TALKING OF COLOURS

6 Oct

There seem to be developing several episodes in this series, so here are links to the earlier ones:
Talking of Sex
Talking of Faith
Talking of Girls
Talking of Lust
Talking of Blood
Talking of Deceit

TALKING OF COLOURS

sailing dinghy photo: Dinghy Sailing DinghySailing.jpg“I sometimes think,” muttered Gringol Barnacle to the dusky grass-skirted Ayoni as he lay stretched on the bed in the vicarage spare room, “that if a man could feel the colour of his underwear as he walked along, then his life might be all the richer!”
She giggled. “What makes you think such a thing?” she asked, teasingly.
“I’ve long wanted pair of crimson boxers,” he sighed, “you know, the brightest of reds, florescent even. But what’s the point if you can’t feel the red rubbing on your bits? It ought to be a thing of nature, that a man (or woman come to think of it) can actually feel the colour of his pants!”
“Like blood,” she sighed. “But you’ve bled enough, sweet Gringol. That vicar and his dagger – they made quite a mess of you. It’s a good thing that I trained as a surgeon back on my native south-sea island, and that I kept my hand in by suturing palm leaves and making my favourite outfit out of them!”
“You are so clever,” he sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever met so perfect a lady in my life before. I adore you, dearest Ayoni, and not just because you sewed me back together again. If brains and beauty go hand in hand together then just looking at you tells me you’re the cleverest woman in the Universe!”
“And you think bright red boxers might feel different to your manly parts?” she teased. “Do you think black pants would put you in a black mood and bright cherry ones in a flushed and florid mood? If so I’ll hit the shops tomorrow and buy you some of the brightest and loudest underwear ever!”
“I wonder what colour the vicar’s wearing?” asked Gringol, thoughtfully.
“He’s been arrested for what he did to you with that dagger, and they suggest they’ll charge him with wounding with intent, so he might find himself in one of your dark and dismal prisons for years!” laughed the beautiful young woman. “Serves him right, if only for spreading fiction in the name of truth for so many years, and I hope he’s wearing muddy brown!”
“And that housekeeper of his, The large and bouncy Wanda Slowbottom, will have no one to bounce with during his free afternoons!” grinned Gringol. “He was a dirty devil by all accounts, watching pornography until it turned his mind and then watching her until she turned him into a slavering wreck, all flushed and excited!”
“Like the underpants you crave for!” giggled Ayoni.
“Not exactly crave” he protested.
“I’ll turn you any colour you choose,” murmured the lovely creature as she stroked his head.
“I never knew…” he choked.
“What? You never knew what?” she asked, curiously.
“I never knew what it felt like to … you know, dear Ayoni, I think … I know … I’m certain that I love you…”
“Oh my man, my Englishman!” squealed his surgeon-love. “I’m so glad that I did so good a job on your wounds with my needle and thread.”
“I’ve prepared a bite to eat,” said the Bishop from the door. “I might have become a chef before I trained for the cloth, but there’s more money in being a Bishop, and the hours are considerably shorter. But I do enjoy stirring ingredients and making delicious things.”
“Oooh!” squealed Ayoni, “just as I was beginning to feel hungry! What deliciousness have you created for us?”
“Shepherd’s pie,” he replied, proudly. “For all of us. Your companions, sweet Ayoni, are also down stairs, cavorting in front of me until my mind was anywhere but on the kitchen! But I persevered. Perseverance might well have been my middle name! Does the young man think he can manage the stairs or shall I bring yours up for you?”
“Bring it up, please,” decided Ayoni. “We were having a fascinating discussion on the subject of coloured underwear and it might embarrass you to hear some of the things that might be said, you being a bishop and all!”
“I’ve stopped being a bishop,” he replied proudly. I telephoned my notice to the Archbishop not ten minutes ago and the two of us have decided to sail round the world in a small dinghy and spend our hours regretting all the time we wasted in prayer!”
“The Archbishop too?” grinned Gringol.
“The same. We all have doubts, you know, and we decided that by the time we return we’d have a better idea of our faith and what’s true and what isn’t.”
“I know what’s true,” simpered Ayoni.
“You do?” asked the Bishop eagerly.
“Yes,” she sighed. “Love is true. Love at first sight like mine for dearest Gringol here, or love of any sort, really, as long as it’s from the heart.”
“I love you,” muttered Gringol to Ayoni.
“And I love you, whatever coloured boxer shorts you wear!” smiled Ayoni.
“And whatever the colouts feel like?” asked Gringol.
“Even the brightest most blushing red!” laughed Ayoni. “But first, lover boy, let’s get that pair off you! They’re red, but with your blood and that’s not so nice.”
Gringol struggled out of his pants, and it was a struggle. Despite her huge skill Ayoni hadn’t quite eased all his pain. He winced as he dragged them down past his knees.
“I think I’d better call you big boy,” whispered the dusky Ayoni, staring at him.
He blushed.
The ex-Bishop spluttered and decided to hurry and fetch two dishes of Shepherd’s Pie before things went too far.
“Phthphss…” sighed Gringol as Ayoni lowered herself onto him until there was neither metric nor decimal space between them.
© Peter Rogerson 06.10.14

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