Month: June 2018

Archeological Doug

It was a hot, sunny day as Phosilia joined her colleagues at the archaeological dig. She had her personal trowel tucked jauntily into the waistband of her thin cotton shorts,  and her arms were above her head, hastily gathering her long hair into the control of a big hairclip. This action elevated her chestage to spine-tingling heights.  Adam, the director of the dig, was pointing and explaining the day’s plan on a large flipchart. Phosilia wiggled her eyebrows in a combined acknowledgement of and apology for,  her tardiness. The others were used to it,  and in truth no-one  (including Adam) minded as she always arrived just a teensy bit flustered, only a few moments behind schedule and with a heaving breathy urgency which rendered her volumpties worth the wait.  Today’s  hairclip episode was a bonus .

The plans and progress summary complete, everyone dispersed to their work zones. Phosilia had been recently assigned to a new one,  where she had much support from her coworkers; indeed when the allocation had been made she pointedly asked if anyone would like to join her in her trench and was positively inundated with offers. Only one could be chosen and it was Doug

It was very hot in her trench,  especially when she squatted down to start work. Crouched next to her was the keen fellow who was extremely deft with his trowel and brush. Phosilia had noticed his hand action straightaway; he was young and strong, his trowel was large and firm, – not yet blunted or scuffed in action. It gleamed in the sunshine, evoking his youth and strength.

They worked side by side for a while, concentrating on their respective work but keenly aware each of the other. Side glances from Doug revealed that the morning’s efforts were causing Phosilia to sweat a little: wisps of her hair, though it was mostly held up in the clip, were clinging to her skin. Doug, for the first time in his life , considered the upside of being hair. She saw his glance, and a dusty thrill ran through her, culminating in a big breath the like of which Doug had never previously been so proximal to. He was abruptly aware of the perilous quality of buttons in restraining so volumpticious a heavage. In a split moment he could feel beads of sweat on the back of his neck too, as the imminent prospect of button failure obscured all thoughts of archaeology.

Phosilia pointed with her little trowel at something in their trench. It was near the bottom,  and as she was squatting, this was in both senses.

“I think it’s a shard” she whispered urgently into Doug’s ear. Doug, feeling discovered, blushed to the roots of his becomingly rumpled hair.

“Is it that obvious?” He asked anxiously

“Oh yes. It’s sticking out quite clearly”

Doug stood up hastily, his trowel protectively in front of his loins

“I’m so sorry!” He exclaimed

Phosilia tugged him. Only on the sleeve, but it was a start.

“Seriously! Help me out! Get down here -” she patted the dusty base of the trench beside her – “I need you. Yours is bigger. If you can get it in,  it will really speed things up”

Doug nodded,  all speech having deserted him. He got down on his knees, dropping the trowel as he did so.

Phosilia,  in a state of agitation, grabbed it

“Oh I like the grip”  she said, hefting it from hand to hand. Doug, a tumultuous mixture of disappointment and excitement, nodded

“Oh I see….yes” he eventually replied.

They leaned close in together, hot bodies touching here and there,  deep down in their trench. Doug’s strong tanned hands worked deftly, manipulating his huge tool until the shards were freed. Phosilia found the symphony of his bulging arm muscles at least as mesmerising as the gradually revealing shards. Eventually, excavational urgency motivating her, she reached forward, pushing his hand aside

“I can do this with my fingers” she explained, exchanging a brief glance during which their eyes meaningfully locked together for a significant moment.

Doug watched, entranced, as her fingers worked easing the shard free.

Eventually it was out, and, heads together, their hair entangling, bowed over their find. It sported a beautifully decorated rim, with fine markings leading down to the broken edge. Doug spoke for them both when he expressed a desire to see the rest of it.

“It could be anywhere round here” Phosilia observed, gesturing around their trench. “Could take ages. Or we may never find it”

Doug explained that he didn’t mind if it took a while.  He preferred to be thorough. Phosilia observed that the trench was already very deep, and incidentally, that its bottom (unlike her own callipygenerous buttoculars) was very flat.

She also observed that his massive trowel, shiny and strong as it was, could achieve more than she could alone.

