The Emily Debacle

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Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫

 

 [1] The SOS Band “Take Your Time (Do It Right)”

[2] Evelyn ‘Champagne’ King “Shame”

[3] The Bee Gees “Stayin’ Alive”

[4] Kool & The Gang “Hollywood Swinging”

 

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Mitchell had been struggling for the past thirty seconds with Emily’s bra strap and the situation was beginning to look dire.

“Do you need some help there?”

“No. I’ve got it”

“With all due respect, it doesn’t seem much like you’ve got it Mitch”

“It’s broken I think”

“It’s not broken silly. You’re just doing it wrong”

“I know how to unhook a bra thanks very much”

“Could’ve fooled me. Here let me get it”

“No. I refuse to be beaten by this thing”

“You’re not cracking the Da Vinci code you know”

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“Right now I think that would be less aggravation”

“Then let me do it”

“Aha I think I’ve got it. No that didn’t work”

“Jesus Christ Mitchell”

Emily put the poor boy out of his misery and, in two seconds flat, released the catch.

“You got lucky”

“It’s okay you know. It doesn’t make you any less of a man”

“Why do I feel like less of a man then?”

“Because you’re hung up on it like all guys are. You seem to think that you have to be the domineering ones. Tell you what, why don’t we just move on before I lose interest. I kind of prefer the conversation we were having before. You know, the one where you told me where you was going to stick that stiff prick of yours”

Emily slid her hand down to his groin to give his member a playful squeeze. Flaccid, apparently he had taken his failure rather hard.

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“Where did he go?”

“He’ll be back. Just conserving his energy”

Mitchell wasn’t letting onto the fact that his erection had been compromised by the titanic struggle with Emily’s lingerie. Right now his mind was in a dozen different places at once, none of which were assisting him in bringing the passion back. In a last-ditch attempt at redirecting his blood flow, he lifted Emily’s sweater, causing the cups to drop away from her perky breasts, and began tweaking her nipples enthusiastically.

“Your hands are cold”

“Few seconds and they won’t be”

“To tell you the truth Mitch. You’re pulling a little hard”

“I’m sorry”

He relinquished his grip momentarily as he awaited further instruction.

“It’s okay. They get a bit sensitive around my period. Not your fault. Carry on soldier. You were earning your stripes there”

“Is this okay?”

This time he used this thumbs; sliding them across a wider locale, whilst remaining mindful not to spend too long in one area.

“That’s perfection. And I see someone has decided to make another appearance”

“Told you he’d be back”

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“With a bullet Mitch. Has anyone ever told you that you have a great cock?”

“My mother once did”

“Too much information. Tell you what, let’s try not talking shall we? I wanna hear what he has to say”

With that delicate nudge, it became apparent to Mitchell that his bladder was at breaking point. This was to be his first lay and he was already feeling the pressure of the occasion without having to worry about filling her up with urine. He never drank enough water so his stream would likely be fluorescent and four cans of cheap industrial strength lager were bidding for parole.

“One second”

Mitchell rose to his feet, hamstrung by the erection which threatened to explode in precisely the wrong manner if he didn’t make it to her bathroom pronto.

“Oh…my God. You know men have climbed Kilimanjaro in the time it is taking you to get anything done”

“I’ll be two minutes. Second on the left right?”

“It’s right in front of you. End of the hallway. Watch the nail sticking up from the carpet by the doorway”

“Shit. Will do. Thanks”

________

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Mitchell waddled off like one of the Skeksis from The Dark Crystal and hastily headed off for sweet relief while, back at base, Emily contemplated grabbing the Rampant Rabbit from her dresser drawer before her vagina sealed back up. He could barely see he was so delirious from the desire for release. After locking himself in and proving far more fleet of hand with his leather belt, he placed his cheeks on the cold latrine and began negotiations. He always pissed sitting down; it just seemed more therapeutic and sanitary. Unfortunately, his erection had something to say about any proposed clear out as it was at full mast and looking him dead in the eye. Frantically he attempted to bend his member under the rim, all the while, feeling the valve turning and Bladder-Gate threatening to ensue.

