Virgin on Kinky

Kinky 03

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Being pissed off to the point of exasperation leads to leaving the handbrake on, leads to stalling the engine and taking the handbrake off, leads to turning the key again, forgetting you’re in gear and, still on full lock, shooting across the parking area in a tyre-smoking curve. The almost final outcomes are a loud bang and someone shouting, ‛Molly, Molly!’

Today is not going well for Celia who’s stressed and not driving at peak performance. Mind you, sounds like Molly’s not having much of a day either.

The final outcome is a lot more complicated and spans possibly the kinkiest 24 hours in human history.

Celia puts the handbrake on, turns the ignition off and gets out of the car, ready to resuscitate or employ the coups-de-gras. She’s not really fussed.

The company janitor stands pale as pre-dawn snow and grey as ash in an early-morning hearth. He points to the back of Celia’s BMW. ‛Molly!’

Celia has never seen pre-dawn anything, except with the alcohol-amnesiac eyes of a long night. Ash in hearths is something that happens in poor people’s houses. So, unimpressed but worried about insurance she breaks a 12cm heel in her rush to leave the car and assess potential points on her licence.

The janitor’s trolley and its contents lie spread over a couple of Mercs. Paint and dent jobs… No worries there. What looks like white paint lies spattered over them like the aftermath of a seagull diarrhoea contest. Unable to walk due to her shoe situation Celia kneels, painted false nail job threatening to claw through tarmac as she peers under the car.

No blood: good. No brains: probably good. She wonders if any friend of a janitor is worthy of insurance payouts anyway. No legs, arms, anything…

The janitor seems preoccupied with the mangled trolley lying on its side. Celia croaks, ‘Where’s Molly?’

Here, you maniac,’ comes the janitor’s voice. ‘You’ve broken one of her wheels.’

Celia’s adrenaline saturated brain tries to deal with that but it only comes up with “That’s probably good news. Will get back to you later.”

She stands, almost overbalances, kicks off her other shoe and says, ‘What?’

You killed Molly the trolley. Why? I ask why? What’s she done to you? What have you got against trolleys?’

Celia wants a sofa, hot chocolate, a box of chocolates and a chocolate delivery menu. She has a whole disastrous day from which to recover. What she doesn’t want is a conversation with a tall tousle-haired feeble-brain on the subject of trollicide.

Assessing the situation she feels it necessary to assert some authority and get things moving towards her chocolate solace session. Pointing at the chaos of maintenance equipment, metre long screwdrivers, miscellaneous tubes, buckets and mangled metal she says, ‘Clear that lot out of the way. I need to get out of here.’

The janitor wriggles, well his bottom does. Apart from that all she can see are his boots. Most of him is hidden by a silver 4×4 lavishly decorated with something that’s turning the paint to drooping slurry. He shouts. ‘It’s OK I’ve found the wheel,’ scrambles back and stands grinning.

I said get that lot out of the way. I need to get home.’

The janitor’s jaw drops a little. His mouth makes shapes of words but nothing comes out. He frowns, lips pursed. His frown clears; a broad smile unlocks his mouth. ‘No you don’t – not until you’ve helped me clear this mess up.’

Celia feels there is a lot wrong with that sentence. A myriad concepts wrestle but it’s the janitor’s complete failure to grasp his inferior social status that explodes first. ‘I’m ordering you to get this crap out of the way or I’ll drive over it.’

The janitor scratches his head and looks around. ‘Well, there are a few bits you haven’t broken yet…’

Celia tries not to shriek, stamps to her car forgetting she’s wearing only stockings on her feet, steps in something slimy and shrieks.

Escalator lubricant,’ says the janitor, ‘You’ll need to get that off or you’ll have serious problems with the clutch pedal. But I suppose no worse than you’ve had already. Wait. Wait! Let me get out of the way. I want to watch this but not be too close.’

Celia slams the driver’s door, puts the car in neutral, handbrake on, turns the key and snarls as the engine makes a whole set of new noises, fires up and a resounding explosion echoes from the glass and steel office walls around them.

Celia knows every office window is about to have faces appear at it. The janitor opens the driver’s door and says, ‘That was amazing, bloody amazing. Come out and see what you’ve done. I mean, bull’s eye or what?’

Celia rests her head on the steering wheel. ‘Shut up.’

With bonus points… Incredible.’

Shut up.’

The masonry bit stuck up your exhaust, flew, what, fifty metres? took off the silver lady from the boss’s Rolls Royce and drove it clear through the windscreen.’

Shut up.’

Good thing it missed my Lotus.’

Celia’s brain waves to get her attention. Important connections fire up. Her head rises. ‘And how does a mere janitor afford a Lotus?’

Easy, no one’s supposed to know this but my uncle runs this whole company. I suppose I could buy one of those nice new ones or a Ferrari now I think about it.”

No you couldn’t. Have you ever heard of numbers? The price of a Ferrari is quite a big one and you need a brain to understand it.”

I probably could buy one. I’m on something like a hundred and fifty thousand a year … or something.’

