Ah sirs, you must forgive the lengthy hiatus in the production of this journal. But you will, I trust understand that it was unavoidable under the circumstances. Allow me to explain.
It was during one of the hottest days of last summer that I, feeling the call of nature, took myself along to the water closet. While evacuating my bladder I was struck by a high-pitched whine emanating from somewhere above my head. I twisted my neck to take in the source of this unholy racket and saw there above me a small portcullis, perhaps just six inches high. It was hovering in a menacing manner right over myself!
I fear that more than a droplet or two of my cock-water will have scattered across both tailored plus fours and brogues alike, on sight of this bizarre and disconcerting spectacle!
But there was no respite as the miniature portcullis began to wind open to reveal a darkness within and the fearsome whining grew ever more ear-splitting. As it reached fully openned, the sound became unbearable. It was at this point that I felt my entire body stretch elongated and be sucked into the cavernous maw of this devilish gateway.
Within I found myself in some form of stasis, hovering in a liquid blackness with no forms to hold onto or bodies to interact with. It was here in this place I call the 'other' that I stayed for the remaining eight months, hovering interminably. Occasionally darker patches of shadow would pass before my eyes - this was the extent of the company I kept during these terrible months.
This could have proved to be resting place, would it not have been for the fact that I again heard the whining noise. Looking up I saw the opening of the portcullis and through it beautiful daylight! I grabbed for it and reached through the tiny hole, stretching it to take my girth in desperation.
Finally I squeezed myself through and dropped to floor. I lifted myself up and looked around. I was in the main ballroom at Kenwood House, and a party of ladies and gentlemen were looking on at me horrified. It was not just that I had appeared from a tiny hovering medieval gateway - but worse still, my dripping penis was still hanging from my trousers, just as it had been eight months previous.
I quickly took leave of their hospitality and returned home, where my servants seemed slightly disgruntled to find me still in existence.
A shaking experience - but nothing that a cup of Keemun couldn't settle. And so, it is high time I took myself to a whorery! God bless!
Tuesday 16 February 2010
Thursday 11 February 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)