The Belt (Part 2)

This story originally appeared in “Punch Riot” magazine which is published by my good friend Nick August. Nick is a good man who gives up and coming authors a voice and platform to publish their work. Please support him by buying a subscription to “Punch Riot” magazine and follow him on Twitter @PunchRiotMag @thenickaugust punchriot.com.

Thank you and enjoy the story.

Steve looked with horror at the thin red stripes across his wife’s bottom.

Sitting up and reading in bed because he couldn’t sleep, he had surreptitiously drawn back the bed sheets so he could view more clearly the violent abuse which had been visited upon his wife’s person. Not by him, but by his neighbor. Teddy. Who Patricia had been seeing more and more of lately.

Steve and Patricia had an open marriage and each of them was allowed to see and sleep with whoever they wished, providing that it wasn’t one of the other’s friends. This was one of the rules which they had agreed upon when Steve, months earlier, had pressured his wife into agreeing to an open marriage. Patricia hadn’t wanted an open marriage, had been strongly opposed to the idea, although Steve feeling like he’d missed out on too many sexual experiences when he was younger wanted a chance at a second youth.

Since the arrangement had been set in place, Patricia had had a long list of sexual partners involving a variety of sexual experiments, most of which were very dark, depraved and sadistic. Patricia had discovered a wish to be dominated, humiliated, whipped, caned, thrashed and objectified. Steve on the other hand hadn’t had another sexual partner. His tally still stood at 1, his wife.

The latest humiliation for Steve had come just the previous evening when he had taken to dinner one of the checkout chicks from his local supermarket. All of Steve’s attempts at conversation had failed. The checkout chick, named Chrissy, had had absolutely no interest in discussing the national debt, the sad state of intersexual dynamics in a politically correct office setting, the optimal fertilizer with which to grow tomato plants, how global warming was a scam or any of the other talking points Steve usually fell back upon when trying to engage the fairer sex in conversation. The evening had been filled with numerous awkward silences and Chrissy had knocked back the drinks at an extremely fast (and expensive) pace. When it had come to pay the bill ($385) Chrissy hadn’t even offered to split it, which Steve would have refused, although an offer would have been nice….. The final humiliation had come when Steve had dropped her home and had lent over to kiss her and she had recoiled in disgust. Steve had pleaded for a kiss on the cheek at least although Chrissy had opened the door and rushed from the car. As if I was some kind of rapist! Steve thought bitterly and darkly to himself.

The perfect evening hadn’t ended there however and as Steve was driving home, his car had started to vibrate and rattle due to a puncture he’d picked up in his front left tire. Steve managed to drive the car home although he’d worried the whole way about the damage being done to the front bumper and undercarriage which he could hear scraping intermittently on the road.

Over breakfast a few hours later Patricia had inquired, with a bemused smile, how his date had gone last night? “Really great” said Steve, “she’s a fantastic girl and I think we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in future.” His wife had laughed, shaken her head and said “she’s a lucky girl Steve!” and then laughed some more. Steve knew that Patricia hadn’t believed a single word he’d said. That bitch was an expert at reading body language and facial expressions. That’s why she’d asked him! To rub it in! She knew the answer but she wanted to humiliate him. Sadistic Bitch. Steve looked out to the driveway where his car stood looking sad. Right this moment though he was grateful for a chance to get out of the house and away from his depraved wife.

Popping the trunk he removed the wrench, spare tire and jack. Steve elevated the car with the jack and began unscrewing the lug nuts with the lug wrench. Bang! The jack slipped and the car came crashing down narrowly missing Steve’s head. Fucking hell, thought Steve, FUCKING HELL! He got to his feet and kicked out in anger at the wheel, fracturing one of his toes. He turned to the sky and screamed “FFFFFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKK!” A flock of parrots which had congregated in one of the nearby oak trees dispersed in terror. Teddy, who had been watching from his front porch sauntered over.

Steve had never met Teddy before although had heard a lot about him. Not because Patricia was particularly forthcoming with information about her affairs but because Steve couldn’t help torturing himself finding out intimate details about her sexual partners by asking endless questions. Teddy stood 6 feet 2 inches tall and weighed around 220 pounds. Teddy had a massive chest, huge forearms and biceps and a classically handsome face with short cropped blonde hair. He held out his hand “Teddy.” Steve couldn’t fucking believe it, what could he do now? Steve took Teddy’s hand and shook it, “Steve.”

“Looks like you’re having a little trouble here Steve, perhaps I can help? I think your problem before occurred because you tried to unscrew the lug nuts after you elevated the car with the jack. You should do it before otherwise you risk unbalancing the jack and having the whole thing collapse.” Teddy placed a brick in front of and behind the tire. Putting the jack in place although not elevating the car he then began to loosen all off the lug nuts which held the tire in place. Only after doing so did he elevate the car off the ground with the jack. Unscrewing the lug nuts fully with his fingers he took off the flat tire and replaced it with the spare tightening the nuts with his fingers. Lowering the car by unwinding the jack he removed it and then finished tightening the lug nuts with the wrench before finally replacing the hubcap. “All done.” Steve looked on impressed, the whole operation hadn’t taken Teddy more than 10 minutes. “Thanks a lot Teddy, much appreciated.” “No problem Steve. I was actually hoping to catch you alone so that I could thank you.” Thank me? Thought Steve…. cheeky bastard! Probably wants to thank me for the use of MY wife! Steve felt his blood again beginning to boil.

“I wanted to thank you for offering to look after my American Pit Bull Terrier, Lance. Patricia and I are going away to my hunting cabin for a few days next week and she told me that you were fine with looking after him whilst we are away. So, thank you. You’re a good man.”

Teddy patted Steve on the shoulder and sauntered back to his house. Steve had turned incandescent with rage. Look after the bastard’s American Pit Bull Terrier!? He had never agreed to such a thing!? He hated dogs and dogs hated him. He was petrified of dogs and they knew it. And what the fuck was this about Patricia going away? She’d never told him about this! Never asked his permission! How the fuck had he ended up in this situation? Look after Lance…. The Pit Bull Terrier! What next? Maybe the bastard would like it if I mowed his lawn whilst he’s away? Whilst he’s away fucking my wife until she turns into nothing but a wet puddle. Maybe I could mow his lawn whilst he cuts my grass! The feeling of dizziness which had overcome Steve, passed, and he looked towards the front door where he could see Patricia standing with a big smile on her face holding a large glass of iced tea.

“You look thirsty darling after all your hard work, perhaps you’d like this?”