Celia hisses, knuckles white on the steering wheel. ‘No. You. Are. Not.’

Bet you a fiver. Wait, I’ll show you my pay slip.’

Clear all the crap away. I’m going home.’

No you’re not,’ the janitor pulls a fob from his pocket and points it across the parking area. ‘There, I’ve just locked the gates. Now, let’s have a little tidy up session shall we?’ He waves a sheet of crumpled paper at her.

She snatches it, looks at the printed numbers and her incandescent howl of fury sends birds squawking from trees. ‘No way … no sodding way! I run the whole IT department… I have two degrees. I would be on the board if that fat bastard hadn’t promoted an arse-licker over my head again. Just because I don’t respond to his creepy emails and innuendo. Slimy blubber ball of a short fat bastard.’

Would that be the fat bastard whose Rolls Royce you’ve just modified?’

But Celia’s still on tramlines of thought. ‘And even if I was on the board I’d still be paid twenty-seven thousand less than the sodding janitor…’ She bangs her head off the wheel again, voice dropping to a growl that has local pets racing back home. Cat flaps rattle in the afternoon air. ‘How is this possible?’

Because the fat bastard is my mum’s brother. I don’t think you like him very much; you’ve been very rude. But he is a bit creepy. Do you know he has a security camera trained on your cleavage all the time you’re at your desk? He has a whole screen devoted to it.’

Celia lets go of the steering wheel, sits back, stares at the ceiling and wonders what life is going to be like without a job. At the rate she’s putting her foot in things she reckons she’ll be clearing her desk this afternoon ready for this moron to polish it. ‘Fuck…’

Sorry about the masonry bit. The actual chances of it getting stuck up your exhaust were probably a zillion to one. I couldn’t help myself. I’ll wipe that part from the security footage.’

Celia closes here eyes. She’s on overload.

The janitor goes on. ‘I don’t know why you’re looking so miserable. It was a great shot. Can we consider it a team effort? I mean, I did help. Anything to wind the bastard up.’

Celia’s eyes flick open … wide. ‘What’s your name?’

Roderick.’

I’m Celia and very glad to have met you, Roderick. Come on, let’s get cleaning up.’

But I thought you…?’

Celia leaps from the car and silences him with a finger over his lips. ‘Roderick, I’d love to help you tidy up. I’ve never met anyone so spectacularly interesting.’

I was only joking, havin’ a bit of fun like. You can go really.’

Celia walks to the back of the car, picks up the nearest piece of debris and says, ‘Right, I know what to do with these. You hold them like this to clean difficult corners or something … or … er … no … don’t tell me. Right, got it, it’s part of a…’

Of your exhaust pipe, yes.’

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~

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Roderick looks around the room, at the shadows, the paintings on the walls, the waiter standing looking at a wall, and to the single candle between himself and Celia. He lifts a glass from the table, ‘What do you call this again?’

Celia says, ‘Domaine de Trévallon 2009.’

Nah, that other word.’

Wine…’

Is it what’s making me dizzy?’

What do you actually do when you’re not fixing toilets?’ A little flash of insight prompts her to narrow the question down, ‘I mean what do you do when not at work?’ She doesn’t want a list of janitorial duties. Life’s too short.

Run, go down the gym, karate, reading club. Stuff.’ Roderick frowns. ‘I am a bit dizzy.’

Then put that down and Anwar will bring us coffee in the lounge.’ The waiter slips from the room silent as a shadow.

Roderick says, ‘You said I was interesting. It was nice. No one’s said that before. What did you mean?’

Alarms and emergency systems fire up fast in Celia’s mind. In her world politics is the primary weapon of attack and defence or any other interaction with humans. She bites her tongue just in time to avoid saying, “You are the stupidest, slow-brained moron I’ve ever met. What fascinates me is how we can be classified in the same species: it beggars belief,” but it takes so much effort that she missed the fact that she was both breathing and drinking.

By the time half a glass of wine has been evicted from her bronchus by Roderick patting her back; her vision comes back into focus and she hopes the question is forgotten.

He bends over her and, using a napkin, wipes wine and spit from her lips. ‘Are you alright?’

Totally fine,’ she croaks. He sits back down opposite and smiles his default happy face.

Celia pulls rat tailed hair from her eyes. ‘Shit, I must look like a disaster.’

You look lovely.’

A gear snaps in Celia’s head. There was something in his voice, something she’s never heard before. A glance at him reveals nothing but the simple smile. A new gear slips into place and Celia undergoes an epiphany: He means it

She’s fought with competitive siblings, outmanoeuvred dominant parents, blackmailed college professors and ruined many a colleague’s reputation if she felt they represented the tiniest threat to her career. She’s armed for the world, armed with claws that will take her to the very pinnacle of wherever she wants to go. But she has no skills to handle this wholly alien species, this mythical human before her: a nice person. She says in a wavering voice, ‘Gods … you actually exist.’

I think I do. Why? don’t you think I do?’

