free of this curse and threw herself fully back into life by attending many social events.

It was at an outdoor music festival (a previous no go event for Tempani) that she met Ethan. Their relationship blossomed slowly and whilst there was clear sexual chemistry between them Tempani was in no rush to take things to the next level.

No longer concerned with rain the journal entries changed to her theories on how she could possibly keep a man when he would not be able to sexually please her.

She mused on the possibility that a mix of blowjobs, handjobs and any other jobs she could think of would keep them more than satisfied but the problem would arise when they wished to reciprocate. Even the best lover in the world would not be able to make Tempani the slightest bit aroused and guys seem to take that personally.

Within the journal is a whole essay on the possibility of a platonic relationship. They certainly exist and Tempani was in no doubt that there were plenty of couples enjoying such companionship.

What she didn’t know is how does a relationship become platonic. Even at a young age she knew guys do not approach you in bars and say ‘Fancy coming back to my place for a nice platonic relationship’. How do you even raise it? When is it socially acceptable?

“Darling I just want you to know I am going to suck your cock but other than that our relationship is strictly platonic’.

Despite her insecure scribblings Tempani very much enjoyed the company of Ethan and they began to spend quite a lot of time together. Heavy petting on the sofa would not lead to anything more intimate than awkward silence. Ethan masking his erection wondering how to get her in the bedroom and Tempani wondering if now is the right time to say ‘Hey let’s go platonic’.

Despite the awkwardness they continued to see each other even indulging in such pursuits as jogs around the local park (something that Tempani would have normally avoided and not just because of the rain).

During these jogs there would be impromptu races which would lead to flirtatious attempts to trip each other up. As they lined up to start their next race Tempani kissed Ethan on the cheek and said ‘Catch me if you can.’ They both laughed as he chased her round the park, Tempani took a hard right into the wooded area where Ethan found her resting against a tree.

“You caught me” she said, smiling but clearly out of breath.

“What’s my prize?” Ethan replied advancing towards her.

“Come here and I’ll show you”.

Ethan approached Tempani, placing his hands on her hips and pulling her in close as they started to kiss. Above them storm clouds were forming and light drizzle fell hesitantly from the sky.

The leaves of the tree protected them from rainfall but the hissing sound it made alerted Tempani to its presence.

She looked up at the dark clouds that menacingly filled the sky. Normally she would be feeling a sense of panic at this sight, desperately looking to escape the rain or at the very least find somewhere to privately submit to the pleasure it would bring.

But now she was cured. She had no fear. As Ethan nuzzled at the nape of her neck she smirked at the clouds , a teasing smile to entice a jealous reaction from an ex-lover.

The clouds did react throwing down more rain at the kissing couple, ensuring this time it was harder so the weak barrier of leaves would provide no protection.

Drops landed on Tempani as she nibbled on Ethan’s earlobe. As the rain trickled down her cheek she began to experience something she thought lost forever. Within moments her body began to tingle, her heartbeat quickened and her breathing became shallow.

Tempani pulled Ethan into her, his arousal could be felt poking through his shorts. She grabbed his hand and put in between her legs, the dampness already seeping through her jogging bottoms.

She gripped the band of his shorts and tugged them down releasing his cock which she took in her hand and began to stroke.

“Fucking Hell Temps!” he moaned as he slightly pulled away to look at her.

She stared back at him. Tempani could feel the orgasm beginning to build, it was only a matter of time before she would be experiencing the full force. Drunk with arousal she had the presence of mind to bring Ethan along for this wild ride.

The reality, of course, was she didn’t need him. Nothing he would be doing aided her arousal, the rain had that totally covered.

Pulling down her jogging bottoms while Ethan hastily struggled with putting a condom on she purred impatiently ‘Hurry up and fuck me!’

Tempani did all she could to delay this inevitable orgasm. Ethan had to be inside when it happened otherwise she’d be experiencing the same sexual awkwardness as she did with Tom, albeit at the opposite end of the spectrum.

Tempani stifled a moan of pleasure, keeping it at the back of her throat which she only released as Ethan’s cock slid inside with ease.

Once he had entered her Tempani fully submitted to the pleasure that only the rain could provide. Pressed against the tree she wildly bucked and slammed down on Ethan’s hard cock.

Any intention for Ethan to be involved in this orgasm disappeared, Tempani was lost in the throes of it so much so that Ethan could have quite simply ejaculated followed by doing a few laps of the park and Tempani would not have even known he had gone.

