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.
