Flying Saucer (iv) Another day on the island
By Terrence Oblong
Fri, 27 Jul 2018
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I spent a wondrous day combining short bouts of frantic exertion followed by lazing in recovery position. By the evening the Lass had worked her way through her full set of cards. She still didn't love me though.
I could have lay in bed forever, but I needed to pick up my replacement film from the Boatman. The Lass also needed supplies, so we dressed and set off, the Lass giving a whistle as she did so, at which point Stoat bounded up to join us.
We reached the bay just as the Boatman was docking. "I got yer films," he said, handing me a package of blank films, replacement batteries and other equipment I'd ordered.
"What about the films I asked you to develop?"
"Be ready tomorrow. Fastest service in town."
I would have to wait. I paid my money and waited for the Lass. She said something to the Boatman, handed over some money and he walked off, returning shortly with what looked like a family-size packet of condoms. He looked at me with ... to be honest it wasn't a look I recognised.
"Do yer need anything else wee barra?" he said.
I realised that I shouldn't be relying on the Lass to buy condoms, as a responsible man with an active sex life I should be providing my own.
"Er," I said nervously, "I suppose I should, I mean I may need, do you have any ... condoms at all?"
"Yer out o joy wee barra," the Boatman said. "I just sold me last box."
The Lass said something to the Boatman.
"She's inviting you to supper," he said.
"Tell her I'd be delighted." This time his translation didn't even run to a single syllable, he just gave her a nod.
"I'll be away then," the Boatman said. "Won't get in the way of you young lovers."
The Lass gave a whistle, turned and stomped off, Stoaty bounding after her, and me bounding behind Stoaty.
Back at the house, the Lass nodded to the sofa and I sat and talked while she cooked. I would have offered to help, but my culinary skills were negligible, besides which I didn't know how to offer my services.
This time it was a stew of some kind, again there were three equal-sized plates, one for the Lass, one for Stoaty and one for me. The Lass used a spoon this time, so i didn't feel so alien using cutlery. Stoaty finished first again and looked at me expectantly. It's amazing how a one-off kindness becomes a ritual. I added some of my meal to Stoaty's plate.
The Lass and I both finished together and, after depositing our plates with Stoaty to lick properly clean, the Lass kissed me again, briefly this time, then nodded upstairs.
"I can't," I said. "I need to watch for UFOs."
She didn't understand, of course. I tried miming, but my miming skills don't really extend to 'I can't go upstairs for sex, I need to go to my tent where I can watch the sky for alien spacecraft.' I would have to show her, instead.
I took her by the hand and led her out of the door, heading towards the other side of the island where I was encamped. She gave a low whistle and Stoaty bounded after us. I don't know where she thought I was taking her, but she clearly thought it was somewhere she'd need a sheepdog.
We lay on my airbed and stared at the sky, for all of a few minutes, before our clothes were flung away and we made love there, exposed to the universe. Stoaty tried to look the other way, ignoring the various grunts, sighs and wheezes which might have meant anything to him. When we'd finished there were no cards available for the Lass to proclaim the absence of love with, so we lay and did nothing, just stared up at the skies. Shortly afterwards the lights appeared again and I showed the Lass how to film while I took ream of photos after ream of photos.
It lasted an hour, during which time I used up all the films I'd bought off the Boatman. When the last light disappeared we retreated to my tent for more sex, after which I showed the Lass my collection of UFO magazines, including the articles I'd had published. She seemed unimpressed, but then she couldn't read English and couldn't have know that she was with a published UFO journalist with his own regular column.
The next day we rose early and made our way to the morning boat. I was keen to hand over my film to the Boatman to get developed, but the Lass pushed in front and said something urgently to the Boatman.
"The Lass has a message for you," he said.
"Does she?" I said. Was she going to say that she didn't love me? "What is it."
"She says: 'It's not aliens you twat, it's the secret American test base.'
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Comments
The sensation at the end was
Permalink Submitted by Parson Thru on
The sensation at the end was reminisce of a Madrid bus halting at a bus stop. If there had been lots of little old ladies in bed with me, they would all have fallen over.
I love how you dropped that in.
The humour is as dry as an English summer (these days). I loved the family sized box of condoms. Something really wrong about that.
The whole idea of this formidable woman communicating in nods and whistles and educating a poor young UFO journalist is superb. Love the boatman, too, and his delivery of that final line.
What next?
Do you think the t-word warrants an 18?
Parson Thru
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More to come?
Permalink Submitted by Parson Thru on
More to come?
Parson Thru
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