When she later reflected on this liaison in her journal she would be unable to recall whether she felt Ethan’s cock inside her. She would remember from holding it in her hand that it was thick and certainly above average size but whatever it was doing as she welcomed wave after wave of blissful pleasure you would have to ask Ethan.

To be fair Tempani would make a particular point of complimenting Ethan on his athletic prowess. With her fingernails dug firmly in his shoulders and convulsing wildly in his manly grip, she was impressed he managed to stay standing throughout.

At some point when there was a small respite before the rain demanded another orgasm from Tempani, she heard Ethan moan, his buttocks thrust wildly before he nuzzled into her. She presumed this was his orgasm but any weakening of his grip was met by Tempani tightening hers. She hooked her legs round his, gripped his neck and welcomed yet another orgasm.

You see, as Tempani recognised at Page 52 of her journal, the rain controls her pleasure. It decides when it is enough and often it’s desire to cause Tempani pleasure was insatiable.

The final climatic wave dripped through her body, turning every nerve into pressure points of pleasure. Perhaps Ethan was of some use after all, she could feel his fingers on her side that caused her to roar out the final orgasm. Exhausted and spent she gently lowered herself down and rested wearily against the tree.

Despite her lack of concern throughout for Ethan he seemed to have enjoyed this unexpected frolic in the forest as he addressed his assessment to the exhausted Tempani

“Oh wow! Fuck! Wow! What the fuck just happened. Wow!”

Whilst Tempani would have loved to indulge in a debrief with Ethan she needed to get out of the rain and get dry. Another thing she had learned about the rain is she only has a post-orgasm immunity for a short period (Page 13 of the Journal – The Didn’t Towel Dry Your Hair Properly Incident)

“Let’s go” she said smiling before running back to the car as best she could with weak legs so she could get dry.

Tempani knew that after this any suggestion of a platonic relationship was off the table. Throughout her journal she would often reflect on the lessons learned with this liaison.

The first lesson was she could have a sexual relationship with a partner, it just needed to be raining when she did. What follows in the journal are a number of prints out showing the average rainfall in England as well as certain specific cities.

On average it rains 156 days and Tempani reckoned that was more than enough sex per year to keep anyone happy.

A flaw in this plan was that it never rained at a suitable frequency to make this viable. Firstly it can often rain for a full week and she did not know if her body could cope with a week’s worth of the orgasms that the rain provided.

Secondly, England had experienced more lengthier periods of dry weather. Often weather presenters would be eager to reveal a month being the driest ever on record. Whilst this suited Tempani’s health and prevented her just becoming a mess of liquid on the floor it was not great for sustaining a relationship.

For example, the storm that brought such a passionate encounter between Tempani and Ethan was a brief interlude before England was once again basked in hot dry weather.

One can forgive Ethan for wanting to experience as soon as possible what he did in those woods and Tempani could only keep him at bay for so long before a frost formed over their relationship.

This caused Tempani to revert back to the beginning of her journal and opting for a life of withdrawal and isolation.

Tempani often mused in her journal about Ethan and others. Wondering what their sex life is like with others. She questioned whether she is being fair to them. After all, a woman having wild multiple orgasms on their cock may give them a sense of achievement they have not strictly earned.

She imagined Ethan sitting on the edge of the bed, head in hands after some unsatisfying love making

“Seriously love it must be you cos I once had this girl literally explode on my cock”

Yet despite these misgivings Ethan would not be the last to experience Tempani’s rain induced sex sessions. Each one recorded for posterity in her journal with the conclusion ‘I never learn my lesson.’

Tempani broke her hypnotic gaze at the rain that still relentlessly tried to pursue her through the glass. She turned to her desk where her phone was vibrating. She picked it up and saw that Danny had messaged her.

Danny was the latest to show Tempani some affection. They had met a few months earlier at a rather dull conference she was forced to attend. She regretted that the conference took place on a particularly sunny day because a wet session with Danny would have livened things up. Nevertheless they stayed in contact and had been out for some perfectly platonic dates.

Fancy going out tonight the message read.

Tempani looked back out of the window at the storm clouds that showed no sign of relenting. She scrolled through the many Weather apps she had installed which confirmed rain was forecast all night.

Absolutely!!! She replied.

Some time later Tempani Jones would write in her journal that she never learns her lesson.

The Wet Misadventures of One Miss Tempani Jones

There is nothing unusual about a rainy day in London, especially in October.

The pavements full of workers on their way to the office, jostling for position with their tiny black umbrellas, grumpily making way for the one who ploughs through the bustling crowd with his oversized golfing umbrella.