Together they decided to explore the trench together, to see if the promise offered by the glimpsed artefact could deliver the excitement and pleasure they both anticipated.

Many discoveries were made that day: much was uncovered, turned over with gentle fingers, handled with tenderness. Doug’s large tool did not disappoint, and Phosilia’s buttons proved inadequate to contain her excitement.  But that was fine

 

 

 

Olive oils the wheels

It was an important meeting for the key members of the steering committee at SlipperiLubeInc. The company had taken great pride in its long history of supplying all kinds of specialist lubricants to the markets -whether heavy machinery, automotive or just local mechanics.

But the lubrication market was changing; it was becoming dominated by faceless multinationals who, with their massive resources, were squeezing the smaller independents out of the way

It was time for some radical thinking

Olive called the meeting to order. She apprised them all of the bad news: despite a new advertising campaign aimed at forcefully ramming the company into hitherto unexplored regions, results were disappointing. Sales were limp overall and some departments seemed particularly flaccid.

“We need new energy and new ideas” she told them “or else we are on a slippery slope”. No-one chuckled: the phrase was not being used lightly

Kevin from Automotives was downcast. He had not been able to open any new avenues for months, despite the thrusting new AutoLube advertising campaign. Eric from EngiLube felt the same. They all knew that because Kevin had checked

Clarke from DomestiLube was a little more positive; he’d experienced some upsurges recently which he’d found quite exciting and was eager to respond to.

But it was Hans from PersonaLube who was the most upbeat. He had only recently joined the company, taking over a small sub-department of the business which has been largely unconsidered by the rest. But he had created his own fiefdom, taking a close personal interest in all of its products, and conducting some thorough and imaginative research into the applications. He applied both science and enthusiasm, as well as a good smear of SupremeComfort Slipritin, to a variety of befleshed surfaces in his quest for the ultimate moist and slippery experience.

Olive was thrilled to find that,  whilst most of the committee members were somewhat lacklustre in their attitudes, in Hans she could feel an exciting new surge of possibilities,  and the relief which this promised to bring her after the anxieties of watching the bottom slip (effortlessly) out of the lubrication market brought a flush to her cheeks. This pinkification was enhanced by the heaving of her bosomities as she considered the prospects which were now afforded her.

Kevin (Automotives) suddenly began to take notice. He had previously been sunk in gloom at his own performance, and no awareness of the charms of Olive, let alone her astute business head, had penetrated his mood. But the atmosphere of fevered excitement at the table stirred even him. Suddenly it seemed, as Hans explained his ideas and experimental results,  presenting charts and diagrams the like of which SlipperiLube employees had never before seen in a meeting, that a world of possibilities was opening up, fresh, exciting and frictionlessly accessible to them all.

Eric, previously committed to his large plant outlets, realised he had been beating against a wall until that moment. All of a sudden, a much more satisfying prospect opened up.

And Clarke, who had been trying to think of ways of getting easier access into the domestic field, but had failed to rise up and seize the opportunities, suddenly felt a wave of enthusiasm about his chances of opening up the market. For him, “domestic” had always encompassed just the appliances: anyone wanting to free up parts of their white goods were his target customers. It now occurred  to him that cream, and pink, even red and black, might also benefit from loosening, and that he did not need to restrict himself to service in the kitchen. All rooms in the house were within his remit in future. He felt such stirrings of anticipation that he excused himself before they reached Any Other Business because he had an urgent item of his own.

Olive was delighted with the outcome; it was undoubtedly the most highly charged meeting of the steering committee she had ever chaired. She left the room feeling that if she gripped the helm firmly she could rely on the men, with Hans out in front, to get behind her and give her powerful support to push things through – aided by SupremeComfort Slipritin.

She asked Hans to join her for a special meeting afterwards, to firm things up. Together they laid down some ideas on a rug, and tweaked some earlier suggestions. In the end it was decided that they should collaborate fully in thrusting ahead to redirect all their efforts into the wholehearted promotion of the PersonaLube department. Olive could see it all now: the new slogans-

Use a little dollop before you give it a wallop

SupremeComfort Slipritin – you can’t put it any better

And their own internet channel for promotional videos – LubeTube

Olive felt it wouldn’t have gone nearly so smoothly with Hans being all over it