Talking of Lust

3 Oct

dripping blood photo: blood dripping thblooddrop.gifNobody was more surprised than Jodish Pariah when the Bishop fell into his front room without doing him the courtesy of knocking the front door and waiting to be invited in first.
Jodish, a Reverend Gentleman with irritating doubts and a whole host of unfulfilled desires, was having a free afternoon, which involved watching pornography whilst pleasuring his housekeeper, one Wanda Slowbottom, a well-bosomed lady with some years behind her on her ample biological clock.
Wanda Slowbottom particularly looked forwards to the Reverend Pariah’s free afternoons because they relieved the monotony of scrubbing, ironing, more scrubbing before balancing on an upturned bucket in order to clean the outside of the scullery window, and even more scrubbing. She had once been married to Jake Slowbottom, but he had passed on to her third cousin and twenty years her junior, which she found to be a pretty equal mixture of contemptible and understandable. Since then, her main delight in life involved the good Reverend’s free afternoons, though truth to tell she could have coped without the pornography.
The arrival of the Bishop was a jolt to everyone’s system, not because of who it was but because of how he was dressed.
In place of us usual sober suit he was wearing a Hawaiian-styled tee-shirt emblazoned with gaudy palms and gaudier women. On his lower half he wore a pair of Bermuda shorts that were equally graphic, and it would be in nobody’s interest for me to describe what the pattern in the region of his crotch consisted of, though I will. It was a dusky maiden (there have been images of none duskier, I can assure you) and she was holding something that closely resembled an engorged male organ, though truth to tell it was merely cotton fabric mischievously printed by a sex-crazed tailor in China.
“I have come for help,” he shouted, which was of little use seeing as his junior, the Reverend Pariah, was bouncing up and down on top of his housekeeper who was screaming for more and harder in trembling tones.
“Jus’ a minute,” gasped Pariah, sliding sadly off Wanda Slowbottom who was already in the process of proving she was far from slow when it came to covering her bottom.
“I am being pursued by wenches,” shouted the Bishop. “They have sailed with me across the rolling oceans! They have performed unmentionable interferences on parts of me I never knew I had! And still they come, clamouring for more! They say that I am like the horned viper of legend! They say they can never get enough of me and see – I am drained drier than a desert in summer, and may well meet my maker from dehydration at any moment!”
“Then you are indeed fortunate, sir,” grumbled Pariah, pulling his trousers up and trying to conceal his still rampant excitement from his superior clergyman who hadn’t noticed that anything was amiss, so deep was his own agony.
At that moment, with a clamour like a senior schoolroom filling on the dot of the crack of dawn, a good half a dozen dusky maidens clad in grass skirts and coconut unmentionables fell into the room.
“We are coming for more,” called one, whilst
“The good god with a huge appendage is merciful,” squealed a second, and
“I am filled with desire,” trembled a third.
And the whole sounded more like “We are coming, for the good god with a huge appendage is filled with desire”, which made both clergymen cough with disbelief.
“See what I am suffering,” moaned the Bishop, tears in his eyes.
“You brought it on yourself,” was all Wanda Slowbottom could say as she struggled with an unreachable strap above the small of her back.
“All I wanted was to convert them,” wept the Bishop, the Very Reverend Cedric Goldfish. “I wanted them to see the beauties of creation and the glory of our lord. I wanted them to prostrate themselves before the Father in praise with sweet hymns on their virginal lips and prayers in their hearts…”
“But instead we converted him,” giggled the tallest of the adorable beauties, swinging her hips so that the movement of her grass skirt made the bishop gasp.
“All he wants is our flesh,” agreed a second, a well-bosomed flighty lass with the sweetest smile ever seen.
“And so we’ve come after him, to teach him a lesson,” smirked a third angel.
“A lesson?” queried the Reverend Pariah, still struggling with his trousers. “And what lesson might that be?” he added, almost absently.
“That less is more and nothing is everything,” laughed the tall adorable beauty. “He has tasted the wine of our Paradise, and it has turned his head. Now he must return to his texts and his vestments and remember the nothing that is everything…”
“In fanciful dreams and savage memories,” grinned another.
“Until the day he dies,” mourned a third.
“Help me, lord, please help me…” moaned the Bishop.
But no help came, just a drip of blood from the light fitting above his head.
©Peter Rogerson 03.10.14


6 Responses to “Talking of Lust”

  1. pambrittain October 3, 2014 at 8:19 pm #

    Wow, is that man that was bleeding still bleeding? Will he ever die from the stabbing? Will the girls convert the town? Yeah, yeah—wait and see.

    • Peter Rogerson October 4, 2014 at 8:04 am #

      I’ll be dealing with the stabbed man later today or tomorrow… Thanks, Pam.

  2. slpsharon October 4, 2014 at 1:55 am #

    Yikes, different alright. They are crazy.


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