Celia’s brain is a blank – almost. She stalls, ‘Let’s go through for coffee.’ While she leads the way her mind fires up and questions fly around demanding answers. “Is it wrong to do to a nice person what I’m going to do to him?” Yes. “Does it make me evil?” Only a bit more than you are already. “Who’s side are you on?” Can you clarify the question?

Roderick’s hand grabs her shoulder. Celia jumps and says, ‘What?’

You were about to walk into a wall.’

Oh … yes … funny the way people build walls willy-nilly.’

I’ll ask the managers to put more lights on.’

The managers…?’

Of this place. Do you think they’d mind if I switched some on? Maybe I should ask first.’

This is my house. Do what you like.’ Celia walks into the lounge and fires up every light in the place lest she fall arse over tit by walking into furniture: Brain, for fuck’s sake get yourself sorted. How do I talk to a nice and honest person?

OK, sit him down, make polite conversation and lead it subtly to the subject of corporate security.

Roderick stands looking back into the dining room. ‘That’s really clever, having a house with a restaurant in it. Everyone should have one.’

Celia fails to find a response to that. Instead she resorts to her only remaining resource, ‘Sit down, Roderick. Oh, and tell me about books; you love them I take it?’

What do you mean?’

You are a member of a reading club?’

Yes, they help me fill out forms and stuff. I’m not very good at words.’

Celia tries to melt into the carpet as she thinks: Oh, great, brain! why don’t you bugger off? you’re not helping.

Roderick frowns. ‘That won’t stop you finding me interesting will it?’

No … no … in fact I’d like to be much more like you. Very, very much more like you. Here, sit beside me. How do you like your coffee?’

I like it a lot.’

Yes,’ Celia’s voice develops a ragged treble edge, ‘that’s the way I like it too.’

They’re really fun at the reading club. You get coffee there as well. New people came and said I’m part of something called a pilot study.’

Research?’

He shrugs, ‘Dunno. Why are you pouring coffee on the table?’

Oh silly me.’

Here, I got some tissues.’ Roderick pulls several ragged and crumpled sheets of kitchen towel from a pocket.

Celia shudders, ‘No, no, really, you can use the napkins.’

They’re far too posh. It’d take me hours to wash them out. Where do you want me to put these?’ He holds up coffee-soaked blobs.

Just leave them on the tray…’ She fights dinner back towards her stomach, takes several deep breaths and says, ‘Let’s talk about you.’

Roderick shrugs. ‘You know everything about me already, don’t you?’

Yes, thinks Celia, I probably do. Another attempt at conversation hits a dead end. She gives up attempting to be nice, thinking: At least when I die I can tell God I tried. ‘Well, you could tell me why your uncle lets you deal with security? You locked the car park gates; you said you could wipe the security cameras…’

Yeah, that’s my job.’

Not fixing toilets and lubricating escalators?’

And that.’

Does you uncle … talk to you?’

Every day. After work. He likes to know what I’ve done.’

The people you’ve talked to?’

Roderick sighs, ‛No one talks to me.’ He looks at Celia and smiles. ‛Except you. You’re nice.’

Celia feels her soul blossom – and smacks it down: Piss off, git, you’ve no place in this conversation.

She goes on, ‛He asks about what they’ve been saying when you’ve passed them and they’re in conversation?’

Oh yeah he always goes on about that. You’re very clever. How did you work it all out?’

And you’re the only one allowed into his inner office? This I have heard about.’

Yeah it’s private. He can’t reach the safe even. We sort it every day. He says it’s clever having a safe hidden too high for him to reach. No one will look for it up there.’

Celia sits back, eyes closed, leather sofa hugging her, hands clamped around a steaming mug: What do I do next? He’s employed because he’s family. He thinks he’s a janitor. In reality he’s security of the highest level but too thick to realise it. No one sees him but he sees and hears everyone. He’s trusted … because he hasn’t the imagination to have a traitorous thought in his pea-sized brain.

His hand goes over her wrist. ‛Are you tired? You want me to go home?’

Celia snaps back to reality. ‛No! Uh … um…’ She puts her mug on the table. ‛No, Roderick, remember I said I wanted to be more like you? I want to tell you about a game I played with my twin sister.’

Is it like crashing cars into trolleys, walking into walls, choking on wine and pouring coffee over everything?’

Celia fights a surge of fury. She hates criticism but knows she’s not the most practical of people and attempting to strangle him would probably lead to merely breaking her elbows. There he is, all innocent smile. She realises that wasn’t criticism not even a joke; he was only asking a question.

No, just put your fingertips on mine like this.’ She holds up both hands, fingers splayed as if she’s a closet breast groper. He follows suit. Celia adds, ‘now kiss my lips.’

You used to kiss your sister?’

Ssh, concentrate.’

Isn’t that a bit unusual?’

OK, yes I did kiss my sister. We were young and conducting research. You have to start somewhere.’

Roderick heads in for his first kiss ever. Lips meet, some internal force minces his mind into a maelstrom of pleasure.

