humour – Page 2 – Smut’n’Chuckle

Muriel finds her Spark

Muriel had noticed her skirtings getting loose. They were tatty and needed a lick of paint, and if there was anyone motivated to get a lick on her skirtings, it was Muriel. A kind neighbour had helped her to compile a list of things she needed

Muriel had already had a number of tools round her house, and she was determined it would not happen again

The list seemed a little daunting so she went directly to the help desk for advice. The man behind the help desk was very polite, as helpful as the name suggested, and clearly benefitted from a lifetime’s experience as he seemed to Muriel to be about 90. After she had asked a number of questions, and the queue accumulating behind her was starting to develop its own social and economic structures, he eventually suggested that he call someone to walk the store with her, answer questions, and lead her to the right place for each item. He made an indecipherable tannoy announcement and then Muriel was sidelined as he attended to the rest of the queue – which had now established a primitive form of democracy.

Fairly soon an overalled man appeared, introducing himself as “Spark” on account of his electrical expertise, but he assured Muriel he was a good all-rounder
He rubbed his strong, capable hands together with what seemed like glee as Muriel took out her list.
“I’m sorry it’s such a long one” she apologised. Spark smiled “That’s OK; I’ve had to say that myself more than once”
“We’ll start at the top and work down” he continued “Unless you’d prefer the other way. I can work in any direction you like”
He took the list from her.

Spark began to read, noticing out of the corner of his eye that Muriel’s jumper was deliciously tight and clingy, and that she had the sort of ass and thighs which would enable her to hold a ladder steady. Furthermore, if he was UP that ladder, the view down the front of her jumper would most likely had caused him to dive down into it. Health and Safety be damned

“What do you think?” asked Muriel. Spark felt he couldn’t really say exactly what he had been thinking. “Just trying to work out what you need” he eventually said
“I think I know” Muriel said with a cautious little smile, which flickered across her plump cheeks like a sort of fluttery thing, but I’ve never done this sort of thing before so I’ll put myself completely in your hands”

Spark liked that idea. Very much, and he considered it – coincidentally at precisely the same time as Muriel was thinking about his strong capable hands.

Spark took the piece of paper
“First thing you need is some long screws” he said, then after a pause he added “We’ll come to those later”
They walked slowly through the aisles, then Spark reached out to the shelves and pressed a huge tool into Muriel’s hands.
“This is a big wrench” he explained.
“Oh I’m sorry!” exclaimed Muriel “I had no idea this would upset you”
“No. I mean this thing here”
Muriel blushed “It’s very big…and so heavy”
“It’s adjustable too” Spark explained “Just grasp it here and give it a slight turn and it gets bigger”
She tried it. “No, hold it more firmly. Then let your hand slide round this part here. See how it expands?”
Muriel was impressed “So it will go as big as I want?” Spark nodded

After a long moment watching Muriel playing with the wrench (she was better at making it bigger than she was at making it smaller) he looked again at the list.

“What’s this?” he asked, pointing. She explained
“I want to put up a windowbox, so I need to drill into the brickwork. I got my neighbour to have a look at my bits but he wasn’t sure if they would do and suggested I come here and ask an expert”
Spark smiled proudly at this description of himself. Indeed he seemed to grow two inches, but without actually getting any taller. Muriel fumbled around in her bag, found her bits and pressed them into Sparky’s hand. He gently blew on them (they were a bit fluffy)examined them closely and pronounced that they were fine for the job in hand.
She smiled

The next item was rubbing oil. Muriel felt obliged to explain that.
“I was given an old oak bench by a friend, and the wood is a bit dried out. I need something that I can rub in all over to bring back its sheen”

Spark explained that rubbing oil was at the other end of the shop. In fact it turned out to be not actually on the shop floor at all, but behind those hanging plastic straps which separate off the storerooms. And it wasn’t even in the main storeroom, but a dark corner.

Muriel found that she was remarkably deft at giving the mighty wrench a firm turn to make it bigger. And she was soon having the fluff on her bits gently blown. Unlike the oak bench she was not at all dried out – quite the reverse, so no oil was needed to lubricate the rubbing.
At the end of the list they got the long screws

And that is how Muriel and Spark reached their prime, cementing (and grouting) their love of DIY

A warm front at the WI

Sylvia had joined the WI when she first heard of their glamorous calendar some years before. She hadn’t much interest in jam-making but she had hopes that her branch, Nether Botley, might sometime create a calendar of its own. Having been a member now for a number of years, she felt she was almost ready to make the tentative suggestion…

This was the night of the regular meeting with a guest speaker: the leaflet stated that Mr Cheather would be in that role tonight. He was a meteorologist and his subject was Predicting the Weather

Everyone made an effort for the meetings so Sylvia slipped into her best tweed skirt (it was quite tight; she had to squeeze, and execute a rather fabulous wiggle)and,as it was a cold, miserable night, a cardigan which buttoned snugly up to the neck. She was just wrestling with the buttons whose responsibility was the restraint of her tremblingly splendid bosomage when the telephone rang. Sylvia rushed to answer it – but it was a nuisance call…had she been involved in an accident?. She laid the receiver gently down onto the table and walked away, smiling to herself and forgetting the rest of the buttons.

Although it was cold outside the hall was lovely and warm. Chairs were set out in front of a table covered down to the floor with an embroidered cloth bearing the legend “Nether Botley WI” and laid with tea and biscuits. Sylvia sat through the business part of the meeting in a half doze: she came for the talks.

All of a sudden they had reached that part of the meeting: A Mr William Cheather was introduced to a patter of elegant applause. Sylvia’s clap was louder than most as she had woken from her doze to find herself looking directly at the most musculatory example of manlyhood she had ever seen

He introduced himself saying “Call me Willy” (to which a voice from the back replied in a stage whisper “What’s it called then?” and a short awkward silence followed) He glanced towards the windows at the driving sleet outside, and expressed how grateful he was that so many women had turned out on “what promised to turn out to be a really filthy night”
Sylvia smiled to herself at that.