The previous night’s takeaway boxes mangle into paper mache works of art against the side of the pavement. A solitary paper cup not wishing to be part of this impromptu abstract sculpture attempts to escape down the dirty stream, it’s journey disturbed by a black cab ferrying a passenger whose new haircut is worth paying the disproportionate fare to preserve.

The paper cup perseveres in its determination to reach the mystery of the drain it spies in the distance and the promise of a magical journey into the unknown.

In its haste the paper cup becomes entangled with a newspaper but it has little time to dwell on whatever horror is the main headline of the day.

Such is the determination of this adventurous little cup it fails to notice the oncoming bus with its large wipers that dismiss the raindrops with arrogant glee.

Yet fortune is on the side of this intrepid cup as the stream which carries it towards its final destination quickens with the increasing rainfall, pushing it safely past the advancing wheels of the bus. The cup spins to reflect upon this closest of calls as it watches the wheels of the bus brush up against the pavement.

The cup is now mere moments away from completing its journey, the wrought iron finishing line agonisingly close. Suddenly a gust of wind striving to reclaim the attention from the rain in this storm picks up the little cup, lifting it high up into the air. It’s goal that had been so close fades into the distance. Is it a raindrop that drips from the lid as it spins uncontrollably in the air or a tear of a dream unfulfilled?

Quickly bored with its newly found plaything the wind unceremoniously dumps the cup in a nearby alley. There it rests, defeated. It takes one final melancholic roll as it concedes to be forever forgotten. The hopes of what wonders lay beyond that drain disappear as it rests still.

Yet our broken cup was not alone in that alley on that particular morning. Had the cup just found the strength to roll one final time it would have hit a patent leather kitten heel shoe.

That shoe belonged to one Miss Tempani Jones. And she was about to have an orgasm.

Now a woman pleasuring herself down an alley is a relatively rare occurrence, even in London. Rarer still at 8.30 a.m. on a Thursday morning.

To be fair to Tempani she certainly had not intended on being down an alley pleasuring herself. It was not part of her normal morning routine, she was not some kinky exhibitionist getting a quick thrill. Nor was she filming a brief video to later upload to a porn site. This was very much an unplanned masturbatory pitstop on her way to work.

Equally it would be unfair of us to judge the location Tempani had chosen for this impromptu orgasm. We can all sit in moral judgement offering alternatives such as doing it at home before she left or the toilet cubicles at work, to even maybe not doing it at all. But this was all out of her control.

Tempani loved being in control. Her life was dictated by precise routines each specifically designed to ensure she would not find herself leaning up against a wall knuckle deep in her own pussy, especially before she has even been able to buy her usual Espresso Macchiato.

So what events conspired to make poor Tempani have no option but to satisfy herself on that stormy Thursday morning?

The previous evening had been beautifully mundane, the sort of day that isn’t even worth registering as a memory. Yet when Tempani reflects on her unusual start to her Thursday morning she would realise events of the previous day were more malevolent than she had assumed.

Firstly, her very important meeting that was scheduled for 9.30 a.m. with a very important client was moved forward to 8.30 a.m. This did not trouble Tempani who would simply get the earlier train to work. She would not wish to blame this very important client for why she was finger fucking herself in the alley, he was after all very important and this contract would see her with a nice bonus. She did however hope he had his worst performance on the golf course ever.

On her walk home from the train station that Wednesday the strap on her large leather tote bag snapped. Tempani loved this bag, it was just the right size to keep all the items she may require at any given time, including the small umbrella she always ensured she had on her person. You will see the relevance of that umbrella later.

Nevertheless given the stories she had read about how these fashion items are made she certainly would not be looking to blame her awkward Thursday on whatever poor soul made the tote bag.

Her Wednesday evening was spent drinking wine and preparing for her very important meeting. It was the pleading sound of the notification alert on her phone that interrupted her work to demand she upgrades to the latest operating system. Tempani was more than happy for her phone to be busy doing other things so not to disturb her further from her work.

Yet what Tempani did not know is that a minor glitch caused by an error in the code would mean all her alarms would be reset. The consequence of this is that on Thursday Tempani would wake up late. Waking up late was not part of Tempani’s routine and she was more than happy to throw shade at the software engineer in California that caused her to oversleep.

Rather than her relaxed morning routine Tempani found herself on that particular Thursday morning rushing around. There was to be no relaxing shower instead she found herself cleaning her teeth whilst rubbing shampoo in her hair; the hope was this newly discovered method of efficiency would claw back some lost time.

Instead of taking time to pick out her work outfit she instead hurriedly dressed in whatever she could find, laddering two pairs of tights before triumphantly hopping into the third pair without consequence.