And as Patricia held the drink out, despite her best efforts, some of the iced tea still spilled over the rim as she was overcome with convulsive laughter.

The TikTok Video

Annabel Donaldson awoke with a fright.

The re-occurring dream which always ended the same way had come again. In this dream Annabel was her 14 year old self on holiday by the seaside with her parents. She’d gaze from the sea’s edge into the water and dive in. But instead of seeing the tropical fish and coral which she had seen when standing on the water’s edge all she would see is darkness. Blackness. And she wasn’t able to swim again to the surface, to the light, she could only swim down, down, down, until the darkness enveloped her.

It didn’t take a genius to decipher what this dream symbolized. Annabel Donaldson was 104 years old and she knew that this dream meant impending death. Or perhaps her unwillingness to come to terms with her impending death which is why in the dream she always fought back against the darkness and tried to resist it, rather than accept and embrace it. That was okay, thought Annabel, I love life and I love being alive. Just because death was inevitable didn’t mean that one shouldn’t resent its intrusion.

Although this time was different. Now that Annabel was awake and had recovered from the fright of her dream she noticed a sharp pang in her stomach and severe cramping which left her gasping for breath. What was this? She had never experienced this before. Arising from her bed she went into the kitchen where she saw on the clock it was 10:30PM. Annabel made a cup of strong black tea to which she added a tablespoon of organic honey and the juice of half a lemon. She stirred her beverage and returned to her bed where she sat, propped up by pillows, and sipped slowly. The pain began to alleviate, the honey working it’s medicinal magic. Annabel put the cup on her bedside table, rearranged her pillows and drifted slowly back off to sleep.

Awaking the next morning at 7:30am the pain had returned and was even worse than the night before. Deciding that expert medical attention was what was required she phoned her youngest and dearest granddaughter, Fiona, to take her to the hospital. Fiona who loved her Grandmother more than anyone else in the world wanted to call her an ambulance although Annabel downplayed her condition and convinced her that this wasn’t necessary. She didn’t want to be taking up valuable medical resources if it meant that someone else, much sicker than her, may miss out.

Fiona arrived with Grandmother Annabel at the hospital just 32 minutes after she had received the call. Explaining to the receptionist on the ground floor her grandmother’s symptoms she was directed to take her to the 3rd floor where the gastroenterologist would see her shortly. Fiona pushed her grandmother in a wheelchair into the lift and hit the button for the 3rd floor although when the doors opened they were met with an empty department. There was no one to be seen. Fiona who was by now panicked that she’d misheard the receptionist and had taken her grandmother to the wrong floor was about to get back into the lift when she saw a sign saying that this was in fact the gastroenterology department. They were in the right place but where was everybody? Fiona started to push her grandmother down the long empty southern corridor in the hope that she might find someone, anyone, who could tell her where she was meant to go and who she was meant to see. Annabel who was a tough and stoical woman could feel her granddaughter’s tension and frustration and told her that it was okay, “perhaps, dear, all the doctors and nurses are busy working to treat the covid-19 patients? Perhaps they have been taken from this department and are working in the section of the hospital where all the covid-19 patients are located? Perhaps this is why there is no one around?”

Fiona pushed her grandmother down the next long corridor and still no one. Not a soul. Her exasperation continued to grow. Where was everybody!? Reaching the end of the corridor she turned left again where she was greeted by the immediate sight of 30-40 medical personnel dressed in full personal protective equipment and arranged in equal numbers along the two sides of the north facing corridor. They were all holding mops. What the fuck was this? Why were they all just standing there holding mops? Why did no one look at her or speak to her? Was this even real? She tapped the nearest medical orderly on the shoulder and said “Miss, miss, please. It’s my grandmother and she’s very sick and she needs to see the doctor.” The orderly looked at Fiona and Annabel with barely restrained annoyance. “Shhh! The recording is about to start. What are you even doing here? You can’t be in the video, go quickly and wait in the next corridor and someone will deal with you shortly.”

And then the music started and all the medical personnel started furiously mopping the area of the floor immediately in front of them….. The music boomed over the hospital speakers and from the other end of the corridor, the end furthest away from Annabel and Fiona, a humongous black woman emerged. Although this wasn’t just any humongous black woman. This was head nurse Brianna Brooks who was about to twerk her gigantic ass the entire length of the north facing corridor to the backdrop of “Who Let The Dog’s Out” by the Baha Men. All of this was being filmed by a centrally located wall mounted camera and would shortly be uploaded to TikTok. The nurses were hoping to crack 7 figures, that is, have their video viewed by more than one million people. Hell, if it really took off it might break 8 figures. 10 million viewers! It was aspirations such as these which got these modern day heroes out of bed every morning and excited about the day ahead.

The Baha Men sang, “Who let the dogs out?” and all the medical personnel who lined either side of the corridor answered in unison, “Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!” and the Baha Men sang again “Who let the dogs out?” to which all the medical personnel responded in thunderous unison “WOOF, WOOF, WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!” and all the while they continued mopping the floor space immediately in front of them as Brianna Brooks twerked her watermellonesque buttocks in perfect time to the beat, shimmying to the left, shimmying to the right, twerking that ass as the medical personnel answered again and again every time The Baha Men asked “Who let the dogs out?” “WOOF, WOOF, WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!”

In each of their hearts they knew and could feel that this video was something very very special and was going to go on and become a TikTok sensation and they would be famous. And why not? They were modern day Heroes and they deserved the recognition and acclaim that such publicity and videos would bring. And how did they know they were modern day Heroes? Because the newspapers kept telling them so.

“WOOF, WOOF, WOOF, WOOF, WOOF!”

The End.

The Domesticated Dog

Dennis looked down at the list of chores that his wife, Olivia, had left for him to complete….

Olivia, his third, much younger wife, had left last Sunday for a week long ayurvedic retreat with four of her closest girl friends and her personal trainer, Chad. Dennis had been annoyed that Olivia had taken her personal trainer with her, and was especially annoyed that He, Dennis, had to pay Chad’s expenses and salary at the retreat, although Olivia had assured him that it was necessary.

When Olivia had left she had handed Dennis a list of chores and told him that she expected them to be done by the time she returned next Monday. It was now Sunday morning and Dennis hadn’t even started. He looked down at the list, 1. Mow the lawn 2. Scrub bathrooms 3. Clean pool 4. Put protective varnish on new wooden outdoor table and chairs 5. Hang painting of angels. Dennis shuddered at the thought of this last one. He detested this painting of two cherubic angels floating in a starry moonlit sky although Olivia loved it. The painting was to be hung on the wall opposite their bed where Dennis would be forced to look at it last thing before going to sleep and first thing after waking up. He cursed the angels.