He pulls back gasping for air and staring into the eyes of a man who’s clapping his hands and saying, ‘It worked, it worked!’ Roderick tries to leap up and back from the sofa. Well, that’s the command his mind sends to the body. Somewhere the message was scrambled and he cartwheels over the coffee table. Rising from a deep-pile faux-fur leopard skin carpet in front of the equally faux-log fireplace he stares from the man on the sofa and down at his newly acquired cleavage. A few gulps of air later he says, ‘Can I have my body back please?’

Celia watches the tangle of limbs sort themselves out and the various expressions that cross Roderick’s face. ‘Yes, we’ve swapped bodies. We can swap back tomorrow.’

What? Why not now? I can’t be a woman … what would my mother say? Swap me back.’

Too risky: this doesn’t always work. I’m going to use your body and you’re going to use mine.’ Celia notes that the tousled hair and centimetre of stocking top look good. Maybe a look she could make more of.

But I can’t go to work like this! Uncle will notice.’

Celia raises a finger and waves it from side to side. ‘He won’t notice anything. I’m going to be the janitor and you’re going to head up IT.’ Even as she says this warnings flash up in her mind. First is Roderick’s illiteracy and possible innumeracy – not a problem for board members perhaps but in IT these are skills occasionally required. The second is her level of coordination and practical skill. Even if she only touches a screwdriver, pipes may burst, lights explode and the entire building collapse. She says, ‘We’ll have to work fast. I need the access code for your uncle’s lift and safe. You need to sit at my desk and, if he’s in his office, distract him with your cleavage.’

Roderick’s testing limbs and hands, wondering if he can make it back to the sofa without breaking any major bones. ‘How do you get your body to work?’

Something I’ve been asking for years. I generally aim for the place I’m headed, close my eyes and hope for the best. My sister and I tossed coins to see who got her body for hockey; she’s more coordinated.’

You kissed in the changing rooms?

Have you ever been in a girls’ changing…? Forget it. You’d be emotionally scarred for life.’

Why do you want to go into his safe?’

Why has he trained you to edit security camera recordings?’

Laundry records are a janitor’s job. Quite a lot of laundry comes and goes at night. Uncle says recording takes up too much space on the hard drive.’

Celia closes her … sorry … Roderick’s eyes and counts to two – she’s always been impatient. ‘You mean laundering; I might have guessed from the contacts with casinos and tanning parlours and strip clubs. A lot happens in that company of which I’m unaware. I was hoping to get in on it but that looks unlikely now I’ve been passed over for promotion twice.’ She smiles. ‘If you can’t join them – beat them shitless. Roderick, I obtained and programmed a serious piece of encryption kit for your uncle. I can’t see what’s going on in this company unless I have access to the safe…’

Roderick, standing and planning a cautious approach to the sofa, interrupts, ‘There’s nothing in his safe but paper.’

It’s a yellow stick, like a big memory stick with a USB at either end.’

It’s in his ballcock. He reckons it’s safer than a safe.’

Celia gurgles, chokes and says, ‘It’s in his what? Can you clarify that a teeny bit but stop when it looks like I’m going to throw up?’ She braces herself.

In the toilet.’

He keep his … ball … what you said … in the toilet?’

Everyone does.’

Celia blanks again and says to Roderick, ‘Can you finish this conversation with someone else and come back with the minutes?’

His eyes widen, pupils enlarge. He looks down past his breasts and back at Celia. ‘I need to go to the toilet…’

So?’

What do I do?’

Celia points, ‘That door, left, under the arch and straight ahead.’

Yeah … OK…’ Roderick pads across carpets and clutches furniture for support. Once he’s gone Celia sits back, surprised at how far his body sinks into the sofa. Her mind settles to its normal purring pace. There are still holes in her plan but she’s papering over them fast.

Roderick’s hands grab the door frame; his head emerges again. ‘Yes, but what do I actually do?

You want me to show you or something?’ Celia drops a day’s dammed-up stress into one major flood of sarcasm, hoping to wash him away and give her the peace she needs.

Yes please.’ Roderick nods so fast, blond curls jiggle over his face and make him sneeze. ‘Quick! I really need a piss.’

Don’t mess up my hair like that!’ Celia dashes after him, amazed at being in a body that knows precisely what it’s doing. At the last minute, she realises, for the first time ever, she needs to duck to get through a doorway. Grabbing Roderick is like lifting a pillow, soft, light and almost insubstantial.

Don’t squeeze!’ he shrieks.

She throws the bathroom door open and deposits Roderick in front of the toilet. ‘Skirt up, knickers down.’

Roderick fumbles but gets the skirt up. Looking down he says, ‘Arg! Now what?’

Just the knickers, forget all that other stuff; haven’t you seen suspenders before?’ She whips the knickers down and plonks him on the seat. ‘Just let go.’

He looks down, ‘Let go? There’s nothing to hold. What if…?’ This is followed by a groan of relief. After a moment he looks up at Celia, ‘Did I do alright?’

Yes absolutely brilliant. Now take a wipe, front to back and clean everything up.’

What? Show me.’