There would be no time to sit and have that first cup of coffee in the morning while she watched the news, paying particular attention to the weather report. Instead she quickly grabbed her replacement bag, a smaller black handbag, rushing to check the contents before slipping on her heels and hurrying out the flat.

As she hurriedly clipped-clopped in comedic fashion towards the train station her focus was more on not breaking an ankle than the clouds that begun to form in the sky.

While waiting on the platform Tempani was more absorbed with telling her assistant on the phone all what she had to do than to the clouds that had now begun to turn sinisterly dark.

It was when she only a few stops away from Charing Cross that she happened to look up from her phone and see the first drops of rain hit the dirty train window.

Calmly, Tempani reached for her handbag to seek the reassurance she had her umbrella. Her relaxed searched became more and more frantic as the realisation dawned on her that her umbrella was still very much at home, housed as it always was inside her now broken tote bag. Yet even after it became obvious she did not possess an umbrella she continued the futile search, even rifling through the most smallest of pockets in the hope she might find it there.

Don’t panic Tempani it may just be a little drizzle she told herself. A rumble of thunder seemed to answer her back “Fuck you! I’m more than that”.

As the train slowly pulled into Charing Cross she hesitantly stood up. Her gaze was drawn to the gentleman who had been sitting opposite her who was in possession of an umbrella.

“Excuse me? I don’t suppose I could borrow your umbrella” she asked, ensuring she fluttered her eyelids as she pleaded to his chivalrous nature.

The gentleman just looked at her in absolute disgust before leaving the train (Tempani would later wish this gentleman experienced a disappointing sexual encounter for his refusal to give up his umbrella). She slowly followed the other commuters down the platform and onto the concourse.

There are a number of shops located within Charing Cross station purporting to cater for the needs of the weary worker, yet on this particular day not one had any umbrellas for sale.

Tempani stood in the archway and looked out on to The Strand. Normally there would be plenty of taxis waiting but the weather had meant these were in high demand. She opted to wait for either a taxi to come to her rescue or for there to be a miraculous break in the weather.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and noted the time. 8.15 a.m. It would take her at least ten minutes walk to get to work. She decided to wait a little longer, hopping on either foot in impatience.

Each minute that passed was agonising. She couldn’t be late for this very important meeting. Every time she checked her phone her brain would offer up an image of the very important client walking out of the office with his golf clubs in tow. Or her Boss disapprovingly shaking his head as she walked through the entrance before making her do the walk of shame to clear out her office.

Fuck it. Tempani decided she could wait no longer. Pulling the sleeve of her jacket over her hand she grabbed a free newspaper, held it over her head and made a run for it.

Now you may be wondering what Tempani’s deal is with rain. After all unless you happen to be the Wicked Witch of the West it really can’t hurt you. Indeed, the rain didn’t hurt Tempani – on the contrary, it made her horny.

When we say horny we are not talking just a little frisky. Whilst the mere presence of rain does heighten her senses it’s more what happens when one single raindrop touches her skin. Should that happen Tempani experiences waves of pleasure. The more rain that hits her the more intense the pleasure is. It’s like each raindrop is a mini vibrator specifically designed to create the most arousal possible.

So when Tempani decided to rush out into the rain with just a newspaper as protection she was not risking bodily harm, she was risking having a full blown orgasm in the middle of London during rush hour.

To be fair to Tempani she made a good effort of avoiding the rain. Perhaps she may have even been able to make it without incident were it not for the driver of the Audi (someone who she blamed unreservedly for the events of that Thursday morning) who decided driving at speed through a puddle was an appropriate way to confirm his masculinity.

In her attempt to dodge the mini tsunami she dropped the newspaper that had been protecting her exposing her forehead to the arousal inducing raindrops.

Tempani was able to quickly duck into a doorway for cover but she knew by now that it only took one raindrop to bring on the feelings of intense arousal. She could feel her nipples harden underneath her bra. Between her legs began to mimic the dampness of her forehead.

She couldn’t stay there in the doorway and allow the rain to do it’s thing. Not only were customers coming in and out of the shop and might say something about the smartly dressed woman having a loud orgasm but time was running out for her to get to the very important meeting.

Stifling a moan of pleasure she yanked her jacket over the head and continued her journey to work. The jacket was tight over her head making it difficult to see, plus the occasional pang of pleasure would make her legs suddenly go weak and with it an instinctive groan of arousal would follow.

To the passer by it would have looked as if Tempani was on her way to audition for the lead role in some porn parody of a horror movie. Eventually she made it to her office which was an attractive glass fronted building her firm shared with a number of other companies.