Dennis decided to start at the beginning and so set about mowing the lawn. He decided to make a game of it by pretending that he was actually the head groundskeeper at Augusta National Golf Club and the lawn he was mowing was The Masters’ course which millions of people would shortly be viewing on their television screens. Dennis had entered a rhythm and was progressing well with the grass when he felt his thigh vibrating. His grass trance was broken and a wave of fear washed over him. Was he, Dennis, having a stroke? This thought was quickly dismissed when he realized that it was only his phone ringing. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was his son.

Dennis had a problematic relationship with his son, Sean, who had made his fortune overseas in Hong Kong speculating in land and stock-market opportunities. In this he had been ably assisted by his beautiful girlfriend at the time, the youngest daughter of the Chief Secretary of Hong Kong. Or rather, the close access this relationship had given him to the Chief Secretary himself whom Sean had gotten along with very well and who had given him all kinds of inside information which Sean had utilized and profited from. As Sean was always saying, “knowledge is power and inside knowledge is the most powerful of all.” At the age of 38 Sean was comfortably retired and living off an investment income which exceeded Dennis’s own salary income as a Senior Partner in one of the nation’s largest accountancy firms. It wasn’t right! Sean always argued that he wasn’t retired and that it took large amounts of energy and focus to run his cattle properties and investment portfolios although Dennis knew that very little of this work was actually done by Sean himself and had instead been delegated to experts in their field…. Sean admitted this himself although described his role as more of an organizing one. 38 and retired! Dennis who had worked his whole life couldn’t imagine it.

Dennis answered the call. “Dad, where are you?” Dennis was confused. Where was he supposed to be? “Dad, did you forget? My place. UFC. BBQ. Hot chicks. Big drinks. All of the guys are already here. Where are you?” Dennis had forgotten. He would have loved to go to his son Sean’s place for a bbq and to watch the fights and hang out with the guys although he had to get his chores finished otherwise Olivia would be furious. He’d be relegated to the dog house and would face weeks of punishments and penalties for his failure to obey her wishes, his failure to live up to her expectations. “Hi Sean, I’m sorry son although I cant make it.” “What happened Dad? What’s going on. Are you okay?” “I’m fine son although I’ve got a long list of stuff which needs to be done around the house before Olivia gets back tomorrow.” This statement was met with silence. Dennis thought maybe they’d been disconnected. “Sean?” “Fucking hell Dad. Why do you let that woman treat you like a doormat? This is fucking ridiculous. Here’s what we’ll do…. You get over here and we’ll give that list to one of my workers who will get everything done for you. For fucks sake. You’re 64 years old and that woman has you running around like a trained poodle. I hate to see it.” This was one reason why Dennis had a problematic relationship with his son Sean. This misogynistic attitude Sean had towards women. The condescension and cynicism with which he viewed marriage. Sean didn’t realize that relationships were about compromise. Give and take. Although he would if he ever got married. Then he would learn! And then he’d be more empathetic and wise to the world his Father currently inhabited…. “Thanks for the offer son although I think it’s easier if I just do the chores myself.” “That’s fine Dad. Take it easy.” And Sean hung up. Blast his lack of understanding! Although no doubt when you were so young the whole world seemed so easy and uncomplicated. He’ll learn differently, thought Dennis. By God, he’ll learn differently! Dennis shook his head and returned to his mowing. The 17th fairway was looking spectacular.

Dennis continued with his chores, ticking them off the list as he completed each one. As he was scrubbing Olivia’s bathroom (they had separate bathrooms) some of the bleach had spattered into his eye as he scrubbed vigorously at a stubborn stain which he’d located behind her toilet. His eye had swelled and turned red although after washing the eye out with water for 15 minutes his vision had returned to normal. He’d also noted that the water in Olivia’s spa bath wasn’t draining as efficiently as it should have and after dissembling the piping underneath had found the reason. A large clump of Olivia’s hair had gotten stuck. This was removed and the water again drained efficiently.

The pool was a far simpler matter as Dennis emptied the skimmer box, added chlorine and removed fallen leaves with the leaf rake. Unfortunately there were a couple of leaves which were out of reach of the leaf rake so Dennis had to strip down and collect them by hand. Not fun when the water temperature is in the low single digits.

After the pool had been meticulously cleaned Dennis turned his attention to varnishing the outdoor furniture. Again, he felt the vibrating against his thigh. Checking the caller ID he saw that it was his old school friend Martin. “Martin, how are you?” “Going great Dennis, going great. Just ringing to confirm your attendance at tonight’s poker evening?” Fuck! Thought Dennis. He’d completely forgotten and after a day of hard work the last thing he felt like was an evening of hard drinking, hard gambling and cigar smoking with his poker buddies. And besides, Olivia had recently banned him from smoking cigars. It was doubtful that she’d find out if she was returning tomorrow although what if she did? It wasn’t worth the risk. It would certainly mean a spell in the doghouse! Although how could he explain to his friends that his wife had banned him from smoking cigars? They’d laugh at him. Ridicule him. Call him a “little bitch.” No. It wasn’t worth it….. “I’m sorry Martin although I’m going to have to cancel. I have a lot of work to do before the office tomorrow. Sorry for the late notice.” Dennis was again met with silence. “Okay, that’s fine Dennis. Thanks for letting me know and we’ll catch up soon.” Martin hung up the phone. Damn his eyes! thought Dennis. It was okay for Martin with his wife Beatrice. Old, plump, accommodating woman that she is. Lets Martin do as he damn well pleases! Let’s see how he’d handle a much younger, more beautiful woman, like my Olivia. Then his life wouldn’t be so easy that’s for sure! Dennis damned his friend Martin again and resumed his varnishing work.

It was 7.30PM before Dennis finished the varnishing which had taken him far longer than he had expected. Time for a quick ham and pickle sandwich before the hanging of the angels. Dennis looked in the fridge. No ham. Not even any cheese. Just pickles. And white bread, which he hated although which Olivia loved. Dennis barely managed to finish the sandwich which tasted disgusting before turning his attention to hanging the painting. Standing on a ladder he hammered a small nail into the wall 9 feet off the ground. Descending from the ladder he collected the painting and hung it by its string over the nail. He walked back to the bed and viewed the painting. It wasn’t as bad as he remembered. He might even get used to it and begin to like it. At this exact moment the string which kept the painting hanging broke and the painting of the angels fell to the floor and broke in half.

