Short Story Competition 5 (Bad Romance) - Vote Here! (May be slightly NSFW)

Aoibheann

Apologies, this post is pretty much entirely a rip-off of a previous one by pickarooney.. :P And by NSFW, I mean you'd probably be fairly embarrassed if caught reading bodice-ripper style stories in work.. :pac:

For the past 3 weeks we ran the latest Variations on a Theme competition.

The theme this time was:
A Bad Romance

For more details on the competition, see the discussion in this thread.

Seven people entered this time and their stories appear below for your approval. These stories are posted anonymously and the winner revealed after voting closes, at around 1.40 a.m. on Sunday August 8th. You may vote for as many stories as you like, all we ask is that you give a reason for your vote in the form of a post on this thread.

Please give the authors as much feedback, positive or negative but above all constructive, as you can.

Voting is public, and votes without a post in the thread will be ignored.

The order of the stories is, as usual, randomly generated.

Good luck to everyone involved! Thanks in advance to those who take the time to read and critique the entries.

Aoibheann

Version 7

Hotel Grande

The rain was falling heavily as Rufus Abair ran towards the Hotel Grande – bullets of H2O fired by rogue angels perched in the heavy grey clouds, betraying their Master as Rufus was about to betray his wife. He was already late for his appointment, and the initial reckless thrill and excitement he felt for the meeting was beginning to give way to feelings of shame, doubt and guilt. He shook the niggling thoughts from his mind. His head physically mirrored the emotional thought, scattering a stream of droplets from his coat. He’d been looking forward to today, and the moral police and their sizeable batons weren’t going to stand in his way.

Rufus dashed up the steps of the Hotel Grande and walked through the open door into the lobby. He swept his hand through his wild, raven-black hair and peered around the lobby to see where his acquaintance was. He spotted her almost immediately – a tall, blonde haired woman sitting on an antique wooden chair by the elevator, her legs tucked daintily under the seat as a swan might tuck its head under its wing at night to sleep. She was holding the red rose that she normally held, except on that Sunday that the shops were all closed and she had to use a daisy she’d taken from the reception vase, to signify her presence. Her makeup was freshly applied and her lips were full and plump, like two sunburnt seals lying so close to one another that there was no space between them. She wore large, oversized sunglasses, the type that Lady Gaga might wear if she wasn’t wearing a telephone hat. Rufus was a big fan of Lady Gaga, and his acquaintance was happy to wear accessories that matched his interests.

Rufus walked over to the lady and took her rose. “Shall we?” he asked. She smiled and pushed up her sunglasses onto her head. She raised her hand and dangled a set of keys. Room 204. It was always Room 204.

Within minutes, Rufus’ coat was slung over a coat-rack and he sank onto the king-sized bed, kicking off his brown leather shoes. The woman walked towards the bathroom, her blonde hair flowing graciously behind her like a lion’s mane.

“I’ll just slip into something a little more... to your liking,” she purred seductively. Rufus wasn’t even listening - he was busy trying to climb out of his suit.

Stripped to his boxers, which were a kaleidoscope of blue, brown and red stripes, Rufus felt a familiar stirring sensation. A secret rendezvous was always thoroughly exciting. Then, he noticed a flash of light illuminating the bed covers. He pulled his trousers from underneath him and pulled out his mobile phone. Set to vibrate. Rufus made a mental note to experiment with the phone later, and then checked who was calling. Sh*t. It was Sally-Ann-Marie.

Rufus answered the call nervously. “Hey honey, what’s up?” he said, eyeing the bathroom door apprehensively. “Do you need something?”

“Just calling to see when you’ll be home for dinner. Twilight has gone over to her friend’s house for a sleepover and Nasanjay-James is at soccer practice, so it’ll be just you and me.”

“Just you I’m afraid,” replied Rufus, “I’m working late again. Stocktaking. Going to be a long night.”

He rushed a goodbye and ended the call, turning his phone off completely. The blonde woman unlocked the bathroom door and came out wearing a very, very short silk negligee, with fishnet stockings to match.

“Telling lies again?” she asked, before walking over to Rufus and pressing her body up against him. His large, rugged frame was warm to the touch and slightly hairy, like a metrosexual caveman.

“I do what I have to do, you know it turns you on,” replied Rufus, running his hands up along her thighs and over her fishnet stockings. The criss-cross stockings were strong and rough, and Rufus felt like some sort of anti-prisoner. This was one cage he wanted to break into.

They fell into the bed, their limbs entwined and tangled like two centipedes playing Twister. They made love, excited by the knowledge that Room 202 and Room 206 (and maybe Room 104 below and Room 304 above) were being disturbed by their passion. Rufus was filled with ecstasy – and this time he wasn’t sixteen and acting as a drugs mule for his father, this time, it was a feeling of unparalleled happiness. Later, as the sun began to set outside through the window, Rufus lay silently on the bed, holding the blonde woman tightly in his arms. This was more than just a dirty affair, this was thrilling and dangerous and passionate.

“So, when do you want to meet again?” he asked the woman.

“Same time next week?” she asked sleepily, nuzzling her head on his chest.

“Great, look forward to it.”

The woman looked up at Rufus, staring straight into his eyes. “I love you Rufus,” she said.

“I love you too, Sally-Ann-Marie,” came the reply.

Aoibheann

Version 7

A shrill scream pierced the warm night air, marking the beginning of an eventful night on the lesbian resort.

Windows at the front of the resort blinked on in random sequence, like a giant neon sign coming to life. Within minutes, there was a large crowd gathered around the source of the scream. Tiffany was standing beside the lifeless, contorted, naked body of a man. He was blindfolded with a pair of tights. Some of the girls were repulsed, others were curious, all were shocked. Someone had covered his modesty with a purse - a very small purse, like a strange Louis Vuitton condom. It was obvious that he had fallen from a great height. Eyes looked skyward towards the roof of the resort, twelve storeys above the ground. One or two of them caught sight of a blonde head of hair disappear from view. "Holy crap," said Stephanie. "Was that...?"

***

Fifteen minutes earlier, the emergency exit opened on the roof of the resort. A man and a woman drunkenly stumbled through. The woman was giggling nervously like a teenage girl on her first date. The man put his index finger to his mouth and said "Shhhh! – if I'm caught up here, we will be in so much trouble."

