“Your watch must be slow, my little pert buttocks. It’s way past four.”
“No, I mean it’s ... Look, fuck the time. I want a pint of ...”
“I’d like to give you a pint of sperm. I’ll tell you what I’ll do, angel eyes. How about a pink gin?”
“A pink gin?” Blond gasped. “What are you, ginger beer?”
“But, of course. I’m an uphill gardener, a fudge packer, a brown hatter, a ...”
“Listen, give me a fucking pint of lager or I’ll rip your fucking balls off.”
“Seeing as you put it like that, I’ll pour you a half.”
“I’ll have two halves in a pint glass.”
“We don’t have pint glasses.”
“Two halves in half pint glasses, then.”
“Two halves it is. Two halves are better than none. Two balls are better than one. So, sweetie pie, what brings you here?”
“Don’t call me sweetie pie. As it happens, I’m a painter and decorator. I’m here to do up the passageways.”
“You can do it up my passage any time you like. Have you got two balls?”
“You disgust me.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere, sweetness. There you are, two halves.”
32
“I am
not
your fucking sweetness!” Blond looked about him again. “Actually, you may be able to help me,” he whispered. “Do you know Dave the dyke?”
“Dave the dyke? That cheating, two-timing, bum-fucking, arse-licking, unfaithful rent-boy of a mother-fucking bastard! Er ... What I mean is ... No, I’ve never heard of him.”
“Shame,” Blond sighed. “I’m looking for someone who might be able to put me in touch with a bird.”
“A bird?”
“You know, a bit of stuff. A chic, a tart, a bit of skirt, a floozie, a loose woman, a whore-slut, a ...”
“I get your meaning, my little flower. You want to have a word with the Minister for Lesbian and Gay Rights. His name’s Brown, Gladys Brown.”
“
He
?” Blond frowned.
“He changed his name by deed poll. His office is just down the corridor. He’s usually there about now.”
Downing his halves, Blond wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “Thanks,” he called, hurriedly making his way through the crowd to the door.
“Any time, petal. Come again, I know I will!”
“Don’t call me petal!”
So far, so good
, Blond mused, walking along the corridor. Hopefully, Gladys Brown would turn out to be a valuable contact. There again, he’d probably be as bent as a Kirby grip and ... Noticing a miniskirted young woman walking towards him, Blond smelled hot, wet fanny and stopped dead in his tracks. In her early twenties with long blonde hair cascading over the swell of her firm, suckable breasts, she was a real stunner.
Wonder whether she’s hot, tight and
33
wet?
he pondered, imagining his bulbous knob driving deep into the well-creamed, steaming duct of her honeypot.
Of course she’s tight and fucking wet, she’s a fucking bird!
“Good morning,” he smiled, as she approached.
She’s an easy lay if ever there was one!
“Good afternoon,” she corrected him.
“I should have said, good day,” he chuckled, eyeing her erect nipples pressing through the tight material of her white blouse.
I wonder whether she sucks her nipples?
“Why should you have said good day?” she asked perplexedly.
“Well... There’d be no mistake, would there?”
“It might be night time.”
“What?”
“Had you said good day at night, you’d have made a mistake.”
Blond frowned and shook his head. “Yes, but it’s not night time.”
“It’s neither night nor morning.”
“Look, this is getting us nowhere.”
“Where did you want it to get us?”
Inside your wet knickers!
“I didn’t mean ...”
“Well, you’ve got us where you wanted us. Be seeing you.”
As she strutted down the corridor, Blond scratched his head.
They’re all fucking mad in
this place!
he reflected.
Either mad or bent, or both.
There again, this
was
the Houses of Parliament! Walking on, he finally came to a large oak door bearing the name, Gladys Brown.
Knocking, he eased the door open and peered into the room.
No one
, he thought, looking about 34
the plush office. Slipping inside, he moved to the huge leather-topped desk and began rummaging through the drawers.
“Interesting,” he breathed, opening a file marked,
do not open
. “I just love opening files marked,
do not open
.” Flicking through the pages, he was surprised to discover a list of names, addresses and telephone numbers of what were described as,
horny little tarts that take it up the
arse and fuck something rotten
. Ripping the page out, he stuffed it into his boilersuit and was about to make his escape when he heard footsteps nearing the door. “Fuck,” he murmured, wondering what the hell to do. “I just hate wondering what the hell to do.”