Dennis was in a state of shock. How had this happened? Olivia would suspect that he’d done this deliberately as she Knew that he hated the painting. Dennis began to cry as he contemplated spending months, perhaps even years, in the dog house.

THE END

The Instagram Whore

When people met Charlene in person the first thing they often noticed were her vacuous eyes. Eyes devoid of any expression, thought or meaning.

There was nothing there. And if it’s true that the eyes are the window to the soul this should have immediately set alarm bells ringing.

Although discounting the dead expression of her eyes, Charlene had many fine physical attributes. A symmetrical, youthful, classically beautiful face. A long, slim neck. Perky, bountiful breasts. A full, well rounded ass (300 squats a day MINIMUM!) And long, shapely legs.

She was a mighty fine specimen.

Charlene is an ‘Instagram Influencer’ and has 176 668 followers. The majority of whom are thirsty, beta boys from the west, Arab males (even thirstier) from all around that savage region and teenage girls who too, aspired to be like Charlene. An ‘Influencer’ who through their account would promote products for cash, post pictures of expensive restaurants, nightclubs, bars and cars and travel to remote and exotic locations around the world to have their photo taken. What a Life! For many, Charlene was the personification of the new “American Dream.”

On this day Charlene found herself in Nepal in the small village of Lete which is in the Mustang district, Dhawalagiri Zone. From her upper floor window Charlene looked around the small, bleak village and cursed the whole damn country and every peasant within it. How stupid she had been to take this trip which consisted of traversing the entire Annapurna circuit. This was day 16 and it had been nothing but hell. Before she had started she’d imagined small quaint villages, a colorful and grateful peasantry, and towering mountain peaks. Well, there had been! But the novelty had worn off after about half an hour and now she was left with nothing but sore, blistered feet, a makeup supply which was diminishing very quickly and had to be rationed, Rationed! Stale, used clothes and a body odor that was becoming more and more conspicuous due to her reluctance to utilize the cold showers, which sadly, were often her only option in which to wash.

Charlene set these sad thoughts aside and instead determined to think positively. Today was going to be a great day! Plans had been put in motion the night before to hire a guide and donkey (for Charlene to ride) to take Charlene 2482 meters up a nearby mountain to a small Tibetan monastery. At this out of the way monastery, Charlene planned to have her photo taken giving alms to the Buddhist monks and also meditating in the lotus pose. Charlene figured these photos were good for at least another two to three thousand followers on the Gram. Spirituality sells. And Eastern Spirituality sells very very well.

From her upstairs hovel she heard the bray of the donkey and the unintelligible chatter of her guide who had just arrived and was speaking with the owner of the guesthouse by the front door. Such a stupid language thought Charlene. She couldn’t understand a word. The sound of footsteps on the wooden stairs immediately preceded a knock on the door and when Charlene answered she was greeted with the sight of a moon-faced young boy who announced to Charlene that her transport and guide had arrived and would she please come.

Charlene could never have imagined that riding a donkey could be so uncomfortable! Or so slow. Her guide, Bibek, ambled alongside the donkey as they began the steep mountain ascent. “Bibek, when will be there? This damned donkey is so slow.” Bibek looked at Charlene with a practiced look of kindly patience. He was continually frustrated and upset by the entitled attitude of so many of the visitors to his country although had learned not to show it lest he cause offense and lose a potential tip. “Miss Charlene, we are advancing rapidly and should be at the monastery in approximately 2 hours and 15 minutes.” Charlene felt herself close to tears. “2 hours and 15 minutes! God damn this donkey!” And she brought the bamboo cane down hard on the donkey’s rump.

Over the course of the next hour she felt the donkey getting slower and slower and no matter how hard Charlene thrashed him with the cane he refused to move any faster. Bibek, the guide, was looking worried. Finally the donkey came to a standstill, refusing to budge. “Miss Charlene, please descent from Pedro.” Charlene was confused. “Please descent from the donkey Miss Charlene.” Charlene laughed bitterly, “How strange, I didn’t realize this stupid donkey was Mexican.” Bibek silenced a sigh. After Charlene dismounted, Bibek stroked Pedro’s head and whispered in Nepalese into his ear. The donkey neighed aggressively back. Bibek fed him a carrot and continued to whisper into his ear. Pedro in turn continued to neigh in an uncooperative tone. Charlene who had wondered off whilst Bibek attempted to persuade the donkey to continue, had returned…. “Bibek, move aside. Sometimes words are not enough to convince a stupid, uncooperative brute. Sometimes action is needed!” Bibek turned and saw Charlene standing behind him with a small boulder raised above her head ready to be brought down with savage force upon Pedro’s neck. Bibek grabbed her wrists and loosened the stone from her grasp. Charlene began to cry in anger and frustration and screamed “God damn this stupid, uncooperative shit of a Donkey!”

Bibek knew that Pedro would refuse to transport Charlene any further. Whilst Bibek had learned to tolerate the bad manners and attitudes of many of the tourists, Pedro had not, and his patience with these people was extremely limited. Bibek had tried to bribe him with promises of oats and carrots on his return if he’d just complete this trip although Pedro had replied in the negative. Charlene sat on a log with tears streaming down her face. “Bibek, my feet are so sore and I cannot walk to the monastery! I cannot and will not!” Choking back sobs Charlene turned her face to the sky and screamed “Oh God, why have you forsaken me!?”

“Miss Charlene, it is true that Pedro will not move any further although all is not lost. We can still make the ascent to the monastery. The remaining part of the journey is less steep and I can carry you on my shoulders.”

Charlene’s sobbing began to subside.

Bibek put one knee on the ground whilst Charlene clambered onto his shoulders. The large camera which she held in her right hand swayed back and smashed Bibek in the face. Charlene checked to see there was no damage to the camera. It was an expensive camera. They began the ascent at a steady pace.

“Bibek, how long until we are there?”

“Approximately 2 hours and 35 minutes, Miss Charlene.”

Charlene sighed and started to cry again. Why did everything have to take so long!?

THE END

The Belt

“Because I’m a woman.”

Steve couldn’t understand. “What on Earth does that have to do with it Patricia? What on Earth does being a woman have to do with you wanting other men, who you’re not even married to, to cane and thrash your naked ass? What!?”

Patricia leaned back in her chair and took a deep breath. “Steve, it was your idea for us to have an open marriage and to discuss what went on with our other partners. Remember? Total honesty and total transparency? Reluctantly I agreed. I didn’t want this. And now that I’m playing by the rules which you insisted on, you’re getting obnoxious and aggressive….”

