Thursday, 31 May 2018

The Sensual and Seductive Dance of the Willy

Malcolm Muggles was a sad and lonely fellow, approaching middle age and yet to know the touch of a woman. He’d never even kissed a girl, let alone had a go on her naughty bits. As his forty-fifth birthday came and went without so much as a sniff of action, he resolved to have one last try at ending the losing streak, or else give up on the idea of hanky-panky forever.

He searched the internet for the ways and means to score with a female, and made several awkward attempts to seduce Miranda Bumgardner, a shy but pretty girl he'd seen around the dole office. He wandered past, drenched with a pheromone spray which had cost him an entire week’s giro, but Miranda only turned up her nose. He tried to break the ice with a slightly risqué joke, but fucked up the punchline and ended up on the sex offender’s register. For all his efforts, Miranda didn’t even seem to know he existed. Crestfallen, he realised his only option was to gracefully accept that he would die alone.

But one day, on his way home from an appointment with his probation officer, Malcolm stopped dead in his tracks as he spotted a book in a charity shop window. ‘Dance Your Way into a Woman’s Knickers’, was the title, emblazoned across the cover above a photograph of a scantily clad maiden. Hairs standing up on the back of his penis, Malcolm dashed inside and handed over the princely sum of one pound fifty to an elderly lady in a brown cardigan, who almost broke her neck trying to retrieve the book from the window display.

Back in the safety of his bedroom, Malcolm examined his purchase with trembling hands. According to the blurb on the back of the dust jacket, the book was a comprehensive guide to mastering the sultry and seductive Dance of the Willy, an ancient traditional folk dance performed throughout the ages by men who literally had to beat them away with a shitty stick. The author personally claimed to be a practitioner of the fabled art, which had led to him bedding more than eight women and answering to the title of the greatest lover in the West Midlands Metropolitan area.

Malcolm turned to page one and began his studies.

A fortnight later, Malcolm spotted Miranda down at the dole office and put his plan into action. He ran to the toilets and changed into his dance outfit; white socks and open toed sandals, and nothing else. One last check in the mirror for reassurance, and he went prowling out to conquer the feisty vixen.

When he emerged from the toilets, bollock-naked, Miranda’s mouth fell open and she reached for the telephone. But before she had time to call the police, Malcolm commenced the ancient dance. One foot up on the coffee table, he wiggled his hips, setting his willy jiving and jumping. Miranda’s eyes grew wide with desire as she fell under the hypnotic spell of the rhythmic exhibition.

She went home with him that evening, cooked lasagne and chips and did an underpant wash. After tea she performed upon his person a series of sexual acts so lurid and foul they would be considered illegal in most civilised countries.

“Would you like another can of Special Brew?” she beamed, cheeks aglow.

“Cheers, love.” Malcolm grinned and turned on Match of the Day.

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