“Can I help you?” a middle-aged man asked as he entered the room. Blond stared at the bearded man, wondering why he was wearing a tight red dress.
Whatever gets you through the
night
, he thought, looking down at the transvestite’s fishnet stockings and red stilettoes.
It’s no
wonder the country’s in the bloody state it’s in!
Fuck the country, this was serious. Sneaking around a minister’s office was probably punishable by a life sentence, or a death sentence, or both - or worse.
“Can I help you?” the man repeated, teetering towards Blond. “Jesus, these bloody shoes are killing me.”
“Er ... I’m a painter and decorator,” Blond replied sheepishly. “I was just ... Well, just painting and decorating, I suppose.”
“Where’s your equipment?”
“In my trousers. Oh, I see what you mean.”
35
This was Spew’s fault, Blond reflected. All painters and decorators carried lengths of copper pipe and wrenches and blow torches and ... No, that was plumbers. Brushes and rollers and ladders and suchlike were the tools of painters and decorators. The only thing Blond had was a mobile phone that wasn’t a mobile phone, a non-mobile phone that he daren’t use because he didn’t know what the fuck the fucking thing did or didn’t fucking do. Looking up at the ceiling, he decided to stick with the painter and decorator scam.
“Fuck me, your ceiling’s in a bad way,” he said, rubbing his chin and sucking air in through his teeth like a tradesman.
Why do tradesmen do that?
“Look at the size of your crack,”
he grinned.
“You’ll be in a bad way unless you tell me who you are and what you’re doing in my office,” the man returned threateningly. “And leave my crack out of it. That’s a sore point.”
“Point taken.”
“I’m not having the operation until next month. I can’t wait to have a hot, tight, wet hole with juicy, fleshy bits and ...”
“Neither can I! Actually, I’m looking for Gladys,” Blond confessed.
“Are you, indeed?”
“Indeed I am, indeed.”
“And what would you be wanting with him? I mean, her.”
“Him, her? I was wondering whether he or she was a like-minded pervert.”
The man grinned and hoisted his false tits up. “Are you a like-minded pervert?” he asked.
“Well, I could be.”
“I’m heavily into like-minded perverts of the perverted kind. Got any dirty pictures?”
36
Blond frowned, pondering on what he though might be a trick question. “I have one of my grandmother that’s pretty filthy,” he said. “I inadvertently spilled coffee over it.”
“You’re here to expose me, aren’t you?” the man asked accusingly.
“Certainly not.”
“That’s a shame. As it happens, I’m Gladys. Gladys Brown. Brown by name, brown by sexual preference, disgusting by nature.”
“Ah, I thought as much. It was the massive penile bulge in your tight dress that gave the game away.”
“Are you on the game?”
“Certainly not.”
Blond backed away as Gladys lifted his dress and moved closer. Sexual encounters of the bent kind were the last thing he wanted! Eyeing the man’s bulging silk panties, his hairy balls squeezed out either side of the tight crotch, he looked out of the window and remarked on the weather. Ignoring Blond’s meterological mutterings, Gladys tugged his panties down and displayed the huge shaft of his erect penis.
“Get your laughing gear round that,” he said, pulling his foreskin back and exposing his bulbous, purple glans. “I’ll bet you’d like to give me a good sucking off.”
“You must be fucking joking!” Blond returned. “If you think I’m the kind of sad pervert who’d even dream of sucking ...”
Ah, saved by the bell!
he thought happily as the phone rang.
Lifting the receiver, Gladys began wanking his rock-hard cock as he spoke to the PM.
Blond decided that this was his chance to escape the sad, depraved, homosexual of a fucking 37
perverted, sadistic, bum-licking, masochistic, arse-fucking wanker. Cautiously moving across the room as Gladys wanked his cock faster and began gasping in his self abuse, he slipped though the door.
“That was a close fucking shave,” he breathed, walking down the corridor. Noticing a door marked
keep out
, curiosity getting the better of him, he opened it and peered inside. “Fuck me backwards,” he murmured, gazing at a naked young woman lying on the floor of the cupboard. “There’s a naked young woman lying on the floor of the cupboard.”