“Checkmate,” Steve thought bitterly to himself.

It was true that the idea for an open marriage had been Steve’s, although he now deeply regretted it. Steve had had little success with women when he was younger on account of him being a bit of a Dweeb. He had married Patricia when he was 24 and she was 29, and she’d been the first and only woman he’d ever slept with. Although he had kissed a few girls before Patricia it had never gone any further….. But since marriage a strange phenomenon had taken place. Women had begun to pay more attention to Steve. Perhaps marriage had given him a new aura of confidence? An aura of unavailability? Perhaps it was due to the new clothes Patricia had bought for him which fitted him so much better than the clothes he’d previously worn? Perhaps it was the weights and fitness regime Patricia had him training four times a week? Although more likely it was a combination of all these factors.

Recognizing that women were starting to pay attention to him where previously they had not, got Steve thinking about all the sexual experiences he’d missed out on in his youth. And it made him greedy. Greedy that he should make up for lost time…. And so he had broached the idea of an open marriage with Patricia. At first Patricia had been disgusted and angry and had not spoken to him for hours afterwards. Although Steve had persisted and after months of badgering her, Patricia had acquiesced.

The couple had agreed on the following rules….

i) That both parties would be completely honest and transparent about what went on with their other partners.

ii) That neither party would sleep with any of the other’s friends.

iii) That no sexual relations outside of their marriage would take place in their house.

iv) That only first names would be used when discussing their other partners.

Steve leaned forward in his chair and looked across the red and white checked tablecloth at his wife. “I still don’t get it though Patricia…. what does being a woman have to do with you enjoying having your bare bottom thrashed by strangers?” Patricia looked at him with bemusement, “Steve, women enjoy being dominated and humbled by strong, authoritative men. It’s perfectly natural. Do you think ‘Fifty Shades of Grey’ is the bestselling book amongst women of all time by accident? Deep down, in our hidden biological recesses women secretly yearn to be dominated, to be submissive to a strong man. It’s innate to our biology.”

Steve felt sickened. “So why did you marry me then?”

“Perhaps we better go Steve. Perhaps we better pay the bill and go.”

Date night at “Luciano’s,” the city’s finest Italian restaurant, had been a disaster.

Since they’d embarked on their open relationship Patricia had had a lot of success whilst Steve had not. Steve had found out the hard way that the new attention he was getting from other women did not translate into sexual success. He’d had a few dates with other women although all they’d resulted in were him paying for the meal, and or drinks, followed by a kiss on the cheek and the woman telling him that they’d be much better of as “friends.” Steve knew that these repeated offers of friendship were a polite brush off and that none of these women actually wanted to be friends with him. Patricia on the other hand had had a lot of success and was currently dating four different men. Typically she was out 5-6 nights a week and often the only night she would spend with Steve was on their weekly “date night.” The weekly date night however had turned into a torture, as all they talked about was Patricia’s sexually depraved experiences over the preceding 6 nights. It wasn’t that Steve enjoyed talking about Patricia’s experiences with her although he couldn’t help himself. He couldn’t not know and he couldn’t stop himself from asking and finding out about every sordid detail. And so he had learned about the canings and the whippings and the thrashings and how “Johnny” had pulled Patricia around by her hair forcing her to take him into her mouth and swallow every, last, drop.

The following evening Steve sat on the end of their bed and watched as Patricia applied her mascara. She looked ravishing in a white skirt and a mauve halter top with her dark auburn hair hanging down past her shoulders and her lips painted a deep scarlet red. “What a body,” Steve thought silently, petulantly to himself. “Would you like me to order you an Uber, Darling?” “That wont be necessary, thanks Steve.” “Well, if you’re driving, make sure you don’t drink too much.” “I’m not driving Steve.” Steve felt a sudden rush of fury rise within him, “He’s picking you up! He’s picking you up from our house!” Patricia walked across to where Steve was sitting on the end of the bed and stroked the top of his head, “Steve, no one is picking me up. Calm down.” Patricia saw Steve’s befuddlement and confusion as to what exactly was going on. “I’m walking Darling.” “Walking! where exactly is it you’re going?” Patricia looked at him with a sparkle in her eye, “I don’t think you’ve met yet our new young and handsome next door neighbor?”

And so Steve spent the rest of the night on the couch, watching consecutive episodes of “Ozark” as loud, resounding cracks came from the house of his new next door neighbor. The sound of leather on flesh. Steve reasoned that he could watch his favorite Netflix show with headphones on and cancel out the sounds of violence, although that would represent just one humiliation too far….

THE END

Albert Johnson’s Birthday Party

“Albert Johnson made his first legendary appearance in “The Greatest Cocktail Ever Invented.” If you haven’t already done so I recommend reading that story first before reading this one.

February 24th is a date that everyone in our village looks forward to as this is Albert Johnson’s birthday, and every year he hosts a party, without equal, on his country property.

Albert Johnson, inventor, businessman, investor, adventurer, connoisseur of women, food, wine and travel, is my neighbor and great friend. 36 years my elder, he is a man I’ve always looked up to as a Father as the life knowledge that he has earned through experience and has subsequently passed on has proven invaluable. I know no wiser man than Albert.

The party was set to commence at 7PM although Albert had asked me to arrive at 5PM to discuss common stock investment opportunities. We have an interesting way of doing this where Albert will put forward an investment idea and my role is to play devil’s advocate. And vice versa. These are very open and frank discussions and often I’m able to put forth some knowledge or angle which Albert had previously overlooked and so have been able to save him much time and money. This kind of investment exercise (proponent-adversary) is great and I recommend it to everyone, you can even do it by yourself, although to be successful and worthwhile ego has to be put aside.

We had been at this for over two hours when the first guests began to arrive bearing presents. Over 250 guests were expected and many of these people I knew although many I did not. Three guests that I did not know although who I quickly became acquainted with were a trio of beautiful Polish girls who were studying on exchange at the nearby university. They were also employees at Albert’s beach side hotel where he had set them to work in the bar. I’d have to visit the hotel bar more often! We were having a lot of fun together and it was my plan for once the party finished that I would take them to one of the local beach coves for some night swimming….