"What? A man creeping around on the roof of a lesbian resort? Why would that get you in trouble?" They both laughed at that. With a grand gesture, the man swept his arm towards a picnic feast on south west corner of the roof – just in time for sunset. A large blanket was spread out, two large cushions positioned on either side of an array of food.

"Oysters, champagne, chocolate covered strawberries. I'm impressed. You went to great lengths here."
"Play your cards right and I'll show you great lengths in a few minutes."
"Promises, promises."

***

"Was that Tania?"
"I'm not sure. I just saw blonde hair."

The authoritative figure of Beatrice, the owner of the resort, turned the corner, followed by two statuesque, buxom members of the security staff. Known as Queen B by the tenants, there was a respectful hush while she surveyed the scene.

"Does anyone know what happened? Who is this... man?"

The ladies looked at each other, nobody volunteering information. Tiffany cleared her throat and stepped forward. "I think he fell." Everyone looked towards the roof again. Another flash of blonde hair. Queen B nodded at the security guards. "Get up there."

"Yes, my Queen," they said in unison.

***

The man and the woman had polished off the oysters and were half way through the champagne. Time for dessert. They had moved their cushions, and were facing each other, knees touching. The man picked up a strawberry and dipped it in some chocolate. Starting at the collar bone, he drew a sweet brown line up the side of her jaw and traced the outline of her lips. The woman needed all of her willpower to stop herself from licking her lips. The man leaned forward. The girl closed her eyes in anticipation of the sensations to come. She felt his warm breath on her neck a moment before his tongue, and yet she still flinched. His tongue traced the exact path of the sugary brown line, like an adult version of the electric buzzer game. In this game, however, there was no penalty for leaving the path. The path ended in a sweet lingering kiss.

The woman picked up a strawberry and dipped it, ready to return the favour. Her brown path of love took a southerly direction.

***

As the security guards ran towards the entrance to the resort, Queen B examined the man more closely. As if the blindfold wasn't odd enough, the sole of his foot was bleeding, and the lower half of his torso was smeared with chocolate.

***

The man was now naked, and the woman was in her underwear. "I see what you mean about great lengths," she lied. The man, now blindfolded with her tights, heard it in her voice. The man stood, deflated (in more ways than one). She knew he knew, and tried to recover the situation. "I've seen... smaller."

That made things worse. "You were a lesbian. When did you see smaller?"
"I was a teenager once, hormones all over the place."
"I don't f**king believe this. I planned this night to be perfect, and now it's gone to hell. Do you have any idea how hard it was to set up a picnic on a resort where there isn't a man for a five mile radius?"

The man turned and took a step forward, onto an open oyster shell. He stumbled in surprise and his shin met the foot-high concrete wall around the roof. "God damn it!" were his final words as he fell awkwardly over the edge of the roof.

***

The two security guards cautiously emerged onto the rooftop, and were immediately drawn towards the sobbing noise in the corner. They found a picnic with empty plates and bottles. Oyster shells were scattered everywhere. They shone their torches on the source of the crying. A half naked woman was cowering in the corner, face streaked with mascara, champagne bottle in her left hand. She stood and was unsteady on her feet. She took a drink and coughed as the bubbles hit the back of her throat. "IT... WASN'T..."

***

"THAT... SMALL!"

Queen B and the others looked up in the direction of the voice. The flashlights of the guards doubled as a pair of theatrical spotlights on a scantily clad woman, as she stepped onto centre stage. Her audience gasped in unison. The woman extended her arms and closed her eyes. Despite his lack of length or girth, she still loved him, and would be with him soon, for eternity.

Aoibheann

Version 7

Crab Claws


A thick buttery moon hung in the dark sky which was studded with a myriad of stars.
The yellow glow shimmered on the glass-like sea as Trish walked along the Pier.

She wore a light summer dress, and enjoyed the playful zephyrs swirling the hem and caressing her bare thighs with a soft cooling touch.

She eagerly looked forward to meeting Kevin half way down the Pier and felt her nipples stiffen slightly as she anticipated his touch and welcoming kiss.
She saw him in the distance,waiting for her, and noted his broad shoulders through his summer shirt ,and how his trousers were stretched tight over his firm buttocks and even the expensive cut could not disguise the strength of his thighs and the weight of his manhood.

He turned as she approached,smiled, showing even white teeth ans warm brown eyes.
He touched her bare shoulder,kissed her gently at first, then more deeply as she felt his hard body through her thin dress.

“Let’s walk to the end before dinner” he said, and she happily nodded.

They strolled along the pier and Kevin slid his arm around her and she snuggled closer.
His hand cupped her breast and a tingle went through her as his muscular thighs brushed against her’s.
At the end of the pier they stood at the railings and only the chug chug of a distant diesel broke the silence.
He stood behind her as she looked out to sea and enveloped her in his arms.
This time there was no mistaking his firm hardness as he caressed her now hardening nipples and she almost wished he would take her there and then.


“The table is for nine” he said suddenly, best be heading back love.


The restaurant was chic and nice and they got a table outdoors
“How was your day Trish” said Kevin as they waited to be served. The waitress was a pleasant girl, law student, she said, buxom and full bosomed, and not afraid to show it.
The broad sweep of her hips was emphasised by a skin-tight black pants.
Trish felt a slight pang of jealousy as she noticed Kevin admiring her as she bent down to serve them and saw how his eyes followed her as she left the dining area.

“Bad day at Blackrock” Trish replied to his question.
“Mrs Benton was her usual self” Mrs Benton was the Project Mgr. in Trish’s office and was a lady of whom the best description would be ‘formidable’.
She was, Trish had told him,clad like an armadillo in restraining shell-like garments.

“A good seeing to is what she wants” laughed Kevin and Trish giggled and wondered was Mrs B. the only one who needed such a service.
“And” she continued “Amanda Burke, that man mad cow, was worse than usual,parading around, crossing and uncrossing her legs whenever a man was near while she rubbed against them and flirted brazenly.”Swear to god, she wasn’t wearing panties one day last week”

“Anyway it’s not my project,so I don’t care.”
“Let them sort it out themselves, I won’t be carrying the can” she said dismissively.

