Out Of Order

votenow-2-transIMG_1924Just when routine had become emotionally unsustainable, and Jeff’s PR Executive job made him envy all kinds of deviants, surfers and soldiers, a storm broke out on a Monday morning.

He was on his break at the local coffee shop, amused by a foreign woman who was complaining to the waiter about not being served Blueberry Syrup in her Lattee. Oh what an accent.

Before heading back to work he checked the rain through the massive window and went to the Toilet. A new Gender Neutral toilet they had built just to make him feel naughty.

As he was waiting she walked in and ignored his smile. A smile that had got him quickly up the social ladder and was even better than any techie gadget that was yet to be invented. Was he losing his appeal?

She stood in silence like a bronze renaissance statue making him feel more and more self conscious.

“After you!” Jeff cried.

She looked surprised.

” Are you a time traveler? Because real gentlemen only exist in the olden days.”

“I am indeed a time traveler, but where I come from I struggle with undoing tight women’s corsets.” He said, surprising himself.

“Watch this” she snapped and smiled. Pulling a lipstick bar out of nowhere she wrote

OUT OF ORDER

on the door, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him inside, just as very bad thunder stroke.

A Kiss. Another Kiss.

“Give me your phone” and she switched it off.

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” Your watch” and she flushed down rhe loo his 4K collector’s item.

The cabinet was the right size to satisfy both of their repressed instincts, with UV lights taking them to forbidden land on the Baby Changing Table.

“I don’t have…” he hesitated

” Shut up! This bitch is doctored” and pointed at a scar on her belly- button.

She snatched his wedding ring and swallowed it.

He felt taken away by a vicious flood, helpless and grateful and merging into civilisation like he had never known it before.

The Blueberry woman had actually just tied her hair into a ponytail, unlike all the women before her who let their hair loose for interaction.

Jeff Adams, the PR Executive at Tengams & Co was reclaiming a missed out teenagehood.

He had no idea how long this lasted, but as he tied his shoelaces she rushed out, grabbing her Blueberry- less lattee and undoing her hair.

After the shaking event Jeff had to make the building receptionist buzz him in because he couldn’t find his Pass.

He didn’t keep this woman in his heart- he  kind of carried her in his pocket everywhere he went, now with eyes wide open to any blowing encouter a sudden weather change  could bring.

As for  the ring, his wife only noticed it was missing after three months – forcing him to lie like a kiddo about it.

But the second best reward he got from this fling was -his very annoying sciatic pain vanished like Black Magic.

About a year later, on a rainy Tuesday morning, he saw an “out of order ” scribble on his office door.

” Great, I get the day off” he thought, but opened the door anyway…. to see…. the Blueberry Latte Woman sitting on his desk with a baby who was playing with his collector’s watch.

Their eyes met like a fox’s looking into wolf’s on a hungry full moon night.

“These belong to you.” She handed his Pass, ring and… watch! and also the heavy baby. She immediately walked out before he could say anything, leaving the buggy behind.

The medical papers of the kid were carefully filed in a bag inside the buggy, and it only took him a DNA test and a cheeky lawyer to claim his father rights.

He couldn’t believe his “perfect” wife understood and welcomed the baby, as they had been trying for one for over eight years.

Since then, he always checks with the local waitress that they have a full stock of Blueberry Syrup…

The End

Thanks for sharing!

More humour here

 

“You’re a Tomboy.”

IMG_1907Hearing these words from an old buddy who knew me well was like looking in the mirror and seeing someone else.

A Tomboy? Me? Why?

” Because you can hang around with us and stand up for yourself ” he said.

I remember a girl from summer camp who was called a Tomboy by other girls, but in this case the line between “Tomboy” and ” Bully” was almost invisible.

Until I went in the underground the next morning, I hadn’t realised who I had become after 12 years of  having only boy- friends.

No, I’ve tried hard, tried it all, but I can’t be friends with 90% of women. The gossiping, the need for attention, ” daddy’s girls “, the time-clock…. and their ways to go around  a complete communication tools “blocking” -and even running away from them to another continent – when dangerous intimate secrets are exchanged….