He tried slapping it but that just turned him on all the more. His next consideration was to place Emily’s make-up mirror adjacent to the intended flow and pray for a ricochet. A ludicrous idea and doomed to fail miserably. It had to be the pressure point. He had heard about applying pressure to the lower shaft and decided this was do or die. To his amazement this worked; steadily it began to soften until which point as it reached a safe launch spot. Without any further procrastination, Mitch let it go. It felt like a thousand pixies masquerading around his urethra. Pure unsolicited bliss. Suddenly sex didn’t seem so important; the jaybirds began chirping on the oak bough by the window ledge behind the frosted glass, and the world just felt like an altogether better place.

Mitchell hadn’t banked on the customary slackened sphincter in such a scenario. That was the sole disadvantage in remaining seated and he took his eye from the prize for long enough for an enemy to pass the gates undetected. It was too late to reason with it; nature would have to take its course as it was hanging at under 50% integrity and gravity had begun to play its part. Plop. This wasn’t an isolated incident. Evidently his bowel had been watching the great escape as it sent a second capsule hurtling southpaw. This one would require a little more gape; Mitch parted his legs enough for a recon mission as Das Boot was about to emerge topside. Sometimes in life, exceeded expectations can be a positive thing. This wasn’t one of those occasions.

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Any lack of splashdown could have appeared something of a disappointment at this juncture. Not to Mitchell it didn’t. This bronze beast would likely amass over one million YouTube hits overnight; such an entity could not be simply discarded without a snap shot. His smart phone was running at the dreaded 10% mark and he knew he would only get one chance so grabbed his opportunity to take a picture with decisiveness and even found time to add a filter and crop the image before the battery finally depleted. Proud as punch, he took one last adoring glance down the toilet and returned to clean the blast zone. What started as a handful of sheets concluded with the end of the roll as each subsequent wipe succeeded only in spreading it across a wider radius. He had to make the last few squares count; really cover some ground. Mercifully, he achieved the seemingly unachievable.

He wasn’t out of the woods yet by a long chalk. Emily had had three other sexual partners to his knowledge and one of them, his friend Jake, had enlightened him about her penchant for plunging a finger or two into her opposite number’s rectum during coitus. That would be out of the question now as, operation damage limitation may have been a rousing success, but it had still left him in a rather precarious position. It was a shame; he had kind of looked forward to that. Sex was still on the cards and that was of pivotal importance right now. It was time for Mitchell to finish what he had started. Now to flush, open the window as there appeared to be no freshener to hand, and wait for at least ten minutes until the haze lifted.

“Fuck”

Mitch was far less than thrilled by the lack of submergence as almost an entire roll of budget toilet paper rushed beneath the surface to entangle his burly dropship, thus preventing sinkage. He tried again and the system groaned as it was historically used to longer respite between flushes. A third pull on the chain proved costly as the water began to rise inside the bowl, swiftly circling towards flood level.

“No. No you bastard…no. NO”

“Are you alright in there Mitch?”

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“Yeah I’m fine. Just changing my contact lens. I’ll be one more minute”

“You’d better be. My parents are due home in an hour and then its back to dry humping”

“Be right with ya”

Mitch knew that was a bare-faced lie and his dishonesty was confirmed as the toilet began to run over, sending murky water down the ebony base and onto the carpet below. Who decorates their bathroom in carpet anyway? For fuck’s sake, what the hell am I supposed to do now? These thoughts and numerous others were running rampant as he stood like a rabbit in headlamps for a clutch of moments. There was little he could use to soak up the spillage so it had to be the full-sized Egyptian body towel. It looked expensive but that was irrelevant as it offered his only solution. Things had leveled out considerably and the swirling whirlpool had temporarily subsided.

It still left the somewhat pressing matter of the flooded floor and that soft, fragrant towel was no longer quite the breath of fresh country air that it once was. He knew he would be required to cut his losses and tossed the soiled blanket from the window, where it landed draped across Emily’s father’s favorite conifer like a muddy flag. He would grab it on exit, apply three high temperature wash cycles, and have it back on the rack before tomorrow night. Right now it was the least of his concerns as Emily was clearly growing restless in her boudoir and he could hear her rooting around her drawer for a pack of AAA batteries to revive her fatigued rabbit.

