Stung

I have heard it said that people experience pain in different ways. I was stung by a wasp once and both my legs blew up in a scintillating multi-coloured burst of stars accompanied by Tchaikovsky's serenade for strings (in C major) Op.48. When this eventually subsided, I was left with an overwhelming scent of blueberries that lasted for 3 years.

My good friend, Annabel, persuaded me that I should allow her to urinate on it. Later on I found that this only helps with jellyfish stings, and that Annabel had some very odd fetishes. Several years later I discovered her naked in my drawing room, smeared in mascarpone and snorting fire ants through a rolled up fiver.

I never saw Annabel again. Although this was mostly due to the fact I was struck blind in a freak billiards accident and not from any harsh judgements from myself towards her peculiar habits. I did however embark on a tumultuous fling with her younger sister, Tabitha, which will live long in my memory.

Tabitha was a remarkable young lady - her bosoms were like two orphaned seal pups futilely nuzzling each other for warmth in the harsh arctic tundra. She could turn lumps of coal to diamonds if inserted twixt her thighs. She was a magnificent woman, and the only woman I ever truly loved. It was when she left me that I felt that pain once more. Both my legs, once again, obliterating themselves in to a glorious lightshow before my eyes.

I have never smelt blueberries since.