He began to explain about high and low pressure, cyclones and anticyclones. “What is an isobar?” he asked the ladies. Sylvia was disappointed by that an isobar was not in fact a themed pub which sold very cold drinks

He was an experienced communicator: the ladies watched as well as listening. The grand sweep of his strong arm, like knotted rope, as he explained the movements of the Jetstream caused the beginnings of an anticyclone in the hall, centred on Sylvia.

During the break she inveigled her way to his vicinity on the pretext of having been nominated to maintain biscuit levels on the various plates around the room. After some cunning contrivances she ended up right next to him, and suddenly was lost for words.

“Mr Cheather!” she finally exclaimed. He nodded in acknowledgment, and then repeated, “Willy. Willy to you”
This caused such a flutter within Sylvia’s breast (well to be honest, both breasts) that she felt a flush rise in her cheeks.
“Enjoying it?” he asked politely. Sylvia thought about his previous comment and thought that Yes, she would enjoy that.
“Yes! Absolutely! She exclaimed “its fascinating! And you make it all so interesting and, well, understandable. I mean we’re not experts here…” she trailed off, her attention taken completely by the inviting curls of hair just visible where the top button of his shirt was undone. He reached for a custard cream, and she instinctively put her hand to her throat with a little gasp as she watched the fabric of his shirt slither over his biceps. This gesture revealed to her that the top three buttons of her cardi were undone – forgotten in her moment of telephonic triumph. For a moment she panicked, then other considerations thrust in: had he noticed? Perhaps he hadn’t? She looked up at him, her breath coming in gasps, as indeed she liked to.

Willy Cheather had indeed noticed. Not only had he noticed the buttonage situation but also engaged in some idle consideration of the pros and cons of knitted fabrics vis a vis generously-sized airbags. He smiled broadly, partly at Sylvia, and partly at these thoughts.

The chairman rang a teeny brass bell and called everyone back to their seats for the second part of the talk. Willy leaned towards Sylvia and murmured “No time for a chat now. If there’s anything, ANYTHING you’d like to ask me, come and see me later”
She was almost sure he winked

Sylvia sat through the second half of his talk in a daze, which is a very different experience form the earlier doze. It involved a lot more active daydreaming interwoven with admiring of Willy’s proportions and performance. He waxed lyrical on the subject of warm fronts (Sylvia was certain he glanced at hers)and precipitation. He talked of cloud formations with such exactitude that Sylvia was sure she would find a nimbostratus quite erotic the next time she saw one.
He asked for questions at the end, and Sylvia, along with others, had been glancing outside at the weather: sleet had given way to snow, and she wanted to pick his brains about it

“Have you any advice on predicting snowfall?” she asked, adding “Like tonight. Is there any way to tell how many inches you’re going to get?”
Willy looked a little discombobulated, so she continued, warming in every sense to her theme
“I like to know how long it’s going to last and how deep it’s going to go. I mean get”
Willy collected himself (he’d been all over the place) and said with a slight smile “Not really, you just have to prepare yourself and see what happens”

As the ladies of Nether Botley WI stacked chairs and washed teacups, Sylvia seemed to find herself again close to Willy. In fact, as she could attest when a lady carrying a stack of chairs knocked her off balance and she fell against Mr Cheather, Willy was in fact making some effort at getting close to her. This experience set off a warm front which engulfed both of them, causing an increase in humidity in a number of areas.

Sylvia helpfully offered to lock up, and managed to string out the slightly stilted conversation with Mr Cheather until everyone else had left.
“Would you like some help with your things?” She asked him, her eyelashes seeming to flutter absurdly of their own accord.
There was a pause, as Willy Cheather confirmed that everyone else had left, and then he replied, undoing a few more buttons of his shirt “Oh no, I can manage, I assure you”
“But I like to help” she said, unbuttoning a few more of her own, prompting a mass release of mammariness, scarcely contained by slivers of lace, into the open air of the hall

In a moment there seemed to be a tornado engulfing them: a whirlwind which defied normal systems by being associated with high pressure. They were making their own weather… gusts of passion and heat tore at their clothing, managing amazingly to rip it all off. Eventually the storm subsided but not until there had been some considerable precipitation, a lot of thunder and possibly even a little earth tremor.
It truly did turn out to be a filthy night at the WI…

Evadne at the butcher’s shop

Evadne was a woman who enjoyed food, indeed her friends regarded her as something of a gastronome. She loved experimenting with recipes and was planning a dinner party, so when a neighbour recommended a particular butcher’s shop to her, well, – she had to try it.

She had no definite menu in mind just yet, and decided to ask the man in charge for his recommendations. That way she would get some ideas and see how much he knew.
Evadne was pleased to note that he was dressed as a real butcher should be, in a dazzlingly clean blue and white striped apron, and that although he had a perfectly serviceable and modern cash register, he had a pencil behind his ear. He was not, though an old man, just a traditional one. In fact he was quite young, square-jawed and muscular in the way expected of a man who is required to saw carcasses in half for a living.

She looked around the shop; it was, like the man behind the counter, dazzlingly clean and well laid out. She noted with approval that all the hand-written price cards had the apostrophes in the correct place.

“Hello” she said, after a few moments of taking in the surroundings
“Hello” he replied, knowing as he did the niceties expected in such situations
“I’m planning a dinner party….for eight, and I’m not really sure what to cook. Have you any suggestions for me?”
The butcher had a few; as soon as she had appeared in his doorway some interesting ones had flitted across the back of his mind, several of which involved him appearing at HER doorway, in more than one sense.
“Are you looking for something to roast, or casserole perhaps?”
Evadne shrugged her shoulders “I haven’t even decided that yet”
The butcher chuckled, a gentle sort of sound, and not the sort one might immediately associate with his profession.
“You are expecting me to do all the work?” (He privately decided that he would accept that deal if it was offered)
Evadne blushed. It was a very flattering process which lightly dusted her neck and then got down to some serious pinkening when it arrived at her cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I should have looked through some recipe books or something before coming here”
The butcher smiled broadly. “I’m sure we can come up with something” he said, aware that this was already occurring, and that it might disrupt the stripes of his apron.

