Dahlia had never voted before; it wasn’t that she didn’t care about things – she cared with a sort of mystical sense of right and wrong. She had been, however, completely unable to connect such urges to reality, to the statements made by political candidates. So she had previously watched from the sidelines and merely joined the ranks of complainers afterwards. Here as well she was not fully engaged – being of a generally sunny disposition and naturally inclined to make the best of things.
Recently though, she had felt that as time advanced her rather far beyond teenager, she ought to have a more adult approach and take on more responsibility. It was time she voted.
Nerves struck her as the day arrived. She put it off, and put it off again until it was almost half past nine by the time she arrived at the polling station in Little Seminal.
This village had been described as a “fluid” constituency – wavering as it had done between different parties.
Little Seminal was a small place: narrow access routes meant everything streamed out through a single channel, and some inhabitants felt it had begun to shrivel. Still, it enjoyed bags of space around it and was much loved by the residents.
By 9.30 everyone who was going to vote had been and gone. The staff in the Polling Station were looking at their watches and privately thinking of what they could be doing instead.
Leo noticed this and suggested some should go home. All eagerly agreed, except Mr Pronk who was very deaf and asleep in a chair in the corner. Leo sat on the edge of a table swinging his leg.
Then Dahlia entered. Hastily Leo re-attached his leg and walked over to say hello. Not only because it was good manners but also because she represented the most interesting thing he had seen all day. Waves of tweed had been replaced by a voluptuous vision of knitwear and a pair of jeans whose job Leo instantly envied.
“Hello” he said. It was a cliché, but it sometimes worked.
This was one of those occasions.
“Hello” said Dahlia
Leo found he was rubbing his hands. An unfortunate habit, likely to be misinterpreted. Or, as in this case, interpreted.
“Come to vote have you?” This was a silly question as he would be the first to admit
She nodded, the curls of her hair bouncing as she did – perfectly synchronised with the bouncing of her democratically rounded norks.
“You’ll probably be my last one” he continued
Dahlia looked around, a little anxious
“This’ll be my first; I’ve never done this before” she said. Leo reassured her that he would guide her gently through the process, right up to the moment of climax where the implement touched the spot. That was for her alone. Or as Leo put it
“What goes on in the booth stays in the booth”
“Is that so?” Dahlia purred at him, noticing his balanced manliness, his impartial jawline.
“I’ll get you a ballot paper” he murmured quietly, trying to avoid waking Mr Pronk. They walked together to the table. The atmosphere was heavy with the promise of what was to come. Dahlia rifled through her handbag urgently “I can’t find a pen!”
Leo put a reassuring hand on hers, electricity flowed between them, though a few moments ago they had been poles apart. Dahlia also felt the connection; it sent shivers through her body and she didn’t know how to conduct herself.
“Relax!” Leo said, his voice like chocolate sauce on her terminals “Pencils are provided”
“You think of everything!” cried Dahlia, melting into a mixed metaphor of electricity and cookery.
“I need to tick you off though” said Leo, assuming a manly air of responsibility. Dahlia looked worried.
“Have I done something wrong?”
Leo laughed, a deep, balanced laugh which made Dahlia wish she could tick his box with her pencil.
“On my sheet”
Dahlia wished she was on his sheet
“Name?”
“Dahlia Parts”
“Address?”
Dahlia fixed him with her huge brown eyes, willing him to want to know as much as she wanted to tell.
“14, Rhizome Terrace” she said, slowly and meaningfully
“Just round the corner from me!” exclaimed Leo
“Now take this slip into one of those booths over there, and put a single cross beside the candidate of your choice. Don’t put any other marks on or your ballot paper will be disqualified”
“Gosh! It’s very strict isn’t it?” Dahlia exclaimed “Can I take my handbag in?”
Leo assured her that she could, and watched as she walked into the furthest booth, on a slant in the corner. There was a snoring grunt from Mr Pronk as Dahlia’s mesmerotic ass wiggled rhythmically across the floor. The building itself seemed to be waking from a slumber: it had not seen the like for decades. After a moment there was a little whisper from the booth
“I’ve done it. Now what?”
Leo tried to answer in a whisper so as not to wake his colleague “Fold it in half and put it in the slot”
But Dahlia could not hear him. She whispered more urgently. Leo crossed the floor, the same floor across which Dahlia’s glamunctuous thighs had just previously propelled her, and stood behind her in the booth.
“Is it folded in half?”
Dahlia, her back to him, shook her head. “It’s just lying here. Give me a moment” she folded the paper in half, slowly running a perfectly manicured fingernail across the edge. Leo watched her from behind. More accurately, Leo watched her behind
She turned, uplifting her face to him, offering up her ballot paper to him.
“Here it is” she whispered, holding it level with her perfectly balanced cleavage, in which each party vied with the other for attention. Leo, himself committed to impartiality, privately resolved that if he had the chance, he would give equal weight to both.
He turned sideways so she could brush past him out of the booth. And she did, soft bits making noteworthy contact with his charged flesh in passing.
“Into the slot!” he whispered, and watched as her nimble fingers wiggled the folded paper into the narrow slit in the black box.
“That’s it done!” he said, a slew of disappointment washing over him. Dahlia was feeling rather the same, – at least that may explain her sensation of dampness.
“I left my bag in the booth!” she exclaimed. Leo rushed forward, keener than ever to be helpful. They both pushed into the booth together, and parts of Dahlia pushed into Leo, causing alterations to his manifesto.
In a counter-move, parts of Leo began to fight back, putting significant pressure on Dahlia.
They both cast glances over at Mr Pronk, securely asleep in the chair and facing away from the booths. Everyone else had gone home. The clock struck ten. “That’s the election over is it?” asked Dahlia
Leo whispered in her ear “It’s only just getting started”, and Dahlia had to suppress a giggle
And so it was that in Little Seminal Village Hall, as Mr Pronk dreamt of cricket matches and tea urns, democracy gained an enthusiastic supporter. Leo’s campaign had only sprung into life as the polls were about to close, but he quickly found himself making inroads in Dahlia’s home turf. Of course she had never really wanted to stand alone, so she soon decided to toss her hand in with him, and together they were unstoppable, scaling height after height until they had the world at their feet. Dahlia’s final cry of triumph was enough to disturb Mr Pronk, who gruffled, shifted position and muttered “seal the ballot boxes”
It was a great day for democracy