Now something else you need to know about Tempani’s ‘gift’ is that the pleasure she experiences will not subside until she has had a complete orgasm. Many times previously she has rushed indoors after getting caught in the rain, although drying herself manically with a towel did little to prevent her experiencing the complete climax.

Fortunately for Tempani there is a small alley which separates her more modern place of work with one of London’s many Victorian buildings. Avoiding meeting any work colleagues she rushed into the alley and no longer fought off the pleasure the rain was determined to bring.

Now you will recall when we first met Tempani in this alley her fingers were deep inside her. It is a legitimate question to ask why, if the rain does all the work, would she be needing to put in any effort of her own.

Well, she entered the alley at precisely 8.30 a.m. when her very important meeting was due to start. Even in the throes of pleasure Tempani had the presence of mind to believe that a bit of manual assistance would bring about this disruptive orgasm quicker.

Had she not done so and put her very important meeting ahead of her very real pleasure then she would have been in the midst of a complete and blissful orgasm before she even got to third slide of her PowerPoint presentation. She feared shouting at the very important client “Oh fuck! Yes! More” may come across as a tad over enthusiastic.

Within a few moments and with the assistance of her fingers Tempani welcomed the much needed orgasm. As this was an orgasm borne more out of necessity than want she was not willing to indulge in the full pleasure experience.

No sooner had she felt that wave of intense pleasure flow through her body and her vagina begin to contract as if it was trying to applaud happily, she was pulling up her tights and adjusting her skirt before running round to the entrance of the building.

Waiting in the foyer was her assistant who took one look at Tempani and asked “Did you get caught in the rain?”

“Yeh a little” replied Tempani, still experiencing the final throes of her orgasm.

“Anyway. The meeting is about to start” said her assistant moving towards where the lifts were located.

Tempani took a moment to collect her thoughts and ensure all the rain induced pleasure was firmly out of her system.

“You coming?” asked the assistant.

“Yeh I am.” replied Tempani “Just give me one more moment.”

Thrusting: Proposals & Disposals

I watched The Blue King disappear in the rear view mirror as my apparent saviour drove at speed down Old Street.

An uncomfortable silence filled the car. This mysterious man clearly wanted to say something to me and I had plenty of questions for him, such as

“Who are you?”

“Not important right now” he replied without disturbing his attention on the road.

“Okay. Where we are going?”

“Also not important” he said bluntly “Just relax you’re safe now.”

His tone was far from reassuring but I persisted in ensuring I got all my questions in at this early stage.

“Are you taking me home?”

He sighed “You shouldn’t go home” .

He added nothing more which led me to contemplate whether I had made the right decision getting into his car.

I gazed out the window and into the murkiness of the night. There was little illumination and what there was offered only a fleeting glimpse of revellers making their way home or seeking out a place to get another drink; I doubted The Blue King would be open to cater for that final indulgence.

I asked no more questions of my saviour and instead just stared into dark nothingness as I tried to process the events of the night. Did Mr Karpinsky die? Did I kill him? Will I still get paid my wages, rent was due after all. I shuddered at the thought of my Landlord’s alternative means of payment.

Lost in thought I had not realised that we had travelled all the way into central London. The car came to a gentle stop outside a grandiose building; the gloom of the night made it difficult to witness it in all its gothic splendour.

The mystery man, who still hadn’t told me his name, exited the car, took the time to do up the button of his impeccably tailored suit before walking briskly round to my side and opened the door. He offered his hand which I nervously took as he gently escorted me out the vehicle.

I followed him up a few stone steps to an imposing set of double wooden doors. He used the large wrought iron door knocker, one crashing knock seemed to cause the door to open magically.

As the door slowly opened I was presented with a long hallway, a regal red carpet stretched as far as I could see. Paintings of old men sporting different moustaches looked down at me, each with their own expression of disapproval that a woman dare walk these halls. Not just any woman, a working class girl of all things; as I walked further down the hall I half expected the paintings to shake and fall off with unrepentant fury.

Despite the unwelcoming interior I felt comfortable. The cold silence in the car had left me wondering if my apparent saviour had more sinister intentions. However seeing the splendour of this place made me realise he wouldn’t kill me here. No way would they allow the blood of a girl from the East End to stain these expensive carpets.

We turned right into a large room, red leather chairs were neatly positioned around large circular wooden tables, much more lavish than the ones in The Blue King.

Some of the chairs were occupied, all were men and all were dressed in tailored suits. An elderly gentleman was asleep in one chair, his drink precariously balanced in his hand.

