Love In A Country Lane
The sun beat down on the cornfields of rural Dorset, an idyllic scene of pastoral beauty. Edgar and Deidre were walking along a country lane, hand in hand, heart in heart, as young lovers do (and have done, for so many centuries).When I say walking, perhaps I do not convey the true scene which a passing observer might have noticed. Sadly both Edgar and Deidre were one-legged. Yes, they had only two legs between them. Plus a shiny prosthetic per person. So they were, more accurately, limping along the lane.
They loved each other so deeply and, when young lust overcame them and they snogged and groped each other wildly, they were in danger of toppling over onto the dusty earth of that olde Englishe countrye pathway. Indeed, their mounting passion meant that they both already had quite a badly grazed knee each, as well as a couple of slightly dented National Health Service podal extensions. Oh yes, and a nasty stinging nettle rash on their arses.
However, the nettle rash was easily sorted with a quick rub of "Dr Hauschka's Organic Antihistamine Rosencreme", but it was the other rash that really caused them concern. Edgar was more concerned than Deidre, since he had a weeping pustule on his stump. But Deidre was curious: had Edgar been up to his old ways again, rolling around on the floor of the filthy public lavatories down by the pier again? She knew he was bi, although the amputation had curbed his attractiveness in the gay sub-culture.
Edgar, of course, came up with the feeble excuse that it was rub-rash, (where his aluminium prosthetic chafed the end of his sexy leg-stump, as a result of chasing after rabbits that very morning and trying to hit them with a hammer). Deidre narrowed her eyes in thought; although she loved him (and his cute stump) deeply, he was, after all, only a man. She tickled her minge thoughtfully as she pondered masculinity in all its unfathomable wonder. And then she mumbled the words she had been bottling up in her soul, not daring to hear his answer.
"Did you get it?" she asked.
"Called in on the way here." he looked at her lustfully, "I can hardly wait to watch it."
"Ooh! Let me have a quick look. Just at the cover."
Edgar heaved his rucksack off his shoulder, carefully avoiding the hump (did I mention he was a hunchback?) and reached inside. There were only four items in there: a battery-operated DVD player, a shiny new DVD, a packet of extra-ribbed pre-lubricated banana flavour "Big Boy" condoms and a beautifully engraved 19th century wooden dildo (a bit worn from excessive use, and a bit smelly too).
"Is it really her?" Deidre was slightly flushed when she spied the DVD cover.
"The picture looks like her." Edgar held the DVD box for inspection, "It was before she lost her leg, of course. And I had to pay a fucking lot for it, in spite of the spunk stains on the label. Apparently he bought up every copy he could find when they got married. He had the money and he sung for her supper, if you can call his warbles singing."
"Not any more, with the divorce and all."
Edgar looked down at the glamorous model on the cover, "There's a real market for her now and if he still has a few originals, he could make a fucking fortune out of them. So much for her not contributing financially to the marriage."
Deidre looked longingly down at the package, "Just the thought of seeing her shagged by a bunch of unwashed Arabs makes me feel quite juicy."
"Hang on a second!" Edgar looked down at her. "Stop rubbing your twat for a bit, I want to join in."
"Later," she replied, "I feel a quick one coming on." And she reached out for the antique dildo and shoved it up her bot.
They toppled uncontrollably over onto the side of the leafy lane, Edgar quickly got the DVD going and even as the first Arab was on the job with the heroine, he pulled a condo onto his knobbo and rammed his pecker into Deidre's twitching teenage lovepot.
Oh what a joyous scene was there depicted in that Dorset afternoon: the two lusty unipods bonking away on the grassy verge well on the way to the big O, as they strained their eyes to watch the flickering screen where the one-legged goddess was giving her all to a rabid Arab stallion or two. And the dildo rammed up Deidre's poop-hole was now vibrating uncontrollably (for good measure).
'Click! Click! Click! went Farmer Giles' faithful Canon Super-Long-Lens Sureshot as he added a few more snaps to the collection he liked to show his now sadly demented Mum in the Vladimir Nabokov Twilight Home for Degenerates at Portland Bill. And Farmer Giles shot his load onto the genetically modified corn in a tribute to Eros.
Short story by Edna Sweetlove
Read 970 times
Written on 2006-09-29 at 02:53
Tags Love Humour Erotic
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