The meal was lovely and relaxed,cantaloupe soup, beautiful fresh fish,followed by wonderful Italian ice cream and coffee.
The robust wine perfectly complimented the occasion and when they were finished Trish
felt warm happy and relaxed and had forgotten all about the days troubles.

They headed for Hanlon’s after the meal and Trish enjoyed a cool cocktail,while Kevin had his usual Stella.The were alone together in the crowd and the wine and cocktail made Trish drowsy and totally at ease as she bent closer to Kevin and whispered “Let’s have another stroll on the pier before we call our taxis, love.

Sure he replied. love to, we’ll have one “for the pier” then.

When they left Hanlon’s the moon had sunk below the waves but the stars were bright and the air was soft and silk- like like a moth’s wing.
Trish took off her shoes and again as Kevin cradled her breast in his hand she felt the slickness of desire between her thighs and let the feeling wash over her.

As they approached the end of the pier,listening to the water gently lapping on the rocks and in the gloom barely able to distinguish a crescent shaped spit of sand some way out from the stone steps.

“Let’s go down” said Trish with a playful pull at Kevin’s sleeve”my feet need some cooling”
“Yes,let’s” said Kevin secretly noting that he had some issues with cooling too, but not his feet.
They made their way slowly down the steps which were slippy with seaweed and the shadow of the pier held the shore in a veil of darkness.
It was like another world.
Paddling out to the sandy crescent,Trish stumbled and Kevin steadied her but not before she had felt his rigid member thrusting through the thin cloth of his rolled up trousers,and she trembled like a love struck schoolgirl.

When they reached the crescent of sand it was surprisingly dark.Kevin’s trousers were wet from the waves despite being rolled up.

“These will have to come off” he said, at the same time undoing his belt, and easing the trousers off. Trish averted her eyes coyly but could not quell the increased desire in her loins as she heard the belt buckle undo and the jingle of change as the garment was divested.

The gazed into the inky blackness and Kevin took her in his arms and kissed her deeply.She responded with fierce intensity and her hand went down to caress his now rampant manhood with an eagerness which surprised him.
She pressed against him and the heat of her loins was like a branding iron on his body.
He slowly eased his hand along her now slick inner thighs noting her low moan of pleasure as he caressed them with more urgency.
He motioned for her to remove her dress and she did so,abandoning it beside his damp clothing.She removed her bra and in the glimmer Kevin could see her nipples proud as coat pegs on her jutting breasts.

Suddenly!! The area was bathed in a blast of harsh flood lights from the Pier
Trish and Kevin were blinded for several moments when a voice through a bullhorn shouted

“Garda Immigration-everyone stay where you are”
Kevin and Trish were dazed and shellshocked,but when their eyes became accustomed to the light, the noticed the rocks were populated by up to 20 people with net bags, and when the could focus properly saw them to be of Chinese origin.

“Everyone out” said the bullhorn. The Chinese looked blankly at the couple and Kevin motioned them to the pier
“Who and what are they doing”Trish gasped as she struggled to regain her modesty and pull on her dress.
“Illegal workers-collecting crabs” I think ,said Kevin,his ardour deflated and limp and his cold trouser bottoms flapping round his ankles.

The unfortunate crab pickers were bundled into three vans and a stocky female garda approached Trish and Kevin.

“We have everything on the infra red “ she said “getting a bit carried away lads, were we, and well up for it too, I noted”
“Suggest a bit more discretion in the future, now have ye no homes to go to”.






Thoroughly soaked and tired Kevin and Trish got their taxis home resolving to “learn their lesson” as the law so aptly put it.

Now as they walk the pier with their two children neither can resist”Anyone fancy an illegal Chinese” as they pass the steps, and their children cannot understand the descent into uncontrolled laughter and the making of snapping motions with their hands.

Aoibheann

Version 7

Tyranny was half way down the hill when one of the wheels came loose and went skittering off her roller-skate. Wobbling, she tried to balance her right foot on three wheels, but she had already picked up speed and was teetering like an old woman at a hooley. Leaning over her left skte she reached the bottom of the hill and began to coast along the straight stretch of road. She smirked at her broken skate "It will take more than that to stop me" she said, and allowed herself a triumphant laugh. She looked back up at the road in time to see that she had veered over to the side and was now heading directly towards the ditch. She thought about screaming but decided against it, she didn't want to damage her voice, not before the show. She went face first into the ditch. "Oh Roscommon" she thought "Will I ever get used to your cruelty?"

The night they met she had just stepped out of the bar to get some air. She looked up at the stars and thought that there must have been hundreds of them up there. Before she could begin to count them she heard the unmistakeable sound of a match striking off that rough bit at the side of the match box. Spinning around she saw him, he was leaning up against the front of the bar. All she could make out was his dark silhouette. He raised the match to his face and before lighting his cigarette he looked at her. His face was mysterious, his eyes knowing, his lips full, his nose classical, his hair dark, but that might have been because there were no lights on and he didn't raise the match high enough to get a proper look at it. He took a long drag and shook the match to put it out. They stood there in the silence and after a moment she became accustomed to the dark. She could see his eyes now. They bored into her behind the small orange glow. Eventually she stepped forward but before she could speak he leaned out slightly and held out his hand. Her heart rattled around like the toy inside of a Kinder egg inside of the fist of a very excited child. The world seemed to stop around her as he stared at her and asked "Fag?"

"Love" thought Tyranny many weeks later "is something I never dreamed I'd find, certainly not here in Roscommon, but that's just where its been hiding all this time." She lay back on her pillow and gazed at the sleeping face opposite. They had found each other, and they would be happy forever.

