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patrickmccarty:

Bluster and So Forth:

A Trite Little Manners Comedy, to Delight and Instruct

by Patrick McCarty

~ * ~

Chapter the Twenty-Third

(In Which the Matter at Hand is Buttsex)

 

            “Lord Witherby,” said Lord Ditherington as he spun the ornate globe which sat in the centre of his very fancy drawing room. “Have we yet discussed the matter of anal tiddlywinksing?”

            “Anal tiddlywinksing?” said Lord Witherby, as classily as he could muster, which was the classiest. “Heavens.” He leaned back in the immense wing-back chair he was sitting in and thought very rich English thoughts for a little while. “And here I thought,” he said sexily, “we were just going to make clever little innuendos at each other and then marry ourselves off to a couple of shrews to keep people guessing.”

            “You’re still wearing clothes, Witherby,” Ditherington said, arching his eyebrows archly. “That is not a mark in your favour.”

            “I am terribly sorry,” Witherby said Britishly. “But it’s simply the matter of arses. I imagine we predate the invention of effective sexual lubricant by at least a century.”

            “Dash it all, man” Ditherington said. He threw his crystal goblet of vodka to the flagstones where it shattered quite convincingly. The shards vanished a moment later, and Ditherington had to deduce that a servant had removed them, for he could only see servants when he was having sex with them (and even then he had to screw up his eyes to make quite certain he wasn’t just masturbating). “I don’t care about lacerations, I just want to tiddlywinks you!”

            “Do be quiet,” Witherby said quietly. “Else Lady Wishagainstit will hear you.”

            “Tiddlywinks Lady Wishagainstit, and tiddlywinks everyone. I shan’t give a single shit if all of Bunburyshire knows this, Witherby. When I first laid eyes on you, at high tea in Hyde Park or the Tower of London or Buckingham Palace or wherever the tiddlywinks it was, someplace English at any rate, I don’t remember.”

            In the inevitable film adaptation of this novel, the actor playing Witherby should do something sexy at this point. “Do go on,” he said.

            “I said to myself, that man is a man I should like to give a penis massage to using the inside of my butt.” And indeed he did, as the reader might recall from chapter seven, in which Ditherington said exactly that, to himself but inexplicably out loud.

            “Holy tiddlywinks.” And the reader might assume from the way the dialogue has been progressing that the line belonged to Witherby, but the reader making such an assumption would assume wrongly. For as it happened it was Lady Wishagainstit who said this, as she’d appeared in the fancy-pants doorway just then.

            “Mothertiddlywinkser,” said Lord Ditherington. There was a shattering noise, as he dropped another goblet of vodka, which he didn’t even know he’d been holding this time.

            The author shall spare the reader a detailed description of Lady Wishagainstit. Suffice it to say that in the inevitable film adaptation, she can be played only by the inestimable Alan Rickman. “There is going to be such the shitstorm,” said Lady Whishagainstit, tightening her already vice-tight grip on her pimp-stick.

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. I love this man