Evadne took a notebook out of her bag, and, pen poised to take notes, began.
“I am fussy about my meat; you were recommended to me as a very good butcher. How long do you hang your meat?”
He became expansive – he was proud of his produce. “We hang our beef for twenty eight days, by the H bone which produces more tender meat.”
She was impressed. “Wow. twenty eight days. That’s excellent!”
“I like mine well hung” she added, feeling assured that this would be the case. (The aforesaid apron being a giveaway)
“It’s a process called tenderstretch. Not used here very much because it’s more expensive, but we think it’s better”
. Tenderstretch….. It sounded lovely. Evadne rolled the syllables around her tongue, whilst the butcher considered a broadly similar activity. And whilst she thought about this new information, the butcher also considered her: her hourglass figure (she clearly enjoyed her food in moderation – enough to fill her out above and below but still leave the middle bit untouched) and the pendant which bobbed in the depths between her prodigious baps with every breath. he was momentarily distracted by the thought of making that pendant bob more urgently.

“Eight, you said? You might think of a big joint then”
Evadne nodded. She was thinking of one at that very moment
“What would you recommend?” she asked, feeling unable to make any sensible decisions at the moment
“I can give you a big pork joint” he suggested, causing Evadne to feel even more distracted
“A shoulder” he continued. She looked momentarily downcast, but then he showed her his pork and it was indeed huge.
“Roast that with the fat on.” He advised “Just slit the crackling and push some herbs in to give it extra flavour. It’s best done slowly over a long, long time. All night is best” Evadne nodded. She was the same.
“Then it is so tender you can pull it apart with your fingers”
“Oh!” Is that what is known as pulled pork?” Evadne blushed again at the realisation that she had been misunderstanding it all this time.
The butcher leaned forward conspiratorially “Yes. You can indeed pull my pork”
Evadne was delighted, and she noticed the stripes of the butcher’s apron were showing a promisingly large distortion.

“That’s my mind made up for the weekend” she said with a broad smile “but what about tonight? I need something for myself for tonight”
The butcher thought for a moment “How big is your appetite?”
“Oh I’m really hungry” she replied, fixing him with a gaze from her eyes, which were almost as fabulously riveting as her rack.
“How about some sausage for tonight and then the big pork joint at the weekend?”
“gravy?”
“There’ll be plenty…”

Evadne thought that sounded like a perfect plan

And it was….

Adeline at the German Market

Adeline always looked forward to Christmas: she loved the jolly bright lights, the elves, parties, food and drink, and the chance that she might pull a cracker. The arrival of the German market signified the start of the festive season to her, so it was with great anticipation that she attended. Over the years she had become familiar with the layout, – a lot of the stalls came back every year – so she had a plan, which involved finishing up at the far end with some hot german sausage.
She had dressed for cold weather but in the bustle of the market it was warmer than she expected, and Adeline was soon starting to unbutton. Her first port of call was to a stall selling wreaths. They had a massive selection: the place was wreathed in them. She stepped closer to have good look. The stall holder waved to her.
“Can I help you? What are you looking for? We have a fine selection”
“Yes I can see that!” Adeline replied
He came out from behind the counter to show her round his wares, and pointed to a big grand wreath of holly, studded with twinkly little stars.
“You like them big?”
Adeline smiled a little and ran her fingers over the wreath. “I do, but this one is just too prickly. I wouldn’t know how to hang it”
The stallholder put his head on one side (he could manage without it for a short while)
“It really needs to be well-hung” he replied. “To avoid causing hurt with all these pricks here” He indicated the large, shiny holly leaves. Adeline stroked the leaves cautiously, then delicately fingered a bright red berry nestling deep within the wreath.
“I like the berries” she said.
The stallholder licked his lips, glimpsing Adeline’s scrumdumptious chestage heaving with festive agitation
“Not everyone can find the berry, but I always know where it is” he replied.
“It’s lovely!” Exclaimed Adeline, “but I’m really after some baubles”
The stallholder was delighted. He enjoyed showing off his baubles and to have someone as lovely as Adeline actually ask, was a great thrill. He reached for some and rested them on the counter, and awaited her response. It was instant
“Wow!” She exclaimed, pressing a hand to her breast to suppress its excited swell. “They are fabulous!”
“Pick them up” he offered, “but gently, of course”
Adeline did. She held them gently in her cupped hand and gazed in wonder. They were indeed truly glorious, gleaming in the warm how of the stalls.
She was bewitched by them.
“I want them….” She murmured, “they are fabulous. But I don’t want to carry them all round the market with me. Can you put them in a little bag for me and I will pick them up later?”
The stallholder agreed, though he was sorry she was leaving his stall for the moment. He flamboyantly dropped his baubles into a little bag for her, and tucked them away safely, before introducing himself as Hans, and assuring her he would keep them safe for her return.
With her baubles secure (in the bag, as it were) Adeline could continue her exploration of the market. She was happy, but when she walked away she left behind her a Hans holding his bag of baubles, and nursing an acute sense of disappointment.

Her sense of festivity was soon enhanced with some mulled wine, albeit in a plastic cup. After a few sips she felt the sensation of the warming spices fill her from her lips right down to the berry.

The next stall sold spicy biscuits – lebkuchen. She was fond of those, and had a particular yearning for the chocolate coated ones with jam inside. She was just leaning over the produce, her volumptular amplage almost touching the first row of biscuits, when a familiar voice asked “Can I help you?” She looked up in surprise, and found herself face to face with Hans.
In the moment of confusion he was able to enjoy the sultry view of full lips – like wet glace cherries, her fine slender neck, and the way the countryside below spread out like a frosted Christmas card landscape of two large hills, – though lacking the usual seasonal sheep. Hans wondered how easy it would be to thaw that festive view.

“I just saw you on the wreath stall!” she exclaimed. Before he could reply an older man behind him said “My Hans gets everywhere you know”
So it seemed.
“Would you like a taste?” the omnipresent Hans asked. She would
She picked up a tiny chocolate coated biscuit and delicately nibbled it, whilst Hans watched, agitatedly gripping his bag of baubles under the counter. When she sampled the jammy interior by flicking the tip of her tongue in and out, the baubles were almost sacrificed to the moment.