Tyranny had always dreamed of stardom, so when the local musical society*announced that they were staging a production of Cats she knew that destiny had*just reached out a furry paw to claw at the scratch post of her soul. She won*the lead role, as she knew she would, and soon she was spending every available*moment rehearsing. A fact that did not go down too well with a certain someone.*"You just don't care anymore." He said one evening, thrusting his fork back into*his foil tray of curry chips in disgust. "Thats not true!" she exclaimed "I*love you." He didn't look convinced. "Look at me" she commanded. He looked at*her. "You mean more to me than anyone or anything I have ever known." He looked*away sharply and with tears in his eyes he asked "More than Mr. Mistoffolees?" Her*breath caught in her throat, trapping a piece of chicken burger that she had*just swallowed. She hacked and coughed until the delicious piece of*reconstituted meat found its way down the right pipe. She made a mental note to*store that feeling for when she had to pretend to cough up a fur ball in the*show.*

She regained her composure. "I don't know what you mean." She said. His eyes bored into her. "You're spending a lot of time with your cast mates." He said. "I have to rehearse," she replied "this needs to be perfect. And frankly, I resent the implication that something is going on with one of the other cats." "I know what I know" he said angrily. "What does that even mean?" she asked, speaking louder than she had intended. The other patrons of the chipper looked around at the commotion. She lowered her voice, leaned forward and hissed "There is nothing going on with any of the cats, and certainly not with Mr. Mistoffolees. And if this is the way you're going to be then maybe I need to re-think things. I intend to be somebody in this world, and I'm not going to let you and your petty jealousies get in my way." At the table beside them a drunken girl clapped and went "Wooh!" When Tyranny looked back he had stood up. "I won't stand in your way then" he shouted, not caring who heard him. "You can have your cats, and you can have your stardom. But damnit Tyranny, you won't have me." He spun*on his heel, grabbed the remains of his curry chips and stormed out the door. He*tripped on the step sending a curried smeared chip down his front, "ah ****e" he*said quietly, hoping nobody had noticed.

Two weeks had passed since that fateful night. Tyranny threw herself into preparations for the show. When she wasn't singing, she was dancing, and when she wasn't dancing she was prancing about in a ratty fake fur coat, getting inside the mindset of what it was really like to be a cat. She didn't think about him. No sir. She would not let him into her mind. Until one morning Tyranny woke*in a cold sweat. "What have I done?" she thought "I can search the length and*breadth of Croghan and I'll never find another man like that again." She had to*see him, and she had to see him right away. Strapping on her roller skates she*set out, determined to win his heart back.

His woodwork class were busily sawing and hammering away when the door burst*open. She stood there, wild and fierce and covered in muck. One foot was bare and*was being used to push her other roller skate clad foot forward into the*classroom. He had been so angry with her, but now, seeing her like this was like*seeing her for the first time all over again. He opened his mouth to speak but*was stopped "Tito!" she cried "Can you ever forgive me?" He ran to her, knocking*over a small student on the way. She wheeled towards him and into his embrace. And*then they were lost in each other, lost enough to forget their argument, lost*enough to forget about Mr. Mistoffolees, lost enough to not hear the small student*weeping over his hand as he pulled it away from the saw.

That night, after the show the stars*twinkled above them as they had never twinkled before, not even on the night*they had met, well maybe about the same but certainly not any more. "You know*Tyranny?" he said "I think there is a new star tonight, one brighter than all of*the ones in the sky." She smiled at him, leaned her head on his shoulder and*said "Oh Tito! I'm the happiest girl in the whole North West" "Including*Donegal?" he asked. "Oh, well no I hadn't been counting Donegal." His face fell.*"But I am counting Sligo." She said. The smile returned to his face again, he*had never much cared for Sligo, but tonight he thought it was just about the*finest county in Connacht.

Except for Roscommon of course.

Aoibheann

Version 7

Romeo and Julia


It was a dark and stormy love affair, the winds of passion blew strong while the glowing harvest moon was at its zenith, then, as with cyclical fickle moonshine, lust and sexual wantonness waned, love went from brisk blowing trade winds to the ponderously still doldrums, leaving it’s travellers lonely, shipwrecked and castaway like Crusoe, or Gulliver. Or Neil Armstrong, alone and taking his giant leap for mankind on the moon with no one to talk to but mission control half a million miles away on earth. That’s how lonely it was. Henry, the hero of our story, took a giant leap for love, and ended up grounded on the earth, a failed mission like Apollo 13, or the Challenger disaster, but without anyone being blown to smithereens, except Henry’s heart, which was shattered into a million disconsolate sticky, bloody little pieces.

Obstinacy and a bad headache had put paid to Henry’s saison d’amour. Tonight instead of watching the Coronation street omnibus and Emmerdale back to back with a packet of hobnobs and some gold blend, he had planned a glorious evening, one of many that had ensued in the two weeks since the flames of passion had ignited in his underpants and scorched his soul, and in that two weeks his passionate soul mate’s cries of ecstasy had echoed loudly around his bijoux self contained one bed apartment with balcony and individual parking space but poor noise insulation; the neighbours did complain about the moans. Henry didn’t have a car but he sometimes took a lawn chair out to his designated space and spent time sitting there rather than let it go to waste because he had paid for it after all. Anyway, none of that mattered now that he was heartbroken, and his double portion chicken tandoori from Iceland (the store with all the fridges not the country) was drying out in the oven, his cream blush damask tablecloth and exquisitely folded do-it-yourself origami napkins, which he had discovered (what a find!) via the QVC shopping channel, lay limp, like his own flaccid member, on his perfectly laid Ikea Jokkmokk table (Solid pine; a natural material that agesbeautifully). His member was not on the table of course, but in his trousers as is the normal placement of such things. Henry was a traditional sort, not weird at all, and for hygiene reasons he tended to keep his sexual predilections off the dining furniture if at all possible.

The reason for his obvious discomfiture and visible annoyance at the lack of sexual sustenance on this particular rainy Tuesday evening, was the absence of his paramour, the fragrant and graceful, exquisite and delicious Julia. Thighs that could crack walnuts, and a rosebud mouth that she could use to open a Budweiser in a way Henry had never seen before. In fact he had been quite scared the first time she put her mouth near his longneck, but after a moment his fears had eased, the girl was a pro, and she had sucked his froth off, triumphantly. Even the thought of her lovely frosted pink lips and ample charms sent a shudder through Henry’s necessaries. Oh, for those succulent buttocks, encased in that pink velour, with the oh-so appropriate ‘Rock Chick’ emblazoned across her luscious posterior. She couldn’t half carry it off, even at 49 she was a fine filly, and he was her wild passionate stallion always ready to ride into the sunset, their rumps glistening with sweat in the fading light. Henry only realised he was beginning to drool about her bouncy glutes when he felt the damp patch on the front of his purple Chinese silk smoking jacket (ebay, €300, but worth every penny). Julia, dear Julia, the sweetest girl to ever push a supermarket trolley, a pearl among the swine of the Fish Packers Union (shop steward 1998-99). They had found each other, against all the odds, and she even lived on the next road, near the chipper and the 24 hour minimarket, which was handy if you ever needed some bin bags and a pair of rubber gloves at an odd hour, but now her proximity to him only caused him pain, his hopes were dashed, his heart was forever broken. Julia, dearest Julia of the prime steak rump and the bottle opener mouth, was his no longer.