Back to the Underground. I scanned a few women who were standing in the wagon- maybe standing makes them more masculine- and I noticed first they all carry a bag. Poor souls.

What’s in their bags? I only carry my keys, phone and purse in my pockets. What’s the point of carrying  a guilt- packed, half- eaten chocolate bar for six months back and forth ? And all that make up? Is it really the end if the World if a colleague catches you with faded makeup?

Scrolling down a little, and getting more and more amused, I spotted the uncomfortable shoes. Whether too narrow or too high the heels, does bearing that kind of Medieval punishment make you a ” Power Woman”?

Who says? Which pseudo- “Premiere-Dame”? No wonder the wages are gapped- who can achieve a fair rate of work productivity in those shoes?

For an enlightening moment I thought I had walked into the subway in my slippers.

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As a toddler discovering a new world around her, I couldn’t resist but reading the WhatsApp a young  office worker was sending to her friend. She was actually pasting her previous nights boyfriend ‘s WhatsApps to another female friend- to get some sympathy from her, I supposed.

A man would never do that. Neither would a tomboy.

Which means- if you’re named a Tomboy you can go from A to B without getting three scratches on your car.

You don’t stain wine glasses with sticky rouge.

You don’t spend cash nor time on learning details about celebrities ‘ lives.

You don’t use a push-up bra- your breasts are fighting fit thanks to the volleyball.

Other woman ask themselves why men get into joking mood when they’re around you.

You don’t need two and a half hours of grooming before going out to a party.

You always get an early call after a one-night-stand.

And best of all, your hair, skin and nails look like a healthy baby’s because you don’t get your body vandalised at hair salons, tanning beds etc…

As I do own a favourite rag doll from childhood which comforts me when PMS, and always get given jewellery by my partners, I am past the shock after a week and I am embracing the practicality, comfort, joy and freedom of being somewhat tomboyish .

But the old buddy? Wait a minute! He’s got long hair, tight pants and pointed shoes…. isn’t he slightly queer?

Thanks for sharing!

 

More humor here…

The Other Woman

votenow-2-transI am not the jealous type. But what happened to me last Christmas changed my marriage for good.

I had been suspecting her existence for a couple of months -but I didn’t think twice when I was sent to a Seminar in Manchester for a week: “if he’s got to see her he will anyway “.

My marriage with my teenage love was too perfect and I would even say boring for Her not to appear like a flesh Ghost. I hadn’t mentioned her to anyone, all I did was get myself a small cute notepad in Cards Galore, and tracked down the clues she left behind. I secretly enjoyed this and carried on with my life.

But when I got back from that Manchester Seminar and found he was not home, I thought myself a fool. Instinctively I went through the bedroom and en suite bathroom to find a case left behind.

It was a tablet case… with no tablet. All there was inside was a collection of cards I avidly went through one by one. This woman was spoilt, and popular. All cards said something like “free ” or “gift” on them, and there was a handful of VIP business cards too.

My darker side took hold of me and I quickly went to my little home desk and sat down to find a place to hide the treasure.

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“Mother Christmas I shall call her”.

Still trembling with excitement I took a quick shower and undid my luggage. Stan had called to say he had a last minute football ticket given by his colleague and would be back home soon.

Nobody ever reclaimed the little “Christmas present ” but the following months were a new beginning thanks to the cards.

I had used one of the Spa vouchers for an egyptian mud treatment which knocked five  years off my skin complexion . I joined a belly dancing group with her membership card and started to enjoy a kind of sex appeal only celebrities can show off. I used the VIP contacts to make my way through a career change.

And best of all, my wardrobe got revamped and Stan said he couldn’t recognize the “new woman ” I had become. So he took me on a second honeymoon where we finally conceived twins.

While we were there on a drunk night by the fireplace, I confessed my little detective book and so he said She was just a woman he was trying to sign a deal with and who lurred him into intimacy. He said he had set her up with the football fan colleague to get rid of her -and now these two were engaged.

Drunk as he was, he showed me a video of her on his phone where she is shouting at a cabbie in Spanish.

“By the way, can I ask you Jennifer – you don’t happen to have a sugar daddy buying you all this expensive sexy underwear, do you?” And I spilled the whiskey on the sheepskin rug….