“Try this one” he offered, and with his free hand reached down to some different Lebkuchen right at the very front. Because Adeline was leaning so far forward, Hans found himself (COMPLETELY by accident of course) lifting the little nibble right up into her bosomage. He paused with it there, lips dry, baubles tense, for a reaction. Adeline’s hand gently took the biscuit without moving his. And as she tasted it he felt the trembles of her mastication transmitted through her mammarariums to his hand.
“Try some more” he said, not moving his hand. Adeline smiled ”
I’d love to, but right now I need my sausage”
Hans glanced to the far end of the market. There was a stall there well-hung with sausage. It had varieties to suit everyone: from the little thin chilli wurst, which packed a punch out of proportion to their size, right up to the massive thick ones which were so wonderfully filling. He saw Adeline’s gaze follow his. She had seen the stall…
“Which do you like best?” he asked, desperate to keep her close
“I’ve tried loads over the years” she said “Those little ones, you know, the spicy ones? They are great. Small, but you can do so much with them. A little goes a long way”
Hans nodded, his mouth dry…
“But really, at heart I am a traditionalist and I go for the great big ones. They really last too”
Finally Hans could stand it no longer. He reached out and gently took hold Adeline’s hand in his, and, drawing her even closer, whispered “I have sausage too”
Adeline giggled “You really have everything, don’t you? Hans everywhere!”
He nodded urgently “Would you like to see?”
Adeline would like to see. She walked round into the back of the stall. Hans wound a handle which lowered the wooden front of the stall and closed it. There was no more wreath shopping; Adeline was able to get her hands on the baubles she had chosen, and discovered a new variety of German sausage which was the most filling she had ever known and really lasted well too…

Clara the firecracker

Clara always loved Bonfire Night. As a child she and her friends had enjoyed collecting old clothes and stuffing a good guy for the night. As she grew up, she still looked forward to it, and was generally quite successful.
During the days leading up to 5th, she also looked forward to the fireworks themselves, and so was delighted to learn of a new shop which had recently opened.

Its windows were full of promise: stacks of colourful boxes and posters showing wonderful displays of explosions and colour. Clara loved a good banger so she pushed the door open and went inside

The guy behind the counter did not look at all like the ones from Clara’s youth: his outfit was much smarter for a start, he was far bigger, and he head did not loll to one side. On the other hand he filled his clothes very well – as if he had been stuffed into them. Clara gave him a little smile and then walked around looking at the displays. Although early November it was still mild, and she was wearing a tight fitting jumper which gave the impression that every thread was struggling to contain parts of Clara. In some areas, threads had almost given up, feeling that the struggle against her heaving bouncifuls was just too unequal. It was a mesmerising battle to watch, and the man, Tarquin, was duly mesmerised.
After a few moments Clara caught his gaze. She wasn’t really sure what to do with it, and tucked it into her jumper where it was blissfully happy.
She couldn’t help noticing that his stuffing seemed to be getting a little uneven in places. Especially around the trousery area. This was careless, she thought. With guys, filling the trousers had always been her particular speciality, and she knew a well-filled trouser when she saw it.

She leaned forward over the counter, which seemed to relish the experience. In truth her bangers could compete with those sold in the shop. This provoked further modifications to the stuffing.
“Hello…”
He smiled, and the shop lighting glinted off his neat white teeth, sending beams of light across the room… Someone had done a good job filling his shirt with musculoid stuffage.
“Can I help you?” he asked
She nodded. Her mouth was a little dry. All the moisture seemed to have gone elsewhere.
“I’m looking for some fireworks” she managed to say
He smiled again, causing her to squint momentarily.
“You’ve come to the right place. We have the biggest and best selection for miles around”
Clara looked impressed
“Are they for a private party or a public display?”
“A private party” she murmured, “but I like them BIG, so I’d like to see your most impressive ones”
“I see. Well I am sure we can impress even a girl like you” he replied
He turned to walk to the back of the shop, adding “will you come this way?”
Clara looked hesitant: “I can’t say for sure at this stage, but you never know”

They walked into the less well lit area at the back of the shop. Here the man could smile broadly without Clara having to screw up her eyes. He proudly showed her what he’d got.
“Now this one is based on the old Roman Candle, but of course much bigger. Do you like Roman Candles?”
Clara wasn’t sure: he said that her memory of them was that they took a while to get going and when they did, there was just an instant cascade which was then all over just when you were starting to enjoy it.
The man assured her that his were much better, but added that perhaps she should look at something else. He asked her if she wanted big bangs, and Clara’s eyes lit up. This could have been dangerous, but luckily there was nothing flammable in the immediate vicinity. So he was just left gazing into her eyes, wide with excitement and anticipation.
“Oh I DO!” she exclaimed. “That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it? First you light the fire, and everyone get’s nicely warmed up. Then we start the fireworks, small ones at first, and then we have a MASSIVE bang to finish, and we all have parkin”

The man commented quietly, almost to himself, that often he had a massive bang when he went parkin…he wasn’t sure if Clara would like that.
“So you like to have a big fire do you?” he asked.
“Yes, I do! At the end of the evening it’s nice to be able to sit on a big log and keep warm”
“What about sparklers? Do you like to hold a sparkler?”
Clara replied that she loved it; indeed it was something she had always enjoyed, but her mother had warned her off and said it was risky.

He assured her there was no danger with his. Clara was impressed when she saw the size of his sparkler: how many times had she picked one up and it had fizzled out before she could do anything with it? No, these were big, with a lot of staying power. Just what she liked.

The man was spellbound by Clara: such a firecracker! His fuse was lit. As for Clara, she had never been offered so many tempting explosions at once. She let him persuade her about his Roman Candle: He promised it would impress – big enough to excite anyone’s interest – and it did! The sparks really began to fly! She followed this with a Triple Air Banger, and when the rocket went up she was ecstatic: She fizzed like never before! And afterwards they snuggled near the embers and she licked his toffee apple.

