top

A silly sex story by Aahlu.




It was a poor specimen. Threadbare, bloodstained and rotten at the crotch but I bought it anyway. It was all I could afford. After all, one does not go to Christies famous auction house and not buy something.

"Look" they said. "Here are the holes where the feathers used to be. Condor feathers, they'd have been, and you can't get a good condor now, for love nor money"

It had the moth in it too, did the teeshirt I’d bought, all eating away merrily. More moth holes than teeshirt it was, and more moths than holes, many, if you see what I mean. Apart from that one hole with the bloodstain around it, the place where the musket ball found him. They hadn't eaten that, not yet, hadn't those moths.

Lot one oh five, Quetzalcoatl's teeshirt, that’s what the catalogue showed it as, but if the moths kept on as they were, in a few years there'll be no teeshirt left, just the bloody bloodstained hole.

……………

.

The Teeshirt came today, delivered in a box marked ‘Fragile’ with the impression of a boot on the side. They wouldn’t let me take it home straight from the auction house. They said it had to be quarantined in case it carried any disease. So they charged me storage, a vet fee and the cost of postage all on top of the thirty nine and sixpence I’d already paid. Buyer’s premium, they said. I’ll remember to look out for that next time I buy anything from them.

Anyway, there it was, in its box in brown tissue paper with all the moths still flying round it like crazy.

It was smaller than I remembered and much more tatty, with the C&A label hanging off the collar by a thread. But the bloodstained hole was still there, as big as ever, musket ball sized at least, maybe bigger.

……………


I had to call the vermin control people in today. Those moths had eaten their way out of the box, you see.

She was a big woman, the pest control person, when she appeared; so big she had difficulty getting through my front door.

But I made her some tea and peered at her sideways in an effort to calculate the size of her tits.

She put her boots on, her blue plastic hat, her huge rubber gloves and her one inch thick goggles.

Then she drank a mug of my tea.

“What’s going on?” she asked, spitting skilfully into my sink.

“The wardrobe was full of moths when I went for a sock this morning!” I told him, recalling the horror of what I'd seen with a shudder.

The woman grinned knowingly.

“Moths are like that” she told me. “They fly............”

“Yes I know” I said. “I've a wardrobe full of them, so many that the wardrobe is permanently floating several inches off the bedroom floor!”

“I've got a flitgun!” The woman told me dramatically. “That will sort them out!”

She finished her tea, went to the loo then came back into the kitchen with a shocked expression on his face.

“You have pink Andrex in there!” she told me in a hushed voice. “Pink! And in the same room as a vintage copy of Men Only”

“Yes” I said. “That’s the June 1972 copy, the first Gentlemans magazine to depict real live pubic hair!”

The pest woman shuddered. “But Pink!” she groaned. “I thought you knew better. Oh and must tell you. While I was in there I accidentally broke the seat”

I looked at her and began to wonder if there really was some truth in the Quetzalcoatl Curse rumour I’d been hearing so much about.

………………..

The vermin woman killed about five and a half million moths with her flitgun before she even thought to ask if I knew of the source of the infestation.

“It's probably notifyable” she told me, scraping gunge off her protective glasses with one of my teaspoons.

“What like a gas leak?” I asked flippantly.

The rat catcher nodded. “Get enough of them all flying at once and your whole house might lift high enough to drift away on the breeze. Imagine that! Fancy if it came down in someone else’s garden”

“Well I hope they cut the grass beforehand” I said. “But anyway, look, you've got me started now, interested like, so why don't you tell me more about this so called Quetzalcoatl Curse? Is it like one of them virus things you get in your PC?”

The rat catcher lay down her axe very carefully. She removed one glove and, placing it next to the axe, reached inside her bra somewhere and drew out a single blue glass marble.

“This!” she said dramatically, “is the source of all your troubles”

“Well I thought it was moths” I said. “Are you telling me it isn't?”

It sounded like a load of old tosh to me but the rat catcher merely grinned. It was an ordinary glass marble; very much like the ones you find in old gardens sometimes, where naughty boys with catapults have used such things as ammunition. Which is why it is rare to find an unbroken Alley Bottle today and why Bullards and several others brewers replaced the spherical marbles with oval ones in the necks of their ginger beer bottles and Codds included two little glass teeth inside the neck to hold the marble up out of the way while the liquid was being poured. And also to trap little boys tongues but, as is so often the case..........I digress.........

………and sorry, I wandered off there a little bit. I think it was the fumes from the moth killer that did it. I've had a cup of tea, a short scream and two biscuits with my annual quick look outside and am feeling much better.

The ratcatcher went in search of the source of the infestation but omitted to look in the wardrobe in the spare bedroom. She made rather a nasty mess in my kitchen instead. I now have two hundredweight of poisoned catfood, several dead houseplants and a hole in the doormat shaped like her two clumsy feet. When I looked for her later with another cup of tea I found her by the back door with one of my porno mags in her hand and the front of her overall all undone.

“Whats going on?” I asked “I thought you came here to kill moths not stand around masturbating!”

“I did and I will, never fear” said she, thrusting the damned flitgun hither and yon, “none and nothink shall escape me!”

That she was wrong in her assertion was immediately apparent to me, for at least one of her titties had most definitely escaped and when I looked carefully I could see it was doing its best to go off on a jaunt of its own.

“Be careful with that!” I warned “I don’t want any of my Miessin figures knocked down”

“There are some birds outside” she wobbled dangerously. “On the wall they are, playing with mud. I shall have to exterminate!”

I pointed out that housemartins were a protected species and anyway the root of the troubles lay, neither within the kitchen nor indeed any other part of the house, but in the wardrobe in the spare bedroom.

Pausing in her mass insecticide she sniffed disconsolately.