 

The End

More humour  here !

Grandma and Grandpa are High

IMG_1814I had always known My Grandpas for their passion for quarrelling. Whether it was the milkshake flavour I would have for breakfast, who was going to drive the Caravan or or what Christmas presents they were to buy my mum, I had child’s wisdom- which told me they loved it.

They were usually brought to sit at opposite ends of the dining table on celebrations.

Now. I had been saved from the five medium bullies on the Estate by fellow classmate Clive Richards. Mum asked me to bring him around the day after, while she and dad were at a Charity Event. Turned out to be Granma and Grandpa had come to our garden to pull out the weeds they loved doing so much.

Clive was teaching me Kung Fu and Grandma was telling Grandpa he had spoilt her crime novel reading by sneaking through the End pages and telling her. Grandpa couldn’t help his devious little smile while he repeated “you’re still madly in love with me and I’m too old for this nonsense Chick”.

It started to rain all of a sudden- one of London ‘s lovely privileges- and all four of us went in into the kitchen.

“How did you two meet?” Asked Clive, surprising me with his interest for the elderly.

” A message in a bottle on the The Canal, forty nine years ago! A waste of a life! I wish I had never opened the bottle and bet you she got someone else to write the letter inside!” Said Grandpa.

” You only picked up the bottle because there were rumours someone was throwing football tickets into the water!”

“The next World War will be for paper! I am a visionary and I even predicted Brexit thirty years ago!”

” Don’t start all that stupid chatter you’ll poison these young minds” Grandma was already preparing a cake.

“Our tools! Lets go get our tools from under the rain!” Cried Grandpa.

“It’s your fault it’s raining again because you were snoring loudly all night!” Off to the garden they went, and I followed them to hold the brolly over their heads.

Clive had been listening to the quarrel all the way and when we went back in he opened up and said he never got to meet any of his grandparents and that he’d like to hear more about the Paper World War”.

After Grandma thanked him from saving me from the Estate bullies the cake was ready.

Now, what on Earth is going on here? Twenty minutes after we started eating the cake and drinking some tea, Granpa is touching Grandma ‘s white locks and crying.

” You look more and more beautiful to me every day Chick and I am so sorry I keep upsetting you all the time, but your mum always wanted you to marry that Officer, and he keeps on asking me after you every time I go to the Newsagents to collect the unsold papers.”

“Oh, Harold! You haven’t spoken to me like this in a lifetime! Why didn’t you clear that extra bedroom we had of all those papers and cardboards, we could have used it for the baby boy I always longed for!”

And they started cuddling, crying and kissing. Clive gave me the same look he had the day he was caught bt the teacher with a cheat sheet in his smartphone. ” Come here Clive” I ordered, not impressed with his counter- bullying skills anymore.

Out on the porch, he looked down and showed me a tiny bag of Hasch. Before I could punch his face for drugging my elders, I heard mum and dad giggling in the kitchen- they had gotten in through the back door- .

Grandma was sruggling to let go of Grandpa ‘s grip and writing something on paper.

“What are you writing, nanny?”

“You’ll see! It’s a message in a bottle!”

“Can we read it?” we all asked.

“Bullied kids’ Barbecue. Meet your future other half while Clive and Sam teach you Kung Fu. Bring this message and old newspapers to be admitted .”

“Do you have any more jars, darling? We’re going to drop twenty of them in the Canal! Hope you don’t mind the mess we’ll make during the Barbecue in your Garden!”

The End.

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The Day I Switched To Decaff.

Caffeine hurts, Caffeine drains you, you look nervous. I had heard it all.

Gazing at the infinite coffee lovers’ options at my favourite massive supermarket,  and with time leaking between my nervous fingers, I grabbed it.

A jar of decaffeinated coffee.

” I don’t believe it would be on the shelves if it were bad for you” I said to myself.

In twenty four hours I  were to find out.

Because it was only early afternoon on Sunday I packed some goodies to last me til Monday and decided to spend the rest of my week-end decluttering, then reading my vampire novel… and drinking Decaff.