Henry draped across his tapestry chaise longue from Harvey Norman, (it sure had made Julia Go! Harvey, Go!) and he mulled over the reasons for her callous disregard for him. Could it be that she did have a particularly bad migraine, and his refusal to help her bleach her roots had caused her to reconsider her feelings, as she had said? Or did that scarlet woman lie? Was she really more keen to head to community bingo instead of his boudoir, her ample womanly curves seeking out the stringy bowlegged frame of Pat the bingo caller who had been throwing shapes at her for the last few weeks? He was a sneaky sod, that Pat, and he would stop at nothing, even the blue rinsed over-seventies with gammy knees were not beyond his sights, but Henry had marked his card, oh yessiree, and he would call house on him any day now, as soon as the Maximuscle supreme bodybuilding supplement arrived in the post. Instant muscle growth or your money back, Henry hoped it worked better than the herbal viagra, which had not worked as described but in fairness had made his lupins come on a treat. Pat would see who had all the numbers then, oh yeah. Henry stewed on jilting Julia’s two timing ways, pondering if the €100 snowball on Sunday had really been pure luck after all. The more Henry thought of it, instead of concentrating on the Rovers Return and it’s sexy barmaid with the big baps and the hot pot, the more annoyed he got. That fickle woman, the foul jezebel! (Julia, not the barmaid on Corrie.)

At 9.01pm precisely by his prized Casio digital display wristwatch with led glowing nightlight and seven year battery, he devised a cunning plan. He would put the cart before the horse had bolted, put his best foot forward with a firm hand, and count his chickens before they came home to roost. He would not be shown up for the fool that he was! He grabbed his coat and some clean underpants (as he had to cross a bus route), his door-keys and his spare door-keys, some hand sanitiser in case he came across any hands that needed sanitising and an umbrella, and in an impetuous rage, he left the house immediately.

He then stomped to the minimarket in a blind fury, which fortunately was mild enough that he could still see where he was going, where he bought some paracetamol with a child safe bottle for his headache and a bottle of Immodium which he put in a plastic bag, in case the tandoori gave him diahorrea, and he then chose the latest copy of Playboy so the evening would not be completely wasted, and which he came for in the first place but was too embarrassed to buy from the girl so he waited for the man, which he also put in the plastic bag and he paid for with some Doritos, and then Henry went home to share his double portion tastes-like-plastic frozen ready meal with the sexy, if a little two-dimensional, playgirl of the month. ‘Stick to what you know’, Henry thought, ‘after all, you’re always safe with a girl who has staples through her bellybutton’. And Henry had always been happy to open his own beer, anyway.

Aoibheann

Version 7

The Rasputin Conundrum


Were it not for her glass eye and wooden leg, there would have been very little of interest about Valdivia Schlubb. Even then, her old-school prostheses notwithstanding, the most remarkable thing about Valdivia Schlubb was that she was just about the only woman in Shark County whom Curtiss Crane had no desire to bone.


Curtiss Crane, as you will remember from my previous novel "By Your Scythe" ((c) Salsify press 2007, $27.99 hardback) was an insatiable lothario who was hung like a Rhode Island jury with a particularly nice hotel. When Crane wanted something, he invariably got it. Quite often, when he didn't want something, he got that too, which explains his visit to the Willington Scopes STI clinic and his chance encounter with Valdivia Schlubb.


Conchita Garcia de la Torre Cilantro appeared at the door of the waiting room, her voluptuous figure fighting to burst free of her scrubs like a six-month old mastiff pup being drowned in a shallow stream by an understrength youth. Crane pointedly ignored her. He had already porked her.
She called on the next patient, Alexandra Hines-Hines, a blonde nymphomaniac with legs like The Shawshank Redemption Director's Cut. Needless to say, Crane had porked her too. That left him alone with Valdivia Schlubb, her tartan shopping bag, and Cupid.


"**** off Cupid!" said Curtiss Crane, gesticulating at the cloth-eared cat. Willington Scopes STI clinic doubled as a veterinary practice three days a week and the mangy moggy was the only creature in the district with more loyalty points than Crane. The cat didn't actually have any loyalty points - that would be stupid - but this just to illustrate that both often visited the clinic.


"You're sitting on my jacket" said Valdivia Schlubb plainly.
Crane scoffed at her ham-fisted come-on. "I think I'll open the window" he said.


And then the hornets came. It started with one big fuсk-off bee and pretty soon snowballed into a black and yellow horde of angry, buzzing bastards, forcing their way into the surgery, not wholly unlike a group of Borussia Dortmund fans who have just been knocked out of the UEFA Cup by a controversial penalty in the 87th minute and are trying to break into an off-licence.


“Run for your life!” screamed Curtiss Crane, perhaps a little melodramatically, but understandably given the circumstances. Those fuсkers hurt, and quite a lot of people are allergic to them, besides.


Valdivia Schlubb wasted no time in carefully putting her belongings back into her tartan shopping bag and making sure her shoes were tied before standing up, putting on and buttoning up her jacket, straightening her skirt and leaving a note for the doctor explaining her soon to be enforced absence before making her way out of the surgery. She was almost bowled over by Curtiss Crane who, in his haste, had forgotten to leave a note for the doctor explaining his soon to be enforced absence and would duly be reprimanded and charged a percentage of the consultation fee for his failure to attend,


But that would all become more or less irrelevant, certainly academic, once the hornets had struck!
Shutting the door behind them Crane and Schlubb could hear the growing throng begin to fill the room. The noise was like a stadium full of vuvuzelas after a great goal – a diving header or something, Crane grinned briefly at the irony – he thought it was irony, but just to be safe he didn't say this bit out loud – of popular culture completely reversing a simile over the course of just a couple of weeks; after all, how many people had really ever heard a swarm of hornets as opposed to the number of people who had been subjected to the sound of plastic African horns during a recent international football tournament? His grin faded almost as soon as it had appeared. It was time for serious action!