I…’ Celia takes a wipe. ‘This is going to be one of the weirdest moments of my life…’ She helps Roderick with his knickers and skirt. ‘Right. I suppose I need to know what to do too. Shouldn’t be a problem – if men can do it. From unzipping the fly to aiming square into the bowl, she’s pleased with everything until… ‘Er … how do I wipe it?’

You don’t. Just put it back.’

Ew … disgusting, no way.’ She reaches for a wipe. ‘I’ll suss this. Ha, see? All hygienic. You men. Hey … it’s not supposed to do that … how do I stop it?’

You could stop playing with it for a start.’

I’ll never get it back in the trousers like this.’

Here’ I’ll do it. I’m not letting you chop my dick off with the zip.’

Ooh, that feels funny. Like a hot water bottle on your stomach.’

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~

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Due to his altered anatomy, Roderick has to invent whole new positions to sleep in. His dreams start off alright – plans of how to straighten Molly and fix her wheel like new but Celia’s nightmare coordination interferes and he’s left with wreckage not even a scrap merchant would want.

The bed is far too soft and tries to hug and suffocate at the same time. A knock on the bedroom door has him growling. ‛Yeah what?’

Good morning. Rise and shine, shower, blow dry your hair, straighten it today, go through the wardrobes and … no I’ll choose clothes then make up and…’

It’s five o’clock!’

These things take time. Incidentally, your penis…’

Roderick wakes up fully. ‛What?’

When you’ve finished do you leave the foreskin forward or back?’

Finished what?’

Er … anything really.’

Leave it alone! It’s mine. Look, I didn’t even look in a mirror and closed my eyes when I took my clothes off. What have you been doing?’

Your body’s amazing. All lumpy and hard. I thought men just clenched their buttocks if you went to pinch them but yours are like rocks all the time.’ She walks in stark naked. ‛And these shoulders … it’s a wonder you don’t get stuck in toilet cubicles. And look … I mean what do you actually need all these muscles for? It’s not as if men have to wrestle grizzly bears to the ground these days. I’m going to use my own shower. Won’t be long.’ Her voice tails off as she enters the suite.

Roderick wriggles and squirms until he can’t stand it any more. The duvet flies back with such violence it hangs from the candelabra. Crashing into the suite to take a piss he almost sends Celia flying. She’s tensing muscles, posing and looking over her shoulder at the mirror tiles.

Roderick sits, and as Celia puts it, let’s go. ‛Arg! What?’

Celia’s confused. ‛Why are you using the bidet?’

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~

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That’s stupid. Why don’t you have bras that do up at the front?’ Roderick shouts in exasperation as another strap pings out of his grasp and slaps him across the face.

It’s a girl thing.’

It would hardly be a boy thing.’

Roderick, that was almost a joke. Well done. Maybe having my brain for a while will do you good.’

Has it ever done you any good?’

He stands in a mess of abandoned bras, some made it right across the room when he fumbled and they escaped his fingers; one hangs from the bedside lamp and fills the air with the scent of hot rubber. Celia tosses him something black. ‛Fine, here’s one that does up at the front, and get it the right way up for a change.’

Do I have to wear a suspender belt? It’s so much faffing about. Can’t I use gaffer tape or something?’

Hmm, there’s a thought. We could give you a quick wax while I can’t feel it.’

Are you tired of life?’

No, right now I’m having the best time ever. Everything black today, maybe a soft white belt to go with your hair. Have you ever worn twelve centimetre heels?’ she waves calf length boots.

Those aren’t heels … they’re weapons. Flat shoes. No argument. We may have to run if you cock up … any more than you’ve been doing all night.’

Celia strides over, takes Roderick’s face in her hands and looks into his eyes. ‛You’re changing. I swear you’re more eloquent. My sister and I never swapped bodies for anything like this length of time … not that we’d notice if that had any effect being twins. Hmm, very worrying. I may develop some of your niceness. Let’s hope we can get everything done before I get a conscience.’ She tosses more clothes, ‛This dress does up at the front; these boots are flat. See you in the car in three minutes.’

Roderick looks at the tiny hooks all hidden behind perfectly serviceable buttons but which have no holes to go through. ‛Make it fifteen.’

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~

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The basement of the company seems to Celia like endless concrete corridors with no real point. ‛Nobody needs this many corridors…’

Roderick replies, ‛The offices are built in a cold war weapons testing facility and underground nuclear shelter.’ He gasps as they pound along.

Not the home of an obsessive corridor collector then?’ Celia jogs, glad she’s in Roderick’s fit body and not her own. Roderick shouts directions in between gasps for air. He swipes a card through a scan. ‛Here, take my card. From now on I can use yours.’ He marches past the remains of Molly in his equipment room and points to an electric trolley. ‛You’ll have to use that today. It’ll hide the ballcock. I’ll fill the trolley with junk to make it look like you’re really working.’ He snatches an object from a shelf. ‛Catch.’

Yikes, what’s that?’

Ballcock, split pin already through the hole. These…’ he waves something at Celia but she’s frowning.