I even wrote on my smartphone calendar a “good news note” about the new change.

Halfway through chapter six of my novel I realised I was getting a headache and strained eyes, felt drowsy and couldn’t take anything in.

“I will take a bath tomorrow before work”. I forgot to mark the page in my novel. Zzzzz……

Thank goodness I use a loud alarm clock, my good old alarm clock from the eighties, which followed me around the world, through six boyfriends and three redundancies- because I was having a nightmare about London getting flooded with Coffee, and people escaping in huge paper cups and rowing with teaspoons.

I found the bath too hot so I made it a bathspresso. 

Very proud of drinking Decaff, but Heck, where’s that Buzz?!

“I’ll get through this...”

Work is just three blocks away, but on my way I stopped at the ATM. After a seven people queue, I entered my PIN number wrong three times.  Card swallowed. Because I have another pair of cards I just walked away thinking “I ‘ll pay my rent via direct debit like Sasha rightly tells me to”.

We can do this. Even if I’m not quite sure who “we” is, but I needed some back-up then.

 

I had never noticed there’s a Decaff option at the office coffee machine. Stubborn me.

A call. My neighbour Ted yelling. Oh no, I forgot to turn off the hot water tap after my bath! And we were not insured. ” We” again?

Luckily my boss is understanding and I usually don’t call in for too many stickies- so I grabbed my bag and made my way to the bus stop, as Ted was telling me he had recently refurbished his studio flat. So time wasn’t on my side.

“That ‘s a new nice building they’ve just built there!”  This bus was unusually empty so I took a seat and fell asleep while looking outside the window. ” We” weren’t even aware it was the wrong bus.

“Driver! Please let me off! I’ve got a leak at home and am on the wrong bus!”

“Sorry Madame, I  cannot let you off til the next stop. ”

“We’ll get over this Stella”. Was I going mad talking to myself, this time out loud?

As I looked right, Simon was there, pressing the emergency button that opens the door, and pulled me out by the hand.

 

Simon was a summer camp teenage love from Colombia who I had met in the Alpes.

” I still keep all your letters in chocolate box, You look great, just a little sleepy”. He kissed me confidently.  ” Now where ‘s your flat? I will steal a couple of bikes to get there, then we can dump them in front of the Police station like we used to, remember? ”

“We do. I mean- I do”

“Do you still have that alarm clock we used to meet up in the stables at 4 AM?”

I hadn’t realised how far we were from home- I must have really dozed off on that bus. That lucky bus!

Now all I wanted was a double coffee, gaze into Simon eyes and hear his stories.

I don’t know by which exact magic art he happened to have some Colombian Roasted coffee, feather dream-catchers and cafe creme cigarellos. But before there was going to be some fifth gear love making, while being interrupted by Ted the angry neighbour who was still waiting for me to close the tap!

 

The End.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Extra Cash

Nathan thought he had hit the jackpot with his ingenious idea of making some extra cash. He was living the dream. A groovy basement flat in the heart of Westminster was his day and night office where he trapped the Prey.

Prey?

 

Young singles ranging from age thirty to thirty-five whom he lurred on dating sites to take on a gym membership.

“Why do you want to meet in a gym?” ,they would ask. His profile picture was a fake- such a deliberate fake: a famous boxer’s former ID shot- and the gym receptionist acted as his accomplice,  handing him 80 quid for each membership signed .

Of course, he wouldn’t even turn up on the “first date”, just give a time and address, and a stupid excuse as to why “at the gym”. But that wasn’t the bit he enjoyed the most.

” Sorry I walked away darling, but I saw you from the first floor and was dissappointed to check you were underage. Sorry but it’s my career which is at stake -can’t afford any involvement with the Police. You should find some guy your age,”

Feed an Ego, and it will spit cash.

So all parties were happy. Extra cash to spend on kayaking  over the weekend!

 

But one day Nelly the receptionist gave Nathan a call asking him to bring more male Members. At first he said he couldn’t,  but then found the idea of creating a fake female profile appealing. He took a shot from a girl at the Bank queue.

A City guy said he wanted a stag party and needed half a dozen birds alike, so Nathan started looking for the girl from the local Bank line. He found her. She agreed to go round the corner for coffee despite him being unshaved and  wearing flip-flops.