“It's time for serious action!” he said out loud,
“Let's just get out of here” suggested Valdivia Schlubb,
Crane knew he would have to keep an eye on this one. He was again happy not to have said that bit out loud given the woman's unfortunate handicap but at the same time you couldn't go around in life walking on eggshells. They headed for the lift.


OUT OF ORDER!


They headed for the stairs. As they reached the first landing they got an awful fright – there was an even louder buzzing coming up from below them! Crane rushed to a window. Outside the street was absolutely jammers with hornets buzzing all over the shop and people freaking out and crashing their cars and squealing like bitches. The whole town had been overtaken by the swarm. One man had been stung so many times his head had swollen up like that kid from the film Mask with Cher and the other guy who was in Pulp Fiction. There was a woman waving her arms so fast she looked like Kali, the Indian bad-ass goddess. Suddenly there was a loud BOOM! as a truck filled with illegal Chinese fireworks veered off the road and ran into a BP station and the whole fuсking lot just went up in flames!
“This looks bad” said Curtiss Crane, “Real bad.” He was aware that he should really have used the adjectival form but was convinced that using just the adjective would give him a more macho edge.
Valdivia Schlubb didn't seem to notice, not that Curtiss Crane cared.
“We can't go outside, we need to find a place to hide and we should call the emergency services!”
Valdivia Schlubb pointed to a room whose door looked fairly solid. The wood itself was no great shakes but there was no obvious gap underneath it and it was quite thick.
“Maybe in there?” she suggested heroically.
“Good idea” answered Curtiss Crane enthusiastically.


He pushed down the handle, hoping that it would open and that they wouldn't have to abandon this neat plan and come up with another plan because he himself was all out of plans and, not to be nasty or anything, but he would have been surprised if Valdivia Schlubb had many more ace plans up her sleeve. The handle went down and Curtiss Crane pulled the handle towards him, hoping against hope that the door was not locked. It didn't move.


“Push?” suggested Valdivia Schlubb.

Cutiss Crane pushed and wouldn't you know it but he had been wrong twice in the space of a second – not only had he pulled instead of pushed but he had quite arrogantly assumed that Valdivia Schlubb would not have any more useful input. In fact it seemed that, on the contrary, every time she opened her mouth something useful came out. He looked at her useful mouth now. Her lips were pretty full and they were a normal colour and had none of those strange purple lumps you sometimes see on peoples' lips. Her teeth were in fairly good nick and really, if you were going to point out the very small patch of hair on her upper lip it would be out of pure badness.
The door opened (inwards!).
“Let's go in” said Curtiss Crane.
In they went and closed the door behind them with a big old slam which echoed through the bug-infested building like an economics textbook dropped in an empty school gym. They were safe. Or were they?
“The window is open” remarked Valdivia Schlubb who then proceeded to hobble over and close it, just a fraction too late as a hornet slipped in and began buzzing like a motherfuсker in the almost empty room.


Curtiss Cran began to sweat. There was no way out of this one. He wondered if hornets were like bees or wasps and if they died after having stung someone. Pragmatically speaking that person should really be whoever was least able to avoid the insect and not naming any names but survival of the fittest and all... He moved to the opposite corner of the room, putting Valdivia Schlubb directly between him and the hornet. The hornet began to circle angrily. What was with these bastards that they were so pissed off all the time and had to take out their aggression on innocent people? The hornet came to land on the wall, on the left side of the room whereas the window was on the right and Curtiss Crane was at what was now the back of the room given their respective positions and how they were facing. Valdivia Schlub was slap-bang in the middle, more or less.
She looked at the hornet now, sizing it up. Slowly, she hitched up her skirt. Crane watched in amazement as her fingers disappeared between her thighs and began to wriggle furiously. She groaned softly and arched her back, leaning over to one side so she could detach her leg. With an air of dogged determination, she hopped over to the wall. The hornet scowled at her. Crane inched further into the corner. Valdivia took an almighty swing and clobbered the wall, breaking off bits of plaster and paint. The hornet was still there. The little prick had moved just enough so that she would miss. The hornet stared at her, its beady little bastard eyes goading her, telling her she was so dead. It took off, aiming straight for her face. She ducked, somehow managing not to fall over. The hornet sped off and began to circle back. Valdivia prepared her leg. When the hornet was close enough, she swung at it like Babe Ruth at a piñata party. Losing her balance she went toppling over and rolled into the corner to where Curtiss Crane was waiting, open-mouthed, to catch her.
“You did it!” he exclaimed, pointing over to the prone form of the hornet lying against the wall, its head crushed to bits.


“I think I need a drink after that” said Valdivia Schlubb.
Crane acquiesced. A woman who insisted this much had to be gagging for it and maybe she deserved a bit of Curtiss-love. Though her leg was false, her heart was true. In the kingdom of the blind this one-eyed woman could be queen, and Crane was planning on getting blind drunk and legless.
“Let's go get a drink!” he said.

Aoibheann

Version 7

Many months have passed since Martha and I arrived in the tiny seaside village of Innsmouth, madly in love, and despite her father’s condemnation, intent on finding passage to a new life in Australia. It was the depth of nighttime and the inky blackness of the hour shrouded the world like a blanket, torn here and there by the shimmering light of a flickering star.

Despite the late hour, we made our way to the docks to find a ship which might grant us passage. As we walked, I wrapped a cloak around my beloved Martha, intent on shielding her not only from the weather but also the leering eyes of any wayward seamen prowling the dock.

We traversed the decaying promenade for almost half an hour, but found only shadowy hulks, battened down for the storm, their crews sheltered within, or perhaps making merry with loose women in the seaside taverns. I had almost given up hope when over the blustery nighttime gale, I heard a man shouting angrily. “Confound and blast you, Carter!” he roared, as far across the waves, a terrible flash of lightning lit the heavens and revealed an indistinct and murky horizon. “I cannot stand this incompetence!”