The party was in full swing and had been going on for awhile and sporting contests, the roasting of meats and the drinking of strong cocktails was happening everywhere I looked. On Albert’s floodlit tennis court two couples in a state of partial undress were playing a competitive set, although due to the consumption of too many “Big Johnsons,” a cocktail that Albert had invented, the standard wasn’t great. In Albert’s large swimming pool a group of 10 men and 10 women, the women riding on the men’s shoulders, were fighting a battle where each couple was trying to pull the others down. In one open field 8 people were playing a highly querulous game of P├ętanque with many accusations of cheating being leveled every time it came to measuring who had thrown their balls the closest. On the balcony, a shooting station had been set up with BB guns and a target located 30m away in a tree although Albert had this stopped before a shot was fired. In the living room a crowd had gathered as one of the Polish girls, Zofia, sat at the piano and sung “Those Were The Days,”

Just tonight I stood before the tavern
Nothing seemed the way it used to be
In the glass, I saw a strange reflection
Was that lonely woman really me
…”

The song finished and everyone clapped, mesmerized by the girl’s beauty and talent.

Just then I felt Albert’s hand on my shoulder. “Charlie, I need to speak to you outside.”

“You’ve really done it now son. Do you really have to say everything which comes to your mind on Twitter?”

“What are you talking about Albert?”

Albert took out his iPhone and started scrolling down. “Earlier today you retweeted an unflattering picture of Scott Parsons with the comment, and I quote, “I have no idea what a fucking Scott Parsons even is and I refuse to look it up lest I die of embarrassment.””

“So what Albert, what’s the big deal?”

“Scott Parsons is here!”

I burst out into laughter. “I didn’t realize that you were friends with our fat and corrupt state minister of health, Albert. My apologies.”

“Ahhhh, so you did look him up! I’m not friends with him Charlie, I despise the man, although he was very helpful to me previously when I wanted to get a piece of land rezoned so that it could have an old people’s village built on it. To keep him sweet I sometimes have to entertain the fat sack of shit and tonight is one of those nights. Anyway, I just wanted to warn you because he’s drunk and mad as hell and he’s been telling other guests that he wants to fight. Apparently the hashtag #IHaveNoIdeaWhatAFuckingScottParsonsEvenIs has gone viral. My suggestion is if you cross paths and he finds out who you are just apologize and be done with it.”

“I will not apologize Albert. If the fat fuck wants to fight he can have a fight.”

Albert laughed. “Excellent, I was actually hoping you’d say that.”

Above the buzz and noise of the assembled guests I heard the roar of an unhinged lunatic, “WWWIIIINNNNNKKKKKLLLLLLLLEEEEEE!”

I looked in the direction from where this bellowing came to see the massive florid face of our corrupt and incompetent state health minister. A man who had recently been caught breaking many of the corona virus rules that he himself had forced upon the general public. Since his being exposed as a hypocrite over his own violations of the rules he’d imposed on others the calls for his resignation had been growing louder and more numerous by the day.

“Hello Scott, enjoying the party?”

“Fuck you Winkle, outside, now!”

“We are outside Scott.”

By now the whole party had stopped and had gathered to watch as our state health minister made an exhibition of himself.

Scott lunged at me and swung a right hook with all his might. I stepped back and he missed by a good 30cm. It’s a sad fact that the majority of men constantly overrate their fighting ability. Scott was one of these men. 125kg of lard, zero muscle definition, no training, no fighting experience and little coordination, this was embarrassing…. He regathered his balance and charged at me. I stepped quickly to my left and landed a brutal right hook to his solar plexus. He went down heavily gasping for breath. I put my knee into his stomach and leaning down whispered into his ear so that only he could hear “if you ever try that again you fat piece of shit I will kill you.”

Scott Parsons began to cry.

I looked for the three Polish girls, it was time for a swim.

THE END

Karen

One of the most perverse effects of The Nazi and Communist governments was to incentivize citizens to spy on and dob in their neighbors for speech and thought “crimes.” We know this, intrinsically, to be wrong. And yet many people, perverted by corrupt ideologies, complied, and as a result citizens were killed or imprisoned. The Gospel of Matthew records Jesus’ saying: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself” (22:37-39).

Karen lived alone.

And as a seasoned and experienced public servant who had spent 39 years working in the federal ministry of education had a professional and vested interest in interfering in other peoples’ lives. She loved it. She thrived on it. The power and influence that came with deciding what the nation’s youngest and most impressionable minds would be taught was intoxicating.

That said, she now appreciated the “stay at home” order that had been issued to all non essential workers by the federal government pertaining to mitigating the perceived risks of the Corona virus. The letters of complaint Karen wished to write against numerous businesses and organizations (restaurants, cafes, telecommunication companies, airlines etc) which had wronged her had been building up steadily over the previous months and she had feared not being able to find the time to write them. With the stay at home order this was no longer an issue and Karen devoted her time between the hours of 8am- 12pm every day to writing to the relevant people within these groups detailing precisely how their organization had let her down and what she wished for in recompense. This had gone on for 10 days before the letters (94 in total) were finally finished and sent off.

Karen was now free to devote more time to her pet project of collecting evidence against her fellow citizens who disobeyed the government’s strict rules regarding social conduct during the time of Corona. The rules are too numerous to list in detail although include…. No outside gatherings of more than 3 people. No trips to the beach or into nature. Trips to the supermarket or drugstore are permitted. Restaurants, cafes, bars, movie cinemas are all closed.

Such simple rules thought Karen although as always there would be miscreants and social deviants who disregarded them, thinking only of themselves and not caring a fig for the common good. Four of these people were her neighbors. As she worked hard every morning on her letters of complaint she’d watch from her study, which looked out onto the grasslands, lake and forest located behind her house, as her neighbors, John and Jane, took their 2 boys, Scott and Adam, out for sunshine, exercise and a picnic. The selfishness of these people! How often the cries of excitement from the two young boys who were so happy to be outdoors and playing in the sun would interrupt her thoughts and the writing of the letters of complaint.

Today, armed with her digital camera she would again photograph their exploits which broke two government commands (no outside gatherings of more than 3 people, no trips into nature.) The photographs would constitute the bulk of the evidence (there were also some videos) which Karen would shortly send on to the authorities and John and Jane would be appropriately sanctioned, likely a heavy fine although perhaps even jail time? Karen’s heart started beating fast at the thought that if John and Jane were imprisoned perhaps the kids would be taken away from them and put into a government facility and eventually fostered out to a more responsible couple. A couple who knew how to follow the rules. Without a doubt this would be the best outcome for everyone involved and Karen was filled with happiness knowing that she was doing the right thing.

THE END

From Russia with Legs

This story is the sequel to my previous story “A Cautionary Tale” published one week ago. If you haven’t already done so I recommend reading that one first.

