Talking of Girls

2 Oct

TALKING OF GIRLS

 photo grass_skirt_green_zps092c97f3.jpgThere’s no more beautiful environment than a sunny day on a South Sea Island, the sort that hardly ever exist in the real world but are all around in certain genres of fiction where naughty men fulfil naughty dreams.
And on such a splendid island the Very Reverend Cedric Goldfish sat in a chair crafted from palm fronds and sighed as sometimes three, sometimes four and occasionally five semi-naked native girls, each as beautiful as the day, wafted him with fans crafted from the same kind of palm fronds as he was sitting on.
“That’s the way to do it, you sultry maidens,” he boomed, “give me more of your munificence and I’ll tell you more…”
“Of what, sweet Master?” cooed one deliciously proportioned goddess.
“I’ll tell you of the beginning of things… of the first man and the first woman and a beautiful garden,” he began, just as you’d expect a Bishop to begin any kind of conversation with nubile young delights.
“And the Fall?” frowned another maiden, her dark eyes ravishing and her brow slightly frowning. “You’ll even mention the Fall?” she repeated.
He sighed. “There are no gardens here, just nature in the raw,” he murmured, indicating the surrounding island landscape with the wave of one hand. “It would be wrong to speak of gardens, not here, not in this Paradise.”
“Or wicked women being disobedient when it comes to fruit?” suggested a third wafting angel. “We have heard such tales and see them for what they are…” she added. “They are fiction, all of them, gossipy fragments designed to eat into our minds and make us feel the guilt we haven’t earned.”
“You? Guilt?” he almost exploded. “There is no guilt here! Just love.”
“Not quite,” murmured one with a nod and a wink.
“We are here for sex,” whispered the first. “That first woman, the one you daren’t name, wasn’t she in that garden for sex too? Wasn’t that the gift that drove her spirit? The sun shining in the evening, low and red in the sky, the tequila at her elbow in a crystal glass and the shadow of her brave man falling on her, naked as she and just as beautiful…”
“You might find him beautiful, but I certainly wouldn’t!” snorted the Very Reverend Cedric Goldfish. “I’m a real man and can’t see any beauty in other men,” he added, not wanting to upset any of the maidens as they duskily fanned him with gigantic fronds fallen from the surrounding palms.
“You mean you’re not gay?” smiled another maiden, swivelling her hips until he felt a stirring in his groin.
“I’m a man of God,” conceded the Bishop.
“Then why not remove your uniform?” suggested a lively lass with bronzed skin and a twinkle in her eyes. “Remove your shirt and trews and take off that daft hat of yours! Join in, man, join in! For on this island we need neither god nor preacher though we may need a clown, and it seems you are dressed for that part!”
“All right,” murmured the Bishop, and he pulled his surplice over his head, followed by a jumper and a shirt, a tie and a cummerbund. Then with theatrical hesitance, he dropped his trousers. Dark grey, they were, and woollen, and they created the very image of a charcoal pool at his feet.
“What pretty boxer-shorts,” grinned one maiden, and she reached out and felt their silkiness. “And how soft to the touch,” she purred.
“This island is perfection,” sighed the Bishop, almost excited and sitting back down on his living chair and sighing deeply. “And to think … I came all this way to teach you of a better life.”
“By your own reckoning there is no better life,” giggled three of the girls together, and seeing that his chest was bare and his legs over-pale, they draped themselves on him.
“But I came to recruit you…” he blubbered.
“And instead we are recruiting you,” sighed a tall girl with the longest tresses of gleaming hair that he had ever seen. “We are drawing you into our Paradise… you must stay here for ever, and you can take each of us if we are willing, each and every one of us, and do whatsoever you please with us, for we are greatly skilled in many ways…”
“What ways?” he demanded.
“The ways of love…” they cooed.
“I would … I would ….” he whispered. “I would go to the ends of the Earth with you and take all of you by your many hands, would exhaust myself on the sands of your beaches, one after another of you until I don’t know whether I’m coming or going…”
“Coming. You’d hardly be going,” smiled the tall girl.
“Going? But where to?” he asked.
“Back to the lands of darkness and doubt. Back to where your vestments and your bibles rule your life.” she purred.
“Away from Paradise,” sang the others.
“I need,” he wept.
“You need?” they asked.
“Please … I need … I really need….”
“What?” they chorused.
“A glass of wine and some fish and chips,” he wept.
© Peter Rogerson 02.10.14

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4 Responses to “Talking of Girls”

  1. pambrittain October 3, 2014 at 6:04 pm #

    You must really like fish and chips. 🙂

Trackbacks/Pingbacks

  1. TALKING OF DECEIT | peterrogerson5 - October 5, 2014

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  2. TALKING OF COLOURS | peterrogerson5 - October 6, 2014

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