It’s 10 am and I should be out of bed, except here I am lying around in my own filth and sweat. Last night was fun I admit, but i’m paying the price now. My mouth tastes like what I would imagine a gorrilla’s armpit to taste like. My head hurts and my face is puffy. There are crease marks on my cheeks and my underpants have been on for three days straight. Last night was a good night for all concerned. Being twenty four, unemployed and living in such a village as Purton can be rather disheartening for a young ambitious male like myself. Any chance of fun is warmly welcomed. I’m Bobby Greenhorn – wannabee fighter pilot, but in reality i’m just any old bum.
“Bobby, get your ass down here boy, breakfast is on the table”
My father Malcolm (47) keen on cliches is yelling up to me to come and eat, but I don’t feel like eating. I just want to lie here and maybe watching a bit of telly in bed. Bit of early morning cookery whilst having a fumble with the ol’ johnson. Perfect Saturday morning japery. None of this eating business. More of the ol’ watching people eating and cooking whilst lying down in my own fetid stink. I enjoy the combination. It’s perfect. You have to have the rough with smooth. It’s what makes life life. I don’t know how people cope with perfection. I can only cope with imperfection. I know it well. I enjoy it. It enjoys me. I stink.
I remember when we were kids, I used to fart under the duvet and make my younger sister Annie inhale my pong until she told me it smelled good. Only then would I release her from the bowels of hell. I liked that game. I’m sure she did too. I miss Annie. She had a great sense of smell.
Last night was fantastic. One of those nights where you expect anything to happen. I’d gone to meet a couple of mates at The Angel, somewhere I usually whinge about going to, but on this occasion I just couldn’t be arsed to pick a fight. It was Friday night, i’d had a tough day lying around playing computer games (i’d failed to get past level 7 of Gun of Justice) and just to go out and let loose was fine with me.
We met at 8pm, as we always did, me, Johnny Snow and Martin Teatington. We always liked to hurt Martin’s feelings, by calling him ‘Teaty’, especially in front of fit girls. It was especially unfortunate that Teaty had quite large, milky looking nipples for a boy. Teaty had pet sheep – maybe evolution looked kindly on him and gave him the ability to give his sheep human milk as a supplement, if he so wished.
Anyway, so there we were, propping up the bar at The Angel. Burt the barman was there serving everyone drinks and trying to act cool whenever a good looking lass ordered a drink. Tonight, his greasy hair was slicked over in a side parting, showing off the most enormous boils on his forehead. Burt basically looked a bit like a diseased crow, but he was pleasant enough to our faces and people liked him regardless of his repulsivesness.
I was puffing out my chest as I normally do, to impress the ladies and drinking lager at the bar. I like lager. My father calls it onion water, but I like it’s crisp, clean taste. Two girls that I had never seen before looked over at me and then quickly went back to chatting between themselves again. I thought i’d go over and introduce myself, seeing as though one of them in particular looked moderately attractive. “So what do you do in life?” I casually remarked to the girl.
On closer look she was beautiful. Her hair was of an almost unnatural consistency. Extremely blonde and lustrous. Her body – an hourglass. Underneath her rather tight fitting white top (she was wearing tight black jeans to counterbalance) I observed two nice sized lumps that suggested a pair of breasts. I also noticed slightly protruding nipples.
She went on to tell me all sorts. Maybe she was nervous, but she babbled on for ages about her main job as a careworker and how in the evenings she modelled now and again for a toy company. I couldn’t be arsed to ask too many questions, in fear that she would talk forever, but she was nice to look at and we were getting on so after an hour or so I asked her if she had a place we could go to continue the night. Turned out she rented a small flat about a fifteen minute walk away.
It was now around ten o’clock and the pub was still buzzing and my mates were having a good old chinwag and bantering session on my behalf, as i’d been chatting to this girl (she told me her name was Cindy) for ages. I think they were jealous. I would be too, she was a fine looking girl.
We left the pub at 10.30 after having another drink together. Her friends were now chatting to my mates, so we felt we could quite comfortably bugger off without feeling like we’d left anybody in the lurch or anything. We didn’t bother say proper goodbye, they just looked over at us as we picked up our coats and we gave them a wink in return.