Some acknowledged my saviour as he walked in with a nod of recognition which he politely returned. None acknowledged my presence; they chose not to see me although I had no doubt they were mentally drafting a letter to the management regarding that time they let a common woman into this place.

My mysterious companion escorted me to the far corner where he gestured for me to sit in one of the large leather seats. Catching the objecting glance of one of the older patrons I gently lowered myself into the seat, my hands sliding across the silky leather armrests. I half smiled wishing my family could see me in a place of such extravagance.

‘Look at our little Molly in such a posh place’ my Nan would have said before running to tell the neighbours. But the smile quickly faded as I reminded myself of the circumstances that led me here.

Lost in that daydream I hadn’t noticed that a man had approached our table, although he was quickly dismissed by my companion with an order of two scotches.

While waiting for the drinks he cocked his head to one side and looked me up and down, the awkwardness of this compounded by the realisation of how short my skirt was. I instinctively made the futile attempt to lower it below my thighs.

The silence was broken by the sound of two glasses of scotch being placed on the table. I picked up the glass and without any care that it’s content probably cost more than what I earned in a month at The Blue King swigged the whole thing down.

My companion smirked and ordered a replacement with a wave of his hand.

“Well you’ve had quite the evening, haven’t you Miss Jones” he said

Wiping the remnants of scotch from my lips with the back of my hand I replied “Is he dead?”

“Mr Karpinsky? Oh he is dead for sure”

“Did I kill him?” I asked

My companion smiled, “Intentionally? No. Seems Mr Karpinsky’s heart couldn’t take the thrill of being in your company Miss Jones”

I grabbed the glass from the table and holding it with both hands rested it on my lap. I watched as the amber liquid swirled in the expensive cut glass. With my head bowed I meekly said “So I’m not in trouble?”

“Oh you’re in big trouble Miss Jones”

I lifted my head up, the tears forming in my eyes were met with the outstretched hand of my companion, maybe partly to calm me down or perhaps this place had rules against ‘women making a scene’.

“You see Mr Karpinsky is not a nice man” he continued “His associates are not the sort that would be sitting around prepared to wait for the results of an autopsy that would show he died of natural causes. No, they’d be determined to find the young woman who ran away”.

“I was scared. I panicked”

“That may very well be the case but the associates of Mr Karpinsky aren’t the sort to listen”

I took a swig of my drink, the taste of the alcohol an antidote to the tears I was trying to fight back. “Why am I here?” I asked

“I told you Miss Jones. I can help you. I can keep you safe.”

“How?” Given that my companion was now in a talkative mood I wanted to get a response to all my unanswered questions I had raised in the car.

He didn’t respond promptly, instead he took a sip of his drink allowing the alcohol to swirl round his mouth before speaking.

“Come work for me.” he finally said, smiling.

“Why? Do you need a singer?” I asked.

“Something like that.” He paused to take another sip of his scotch before continuing “You ever hear of a band called The Konrads?”

“No. Should I have?”

“No Miss Jones and that is the point”

“Wait. You’re a manager of crap bands no one has ever heard of.” I said laughing “Cos I already have that gig with the worse manager you can think of”

“You really think you can return to Jimmy and The Blue King?” he said raising an eyebrow.

The boldness of my earlier statement quickly faded as I was suddenly reminded of the unnerving fact of apparently being hunted by the associates of Mr Karpinsky and the suffocating fear returned.

“But how does being in your band keep me safe?” I asked.

“The other people in the band are a very special bunch. They will keep you safe.”

He looked at me but all he was met with was my vacant expression. If he thought I was following what he was talking about then he was very much mistaken. Regardless of me not understanding what was going on he continued.

“What are you? Nineteen? Twenty? Certainly born after the war. You, like many of the population, believe the war is over. We live in peaceful times. But the war was never over. It merely evolved”

Still vacant.

“Those who would seek power realised there are other ways of achieving it besides guns and soldiers. And for years they have been working in the shadows attempting to take control without anyone noticing”

Still vacant.

“And those of us who would seek to stop them have to also work in these shadows. Secrecy is their weapon of choice. Information the silver bullet of success.”

I took a large swig of my drink hoping to mask the fact I had no clue what he was talking about. My only thought at that time was if this was to be a long story I may get another drink out of it.

“Miss Jones I work for the British Government. The others in this room all play a role in the national security of this country”

I spied the old man snoring away in the chair and my confidence of how secure the country might be quickly dropped.