Tarquin was the best guy she had ever made

Gloria goes in search of a good hardback

Gloria was a great book lover, always hungry for a new experience between the sheets of a publication. Having filled her small apartment to the brim she decided that perhaps she should stop BUYING books and try the local library instead.
It was in a beautiful building, but she went with a certain ambivalence, remembering the smell of polished cork tiles and foisty paper, the shushing, and the unwelcoming stare of the librarian from her childhood. Libraries, Gloria thought, needed a makeover.
She went through the doors feeling somewhat defensive, a feeling which only he as she approached The Desk.
The woman behind The Desk lived up to her expectations entirely, being dressed in something thicker and tweedier than a highland landowner, and having lips so pursed she could keep her savings in them.
“Can I help you?” She asked in a sort of reverse stage whisper, – it sounded like normal speech but was inaudible from further than two feet.
Gloria hesitated.
“I’ve not been here before” she began, unnecessarily. She looked around urgently. The woman remained pursed, though still, amazingly, able to speak. She packed an astonishing amount of disapproval into her tightly bound frame.
“You can read though I take it?” The woman gave a tight half-smile, eked out so as to make it spread as thin as possible. This was as close as she approached to a joke.
Gloria simply nodded, uncomfortably, and stared down at The Desk.
“What sort of thing do you enjoy reading?” She asked, more gently.
“Do you like, say, history, or travel?”
Gloria felt too awkward to reply at first, and as she was considering her response, the woman said tautly “I have to go now. Please tell my assistant what you want” and silently dematerialised before the oblivious Gloria.

Gloria in the meantime had been considering her thoughts on books, and so began, initially to thin air, to answer the original question.
“I quite like mysteries, whodunits, that sort of thing. A bit of a puzzle. But I do like it to be hard. If it’s not hard it’s just not interesting or fun. And thrillers. I like something which will thrill me”
“What about length?”
Gloria, having just got into her mental stride about books did not at first notice the change of voice. She was still staring at The Desk, but lost in her thoughts. The deeper tenor of the respondent went unnoticed…
“I prefer quite long. I like something I can really get into. Plus I like the feel of a real thick one. One which has got a bit of weight about it”
“Interesting….I’m sure I have something which will keep you happy”
Suddenly Gloria noticed the change of voice, and looked up. Her eyes beheld (which is what eyes do, of course) a burly man. With curly hair. So curly burly, and attractive enough to put Gloria into a whirl. He was whirly curly burly, and that is enough to moisten up any woman

“Come with me” he said, with a discreet little librarianoid wave. Gloria followed him, her manumpcious breasts heaving with anticipation at the thought of a thick tome being selected for her personal pleasure.
He led her down a narrow aisle at the far end of the library, where the lighting was in one sense a little inadequate, but in another sense, perfect.

“I think we can find something for you here” he whispered, leaning closer to her than even a librarian needs, so that his lips brushed her ear. This made Gloria giggle, so he put the brush down and just nuzzled instead.
This sent such a thrill up and down her that she struggled to keep quiet.

“I am sure I can tell exactly what you will enjoy in a good book” he murmured.
“Go on…” Gloria replied
“I think you something which begins with a little surprise to get you interested, then builds slowly. Something where the tensions rise and rise, and keep you on the edge for a long time, before a really big, dramatic climax”
“You’re SO right!” Cried Gloria, melting against him
He ran his fingers down her spine.
“Are you interested in bindings?”
Gloria suppressed a chuckle “I’ve never tried! But tell me what YOU like in a book. Do you like something where the tension rises slowly…our do you prefer one which sucks you in straightaway…?”
“I like all kinds…as long as they’re not too foxed….”
He gathered her into his arms (she was blowing around a bit) and with a free hand, reached for a pencil and drew her close.
“I want to riffle your pages and kiss your watermarks”
He gazed into her lovely eyes, dark and Dewey. She stroked his hardback.
Gloria felt his soft hands gently open her covers and stroke her watermarks. As his fingers flipped through her chapters, Gloria could feel the tension rising….
“Would you like a mystery or a thriller?”
“Can I have both? But I warn you, when it comes to mysteries, I like them HARD”
“Ssssh” he whispered urgently to her “You’re making too much noise”
“I’m sorry….I’m a bit loud. I have been known to gasp at the crucial moment”

And the librarian moved on through the chapters, creating mystery and atmosphere, raising the tension, until the moment when all was revealed; Gloria discovered whodunit, and it was HIM. She made a LOT of noise, and if it hadn’t been the librarians fault, he would probably have thrown her out.
As it was, they both stayed to enjoy the epilogue, in which it was stated that there were more books to come…

Edwina and Hanky Panky

Edwina’s little treat, on her way home from work, was once a week to divert from her normal route for a little Hanky Panky. This was a pancake stall up a small alleyway, and the delicious smell of it wafted out onto the main street…a teasing mixture of honey, cinnamon, vanilla and all good things. She allowed herself once a week to be drawn round the corner into the alleyway by the smell which was even more irresistible in the confined space. So it was with the quickened pulse of expectation that she made that turn one evening, and walked in a daze of anticipation towards the stall.
In front of it, she looked up, expecting the usual woman to be serving. The woman knew Edwina’s favourite order…. But it was not her. It was a man, dark haired and brown eyed, with lips as full and kissable as a warm, moist pancake. Edwina had never imagined that ANYTHING could rival the pancake moment, but just then she was willing to risk it.
“Hello” he said, smiling. “Can I tempt you with anything?”
Edwina had instantaneously forgotten her usual pancake order: she wanted to be tempted with something else entirely. Her mouth was dry, her tongue, which would normally be slipping back and forth across her anticipating lips, seemed huge and unwieldy. She couldn’t think of anything to say, so she just nodded, unaware that her tongue was, of its own volition, slipping back and forth across her lips. The man serving had noticed though.