Looking to my left I saw the beautiful long legged Russian lady with the perfect ass swimming in my direction towards the bar. She stopped at the chair two down from me and with a graceful and fluent action elevated herself out of the the pool and onto the seat. Stunning. Long blonde hair, high cheekbones, ice cold pale blue eyes and a cruel, arrogant mouth. She looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and maintaining eye contact extended my hand, “Charlie.” “Hi Charlie, I’m Julia.”

“Charlie, what were you laughing about so hard before? I was watching you talking to that miserable, stupid looking little man and you were laughing so hard you fell off your chair. He was so furious he stormed off. What was the big joke?” I told her the story about the Englishman having been tricked three times in one week by lady-boys although left out the part about him being sucked off even after finding out…. She laughed and laughed and said “he looks exactly like the kind of silly fool who would be incapable of discerning the difference between a lady-boy and a real woman.” I agreed and complimented her on her English which was excellent and she beamed with happiness.

I’d already checked her left hand for a wedding or engagement ring although there was none. Not that this would have stopped me although knowledge is power and the more insights you can infer through observation the stronger your position. She ordered a Singapore Sling, accepted one of my cigarettes and we talked about Russia, where I’ve traveled, skiing, superior brands of vodka (her recommendation is “Beluga” from her home region of Siberia,) Russian authors and composers and body surfing. She’d tried to body surf at the local beaches but failed. I promised to teach her. Before I left back to my room I told her that I was going to take her to the beach for dinner and that we’d meet in the hotel lobby at 7.30. Again she beamed with happiness.

Arriving in the lobby at 7.30 exactly I found Julia already waiting wearing a black strapless dress and black sandals. She’d been admiring herself in the large mirror which hangs over the sofa. Knowing that I’d caught her admiring her own reflection she blushed faintly and smiled. “Do you like what you see?” I asked. She smiled shyly and asked “Do you like what you see?” “Very much!” and she smiled and blushed some more. I took her hand and led her out of the hotel towards the beach where I know an excellent restaurant.

“The Rock’s Edge” is located on a rock’s edge. Not the kitchen itself but the table and chairs where the patrons sit. On giant granite boulders which are relatively flat are 14 tables of different sizes. The boulders extend from the mainland into the sea and are traversed by narrow wooden bridges. I come here often and am very well liked by the waitstaff because I’m always polite, but more importantly, I tip well. Thai people love money and there’s no quicker way to a Thai’s heart than monetary generosity. A little goes a long way and it ensures that I’m always treated impeccably. The head waitress approached our table radiating good will and pressing her hands together in prayer fashion bowed slightly…. “Sawadee ka, Monsieur Winkle.” I’m not sure why she always uses the French title of “Monsieur” with me as I’m not French and neither is she. Perhaps she likes how it sounds? I ordered a selection of dishes for us both to share and also a bottle of Italian Prosecco. If you’re out at a restaurant, taking the initiative and ordering on behalf of your date is a strong statement making move and I recommend it to all my readers.

The food was excellent and the Prosecco clean and refreshing. During the course of the evening I felt Julia’s leg being pressed more and more firmly into my own. Her breathing was shallow, quick and uneven. Jokingly, I took her wrist and with two fingers measured her pulse…. “I hope you’re not going to collapse before we get back to the hotel. I don’t want to have to carry you.” She looked back at me with an almost frenzied expression and reaching across playfully slapped my forearm. “Charlie, take me home and I’ll make you a drink in my room.” I paid the check and we left.

Sitting on Julia’s balcony which overlooked the well lit pool and tropical gardens she brought me out a vodka martini. Julia had changed into a white silk dressing gown which finished five inches above her knee. I put the drink on the table and pulled her into me kissing her softly on her mouth. Her body felt as if it was electrified. Whilst still kissing her I ran my fingers very slowly and very lighly up and down the inside of her right thigh. As my strokes reached higher and higher I could feel satin, lace underwear. I also felt something hard and long and tubular in those lace underwear. My heart stopped. I froze. My blood turned to ice. I attempted to speak although no words came out. Finally I managed to stand up, my knees trembling, and back slowly from the balcony into Julia’s room.

She looked at me startled. “Darling, what’s wrong?” “Between your legs, what is that?” “Darling, I thought you knew, I’m so sorry, I was sure that you knew.” I couldn’t breathe. I could hardly even stand. I watched Julia’s cruel, arrogant mouth turn from an expression of surprise into one of delighted mirth. Reaching into her panties she removed a small banana. She burst into laughter. “I got you Charlie, I got you…. I’m sorry Darling although after that hilarious story you told me this afternoon I couldn’t help myself, the joke was too irresistible.” From being close to collapse my strength quickly returned and in two strides I had caught Julia around the waist and hoisted her onto my shoulder. Carrying her inside and throwing her gently onto the bed it was time for some retribution.

THE END

A Cautionary Tale

One night in Bangkok and the world’s your oyster
The bars are temples but the pearls ain’t free
You’ll find a god in every golden cloister
And if you’re lucky then the God’s a she
I can feel an angel sliding up to me

-Murray Head

Every year for 2 months I like to take a break from my work and head to Phuket, Thailand.

There’s a nice resort in the north of the Island where I stay which is luxurious and comfortable and located in close proximity to the Muay Thai gym where I train. In my opinion it is the finest Muay Thai gym on the island as the focus is solely on technique and craftsmanship and not on output and volume. Perfect practice = perfect performance.

This evening was a day off from the gym for me and I was swimming laps in the hotel pool. The pool measures around 30 meters long and 25 meters wide and is surrounded by interesting rock formations and tropical gardens. In the middle of the pool is a bar where you can sit on stools which stand one foot above the water level and enjoy a drink.

In the pool that day I could see two other people through my goggles when I put my head under the water. A bow legged Chinese man and a very long legged beauty with a perfectly formed ass. The bow legged Chinese man was practicing what looked like Tai Chi in the shallow end and the woman with the long legs (maybe Russian?) was in the deep end of the pool treading water. I’d had enough of swimming up and down the pool and so swam to the bar to order a drink, have a cigarette, and watch the sun go down into the ocean.

When I got to the pool bar I ordered a whiskey and soda and realized that I’d been wrong…. aside from me, there were 3 other people in the pool. The bow legged Chinese, the Russian beauty and a pale, balding, fat, sunburned and bedraggled looking sad sack, perhaps English? who was sitting 3 stools down from me. He was staring down into his brightly colored cocktail as if it contained an answer to a particularly damning question. The man wore a troubled, disturbed expression. Perhaps he’d found out his house had just burned down and he’d forgotten to renew the insurance? I didn’t know and I didn’t care…. There are few things I hate worse than speaking with miserable looking people so I deliberately focused my attention away from him so he wouldn’t think of striking up a conversation.