“The Konrads were an early project of mine to pass on information to our allies without it falling into enemies hands. It was based on earlier work done by my mentor during the war. He devised a way of sending messages encoded within songs. To innocent ears they were just morale boosting songs about meeting again or blue birds over Dover, yet to those behind enemy lines they contained vital information”

“Wait?!” I interrupted “You saying Vera Lynn was a Secret Agent?”

“Something like that. I tried to emulate the same principle with The Konrads but it did not have the same effect. Something was missing. Then I realised in these times you not only needed to pass on information but gather information. And this brings me to you.”

I drained my glass but this time my companion was not quick to offer me a refill “Me? What about me? And should you be telling me all this. I might be an agent for whoever it is we are supposedly at war with. I mean you’re a pretty shit spy if you’re just randomly blurting all this out.”

He smiled “I have done my homework Miss Jones. I know all about you….and your Father. Sorry about what happened to him by the way”

I brushed away any concern I ought to have had that he knew everything about me and concentrated on why he thought I was so special.

“Why me?” I asked.

“Mr Karpinsky was quite a private man. Paranoid as well. Never let his security leave his side. He had good reason to be worried, there were many people after him. I certainly could not get anywhere close to him. Yet tonight he forgot all that just to be with you. So that’s why.”

I stared at my empty glass desperate for alcohol to aid me with processing all this information.

“So you want me to sing coded messages and shag enemies to death?”

He laughed, loud enough to disturb the old guy from his slumber “Miss Jones what happened to Mr Karpinsky was a freak coincidence. However I certainly could use a woman of your talents.”

Part of me doubted there was any truth to what he was telling me. Many guys had lied about who they were to try and sleep with me. James Bond was all the rage and for all I knew this was just some posh bloke indulging in some pretend Secret Agent seduction.

“And if I refuse?” I asked.

He shrugged and finished drink, although to my disappointment did not seek to get another round.

“Then Miss Jones I will simply take you home.” He paused, scanning the room before continuing “Of course what happens to you after that will neither be my responsibility or concern. Maybe Mr Karpinsky’s men will already be waiting for you. That might come tomorrow or the day after but eventually they will find you. And as for The Blue King I doubt that place will ever open again.”

For some reason I didn’t want him to think I was scared even though my heart was pounding and my mind chaotically tried to process the events of that night which had spiralled drastically out of control the moment I stepped off the stage at The Blue King.

This attempt to stay strong was betrayed by me looking away from him and down at my lap muttering to myself “You should have turned left Molly.”

“Sorry Miss Jones?” He said, leaning forward to try and catch my eye “What do you wish to do?”

My head roared in confusion. I wanted to ask more questions but it was clear whoever this mysterious man was he had run out of patience with me.

I still was unsure that he was telling the truth. I may be perfectly safe, that no one was after me and after a grovelling apology to Jimmy I could go back to my job at The Blue King.

The guy in front of me maybe well connected but he could also be an absolute psycho trapping me in a lie for his own nefarious reasons. Secret agents didn’t go round telling strangers they were secret agents. Did they?

I dug my nails into the arms of the leather chair. My instinct was to run, that’s always been my instinct. Just run as far away as I could. But I would eventually have to stop running and if he was right they’d catch up with me.

At that moment the only certainty was the uncertainty of whatever choice I made. What I desired then was simply control, to manage my own destiny; but when your life is swirling around in a chaotic mess control and clarity come in very short supply.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Time to make your choice Molly. I lifted my head and stared him straight in the eye.

“So Miss Jones, what are you going to do?” he asked again.

Exhaling I replied “Get us another drink and I’ll tell you.”

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.

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

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.

Super Sentient Sex Dolls From Saturn – Part One

You ready for another epic Movie Pitch? Then let’s do it. (By the way that was a rhetorical question because I am doing this whether you want to or not).

So with thrill and excitement still buzzing in your beautiful mind, settle down as the second movie from OfSelina begins.

Now we have a lot to cover in the opening such as how or indeed why are there sex dolls on Saturn. No doubt there will be much chuntering in the cinema about whether these sex dolls are super and sentient or if they are super sentient? And if the latter what does that even mean? Well, who knows and by the end of this … who cares?

So to cram a shed load of back story into a very short period of time we adopt a time honoured Cinematic ploy of Flashback and Montage….

First the flashback. The movie opens with a wide shot of space because, after all, this is a science fiction movie and nothing says Sci-Fi like stars and shit.

‘International Space Station – Sometime Ago’

We meet an unnamed generic astronaut moving through the space station looking for ‘Steve’. A cool continuous shot of him just floating around asking anyone he meets if they have seen Steve. They all shake their heads with one asking ‘Who is Steve?’