She interrupts, ‛This must be the ball bit and this bit the…’

Roderick talks over her, ‛Arm – and those are pliers. Pay attention. Just lift off the top of my uncle’s cistern, flush the toilet and replace the existing ballcock with that. Then you’ll have that magic widget you’re after. Just unscrew the ball from the lever arm and pull it out. This trolley is a little wild; make sure you keep the speed down. This really heavy stuff in it will help but don’t use any of it and don’t press any buttons.’ He points to fire extinguishers, a compressor, a jack hammer and a pile of gas cylinders. ‛That lot should slow the thing down. Gotta go.’

Roderick runs through Celia’s plan, runs into her office and runs out of breath at about the same time. Bloody woman, he thinks, should get more exercise. Flopping into her chair and switching the screens on he pulls out her list of instructions and thinks: Oh bugger, which way up are they supposed to be?

Out of habit, he starts his morning routine of wiping security cameras, but stops when he sees what used to be the underground wind tunnel. It’s full of a container lorry, boxes and people. He decides this may be interesting to Celia and saves the lot.

Paper crackles as he smooths his instructions. To his amazement, he doesn’t need to look at the pictures of a stick man missing a limb, a blob man and the line of flames, to understand the words below “Disarm Boss’s Firewall”. He puts this down to being in Celia’s brain and soaking up her intelligence. He’s a teeny bit concerned that she’s affecting his body in some way and that when he gets it back it will be as coordinated as a sack of panicking cats.

He flies through the sequence of keys, hits enter and moves on to the next list designed to make his uncle need to contact him due to computer problems. He wonders where “NakedVampireTeenies.ew” comes into this but decides he doesn’t want to know.

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~

Celia hurtles screaming along a corridor. She has no idea how to control the trolley.

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~

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Roderick spins on the chair, gets up and puts his office kettle on.

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~

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Celia shouts, ‛Sorry, sorry, mind your … oops, get out the fucking way!’

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~

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Roderick’s phone goes as he trickles boiling water onto a teabag and watches it puff up. Lifting the handset he says, ‛Celia.’

The chairman’s voice thunders at him. ‛Someone’s got into the system. I can’t bring up anything but porn.’

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~

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Celia scatters office workers as the trolley tows her at full sprint up a broad staircase. She gives up trying to shout warnings in case she chokes on fillings that are popping out of her teeth like blackheads from a teenager with a mirror. When the vibration stops it dawns on her addled mind that she must have reached reception. ‛Someone get that wall out of the way!’ Releasing the drive lever on the trolley handle applies the brakes. She’s really impressed at how it stops so suddenly, albeit tearing fitted carpet up with a roar of flying nails and tacks. She’s not impressed with the fact that she’s catapulted over the top of the trolley and has no personal brakes.

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~

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The chairman roars at Roderick, ‛It was nothing to do with me. None of these pictures have anything to do with me.’

Roderick brings him up on screen. ‛What appears to be the problem, boss?’

Ah, there you are, Celia. This is ridiculous. The busiest day in the history of the company and our system has been hacked by perverts. Sort it out at once.’

Roderick draws on his planning with Celia. ‛Certainly no outside hacking can have occurred. This must be an internal job. As far as I can see no other screen or computer is affected. Who would have a personal grievance against you?’ Roderick knows everyone hates his uncle’s guts enough to put axes through them. He wonders how the question will be handled.

.

~

.

Hanging upside down from the palm trees on the fake island by the reception desk, Celia spits fillings out, listens to the diminishing screams of bystanders and wonders if anyone would be kind enough to help her down. A splintering noise from below indicates that descent is imminent. She grabs the nearest tree and manages to land upright amid spiralling leaves. Ignoring the myriad pale faces, wide eyes and hanging jaws in reception she runs Roderick’s security card into its slot in the chairman’s private lift and pulls the trolley in.

.

~

.

Roderick says, ‛Please calm down, boss. You’re going red in the face. I’ll have this sorted in a jiffy.’ The chairman’s screen-cam shows the lift opening in his office and Celia heaving the trolley out. Time to keep the chairman occupied long enough for Celia to get the encryption unit out, down to her office, upload the unencrypted company records to the police and get out. He thinks it’s all going so smoothly. Celia is a genius. What could possibly go wrong? He continues pattering at the keyboard and says to the chairman, ‛Ah, I see the problem. Yes, it looks as if some member – ooh – members of the Board had it in for you.’

Celia hauls the trolley into the chairman’s private bathroom suite and closes the door. Roderick switches one of Celia’s desk screens to the security camera in the suite and watches Celia fight with a sticking cistern cover.

The chairman says to Roderick, ‛Find out who they were,’ turns to look at the suite door and shouts, ‛Rod, what the hell are you doing in there?’ He starts to rise.

A squeak from Roderick grabs his attention. Roderick is looking down at his newly-acquired cleavage. ‛Ooh, some of those naughty little hooks have come undone. If any more go my boobs will pop out.’

The chairman sits back down and stares at his screen.

Roderick, conscious of the camera on the wall turning slightly and refocussing, fiddles with his top, accidentally undoing two more hooks. ‛Oh, you cheeky little hooks.’

