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Monday, 6 August 2012


PART 2: JONNY THE FOX [part one is here]
Written by Dave Thorpe

Jonny was in the park. It was a nice park, full of swings and goalposts, as parks tended to be back in those days. The goalposts reminded Jonny of his Dad from all those years ago. Jonny liked football, because he loved scoring goals. And the sorts of goals he loved involved penetrating women. Oh yes, Jonny liked to score. And when he couldn’t score with an actual woman, he spent many nights on his own, scoring own goals.

That summer passed quickly; it was all a blur to Jonathan Sebastian Door. He was a young man about town, with a point to prove and a wit as sharp as a blunt object. His father had taught him many things before he had left. Unfortunately, none of it had made sense to Jonny and he tended to flit from one meaningless sexual encounter to the next, living off the hopes, dreams and general income of others. But this was all about to change.

Jonny didn’t have many friends. He had always struggled to make a connection with people socially. That is if it wasn’t in a grubby club toilet or bent over a park bench. He saw himself as a sexual conquistador, and his passport was what he had dangling slightly to the left, between his firm manly thighs. Jonny knew that this was a potent weapon - the feeling he could arouse in a woman, the noise, the sweat, the pleasure. Sometimes it felt like a whirlwind to Jonny, seducing young girls, taking them, making them his, yet he was never really satisfied. They were all just a passing fancy. Jonny strived to further his depravity a little each time, but he would settle for vanilla if chocolate wasn’t on offer.

Jonny wasn’t the most eloquent of people, but in his own internal monologue he always had time for the odd innuendo. Another skill he might have learnt from his father, had he ever been at home. Jonny spent much of his childhood in the care of a nanny. This had probably shaped his view of the world more than he had realised. It also led to him roughly losing his virginity to a particularly young and perky Swedish nanny called Annika at the age of 14. She did things that previously he could only imagine and put things in places that he could never have imagined. This set him on course for a carefree sex-filled lifestyle of gay abandon (well of abandon anyway - he had not yet dabbled in the murky arena of man love).

Jonny knew that one day he would have to change his ways; he just needed something. He didn’t know what yet, but he was soon to find out. Until today Jonny didn’t know what it was. But today that was all about to change. It would be happening, today.

“Hey you, stop!” shouted Jonny as his eyes settled on the big burly man, speeding away from him. Jonny took flight in pursuit, knowing that he had to win this one. The man faltered and slipped, giving Jonny time to catch up, this was it, his moment. He dived forward, clutching at the air and landed in a crumpled heap.
“Oooh fuck aaaargghhh” screamed Jonny as his legs splayed apart and shattered, bone ripping through tendon, tearing through flesh...and the man was gone.

It was dark when Jonny awoke. He tried desperately to move but his body wouldn’t respond as it usually did. His eyes flickered open and he could just make out the bright fluorescent lights, the curtains, the starched white bed linen: yes, he was in his Mum’s spare room.
The pain he felt was dull, just like Jonny. He attempted to speak.
“Mrrph” he managed quietly, his mouth salty and dry. Is this it? thought Jonny. Have I been reduced to a dribbling vegetable? The answer was yet to be determined, but was probably yes. Or maybe it was actually no.

Jonny felt warmth between his legs and as he looked down he could see a head bobbing furiously. He now felt the sensation. Yes, it still worked, his cock standing proud and erect, filling this stranger’s mouth. What the hell was going on? thought Jonny. He could feel the soft, small hand working his man meat up and down, the warmth of the mouth and lips sliding gracefully along the shaft, harder, faster, and deeper. Then “ooh, aaahh, Mrrppph” and he was spent. Like all the other times, yet even less satisfying. The stranger rose, wiping their mouth clean. Jonny was disoriented but began to realise this wasn’t his mother’s spare room at all. Maybe he’d imagined it, maybe he was hallucinating or maybe it wasn’t real. Jonny just knew something wasn’t right. “Who, who, who are you?” he stammered, managing to elicit meaningful words from somewhere deep inside.
The figure took a step back, visibly aghast. Not expecting the young captive to wake just yet. This could pose a problem; the first stage hadn’t even been successfully completed. The figure scurried out of the room, to be replaced with another, larger, looming over him, breathing heavily: a man. Jonny could make out vague features, but couldn’t really focus.
“Hello Jonathan,” said the man. “I expect you’re wondering what all this is about?” Jonny tried to respond, all he managed was “please?” The figure laughed. “It’s okay, I’m here to help you”. Jonny struggled but could just about make out what it said on the man’s name badge: Mr B……..R…………I and then there was darkness and nothing.
If YOU would like to add to the terrible, terrible saga of Several Coats of Paint, get in touch!

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