1-14:Porn Again (part1)
He yanked his hands upwards from where they were presently located and stormed – as best he could – off in the direction of the dressing rooms.
Something flew past Donnie’s face and terminated with a rubbery slap on the Assistant’s face.
‘Ow!’ said the Assistant, her original carriage of thought derailed as effectively as a train hitting a four-wheel-drive at a busy intersection. She overbalanced and began to fall backwards.
The missile, a used though thankfully empty prophylactic, fell onto Donnie’s leg.
Somewhat revolted, he reached up to grab the assistant’s hat, the only available item which could scoop the object from his hitherto flawless black trousers.
She misinterpreted his action as an attempt to help her avoid falling onto her back, and reached out with a hopeful expression on her face.
Donnie, however, did not need a friend indeed, and deftly avoided her grasping hand, removing the hat and allowing her to fall. She landed on her back with her legs in the air, thus beginning a demarcation dispute which the production company could not afford.
Not that it mattered to her; she had knocked herself unconscious on the bare cement floor.
Donnie flicked the rubber onto the floor with the brim of the hat and, almost unconsciously, moved the assistant’s leg five degrees to the left, creating a lovely example of the Lhasa Marinate, found on page 139 of the Ancient Eastern book of contortionistic sexual positions, the Karma Salata. If he’d been in the mood, he would have knelt down next to her and turned her Lhasa to a Yogurt (page 145). Instead he stood and asked a simple question with a smile.
‘Now, what’s going on?’
‘Hmff, hmff,’ said someone behind him.
As Donnie turned, he was rather concerned to hear the sound of a zip being opened.
‘Rehearsal,’ said the leather masked gimp kneeling on the floor behind the couch. There was an open zip where his mouth was.
The gimp stood up and extended a hand for Donnie to shake.
Decision-time, thought Donnie. Do I know where that hand has been?
He ignored the hand and smiled a questioning glance at the gimp.
‘Harold’s my name,’ said the Gimp and winked.
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Tags: airport security, atoll, blue movie, conservationists, mustang, pay cop, politics, tasmanian wildlife
There are a few ways to describe one's self when effectively trying to mask the fact that you're a complete hermit and spend your entire existence behind a computer screen sipping hot tea and eating cakes. The first would be to suggest that you're somewhat introverted and avoid coffee. Another might be to suggest you're a fan of Apple Macs but are cutting-down from the 6 you used to have to an even two (Macbook and Mac Mini in turn). Finally you might choose to say that despite the massive pay-drop, this writing thing is quite a lark isn't it? Not to mention enjoying the creative life a lot more than mindless tedium in corporate jobs, working the 40 hour week to the drumming of endless meetings and political intrigue that would have made Machiavelli blush and hand his pen over to the corporate slugs that run companies these days. Enough said really.