“You should have told me that days ago” she said. “When I first got here, not now, not now that reinforcements are due to arrive any minute”

I opened a window, put my head out and took in several huge gulps of the air that was left. In the distance I noticed a row a blue lights flashing their way along the street.

“Tell me about the curse” I said breathlessly. “Quick before the madmen get here with their axes and destroy us all........!”

“Alright” the ratcatcher said, wiping her face on my curtains. “You see Adam said to Eve ‘how is it that……’ no, no, you see this blue glass marble what I am holding?”

I nodded, for it was the same damned marble she'd brandished earlier, now being held about an inch in front of my face.

“Go on” I said, “I see it, now put it away before you get arrested”

The ratcatcher sniffed. “Frivolity” she quoted, “is cheap and easy but won't in the end, get you anywhere”

“Balls!” I said, “you’re making it all up to justify the damage you've done to my house and the time you spent in the guest room rubbing the crotch of those filthy overalls on the corner of my Georgian table”

“But there was no-one in there!” she protested.

“It makes no difference” I argued “Frottage in my cottage without letting me watch? Tut tut! That’s very naughty. And you’ve ruined the centrefold in that Hustler first edition you borrowed. I must say I am not happy about that”.

I could hear the fire and rescue vehicles outside by now, their flashing lights highlighting the snot on the curtains eerily.

“Quick!” I yelled, “tell me! Tell me!”

Then with a leer of glee the ratcatcher held up that blasted blue marble again.

“Alright!” she said again. “I will!”

“This marble” said she, brandishing the thing dangerously close to my face yet again, “is the cause of all the troubles you are having personally as well as all the bother the south American continent has had since the Conquistadores arrived there in sixteen whenever it was……”

She paused, lit a fag and blew smoke thoughtfully into my face. Both breasts were on show now, side by side at the front, nestling evilly like ostrich eggs in a mess of ripped overall.

“This marble was once a musket ball, fired by one of Cortez's troops at the body of men who were defending their mountain homeland..........”

“Hang on” I said, “how do you know this? You are just a simple ratcatcher, aren’t you? And a female one at that. How can you talk to me about such things”



The ratcatcher drew on her fag furiously, inflating herself so much I worried for a while she might explode. When she finally exhaled the smell of scorching carpet filled the room, smoke billowed from her nose and ears and I began to choke.

“It's like this you see” she said quietly. “My great grandadfather nineteen times removed was a foot soldier in Cortez's army”

“Oh yes?” I said, not believing it for one single second. “You are going to tell me you have his musket next!”

“That’s right!” the woman said. “I have. Its at home on the wall in my front room with a sign on it which says, "do not touch"”

That will be one of those retro cardboard pirate blunderbusses from the Everything a Pound Shoppe, I thought to myself.

“Right next to a pair of Quetzalcoatl’s wife’s reinforced knickers” she ploughed on heedlessly. “and one of her vibrators……”

“You haven’t left the batteries in it have you?”

“Nah!” she said “It’s a clockwork one”

“Quite honestly I think what you are telling me is all bollocks!” I said.

“Mmmmm I suppose it is” she said. “Oh well! I did only come here in search of a bit of nookie”

“I can’t take you to bed dressed like that!” I yelped. Nookie or no nookie, you’d destroy it!”

“I was going to take my things off!”

But she wasn’t much smaller after she’d removed her boots although things improved significantly when she took off the blue plastic hat.

“So this is where your bed is, is it?” she asked, shoving me into the room.

All in wrestling should have been her forte I thought, instead of destroying flying beasties.

“No it’s the garage!” I quipped.

“How do you get the cars up?” she asked peering around anxiously.

“Cars up? Balls up?” I retorted “Who cares. For goodness sake unbloodydress!”

Two fire engines screamed by in the road outside when she unclipped her trousers. Acres of lavender coloured tent fabric swathed her backside.

There were hundreds of dead moths in the bed when I threw back the quilt but she lay herself down there without seeming to mind.

The fire chiefs car howled by in a haze of mustard and parmesan cheese.

“Damn!” the mothkiller said “there goes my husband.

Gullivers travels came to mind as I heaved at the legs of her voluminous bloomers. When that blasted blue marble tumbled out of her belly button I nearly had a heart attack.

Then, except for a severely shredded corset with most of its rivets sprung the monstrous specimen, oh Lordy, Lordy, lay naked on my bed.

I thought I might have to fetch a ladder to get anywhere near her, then I had a brainwave. I threaded a thick slice of corned beef onto a length of stout cotton which I then tied to her clitoris. One of my cats played with it for hours, swinging back and forth like a monkey until both it and the clitoris became quite exhausted.

I left them to it, went for a pee and a quick scream at the wardrobe.

It took no notice.

Then I looked out of the window and noticed the neighbouring houses were on fire. Typically the postman hadn’t been either when I went to the box.

It must be Wednesday I thought.

**************

Glossary for the enlightenment of our American readers:

Catapult.                                Slingshot.
Christies:                               A famous London auction house.
Thirty Nine and Sixpence:     An amount of English pre-decimal money.
C&A.  (Coats’n ‘ats)                A now defunct clothing chain store.
Flitgun.                                  A hand held compressor type chemical sprayer.
Alley Bottle.                          Funny shaped bottle containing Victorian ginger beer.
Bullards.                               A Norfolk Brewing family.
Codds.                                  Another Brewing family.
Bollocks.                               See ‘Balls’
Balls.                                    Testicles. A derogatory term.
Hundredweight.                    Archaic but very accurate measurement of weight.
Fag.                                      Cigarette.
Everything a Pound Shoppe.   Similar to Wal-Mart but nastier
Tesco.                                   Even nastier than Wal-Mart.
Housemartins.                       Migratory birds which nest under the eaves of houses and shit on the windows.


© Aahlu. 2011