The shouting came from a ship we had just passed, a square-rigged corvette named the ‘Miskatonic Mary’. Hearing the commotion, we doubled back and soon could distinguish the shadows of two men. The shouter, who was tall and thin, wore a large tricorne, and waved his arms furiously through the air. Smoke drifted from the lit pipe in his hand.
“I’m... sorry sir,” his compatriot stuttered. “She just disappeared. Crewman Blake’s gone too.”

We reached their berth, and found the blasting wind did little to mask the toxic stench of rotting fish-meat emanating from the ship. I shouted to the men, “Ahoy there. We are botanists from Arkham in search of passage to Australia. Have you quarters?”

The men turned and studied us for a few seconds. The smoking man, whom I now took to be the Captain, pursed his lips and exhaled, ignoring the dark smoke as it billowed from his pipe. “Passage, you say? This is a late hour to be seeking passage to such a distant shore.”

He cast his eyes towards Martha in a manner I must admit I found unnerving, and stroked his beard. “But we are headed for the South Pacific. Perhaps we can find room for two... botanists.”

After some initial haggling, the Captain accepted my offer of two hundred pounds for our passage, and granted us a small room on the ship. The crewman, who introduced himself as Samuel Carter, hoisted my specimen case aboard, and placed it atop an enormous wooden container which sat obstructing the deck.

“I’ll... show you to your cabin then sir,” Carter said, his eyes darting from the deck to the wooden container. I nodded, and despite a feeling of unease around the man, followed him down a hatch in the deck and into the heart of the ship. As we descended, the Captain bellowed after us. “Our finest quarters, Carter. And then bring the... cargo below deck.”
He referred to the container, and I thought nothing of it though had I had known what it held, I would have fled the ship in an instant. Instead, I dismissed the thought, and the bizarre phrase he spoke as we walked away: “Catulu wugah tag fon.”

Our voyage went smoothly for the first few weeks, and Martha and I soon fell into a rhythm of reading, conversing and passing the time as pleasantly as we could. In the mornings, we would eat a small breakfast of fruit in the galley, then stroll the deck or retire to our quarters. In the evenings, we ate alone. I had expected an invitation to dine with the Captain, but none was forthcoming and indeed the entire crew seemed wary of us, unwilling to engage in all but the most general banter.

One night, as I lay opposite Martha in our cabin, I awoke in a cold sweat and was unable to return to sleep. My beloved remained unconscious and so I decided to take a walk on deck. As I strolled towards the aft of the ship, I heard two sailors conversing in hushed tones. I am usually a polite man, and would never eavesdrop, but something about their bearing struck me as odd, and so I stepped into the shadows and listened.

“It’s tonight then,” the rotund sailor said. He had a course English accent. “I hope her man puts up a fight. Should be fun.”

My heart thundered against its cage. Martha and I were the only couple on board, which meant they were talking about us.

“I wouldn’t mind getting into a scrap. Or getting physical with the girl.”

They both laughed, and I retreated further, my heart hammering in my chest. My mind raced with ideas of what the men planned for Martha and a stinging bile rose in my throat.

I ran straight to our cabin, unsure of what I would do when I arrived, but before I could conjure a plan, I discovered the room was empty. I scoured the area for something to use as a weapon. As a botanist I had no gun, and so improvised. I unclasped the buckle of my specimen case, lifted back the leather cover and removed a small glass vial.

As I did so, I heard a noise in the gangway. The same two sailors walked past the cabin, their boots stomping on the wooden floor. I elected to follow them, and placing the vial inside my coat pocket, crept out the door.

Soon, I heard a riotous roar from up ahead. The two men were going to meet the rest of the crew. They turned a corner into the armory, and I waited, listening for anything which might give me an advantage. “We have arrived,” the Captain boomed. “Tonight, the stars are right and we sacrifice the soul of this innocent. Tonight, we descend beneath the waves to Relyah, to our dead master!”

The crew roared in response. I had run out of time. I reached for my pocket, removed the vial and rushed inside. The room was large, but even so it appeared cramped, as the wooden crate I had seen earlier now lay open here, tonnes of gunpowder spilling across the floor. The entire crew were gathered around a wooden alter on which my beloved Martha lay dazed. The Captain stood before her, a long dagger raised in his hands. He looked up as I entered and roared, “Seize him!”

The crew turned, but before they could react, I uncorked the vial and threw its contents towards them. Concentrated bhut jolokia - the hottest pepper known to man - dispersed through the air in a red haze. My opponents drew their weapons, but as they did, the pepper began to take effect. They stumbled, and I rushed past them to grab Martha. All around me, the blinded seamen cried out in pain as their eyes reddened and nostrils burned.

Having spent twenty-one years studying the plant, I had some immunity, and managed to lift Martha and make for the exit. Suddenly however, a hand grabbed my shoulder and I lost hold of my beloved. “To the lifeboats!” I cried and with a look of confused terror, Martha nodded and fled.

I turned around and found an opponent twice my weight and a foot taller, but with red eyes wet with tears. I jabbed at the cultist's face and he fell, already off-balance from the effects of the pepper. As he hit the floor, I glanced around and saw the Captain clambering back to his feet. He had drawn his pistol, and perhaps insane from his demented ritual, seemed oblivious to the danger of the spilled gunpowder.

As I turned to flee, he fired. I didn’t heard the shot, but felt a searing pain in my left shoulder and stumbled out the door. Behind me, the Captain fired again and again, roaring in pain and anger. I climbed the steps to the main deck and heard Martha calling to me. Before I could reach her however, the gunpowder ignited. My next memory is of lying drenched and semi-conscious in the lifeboat.

The following morning, I awoke once more, this time on a rocky island beneath a dark blue sky. My beloved held my head upon her lap, and brushed her fingers through the burned remnants of my hair.

“I thought you would die,” she said, looking down to my shoulder. I turned to look across the sea, to where the Miskatonic Mary still drifted, half submerged and with dying flames licking her hull.

“There will be survivors,” I said.

“I know,” she replied.