Cindy’s flat was on the third floor of a three story building. If the flat was in London or New York, you may like to call it a penthouse apartment, but this was Purton so we just called it a flat.
“What do you think of my penthouse apartment” said Cindy with an ironic tone to her voice.
“Wonderful dear, absolutely fabulous darling – I’m particularly enjoying the views over the rest of the estate” I responded suitably.
We settled down into the night on her sofa. Cindy poured me a glass of red. I looked at her again and wallowed in her perfection. I felt small and ugly in conmparison, but calmed my anxiety by reminding myself how charismatic and funny I am. I farted a little bit, and Cindy laughed and sniffed the air.
“Cheese on toast?” she said questioningly.
“Yep, I had three slices of poor pizza earlier whilst playing Gun of Justice” I admitted.
Cindy laughed once, then nodded and exclaimed that she also loved Gun of Justice and didn’t mind men that farted – as long as it wasn’t at mealtime. I was happy. Not only did she like Gun of Justice and farting, but she also had a keen sense of smell, just like Annie did. I thought of Annie and missed her again.
Cindy got up off the sofa to go and have a look at her cd collection. She only had about twenty cds and some of them seemed a bit suspect to me. For example she owned a couple of Phil Collins albums as well as the first album by Ocean Colour Scene. Never did like Ocean Colour Scene. But I forgave her for her sins and she came back with a Smiths album. I could just about cope with that, so I told her to put it on. After a couple of drinks I put my arm around Cindy and went in for a kiss. Her lips yielded and our mouths met. Saliva flowed between us as we snogged. It felt nice. I thought i’d take things further and started to rub the inside of her legs. She parted them slightly to let me know she was happy for me to do this. I continued for a minute or so and whilst my left hand kept rubbing and touching her leg, my right decided to cup her breasts. I was happy again as she once again yielded and took her very tight top off. Her breasts looked magnificent in the black bra she was wearing, but they couldn’t stay in it forever so I undid the clasp on the back and unleashed them. Wow, how incredible they were. The nipples large, pink and stiff. The breasts they were attached to hung down a little, but were still pert. The nipples pointed upwards. My mouth went downwards and my tongue began to circle the nipples, whilst my left hand continued to rub the inside of her thighs. She was really horny, I could tell, as she was breathing deeply and arching her back and pelvis upwards. I decided to go for the next step and undo her trousers. One button by one, they opened, revealing matching lacy black knickers. Oh Cindy, I think I love you I thought to myself. I peeled her tight black trousers over her thighs and ankles and she was down to just knickers. She pulled me towards her and brought her mouth to mine once again and pushed my hand downwards. My hand pulled either side of her knickers down and exposed an exceptionally well groomed crotch. Not a hair in sight. A modern woman. I was excited. I pulled her knickers down quickly over her ankles and off they went as I threw them over the other side of the room. Cindy looked at me, a wild, primal expression in her eyes. I looked down as I prepared for my next attack and suddenly gasped. Cindy didn’t have a vagina. I couldn’t believe it, but I looked again and it was true. It was just smoothed off.
“What!?” I said bemusedly, trying not to hurt her feelings.
“I know, I know, i’m sorry, I was just born that way. There’s nothing wrong, it’s normal the doctor says. He says it’s just something called ‘Barbie doll syndrome’. There are about five people in the world who also have it. He thinks it’s part of nature’s way of stopping humans reproducing. There are an awful lot of us don’t you think?”
“Well yeah, I agree, but I can’t lie, i’m shocked. I’ve never seen anything like it before. So what do we do now? I mean, we can’t have sex can we?”
“It’s ok, we can smudge a bit – all of my sexual feelings just kind of happen without intercourse. I came earlier when you were touching my boobs! But I can understand it may seem weird for you… come on… let me sort you out…”
We spent the rest of the night drinking and laughing and petting. It was blissful. I could’ve stayed in that moment forever.
The next morning I got up and left whilst Cindy was still asleep. She looked so beautiful there – hair tousled and her sleepy swollen lips parted slightly. She looked like Brigitte Bardot. She was my very own Barbie doll.