The chairman says, ‛Maybe I should come down and help you?’ He narrows his eyes, flicks another glance at the suite door.

Roderick swings his attention back. ‛Ooh, that was so suggestive, it sent a tingle right up my spine and into my nipples. They nearly flew off.’ Roderick admits he’s winging it badly, possibly on only one wing but this is all new territory and anyway the the chairman is as progressively hooked as Roderick is unhooked.

Celia’s struggling. She dropped the pliers into the water and seems to have her hand trapped between the ballcock and the back of the cistern.

The chairman says to Roderick, ‛What did you say?’ and looks again at the suite door.

Tingly nipples,’ Roderick cups his hands under his breasts, ‛you made them bounce up and down like this. Oh, my goodness, more hooks came undone.’

Celia looks round for some way out of her predicament which now includes a foot stuck in the toilet bowl. She looks up at the camera, shrugs and mimes the word, “HELP!”

The chairman says, ‛I really could come down if you wanted.’

Roderick, sweating in panic, a desperate plan forming says, ‛Actually, you could help from there. Take off your belt.’

The chairman stares open mouthed. ‛My belt? The janitor is up here.’

Is he? That just adds to the spice. Yes, your belt must come off.’ Roderick, dizzy with relief, sees Celia nodding. Good, she can hear him through the chairman’s door. Celia slips the belt from her overalls.

The chairman slips his from trouser belt loops. ‛No what do I do?’

You put it round your balls and cock – nice and snug.’

The chairman frowns, ‛Really?’ He grins and looks down.

Roderick says, ‛Oh, shock! my last hooks came undone and this is a front-fastening bra. I hope the hook on it can take the strain.’

Celia has her belt securely round the ballcock swing arm. The chairman appears to be pleased with what he’s achieved. He asks, ‛What next?’

You put the other end round the operating handle.’

The what?’

Roderick pouts, ‛Anything that switches you on at full power. Maybe you could hook it round the front of my bra.’ The chairman’s eyes widen. Celia’s are nearly popping out with the strain of trying to reach the trolley.

Roderick thinks, I don’t reckon Celia’s going to make it. He says, ‛Would you like me to come up and give any assistance you need?’

Celia and the chairman both nod. Roderick moans, ‛Oh boss, I also need help – the clips on my suspenders seem to be going too. Can you send your lift down to my floor? I’ll meet you at your office.’ He thinks: Bloody hell … what am I going to do? Right, tie his hands behind his back with my bra. Tie the belt to his desk leg, rescue Celia and the widget – and get out. Great plan.

I suppose it will come as no surprise to learn that the lift doors open and Roderick steps into the office to see the chairman standing facing him exactly at the same time as the bathroom suite door explodes into the office. The trolley with Celia in tow again hurtles across the room. Amid the screams of terror and flying splinters some very rapid decisions are made. Roderick dives back into the lift to avoid being crushed. The chairman follows – largely as a result of Roderick grabbing the belt and giving it a firm tug. Celia, not wishing to be trapped in the lift doors as they close, jumps onto the trolley.

It could all have terminated there in one gigantic squishy mess or some sort of discussion ending in an amicable blackmail agreement.

Only Celia – employing the coordination of Roderick’s body and her own ignorance of the workings of mechanical tools – lands on the compressor.

Jackhammers are not noted for their lack of noise even in open spaces. In an enclosed lift its roar kills any chance of conversation. The way it punches fist-sized holes in the lift control panel, the walls, the ceiling, the doors and fills the air with sparks only adds to the mayhem.

Roderick, the only person not curled in a ball screaming, switches off the compressor, whips his bra off and with it ties the chairman’s hands behind his back. He removes the encryption unit from the plastic ball.

Only then does he notice a couple of things. First, they are descending at an alarming rate, secondly, the smell. ‘Has someone farted?’

Celia answers, ‘I think the boss has shit himself. I’m about to follow suit unless you can slow this thing…’

They reach the basement. The shaft wasn’t designed for such abuse. Metal shrieks and buckles. The chairman, Celia and Roderick scramble out as something sets the compressor off again. The lift doors try to close but one flies off, scattering a crowd of onlookers.

Roderick tries to get his bearings. Right, there’s the container lorry, the boxes and all the people. With a screech that would terrify banshees the lift rockets back up its shaft.

A man in black boots, trousers, polo neck jumper, woolly hat and carrying an even blacker submachine gun approaches them. ‘Boss … you OK?’

The chairman stands in an attempt to regain his dignity, sees everyone staring, remembers the situation regarding his belt, squeaks and turns his back. He shouts, ‘Untie my hands. Arrest that woman. I want her disposed of … permanently.’ When his hands are free he zips his fly too fast and adds, ‘Ow, OW, shit!

Celia helps Roderick up. They raise their hands as people aim guns at them. The chairman walks to Celia. ‘Rod, my dear nephew, I’ll deal with you later.’ He pulls the encryption unit from Celia’s overall pocket and turns to Roderick who’s doing up hooks as fast as he can.