“I’m almost done in here”

“Good ‘cos now I need to pee”

These words were like a low kidney blow and any remaining color drained from Mitchell’s cheeks as he knew full well he was about to be soundly rumbled. A quick glance around the room revealed a vague lifeline; Emily’s mother’s three-speed industrial hair dryer. She was a hairdresser by trade and this thing looked like it packed a punch so he grabbed it from the side and promptly triggered its uppermost setting. After a few moments, he heard a knock at the door so he hurriedly cut the power and listened out for its return.

“Seriously. What are you doing in my bathroom?”

“I’m…erm..I just washed my hair”

“Why? Why the fuck now?”

“I suffer from a flaky scalp”

Instantly Mitch recoiled under the weight of his self-distributed body blow. Clearly urinating wasn’t the only thing he should consider not doing on his feet as thinking was proving just as destructive. To add to his rapidly burgeoning index of foibles, which already included the inability to fathom a bra strap and taking far too long on bathroom breaks to be considered healthy, he could now add acute dandruff to the laundry list.

“I really need a pee bad. Just let me in alright?”

“Can’t. I’ve got my hands full right now. I swear to you I’ll be done in a second “

“Alright just be quick”

“Gotcha”

As Mitchell turned back to the bayside battlefield, fate once again played its callous hand. Becoming snagged in the flex, he juggled the hairdryer unsuccessfully and it plummeted headlong into the one place he didn’t wish it to drop. He’d always been curious as to what would happen when fumbling a live electrical object into water but had no desire to discover the answer now. It was her father’s stupid fault for putting a power point in the one place you don’t put a power point. The water electrified but, more disconcertingly, it tripped the switch in the basement, plunging the entire house into darkness.

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“Fiddlesticks”

“Mitchell? What the actual fuck?”

“That’s weird. Maybe it’s a fuse. Where’s your breaker box?”

“There’s no way I’m going down there alone. You’re coming with me”

Mitchell knew his hands were tied temporarily at least with regards to clearing the crime scene and could hear the intense aggravation in Emily’s voice; so hung his head in shame and made his way back to the bedroom. She was using her phone flashlight to offer respite from the sudden darkness.

“I hate the dark Mitchell”

“Come on. I’ve got you. We’ll do this together”

A cunning plan emerged in Mitchell’s scheming head at that point as this presented the opportunity for him to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. He puffed out his chest and prepared to be the hero that Bonnie Tyler whined about holding out for. He inhaled deep and exhaled the breath in unison with his first gallant stride forward. He had it all planned; flick the switch, save the day, sleep with the girl, smoke a cigarette. In that exact order. Alas, his second step was far less assured and ended in a three-inch rusted nail burrowing into the pad of his foot. Every knight likes to believe they are the most valiant but, during a joust situation, one knight must inevitably fall. Mitchell was that knight and tumbled without any discernible grace to her floor, bouncing off her bedside cabinet on the way down and ripping the open drawer straight from its hinges. On the plus-side, he was fairly assured it was a pack of AAA batteries laying to his left.

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Back to the negatives, Mitchell had never really been a fan of pain. A simple paper cut had been known to cite mild waterworks and he was possibly the only seventeen year old buck who still left Dr Masood’s dental surgery with a lollipop in his mouth. This was far worse than any wisdom tooth he’d ever known; a thousand shards of displeasure stabbing away at his foot with synchronicity. He began sobbing, much in the same manner as a five-year old girl would when dropping her Neapolitan cornet in dog feces.

“Shit. Are you alright?”

“I…I…Agh it hurts. It hurts real bad”

“Stay there. I’ll get some TCP from the bathroom cabinet”

“NO!”

What? I’ve gotta do something”

“I’m okay. Just give me a second”

He attempted to regain composure, wracked with dread over Emily being made privy to his earlier indiscretions.

“Are you sure? Sounds bad”

He pulled himself up to a seated position alongside the bed.

“Look. I’m fine”

“That’s a lot of blood”

Mitchell despised the sight of blood and its mention alone threatened to compromise his new-found posture.

“I think you should get that looked at you know”

“Drop it please”

“No really. You should see the hole in your foot”

Mitchell passed out on receipt of this fresh intelligence.