“I’ve got a naughty confession to make darling” to his surprise, the twenty year-old seemed fascinated. It was love at first sight. Brenda was her name.

 

“Actually sweetheart, she said, my best friend is getting married on the same week and we could all link up, the twelve of us, for a binge night at the Ritz, don’t ask for any further details “.

“Why not?”

“Cos you will be the Runner”.

 

It’s strange the way business ideas can metamorph, but that Saturday night was about the wildest night he could have ever imagined. One of the Stag was so drunk he insisted on putting fifty pound notes down his mouth while the girls undid their hair rollers and started dancing on the table.  He never wished he had his smartphone to record the events so badly, but the stag who seemed to be the boss had told him not to bring any gadgets at all.

 

Dead jealous while Brenda undid the Groome’s tie, Nathan had the time to nick her phone and call Nelly for support.

 

“I got sacked today, Nath. I’ ve got to go. Speak Monday”

“Hang on Nelly. Bring me any sort of decent looking ring and come to this address dressed your best” It was only half one AM.

After the craziest night which included spaghetti sharing, shaving heads and pillow fights, a troubled Investor woke Nathan up and told him about a secret.

He needed to launder three Million.

“Open up a gym then”, said Nelly who was pretending only to be asleep. “Nathan and I can be signed as your business partners. I know everything about launching the top quality fitness centre, and Nathan can fill in the place in a couple of months.  But, Natahan, you must promise me to stop starring at Brenda’s butt- because it’s  just a filler!”

 

The Investor rubbed his hands and cried “ring up a cab- we’re going to my office to sign the deal you two. And leave the kissing for later! ”

The End.

 

 

 

 

London’s Pink

IMG_1764
“I promise I won’t be long Candy, just going in there to get us some Marshmallows!”
IMG_1740
Honey? I won’t make it to the hallowe’en party!
IMG_0598
Two baby Unicorns are born in London again
IMG_1718
Two legs bouncing on four wheels!
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Friends will be Friends[sociallocker][/sociallocker]
IMG_1709
Don’t we Love London?!
IMG_1714
If only there were benches in London

Pain Heals Pain

Pain heals pain. This struck her tormented mind with Light.

 

Her cat had been at the Vet’s for almost a week. Memories of an unhappy upbringing had been strangling her throat throughout this time.

Forgiving was materially impossible,  forgetting was a dream and finding some sort of justice would not help a grain of rice.

She had “luckily ” found a stuffed toy to stroke- instead of the cat- the day before.

Outside Agent Provocateur she stood,  trembling under the rain so even her umbrella seemed to be shaking, with a two hundred quid in her pocket which she had kept for six months- for an emergency.

Under the lights of Soho, she knew what she needed. A good painful spanking. And she was about to purchase the nastiest SM outfit, including the Whip.

 

The only way out of Pain is a new kind of Pain.

Because Pain plus Pain equals Pleasure, the same way Pleasure plus Pleasure voids Pleasure.

That’s the wheel of Life.

When she was about to go inside with all sorts of plans of going into the local parlour to entertain strangers, she heard a familiar voice.

“I’ve got exactly what you need here.”

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“An SM outfit and whip for free, plus a good spanking?”  She thought. But Life can bring wishes beyond our expectations, at times.

She turned around. A tall figure with wet hair and loving eyes was smiling at her. It was the Vet.

“Here’s Snowy your cat. I was looking for you. He woke up from his coma this morning but your phone was off. Now darling- you two go back home and please don’t you ever come back to this place.”

A tear of joy danced its way down her cheek as she felt the weight of her comforted cat.

“I won’t.”

The End

The Snail and the Bat

It was a stormy midnight near the palace.

The Bat was really enjoying the shower of vicious-like rain and looking for company. As he was flying near the hill, he thought he could remotely hear something crying.

It was a snail.

“Help, help, somebody help me!” The snail was drowning inside the puddle.

 

“This will make a nice dinner for me!” Thought the Bat.