He helped the situation along by continuing “we can do lemon, with honey or sugar, cinnamon, chocolate spread, caramelised banana…” His voice trailed off, as his attention was becoming focussed more and more on Edwina’s lips.
“How do you like them? Large, small? Thick or thin? I can do everything”
Edwina did not doubt this.
“I like large. And thick please”
He smiled and turned around to make the pancakes. Edwina’s gaze slithered over him as he turned, taking in the tightness of his T-shirt and the muscles of his arms as he deftly, with the flamboyance of a mixologist, poured batter from a huge jug onto the hotplate. It poured in a thick stream, until it made a big circle. The last few drops lay like a pearl necklace across the lip of the hotplate. Then he turned back to Edwina.
“Which would you like?”
She hesitated. “I’m not sure…everything!”
He laughed. “That’s a BIG order!”
She pulled herself together abruptly. “No. Not on the pancakes. But I am rather hungry” she added, pressing her hand to her belly. This had the effect of lifting her fabulous breastage right into Antonio’s (for that was his name)eyeline.
“Me too…” he replied, and turned back momentarily to titivate the pancake. Edwina admired his delicate touch, working gently round the edges first, tickling, lifting, stroking with the edge with the palette knife, before giving a firm thrust underneath into the very centre to work it free. He flipped it over neatly before going to work on its other side. She was glad to see he wasn’t a tosser.

The first one was almost done now. She would have to make up her mind.
“Spread honey all over it” she said, her voice breathy with excitement
Antonio gently lifted the pancake and laid it onto a plate. He picked up a ladle from a big jar of honey and lifted it with a flick, trailing a stream of honey. The rest he poured in a loving swirl across the pancake, them smoothed it tenderly with the back of the ladle so that it covered every little part.
With the palette knife again he neatly flipped and turned the edges of the pancake into a manageable shape, and turned to show Edwina.
“I love having this done to me” she whispered “I mean, I love having it done FOR me, …I’m not a very good cook…” she trailed off, blushing a little.
Antonio smiled, and his brown eyes sparkled like dustings of cinnamon.
“Shall I do it again?”
Edwina nodded eagerly, and he reached for the batter jug. “Do you want it large and thick again?”
“Oh yes!” she answered, reaching forward so she could almost touch her pancake, and almost touch Antonio. Both were in front of her, just out of reach.
He poured out the batter for her second pancake. “What do you want on this one?”
“Give me everything!” Edwina cried, unable to contain herself any longer. Antonio looked around in surprise, and saw the gorgeous Edwina push open the half swing door at the side of the stall, and burst through, her bulptuous chest heaving with excitement. It was enough to make him drop his ladle.

He squatted down to pick it up, and found Edwina there too, her lovely face, all pink-cheeked and eyeworthy, close to his own. Her warm breath was on his cheek. On the hotplate the pancake batter solidified. There was no-one there to tickle the edges of it, to flick and thrust and flip and smear with honey, because he was down on the floor of the stall applying his many talents to the delicious customer who loved Hanky Panky

Selina at the Petting Zoo

Selina had always been an animal lover: As a child she had kept a hamster as a pet for over two years, and afterwards she had kept him as a very small shrine with a cross made of lolly sticks tied together with string. This is the destiny of every hamster, and as such is something they are taught from an early age in pet shops.
As a teenager Selina had a pussy which was her constant companion, and about which NO jokes will be made at this point. When she heard that a petting zoo had opened nearby she was thrilled. The thought of a day spent fondling furry things was as dear a prospect to her heart as it would be to a teenage boy.

She was lucky enough to visit the place on a glorious spring morning when the prospect of new lambs made her heart sing with anticipation.

At the entrance she bought a bag of nibbles to tempt creatures even shyer than herself, and got up the courage to ask the rather handsome young man who was selling them for advice on finding her way around. He pointed to a pretty pond and suggested she start her perambulations there, and added with a smile that he would be on duty in the lambing shed later if she would like to drop by. Selina blushed in that ineffably becoming way which takes years of practice, and smiled back. “I’d like that”

The pond was lovely, edged with tall reeds, and reeded with tall hedges. There were swans drifting aimlessly like feathery divas in the sunshine, and a few moorhens pattering about on lilypads. Selina was slightly confused by this as she hadn’t seen the original hens, but they were all very lovely.
The path wove in and out around the edge of the water like a Hokey Cokey, and as she rounded a turn past some tall bushes, she suddenly experienced a goose which came upon her unexpectedly. What a surprise! Selina squealed in astonishment. But she was a nature-lover by nature and open to whatever it had to offer out in the fresh air. The man apologised for any offence caused and Selina assured him that it was fine as she was a keen naturist herself. He seemed pleased to hear this.

Eventually the path led to the goat enclosure. There were a lot of different kinds of goats, but they were unified by having large floppy ears, pendulous floppy things hanging from their necks, and one of a choice of two floppy things hanging under their bellies, according to sex. Some of them were friendlier than others. Without help it is impossible to distinguish these as all goats have mean-looking slitted eyes, even the nice ones, so the farmer had penned off the ones who liked attention. Selina had spent quite a long time there, stroking the various pendulous bits of the goats to their mutual enjoyment, when she noticed a sign over the door to a small barn which read “kids in here”. Quite a lot of people were going in, many of them adults, so she supposed they were not too strict about things.
It must be interesting she thought, so she went inside and found it was full of pens in which there were baby goats. They were incredibly cute, being very bouncy and having not yet developed the dangliness of the adults.
She picked one up which seemed to have tired of bouncing for a while, and sat down with it on her lap. It lay there contentedly, enjoying the warmth of her young, firm body. After a while it had revived a little and was feeling hungry. It squirmed in her lap and nuzzled at her clothes. It being a warm day, Selina was wearing a thin dress with a button front. This was scarcely adequate to contain her volumpty bosom under normal circumstances (a fact which the Young Man who offered her his nibbles at the entrance had noted)and once a baby goat started to forage around, the dress had all but lost. Selina, engrossed with the little goat, was oblivious to any audience, and found herself rather enjoying the experience. She was flushed and giggling when the Young Man stepped forward to help her. The baby goat thought it had struck milky gold, and was nuzzling deep into Selina’s dress. He was therefore, unfortunately, obliged to follow its muzzle deep into her cleavage. He tried to be professional, but what could he do, especially as a few strained buttons undid themselves in the process?