With my powers
of observation and seduction, I should have played Sherlock Holmes.
Her hands and feet tied with rope, her mouth gagged, she looked up at Blond with fear mirrored in her wide eyes. Noticing her shaved pussy, her pinken inner lips protruding alluringly from the deep ravine of her drenched and inflamed vaginal slit, he massaged his erect cock through his boilersuit. She was a horny little tart, he observed. Worthy of a damned good penile-induced anal ring massaging and a stiff, cocktile rectal rogering terminating in a severe bowel spunking.
Where are my manners?
he reflected as she moaned through her nose. “Sorry to have disturbed you,” he smiled, slipping into the corridor and closing the cupboard.
Creeping into an empty office, Blond dashed to the desk and grabbed the phone. Dialling Spew’s number, he tapped his fingers on the desk as he waited impatiently for his boss to answer. A dead car park attendant, a gay barman, a transvestite minister, a naked woman tied up in a cupboard ... There was something out of place, but Blond couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Or up it.
38
“Who’s calling?” Spew asked.
“Who’s calling who?” Blond said.
“It’s whom, not who?”
“Who is?”
“Who’s calling whom.”
“I’m calling you.”
“Who is this?”
“Who’s that?”
“I asked you first.”
“I’m a painter and decorator.”
“Bloody tele-sales people. Piss off.”
“No, it’s me,” Blond whispered. “Is that you?”
“Of course it’s me.”
“Spew. Is that you, Spew? Oh, that rhymes!”
“Blond, is that you talking bollocks?”
“Who the fuck else talks bollocks?”
“Good point. Where are you?”
“On the phone. Listen, there’s something strange going on.”
“I can’t hear anything.”
“What?”
“This conversation is completely and utterly inane, Blond.”
“I couldn’t agree more, sir. Or less, come to that. I couldn’t agree more or less.”
“Shut the fuck up, Blond. I have bad news. I’ve just received the report from the psychiatrist. He reckons that you’re absolutely, completely, totally and acutely clinically insane.”
39
“Fuck the psychiatrist. On second thoughts ... Listen, there are things going on in parliament that would make your anal hairs stand on end.”
“Impossible, I shaved them off last ... I mean, what sort of things?”
“A dead car park attendant, a gay barman, a transvestite minister, a woman who reckons it’s neither night nor morning, a naked woman tied up in a cupboard ...”
“What did she look like?” Spew interrupted Blond excitedly.
“She looked like a naked woman tied up in a cupboard.”
“Describe her, you fool!”
“Well, she had tits and a fanny and wet inner lips poking out of her vaginal crack and a wet mouth designed purely for sucking cocks and drinking spunk and ...”
“My God!” Spew gasped. “That’s Special Agent Flange.”
“Special Agent Flange? It can’t be.”
“From your description, I’m positive that it’s her. Has she got long nipples?”
“Very long. Long in the extreme. Or, extremely long.”
“There’s no question about it. The naked woman tied up in the cupboard is Special Agent Flange. She went to the Houses of Parliament three years ago to give the Chief Whip a taste of his own medicine and she hasn’t been seen since.”
“Correction, sir.”
“Yes, that’s what she was going to do with the Chief Whip.”
“No, I mean, correction with the whip ... No, I didn’t mean the whip. What I meant was, correction to your statement.”
“What the fuck are you talking about, Blond?”
“I don’t know, Yes, I do. You said that she hasn’t been seen for three years. Correction, I’ve just seen her.”
40
“Stop waffling and release her, you fool.”
“Now, sir?”
“Yes, now. Bring her back to HQ.”
“Her back? What about her front, sir?”
“All of her, you fucking idiot!”
“Yes, sir.”
Banging the phone down and leaving the office, Blond raced along the corridor to the cupboard. Yanking the door open, he was surprised to find that the young woman had gone.
“Festering, ovaries,” he breathed, wondering where she could have got to. Noticing a white stain on the floor, he went down on his hands and knees and poked his tongue out. Tasting the small pool of cream-like liquid, he licked his lips. “Vaginal secretions,” he muttered, climbing to his feet and wondering what Holmes would have made of the discovery. “With a tang of sperm.”