Celia, you have seduced my own nephew into an attempt to betray me. You will die … only it will take time. You may wish to beg to die quickly: now.’

Celia shouts, ‘No, you can’t kill her; I love her. She’s pregnant with my baby … twins … triplets … maybe more. You’re going to be a proud great uncle…’

The man with the submachine gun says, ‘I reckon we should deal with them later. We have problems.’

Bloody hell!’ shouts someone from the back of the crowd. ‘Look at the screen! The lift cab shot right out of the roof.’

The chairman says, ‘Handcuff those two somewhere secure, Wesley. What problems do we have?’

Wesley leads Celia and Roderick into an old abandoned office full of junk, dust and dead rats.

Right, you two. Hands on those pipes.’ The handcuffs click around wrists. ‘Our problem, boss, is that the police have caught whiff of the fact that a container left the docks uninspected. They’ve arrested a couple of people but no one who knows anything that would incriminate us. There are squad cars all over the place. It’ll die down but I don’t think we should shift any of this stuff for a week.’

Very good, Wesley. I’ll leave it in your hands.’ They leave the office. Wesley wraps a heavy chain round the door handle and padlocks it.

Roderick whispers to Celia, ‘I think we might get away with this. At least keep you alive.’ He pulls at his handcuff. ‘Damn, if only…’

Celia says, ‘You’ll hurt your wrists. It’s easily done. You have to be gentle with handcuffs.’

How would you know?’

Don’t ask. If we get out of this alive I’ll let you see the videos. Look, can you try to reach my hands? I got you into this. If we can swap bodies back you won’t have to die.’

Roderick nods. ‘Uh … can you reach a bit further…? No, it’s not going to work.’ He looks round. The office door is made of heavy steel, the long window is nearly a metre thick. ‘Celia, I’ve just had a mad idea. Grab my shoulder and don’t let me slide down.’

Don’t do anything that will get you shot.’

Much as I love your… Are you really trying to save my life? Hey, do you actually like me or something?’

You look cute in my body. It’s the way you let your hair go wild…’

Concentrate: hang on tight.’

Roderick sets a foot on a pipe, places the next in front and walks up the wall until nearly upside down. One black-clothed man looks back at them through the window. He hesitates, seeing a woman with her legs spread out in a V, black lace knickers and suspender belt exposed. That moment’s hesitation is all Roderick needs. He kicks a junction box open, and as dust, spiders and rust fill the air, he kicks again. ‘Done it! Celia, hit the big button!’

What? What are you doing? Now you’ve done it. The gun wielding maniacs are coming back to get us.’

Hit the button.’

How do you know…?’

Because it’s big and it’s red. Do it!’

Celia, to her own amazement, executes a perfect roundhouse kick. Groans and howls of ancient machinery have the chairman and his gang covering their ears and cowering. Wind snatches at their clothing.

Roderick drops to the floor and says, ‘Dammit my knickers are full of spiders.’

Ooh, tell me all about it. Can I have some?’

The rising noise kills further conversation. On the other side of the glass people stagger, hang on to each other and fall to the ground. Bank notes lift from open boxes and fill the air. Boxes fly end over end. Celia counts eighteen different currencies before it all becomes a beautiful blur. After a couple of hypnotic minutes she thinks to kick the button again.

.

~

.

When Roderick and Celia tire of watching the news video of a mushroom cloud mainly made of smuggled foreign currency rising from the office block lift shaft, Celia says, ‘That policeman, the tall one with the moustache was almost as hunky as me … you.’ She’s stripped to the waist in front of a mirror and posing Roderick’s body, running her hands over pecs and abs.

Roderick kicks off his boots and flops on a sofa. ‘I think the spiders have given up fighting in my knickers. Hey, can I have my body back now?’

Yes … can you start the spiders off again…?’ Celia gasps, puts her hands either side of her head. ‘Roderick … not yet … please. Just once … you and me with me as the man.’

You mean… What? That’s seriously depraved.’

Celia moans. ‘Yes … wonderful isn’t it? Then you could have your body back and we could do it again, compare notes … you know … all for the purposes of research.’

You mean like a pilot study?’

Celia sags and groans… ‘Pilot … study … ohhhh…’ Her voice sinks to a low growl, eyes glaze and nearly cross. ‘I’ll get my air hostess costume for you.’

.

.

©Gary Bonn 2013

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5 thoughts on “Virgin on Kinky

    diannehartsock said:
    January 20, 2014 at 1:52 am

    *snort* I didn’t know you wrote such kinky things, Gary! I kinda like it. 🙂

      garybonn said:
      January 20, 2014 at 7:00 am

      That’s WriterLot for you – you receive challenges to write out of genre

    sarahpotterwrites said:
    January 20, 2014 at 5:25 pm

    I’ll keep my body, thanks, research or no 😉 On the other hand, if I could borrow a more brilliant brain for a day or two, I might make a quick fortune!

    By the way, Gary, did you write that under the influence of some naughty pills?

    utecarbone said:
    January 21, 2014 at 3:12 pm

    Nice to know that you, too, have visited crazy town. Very funny. :).:)

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