“I’m SO sorry!” he said, his trousers belying him. “Come to the lambing shed, It’s more peaceful there”
Selina nodded, and assured him she was fine.
The Young Man had strong eyes and a twinkling jaw, and when he smiled at her, she felt flutterings in her heart and parsley patch. She tried to say that she was heavily into petting, but somehow the look in his eye made it come out all wrong.

Selina buttoned herself up with difficulty and followed him. He pushed through the small crowd which had gathered. It parted for him with the respect due to a farmer wielding a large tool and about to go work. Selina followed him.

The lambing shed was indeed more peaceful. The lambs in there with their mothers were very tiny and had not reached the bouncing stage. The Young Man led Selina past several pens to one which contained a ewe with two very young babies. Selina was enthralled
“They’re so tiny!” she exclaimed “they’re just kids!”
The Young Man corrected her. “No. We call these lambs”
“Can I hold one?” she asked and he gathered one up and placed it gently in her arms. He was so very careful for the safety of the lamb that he pressed the warm bundle securely against her heaving jubblies and held it there for some time.
She sat down on a straw bale and cuddled the tiny lamb against herself, stroking it to reassure it.
“Can I get it to do that nuzzling thing?” she asked “I liked that”
“So did I” the man replied. “I’ll see if it will” He helped the lamb into position against her soft, inviting cleavage but it just made a faint bleating sound, or possibly it was the man who did that. But the lamb just snuggled down and went to sleep. He sat down beside Selina on the straw bale, watching the lamb with envy.
“It’d be nice to be a lamb” he mused thoughtfully, and stroked the little creature as he gazed into the middle distance. After a few moments Selina cleared her throat softly.
“That’s not the lamb” she said, everso quietly. “But don’t stop”
He didn’t. It was soon necessary to put the lamb back with its mother to avoid it being crushed. The poor thing felt it had a lucky escape having narrowly avoided smothering by mammaries.
They laid back on the bales. Straw is spiky and there are a lot of pricks. She wriggled delightfully on it…
“Something’s sticking into me”
“Oh dear! That’s the straw.”
“I don’t think so” said Selina “Unless the baling machine caught a broomhandle in its works”
She insisted that it was fine though as she was keen on nature. The Young Man was similarly enthusiastic about being in fresh hair, and having worked with lambs for years, was an expert at handling teats.
Eventually he showed her his vegetable patch and let her sample his prize marrow into the bargain!

Daphne squeezes a pouch

As any woman will testify, a handbag is a deeply personal item, and one which is chosen with a great deal of care. It is like a boyfriend: it needs to be strong, generous, adaptable, have lots of staying power and plenty of pockets. Also, just like a boyfriend, size matters. It has took be said though, that although size matters, it doesn’t necessarily follow that bigger is always better. It is true that one which is scarcely bigger than your lipstick is really not going to satisfy, an utterly ENORMOUS one, whilst it might look like the answer to your dreams when you first clap eyes on it, may prove to be a mixed blessing. Plenty of women have been thrilled at first to have a huge one, only to discover after a bit of use that it is inconvenient. If not properly filled out it can easily go floppy and misshapen after a short while. Also their bulk can cause storage issues;we have all had those problems with trying to cram them into somewhere they will scarcely fit, and nobody is comfortable with that.
Daphne wanted a new one. Her old one wasn’t really big enough, and over time had gone rather saggy and she was a bit embarrassed to be seen out with it.

There was a new shop on the high street: The Baggage Emporium, and Daphne had been inspired by its window display to try her luck there.
It was full to overflowing: entering there was, to extend the metaphor, like a woman stepping into a singles bar. There were available bags everywhere – all colours, sizes and designs. She was dazzled and wandered around for a while looking, occasionally touching, very gently, once or twice even picking up. She didn’t notice the man who was standing by the counter – the only real man in the “singles bar”. Eventually he cleared his throat (it was blocking the light a bit) and she looked up suddenly and saw him. He was dark skinned, with fashionably untidy curls. He had flashing dark eyes, which is very unusual. He must have a battery somewhere.
“May I help you?” he asked sweetly, some sort of foreign accent adding to his considerable charms.
“I’m looking for a bag” she answered, pointlessly
“So I see. Well… you have come to the right place. We have plenty to choose from”
Daphne nodded. “It’s so difficult to choose. A handbag is so…personal”
The man nodded; he was aware of this issue. In fact the personal nature of dealing with women and handbags was one of the reasons he had opened the shop.
“Tell me what sort of thing you like in a handbag” he said, coming towards her and standing so close that she could smell his earthy aftershave, which she liked very much.
She found her voice a little quavery as she replied
“I’d like quite a big one -”
“Good” he said
“Roomy, without being too bulky” As she said this she glanced at the man, close beside, and noticed his toned torso…roomy, but not too bulky
“What about this one?” he asked, reaching for a large grey bag with long handles. He put it into her hands and she felt it, running her hands all over it.
“I like mine to be really soft” she said
“You do?” He seemed surprised.
“What about this one?” He indicated a smaller one with two shorter handles.
“Then feel this one”
She took it from him, enjoying the way the soft leather folded amongst her fingers.
She gave it a cautious squeeze
“You like it?” he asked. She nodded.
“You would like to feel some more?” She nodded again.
He selected a few other bags of various designs, all distinguished by being made of very soft leather. he smiled at her reactions; “You like leather, don’t you?”
“Oh yes!” she answered, eagerly. “It’s GOT to be leather. I like to feel skin against me”
“I agree! This is the best thing”
On impulse he lifted down a small bag which was an unstructured pouch shape, and dangled it over her palm. “Feel this”
“It’s much smaller than I would like” she protested, but he insisted
“Hold the sac in your hand” he said “you will find it bigger than you might expect. The whole thing sort of, grows, as you use it”
She closed her hand around it, gently.
“Give it a little squeeze. Feel it. It is the very best” She looked up at him, a strange yearning look in her eye (Just one eye)and did as he instructed.
“Mmmmmm…”
Neither of them was quite sure who had made the noise.
“Did you like it?” he asked, though it would have worked if SHE had asked HIM, too
And in both instances, the answer would have been yes.
“I have some more of these, but they are not on display. Would you like to see them?”
Daphne would like to
“Come through to the back” he said, quickly flipping the door sign from OPEN to CLOSED as he went past it.
In the relative gloom of the storeroom, a treasurehouse of glorious handbags, he looked along a number of shelves until he found a box of the little sacs in assorted colours.
“Put your hand in, see what colour you find”
Daphne pushed her hand into the box, slithering it in amongst all the soft bags, enjoying the feeling. She pulled out one which was vivid fuschia pink, and laughed at the gorgeous brilliance of it.
“It is very bright” he concurred “but I have another which is not so bright…It is very, very soft though”
Daphne turned to him, smouldering, which is embarrassing and she was glad the storeroom was gloomy.
“Does it have handles?” she asked
He thought for a moment “Yes, it has a handle”
“Good. I like to be able to get hold of it easily”
“Oh you will” he assured her
“Will everything fit in though?”
He assured her she would have no trouble with size.
“Does it have a zip?”
He told her it did, in a manner of speaking.
“Will it go over my shoulder?”
He said it was worth a try

