15 Jan


Girl in shorts photo jean-shorts-005_zps0cf1596c.jpg

Zharhar was a slightly florid man in his middle years, scared of his own shadow in a world where predatory women were constantly trying to get inside a man’s trousers, or so it was said. In addition, he had a boring wife at home and two boring kids, a boy and a girl. And being a citizen of Ondrazoon, the most uninteresting island anywhere on the planet, he had quite a lot to complain about, though, of course, he daren’t. Life never presented him with a single iota of time that he could say contained one smidgen of interest, but he kept the general sense of boredom to himself.

He had to, or a woman might take advantage of him.

He paused on his way to his boring job in an Estate Agent’s office and silently, mentally called out into the wild for something of even the most modest interest to come by and grab his attention, but nothing did. A few other pedestrians, both women and dressed after the manner of all Ondrazoonian women, bright shorts and loose white or pastel tops out of appreciation of the fine weather, and men dressed like himself, in a cloak (uncomfortably thick and heavy for such a balmy climate and with trousers underneath, both essential to ward off unwanted attention from predatory females together with the thick cowled hood that completely masked their faces.)

“Why,” he asked himself, “are women so keen on dominating us men with their uncontrollable urges? I guess it’s always been the case, which is why we have modesty laws for menfolk. But there are tales … of how a man can be subsumed by female passions…. of the things they might do to a man, and we all know the punishment if he allows it to happen … floggings … only right, of course, society must be protected from nature and its urges….”

He carried on. It wasn’t far to the office, but he normally took a long route anyway, for the peace his own company afforded him than anything else.

“Excuse me…” He was jolted out of his reverie by a female voice, and he quailed. The last thing he wanted was to have to defend his innocence from the attentions of a rapacious female.

“Yes?” he barked.

“Could you direct me … I’m lost, and need the police station,” she said.

It sounded innocent enough, but who could tell what vile intentions hovered behind the words. And her voice was sweet, non-threatening, even pleasant. As was her face … the word pretty sprang to mind, even the word beautiful … and she wasn’t wearing much, not much at all, the weather being what it was. He felt himself perspiring in the depths of his own clothing.

“Leave me alone!” he found himself gasping as he pulled his hempen cloak tightly about himself. “I’m married, I am, with a wife and kids … they’re expecting me home soon enough, after work, and they’ll know if you’ve woman-handled me!”

She smiled and shook her head. “I’ve no interest in anything but the whereabouts of the police station,” she said, and in order to prove her modesty she adjusted her brassiere in full view of everyone on the street.

“I know women like you,” he blabbered, “which is why I cover myself up so! You’re only after one thing, you women, a few drops of a man’s semen when he isn’t looking! And if I’m seen talking to you I’ll be for it when I get home, I will! There are laws against it, good laws to protect the innocent! If I’m caught talking to you she’ll have me flogged. That she will! And who would blame her?”

“But I only want to know the way to the police station,” sighed the women, lifting the hem of her brief skirt and adjusting her thong.

“It’s that way!” he squawked, pointing the wrong way just to confuse her. “Or that way,” he added, pointing the right way in order to double her confusion.

“Make your mind up,” she said with huge patience. “I know it can’t be easy being a man, swathed in all those thick layers of cloth and sweltering in this scorching heat, but you can surely give a woman directions to the police station without confusing her?”

Sweat was pouring down his face and moistening his modesty-collar. All he wanted was for this woman to go away and stop talking to him, and to do it before someone noticed and started asked questions.

“That way,” he muttered, pointing the right way.

“Good boy,” she said. “Are you married?”

He nodded, miserably. “Please let me go,” he squawked.

“I thought you must be. I’ll bet you’re experienced, eh? With us women, I mean? What colour eyes do you have under that hood? What shape are you? Do you have a nice pudgy belly or are you all muscle? Is your chest manly? I like a manly chest… and it’s a long time since I’ve seen even the hint of one….”

He couldn’t reply. He was lost, not daring to move and scared to stay. In the end he gripped his courage firmly in two mental hands and took a step away from the woman and her filthy talk.

She took a matching step and stood, legs apart, watching him.

“I’ll be off, then,” she said out of the blue. “To the police station, that way…” She pointed. “I start my new job today, Chief Constable of the whole of Ondrazoon, and my first task will be to report your suspicious behaviour…”

Under his hood his eyes opened wide. “But you spoke to me!” he almost wept.

She put her beautiful, beautiful face close to his.

“And you replied,” she purred.

© Peter Rogerson 15.01.15


2 Responses to “LEGAL JUSTICE”

  1. georgiakevin April 6, 2015 at 2:48 am #

    What a fun post to read!

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