Roscoe started to stir. His eyes slowly opened. He felt as though he had been on a all night bender. His mouth, well his mouth like ewwwwww, not even a mother would have liked it and not had Mr Sandman crept into his abode, and sprinkled a little dust in his eyes, the barstard had thrown open the door, announced his arrival and tipped a huuuuge bucket into his face.
His eyelids felt like sandpaper and on looking down at his ‘johnson’ … who usually on most days, was there to say hello and watch him shave … he was fast asleep also …. curiouser and curiouser.
Where the hell was his socks?….
Where the hell was his really spiffy shoes that he had bought only last week at the Smith’s and Jones Emporium for Fine Gentlemen and Their Feetsies … that he had paid a shit load for (and he kinda thought that Mr Smith had spent a considerable amount of time holding his foot, commenting on his toes and and the length of dark hair on what he described as "mmmmm nice big one you have there Sir).
Where the fuck was his Superman undies, his favourite shirt, (the white silk one that had got at a second hand store, just down from the Alley of Sighs. Made in Thailand, he was told by the little old spinster, who had said that only small girl’s with small bosoms and were probably virgins or ex-virgins, spun the silk and made this particular shirt, for probably a really rich guy. Roscoe thought it was all bullshit …. but the shirt looked so hot on him and pulled major birds with low self esteem and big tits.
Roscoe realised that he was … (please turn away now if you are offended by words of descriptions of a male’s whangdoodle) ….
Shit, he was starkers. He had nothing on and on closer inspection, his ‘mangarden’, had not only been pruned, it had been ’weekwacked and defoliated… probably for life, he reckoned … although … Damm, it looked ginormous.
His eyes … (omg my head hurts) locked onto Evangline and Gertrudis sitting in the corner, their legs crossed, smoking and looking like cats that had just eaten a small bird, rabbit, haunch of a smallish cow, a badger, a stoat, two small or make that three, largish pidgeons and had dessert of Creme Brulee and Bread and Butter Custard with a cuppla glasses of port to finish off.
…….."Excuse me ladies, I seem to be missing my undergarments, overgarments, footsies coverings, my package extender, wallet, watch and all other wherewithalls. May I ask ….What the FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Author: Now at this time, just a gentle reminder, this is Roscoe talking, not me. He is a simple country boy. He has simple country thoughts and is a bit rough around the edges. He is not, like me, a fully rounded person with many attributes of society and rarely uses profound language to question people or to make general statements. Except when they piss him off and treat him as though he was a nothing or just a number … Wankers… Come the revolution… Aww what revolution… Roll a doobie, pour a pint, it’s a cool, aye……. Ohhh look a flutterbye.
……"What the FUCK,.What has happened? I can’t remember much? ( and at this statement his ‘johnson’ stirred )
Gertrudies, languidly (you like that, kinda suits, huh) approached Roscoe and leaned over him and said in in slightly tobacco aromaded voice, not the voice of a temptress, but more of, erhm a dock worker, with lung disease and and a deformation of his testes.
“Roscoe, you have made us both proud of your dexterity and gymnastics for the last 10 hours, we are both pleased and happy” as she turned her head to acknowledge Evangline, still sitting on couch her left leg pumping up and down like a steam piston, over her right leg.
Roscoe felt kerplumped, ferfallen,pissucpped, scrotum stroked, pubed rubbed, used and abused, he felt almost slightly unclean (at this time his ‘johnson’ seemed to rally and the white sheet over his body, ‘tented like’ and made his whole body shake and quivver with barrasment)
…..“You used me for your darstardly experimints. You only wanted me to experimint on …. your not really nice people”
Evangaline, seemed to untwine from her position (Roscoe thought to himself, ’ wooooow, she has the hottest bod, and her inner thighs are so creamey and soft with her thigh length fishnet stockings and black six inch high Jimmy Choo pumps …. where the fuck did that come from…. omg … )
“Roscoe, don’t concern yourself, with what has happened. You have given both of us, exactly what we wanted for our paper and of course our patent that should make serious green and smiley faced”
The water, was’nt water.
It was their whole intention to use him as a simple experimint, a way of finding out, if their ‘serum’ for want of a better word
(although the thoughts that were raging this Roscoe’s head, a mile a minute …. Damm, I wish I had thought of it first … Wow … would I have a made more than a few smiles in the Alley of Sigh, especially that little orphan with the long wooden cedar leg, whose name was Sally or was it Sammy)
Softly, Gertrudis, leaned over him, her hot breath on his naked chest, that was contracting, along with everything else, that was attached to him and his toes started to curl
(a Mingwhistle givaeway. It was said, that a Mingwhistle Toe Curling was a precursor to pregnancy or at least multiple orgasm’s and high pitched sighs from everyone between 17 and 85 of the female persuasion, although ….. well, ……………. enough said, aye)
Roscoe felt used and abused. His hand slowly travelled down under the sheet to his… erhm….(by this time, slightly awake and wanting to know what was going on) …. erhm….. ‘boy stuff’, watsist, erhmmm.
Author: A gentleman’s privates has it’s own, shall we say, description and is his alone. A pet name. A cuteish name.
Roscoe rose (and as did the rest of him) and without much to say, dressed himself with difficulty (as he was really scared of his zip) and strode of of the Lab, turned left and with slightly wooden steps headed to Mr H’s office. He thought to himself……………….
Fucken women… They are as crazy as a cold sock full of catshit.
Yeah, the Poohs back@2011