 

“I’ve got you Snail, you’re safe now!” The Snail cried in relief by the puddle and said

 

“You saved my life! I shall be your very best friend from today! ”

The Bat’s heart looped at these words and he changed his mind about having the Snail for dinner.

 

“Do you need anything else, Snail?”

“Yes, please!  Can you get me a teddy-bat to play with?” Answered the baby snail.

 

So the bat flew back to his cave to get the toy and the rain stopped.

 

After three days of sunny weather the Bat was flying around the Palace and he caught a glimpse of the teddy-bat inside the fountain. It was the toy he has given to the Snail.

He went out to find his snail-friend.

“Why did you leave the present I gave you?”

The Snail looked down and said

“Because since I got the teddy-bat the rest of the snails are jealous and they won’t talk to me!”

 

Suddenly, a storm broke out again and the Bat and the Snail quickly took shelter.

 

“I’m sure we can fix your problem, said the Bat. Lets go and find your friends”

Both flew off under the rain seeking for the other snails, but they couldn’t find them. The Snail started to worry.

“They’re all in trouble, if you are looking for the snails, said the Spider who had heard them, outside the Stable! ”

 

“Come and show us, said the Bat!” All three friends flew clinged to each other towards the Stable and found six snails caught in a puddle.

The Baby Snail thought quick and said

“Spider, make a net as fast as you can and we will tie the teddy-bat to the end and throw it to get them out, safely!”

“Brilliant idea”,  said the Bat.

Once all creatures were safe by the Stable the Bat asked the snails,

“WHY have you been ignoring my snail friend? ”

“Because he won’t share the teddy-bat with us!”

“Baby Snail, said the Bat, friends are more important than toys. ”

“I know, I have realised this now. Why don’t you go get us six more teddy-bats and we can all learn how to swim?”

 

“Excellent idea!” Said the Snails,  the Bat and the Spider.

So the sun came out again and all the snails played happily in the water as the Bat and the Snail watched from a branch.

The End.

That Awkward Moment

That awkward moment. It gets even more frequent as we grow older.

 

Usually involving a middle-aged divorcee: we ask for her age. “How old do I look?” She ventures. Of course, you are not to offend her, as you want her to give you a lift to the airport- and also your new date’s approval.

 

So you subtract twenty odd years from the age she actually looks. And that’s when it all starts. Middle-aged ego boosted, you have to sit there listening to a half-hour pseudo-beauty lecture and confession about her “Secret“.

 

What “Secret”? Can’t she suss out you just lied to her because you feel like your sitting on pins when you’re around her? Or that you need that lift to catch your flight?

 

“I don’t smoke, don’t drink and am a vegan.”

or “Good skin runs in my family”

or even “I use cold water to shower”.

 

But if the lady in question is into Facial Yoga or swimming competitions, you’ll want to stick those pins up her eyes.

 

I have learnt through the years that the best thing to say when stuck in one of these situations is not to lie, or to add ten years to the age she actually looks, to save your head- and precious time.

 

Now the fat divorcee is driving you to the airport, calling you her newly adopted daughter, and making funny faces on the wheel. Facial Yoga. Oh, no! her eyes are strongly shut! And we’re speeding at 80 mph!

 

Not only she’s giving you a Facial Yoga lesson, but it appears like you have offered her a drink, because she’s all high, comparing herself to Nicole Kidman.

 

She’s using phrases like “when I was your age” and boasting about her achievements. You hold your date’s hand tightly as he’s avoiding eye-contact because he’s aware of your discomfort.

 

“Open your eyes auntie, for God’s sake!”

 

When you think the nightmare’s over, and you’re just in time to catch your flight back home, she starts searching into her smartphone to try and give you the link to the YouTube Facial Yoga videos. Just what I needed. And she can’t find them.

 

“Believe me, Facial Yoga will change your life!”

 

“Will Facial Yoga give me an upgrade to First Class?” You badly want to ask.

 

As your irritation is burning your cheeks, you can’t resist anymore:

 

“By the way, how did you get that limp?

 

And your date dumps you. Can’t care less, you’ve spotted a tanned hot surfer at the Check-in queue, he’s smiling at you- and he LOOKS TWENTY-FIVE!

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