“How’s it going?” I winced. I looked back in the direction of the miserable, sullen looking Englishman who was now looking at me. “Going great” I replied. To dissuade him from talking more I didn’t ask him how he was doing and instead focused my attention back towards the Russian beauty who was now performing somersaults underneath the water. “I’m doing the opposite of great, I’ve never been lower in my whole life.” I winced again. I’ve never been able to understand the selfishness of people who feel entitled to burden others with their problems. It is something I never do but the courtesy is so seldom returned. I turned back and looked at this stranger who I wished would just disappear. He didn’t. “What happened?” I asked him.

“Well, last night I was in “The Rose Bud” bar hanging out with the girls. Buying them drinks, playing pool, playing “Connect 4,” and everyone was having a great time, lots of fun, and we were all drinking a lot…. Over the course of the evening I developed a real connection with a beautiful young lady named Joy who’d just arrived in Phuket, never worked in a bar before, and after the bar closed we went home together.”

I was starting to enjoy this. There were two, maybe three potential outcomes from here, none of them good, although I pretended to play dumb…..

“But that sounds great. Beautiful young lady, never worked in a bar before, good connection… why are you looking so miserable?”

“When I got her back to my hotel room it turned out that she wasn’t a she.”

“Wasn’t a “she?”” I asked, screaming with laughter on the inside.

“No. The she was a he. A ladyboy, a kathoey.”

“So did you kick her out?”

“Sure! Of course I did!

“So what’s the problem? No harm, no foul.”

“Well….. I kicked her out after she sucked me off.”

I was doing everything I could to try to not burst out laughing although it was getting harder and harder.

“Don’t worry, this kind of thing could happen to anyone once. You’d had too much to drink, were in too high spirits, and the ladyboys here, some of them really do look like beautiful women. As I said, don’t be too hard on yourself, could happen to anyone once….”

“But it’s the third time it’s happened to me this week!”

That was it. I couldn’t control it any longer and I burst out into uproarious laughter. I laughed so hard my sides hurt. The man’s face had turned crimson with rage. Looking at it caused me to laugh even harder and it got so bad I fell off my stool into the water. Finally I managed to calm myself and climb back onto my stool. The sad, angry man had left. I ordered another whiskey and soda and the barman gave me a cigarette from a pack I keep behind the bar. Looking to my left I saw the beautiful long legged Russian lady with the perfect ass swimming in my direction towards the bar….

Tonight was going to be a great night!

THE END

The Sociology Department

“And as the world burned, they danced and danced and danced until finally they could dance no more.” -Unknown

There’s an old joke that goes,

The Communist Dictator of Albania was becoming more and more disillusioned with the different communist governments around the world as he saw them drifting further and further away from the true communism…. Once a country drifted too far from the “true” communism he would simply stop visiting and cut of all relations. So first he stopped going to China, and then he cancelled all visits to Vietnam and then the Soviet Union was also put on the black list, and on and on it went until finally there were only two places left in the world he could visit and feel truly comfortable. The first was The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea, and the second was Yale University’s English department.

The Sociology department at Du Bois University wasn’t as politically radical as the English department at Yale. It was worse.

And because of the Corona virus the shit had just hit the fan.

The entire student body had been told to stay at home and study online and that meant that the courses that the university taught, the lecture notes, the tutorials, would all be available over the internet. Potentially for anyone to read and scrutinize. And the internet was forever. For Du Bois’s esteemed sociology professors this was an intolerable situation!

Thus, an emergency meeting between the sociology department and the Chancellor of the university had been called.

The head of the sociology department, a Ms Fartuti, an obese black woman with a shaved head and one arm, (the other arm had been crushed by a police horse during a protest she’d attended and subsequently amputated after becoming chronically infected) was the first to speak. “Chancellor, she/her. You can see my problem, our problem…. if some of these courses are read, or quoted out of context…. how the general public might get the wrong idea?”

The Chancellor was confused and still didn’t really know what this was all about. “Ms Fartuti, can you please just tell me as straightforwardly as possible what exactly is the problem?”

Ms Fartuti was exasperated and irate. She tried to calm herself down. Deep breath. “Chancellor, if the notes from my course “Why Whiteness is a Cancer that must be Exterminated” are read by media organizations or the general public, we could be in for some serious blowback. The university could face unfair criticism or even lose government funds.”

“Indeed, I see your concern Ms Fartuti. Thank you for alerting me to this serious situation.”

Ms Laghari, an Indian woman, a fanatical lesbian and Dwarf (she measured only 111cm,) had taught at Du Bois university for 33 years and was the next to speak. “Chancellor, she/her. Under no circumstance can the notes from my course ever be made public. The media would twist the meaning and enrollment at the university would likely plummet in future years as a result.”

The Chancellor looked at Ms Laghari with barely disguised disgust. He could hardly stand to be in this woman’s presence for more than a moment as she omitted the most foul body odor, mixed with breath which stunk of cinnamon and onions. A lethal combination. Breathing through his mouth he asked “And what is your course, Ms Laghari?”

“Is Lesbianism the only answer to the climate crises.”

The Chancellor shuddered.

Finally it was Mrs Carter’s turn to talk. Mrs Carter was the most radical of the three. A convicted terrorist who had been prosecuted and found guilty of blowing up a Federal building (although later acquitted on appeal,) her black husband, Lebron Carter, was currently serving 15 consecutive life sentences for assassinating 7 white police officers.

Their relationship had begun after she had started writing Mr Carter in prison in awe of what he had done and they’d been married 2 years later in a short prison ceremony. There had been no honeymoon.

“Chancellor, she/her. I of course agree with my esteemed colleagues. Our lecture notes can never be allowed to see the light of day. There would be uproar amongst the general unenlightened population. The university would be slandered and sabotaged worldwide by sensationalist news organizations.”

The Chancellor was almost afraid to ask. “And what is your course, Mrs Carter?

“Is the forced amputation of limbs of able bodied people the only way to create an equal and fair world?”

The Chancellor felt a chill go down his spine.

“Comrades, I agree with you that your courses and course notes should never be seen by the wider world. The consequences for this university would no doubt be calamitous. Although how are we going to justify to the students not putting these course notes online? Who will we blame?”

The Sociology Professors had already thought about this and answered in unison,

“The Alt-Right.”

The Chancellor nodded in sage agreement. You could get away with anything if you blamed the alt-right as no one would dare fight back or even question your reasoning.

THE END

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