Eventually we are introduced to the mysterious Steve who is in the toliet….. masturbating wildly.

(NB Long time sufferers who follow me and have read CONFESSIONS will know that Steve is the name of my ex. I want to make it clear for legal reasons that I am not implying in any subtle way that he is and always will be a wanker. Clear? Cool, back to the story.)

In his haste to masturbate Steve has forgotten to lock the door and unnamed generic astronaut opens it just at the moment of ejaculation causing Steve to fall forward and the consequence of his fervent wrist action flies out. Because there is no gravity we see his jizz escape through the door and it travels the same route that unnamed spaceman had taken. This journey of Steve’s Semen will be one continuous shot as people duck out of the way to avoid the cum’s commute in zero gravity.

This piece of steadicam sauciness will last precisely one second longer than the continuous shot from Goodfellas – just for the bantz. It’ll be cool if in years to come, movie scholars will argue whether Goodfellas or Sentient Sex Dolls is the greatest continuous shot in cinematic history. They will eventually settle on Sentient Sex Dolls being the greatest continuous money shot.

It is also a very crucial plot point. Because as they follow Steve’s jizz the viewer will immediately be struck by the realisation that this is just more than a string of cum, it’s the epitome of the butterfly effect. As we watch it land onto sensitive machinery causing an explosion that tears open the space station you will understand that all of what is about to happen begun by one lonely man knocking one out in the toilet. This rope of semen becomes more of an existential odyssey than Kubrick’s 2001 could ever hope to be.

As the space station explodes the Main Titles begin playing out to a montage of what happens next. We are treated to clips of senate hearings and news reports about the destructive qualities of masturbating astronauts.

Reports of other space calamities caused by Spaceman semen occur and the future of our exploration beyond the stars is under threat. A solution to this epidemic is needed and quick.

A Senator suggests sending women instead but a NASA official replies “Do you know how much it would cost to kit them out in those shiny short skirts and thigh high boots?’

Eventually a group of scientists happen upon an idea – send specially constructed sex dolls to accompany the astronauts.

We cut to the President of the United States announcing that Sex Dolls will solve the Astronaut masturbating crisis. Now, a few years ago a President on the lawn of the White House talking about sex dolls in space would seem implausible but now?…Maybe not so much.

It is as the opening credits conclude that the viewer joins a particular band of intrepid and no longer sexually frustrated astronauts as they journey to the newly built Space Station.

In the cockpit is Matt. Quick back story Matt is the younger brother of Steve the wanker. This is revealed by some clever dialogue between Matt and the Control Centre.

Control: Okay Matt. Now comes the tricky part. You’ll need to concentrate for the link up. Clear your mind. Don’t think about the fact that your family was disgraced because of your brother Steve’s persistent masturbation addiction which caused an entire space station to explode.

We also know Matt is married with a kid. He looks up at two photos he has hanging from the cockpit. One a photo of his wife and child smiling by a tree and the other photo a more saucier one of his wife in lingerie. It is the latter that Matt stares at and with the sound of Control telling him to concentrate he turns to look at one of the sex dolls that accompanies him in the cockpit.

Maybe he has time for just a quick one?

He grabs the sex doll and begins wild lovemaking. The scene plays out with Matt lost in lust adopting all manner of sex positions all to the sounds of lights flashing, alarms, screaming and the increasingly irritated voice of Control.

What’s happening Matt?

Matt? Concentrate

Matt, are you fucking the Sex Doll?

Someone needs to get in there and disassemble that sex doll. Jeez this whole family are just wankers.

As the sex doll is riding Matt to a climax he looks over her shoulder through the cockpit window to witness the craft about to collide with the space station.

Matt’s final words are ‘Ooooh Fuck. Forgive me’.

Wide shot of the space station exploding. Probably if the CGI budget is tight can just use the same shot of the first station exploding but flip the image or something.

And that concludes the opening. Now you might think there’s a lot of throwaway stuff in there but all what you have witnessed will be relevant as the rest of the movie unfolds. Probably.

I know you have questions. How do the Sex Dolls end up on Saturn? So are they going to be Super and Sentient or just Super Sentient? And, you really are doing this aren’t you?

As always all these questions and more will be answered in a tightly woven plot with zero holes in it at all.

And yes whilst I haven’t actually explained how these Sex Dolls end up being from Saturn I have managed in the opening scene to put them vaguely yet plausibly in space during a montage which was pretty cool.

Stay Tuned for more Super Sentient Sex Dolls From Saturn