“If they get to shore, they’ll try to kill us again.”

“I know.”

She took my hand in hers and squeezed as she looked out at the listing
ship. Together then, we waited for the coming of the cult.

angelll

Version 7

I'm voting for number 6 & 7. Number six was hilarious and number seven was very well written.
Special mention to number four for this gem: Her heart rattled around like the toy inside of a Kinder egg inside of the fist of a very excited child. The world seemed to stop around her as he stared at her and asked "Fag?"

Antilles

Version 7

I've never been more reluctant to read a VoAT thread

pickarooney

Version 5

There are some hilarious lines in all these, but I think Version 1 best managed to stretch the opening out to a full story with a neat resolution and consistent humour throughout. I almost didn't vote for it because it was so well written but in the end I think it had the best blend of good/bad.

I'm also voting for version 4 for its overall strength and particularly

"I can search the length and*breadth of Croghan and I'll never find another man like that again."

and the aforementioned Kinder Egg line.

Version 7 was far too well written - it was probably even publication-level - so that immediately disqualified it!

ToasterSparks

Version 7

I voted for Number 6, purely because of its entertainment value. It's the one I most enjoyed reading.

Hrududu

Version 2

I voted for number 1. It had everything I hoped for when first heard about this competition, it was also a very enjoyable read.

I thought number 7 was very well written, too well written. There was nothing awful about it at all.

Number 6 probably had the best opening sentence. I laughed out loud when I read it.

Oryx

Version 7

Version 6 gets my vote, I just liked its pace and I thought the humour and characters were perfect for the theme of the competition.

Number 4 gets an honourable mention, some classic lines in there, they just got swamped by too much other detail.

Some of the others wrote very bad, cringeworthy romance, which were even hard to read to the finish, but they lacked the crazy humour that I thought this was meant to be about, particularly number 7, which is a very good story, but theres nothing 'bad' or funny about it.

Wantobe

Version 6

I voted for version 5- I thought it was excellent, really, really funny. I had to re-read it three or four times already as I thought it was so brilliant. Hmm, maybe too good for bad romance, but ah hell- I loved it.

Honorable mention to version 6 too which was great.

Sorry I missed this VOAT, was on holidays- I had started a story but I'm afraid I had too good a time on holidays to continue it!:)

Aoibheann

Version 7

I voted for versions 5 and 6. I loved the matter-of-fact way in with Version 5 was written and I thought it was really entertaining. Version 6 was just so spot-on in how I expected a bad romance to be, and

Her teeth were in fairly good nick and really, if you were going to point out the very small patch of hair on her upper lip it would be out of pure badness.

had me in stitches.

More feedback on the rest if I get a chance.

Mr E

Version 7

I voted 5 and 6...

5 was very densely written, so you had to read it carefully to appreciate the detail. The wonderful, wonderful detail.

6, despite the silly names, was very funny.

Antilles

Version 7

Well that was painful!

I'll avoid general feedback, considering the theme of the competition, but 5 and 6 really stood out as terrible.

5 was definitely my eh "favourite," I guess is the right word.

Loved this:
"Henry went home to share his double portion tastes-like-plastic frozen ready meal with the sexy, if a little two-dimensional, playgirl of the month. ‘Stick to what you know’, Henry thought, ‘after all, you’re always safe with a girl who has staples through her bellybutton"

Aoibheann

Version 7

Just under 10 hours 'til voting closes.. It's still close enough that a few votes could swing it, when you factor in the voters who haven't posted on thread.

Insect Overlord

Version 6

I'm voting for stories 4 and 5, but I must say that I really enjoyed all seven of the stories.

The silliness of the heroine (or does her dizziness make her an anti-heroine? :pac: ) in 4 best-captured the notion of "bad romance" for me. There were various hilarious turns of phrase too. The style of humour may or may not have influenced my decision-making here... >_>

I voted for 5 because it was just so feckin' stylishly written. The sentences flow beautifully, the American Psycho-esque descriptions and the realistic bleakness of the central character's situation struck me. And did the funny parts caught my attention too.

Bravo to everyone involved, and (as anticipated) I now regret not getting involved in this competition myself.

Aoibheann

Version 7

It's actually very close now! Only one vote in it between Versions 5 and 6 when you remove the people who haven't posted to back up their vote! Tense moments in the last 40 minutes..


Edit at 1.55am: To avoid having a few posts in a row, we now have a winner! I'll give the author of Version 6 'til morning (or early afternoon, depending upon when I surface) to reveal him/herself.

pickarooney

Version 5

I demand a recount!

Antilles

Version 7

Congrats to the author of version 6. A well deserved win.

Mine was 7, and really shouldn't have been submitted for this one.

Mr E

Version 7

At least you got a vote, dude. Mine was 2.

Congrats to 6.... great job!

Aoibheann

Version 7

Well, the author of version 6 seems unwilling to properly reveal himself (I can't imagine why! :pac:), so I guess I'll have to do it for him:

The winner is a first-time entrant to the competition, always moderate in his critique (sorry, couldn't help myself >.<).... It's pickarooney!



Congrats to all involved and thanks for making this so easy for me to run! It's been a lot of fun and it'll hopefully encourage me to get writing some more.

Antilles

Version 7

Nooo! Can I change my vote?

Oryx

Version 7

Knew that was his. Well done on a terrific tale, that wasnt so bad after all.

I inflicted number 5 on you all, it was my homage to the horror that is bulwer lytton. Ah, poor Henry. Lost out to a better man once again!

Antilles

Version 7

Seriously though, well done pickarooney, and welcome to the Most Venerable and Ancient Order of VOAT Winners.

I'll PM you details of the secret handshake.

Mr E

Version 7

Fix! Fiiiiiix!

....is what I would say if I hadn't voted for Picka myself.... well done!

pickarooney

Version 5

No sense trying to hide my immense talent for the atrocious any longer I guess
Expect to see my first eight books appear under the slightly harder code, sex-and-drugs banner of Pills and Bone any month now.

ToasterSparks

Version 7

Well done Pickarooney - I knew that was your story once I read it. I guess I am starting to recognise peoples' different styles! Congratulations, you truly are a terrible writer.

Mine was Number 1.