Daphne tried out the bag, and found it was very much to her taste: being of perfectly satisfactory dimensions and indeed able to go over her shoulder, and many other places too which she had not even thought to ask about

All in all it was a good day’s shopping

Elfrida gets a spanner in the works

The vibrations were getting stronger, even making Elfrida’s knees tremble. It had been like this for a while, and she had not minded at all: in fact it made her drive to work so much pleasanter that she sometimes took a detour to prolong it. But there was no getting away from the fact that the situation was deteriorating, and she would have to take action.
At the traffic lights on the way home from work she could not resist pressing her stiletto-clad toe onto the throttle. Hard. Just to feel the shuddering increase. The effect was slightly spoiled by the huge cloud of black smoke which was now filling the her rear view mirror. Smoke up the rear was disconcerting and spoiled her enjoyment of the shudder. With some reluctance she diverted from her usual routes (several, of varying length, depending on her mood)and pulled into a garage forecourt. She brought the car to a halt in a cloud of smoke.

The mechanic, Sam, had heard the car approaching, and came out to have a look. He was watching as Elfrida opened the door and extended her long stocking-clad legs out onto the concrete of the forecourt. The mechanic was mesmerised: he had never seen anyone with extendable legs before. When she eventually got out of the car, they made her quite tall.

As she walked over to the office (she was a little ungainly on account of the leg issue) Sam, felt a pulse of interest. She was beautiful, with the sort of long blonde hair which other women are apt to sneer at, but which men will NEVER have a bad word for. Her cheeks were flushed pink, like Barbie’s toilet, and her lips were full and pouty.

“Can I help you?” Sam asked, doing the traditional mechanic thing of wiping his oily hands on an oily rag. This has no effect on the oiliness of either but is part of a mechanic’s training.
Elfrida stretched her full, pouty lips into a smile, which caused even more pulsing of interest in Sam. “My vibrations have got really bad” she confessed, shaking her pretty head, – which generated one of those special hair tosses.

“I could tell summat was going on!” said Sam
Elfrida flushed pinker than ever and looked rather awkward. “Could you really?” she smoothed her skirt and fanned herself a little with her hand. “Was it that obvious?”
“It certainly was! That was a LOT of smoke”

Sam drove the car into the workshop, and lifted the bonnet, waving away more smoke as he did so.
There was hot oil splattered everywhere. “Mind away!” he said firmly to Elfrida, who was leaning in behind him to look.
“You’re not really meant to even be here, in the workshop” he said, regretfully. She stepped closer to him, and one of her fulsome norks brushed lightly against his back. He almost fell forward onto the hot engine, but just managed to save himself. He straightened up, in more ways than just his posture, and discovered that Elfrida had not moved, so as he stood up her right bap squashed warmly and softly against his ribs. This prompted another, stronger pulse of interest. This juxtaposition was not something he had anticipated as he had pulled on his overalls that morning. He was now grateful for two aspects of them: they were forgivingly baggy, and they had access slots at trouser pocket height which permitted manual adjustments when necessary.
They were necessary now.

“Careful! You’ll get yourself all oily!” Elfrida squirmed, with a little thrill of excitement at this thought – even though the oil in question was not as she would have preferred.
“Listening to that noise as you arrived, I’d say we’ve got quite a lot to do here” said Sam, apologetically. But Elfrida thought that was rather good news.
“I’ll take a stab in the dark at your big end”
Elfrida was a curvy damsel, and it was refreshing to hear his enthusiasm.
“You may have blown a gasket too”
He was a bit ahead of himself with that one, but it was definitely on the cards, she thought.
“You should really get serviced regularly” He said. Elfrida couldn’t agree more

Sam leaned forward under the bonnet, trying to concentrate. After a moment he straightened up (even more) to find Elfrida even closer, her whole body pressed lightly against him.
“What do you think?” she asked, in her sultry purring voice. (She had a number of voices, due to a short career as an impressionist)”Are my tappets a problem?”
No they were not. they actually felt very nice.
Sam’s voice was shaky. He hadn’t had her experience.
“I think your belt’s a bit loose. I’ll tighten that while I’m in there”
She wriggled with anticipation. “When can you start?” she asked, this time in a voice like Ian Duncan Smith, which Sam found startling. Never mind. A guy likes to be surprised.

“it’s quiet at the moment. I finished off a mini a little while ago. I could fit you in right now”
“My thoughts exactly!” said Elfrida eagerly, and immediately reached for his monkey wrench.
Sam liked women who knew what they wanted. He slapped the wrench into her hand.
“Do you know what to do with it?”
“I can learn on the job” Elfrida whispered “I’ve handled a lot of spanners over the years. It’s all in the grip, and having a strong wrist”
“But do you know where to start?” Sam asked
“Oh yes” came her reply

Sam was right about her blowing a gasket