________

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“About time. Shit, you had me worried”

“The lights are back on”

“Yeah. I sorted it. On my own. You’ve been off with the fairies”

“I feel light-headed”

“Speaking of which, I won’t ask you what happened in the bathroom. That can be for another day alright?”

Mitchell’s faint last light of hope had been extinguished. He’d been out for a full twenty which left precious little time for fornication before the proposed return of Mr & Mrs Johnson. Not that it mattered, he was due to become a laughing-stock at college and be remembered forevermore as the biggest pussy wimp clusterfuck ever to have failed to score. All that was left to do was to take the hobble of shame and pray Emily was mortified enough not to ever mention his squandered seduction to another soul.

“Can you throw me my socks please?”

“I can see one. Where’s the other one got to?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ve still got it on”

Perfect, now the only thing left to do was to blow his brains out the back of his skull with a 12-bore. What could be less enticing than a naked man with tears smudged down both cheeks, sitting spread-eagled on your bedroom floor wearing one white gym sock? The electricity shorting had cut out the central heating, thus his once proud love anvil had practically inverted, just for that extra dash of wound salt. In this moment, Mitchell cast his mind back to the most horrifying experiences of his short life. There was the time he sat on a testicle in a Religious Studies lecture, that time at the movie house watching Percy Jackson & The Lightning Thief where good farts turned bad, and then there was the time when he leaned in for a kiss with Miranda Green and she vomited straight into his expectant open mouth. None of them had shit on the Emily debacle.

“Second thoughts. Can you just grab my coat. I’d better be heading off”

“No. You don’t have to do that”

Emily’s response lacked anything resembling conviction.

“It’s late”

“Yeah it is getting a little late. My folks will be home any second. I’m guessing it won’t be a good idea sticking around for that one”

“Probably not”

“Listen. It’s probably not going to be a good idea to show your face here for a little while after this”

There it was. Sweet rejection, his only friend at this point.

“I get it. We’re over. It’s not me it’s you”

“Not at all. I like you Mitch. Granted, you haven’t had a good day in the office. But that hasn’t changed”

In a split second, Mitchell got his groove back.

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“Alright then. I’ll call you tomorrow”

“Don’t…call me. I’ll call you okay? Soon as I get home”

“Got it”

“Oh and Mitchell”

“Uh-huh”

“Next time we try this. Let’s do it at your place”

“Yes. Yes of course. My place”

Mitchell left a lot more composed and hopeful than he had expected. While depressingly still proud owner of front and back virgin plates, he had bought himself a second bite of the cherry so to speak. He pulled the tainted cloth from the conifer and stopped momentarily outside Emily’s window; in what would be the ideal coordinates for serenade had it not been for the shit-sodden linen he was holding. It was deathly quiet outside but the silence was broken by a mechanical buzzing which emanated from her boudoir. Rampant Rabbit 1 Bungling Mitchell 0.

As he turned away in abject desolation, he didn’t spot the Johnsons returning from their cocktail party and stumbled onto the drive and into the path of its reverse lights. Thud.

________

Mitchell came to and instantaneously the pain in his left thigh rushed to greet him.

“He’s coming to”

It was Blanche Johnson, Emily’s well-to-do mother.

“Thank God. Quick let’s get him straight into the bathroom and check him over”

“NO!”

Mitchell summoned every last scrap of determination and pulled himself to his feet, clutching his left side in agony. He made off, using the front mulberry bush to prop himself up, and got the hell out of dodge quick, leaving Emily’s gobsmacked parents in his wake.

“Strange boy”

Edward Johnson stood with his arms crossed, shaking his head in bemusement.

“Do you think he’ll be alright Ed?”

He looked down at the sullied towel strewn across the driveway.

“I’d say the jury’s out on that one. Come on, let’s go have a soak in the tub. I got us incense”

He left the cloth where it laid and the Johnsons made their way inside for some much-earned bath shenanigans. Mitchell never did receive that call.

 

 

GREY KEEPER FRAME

3 Comments

  1. Good intentions can definitely go so wrong. Okay this made me laugh, giggle and even squeamish. See the powerful magic of your words? Amazing!

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