Aggie Dovecote and All Her Pals: Pt.1, Ch.4

                                                          IV


 Charles Dickens sniffs the air as he sashays with Lady Jane Grey and asks her if she notices a "certain *sniff*...rather strong odor in here, as if *sniff sniff*someone had allowed a farm animal inside as a joke and *sniff*and the animal...well, confound it, smell for your yourself, madam!" She also sniffs the air and echoes Charles' observation, as do other dancers who who stop and do their best bloodhound imitations. Very quickly all follow their noses to Aggie, who grins sheepishly at people gaping at her in jaw-dropping shock. Then as if psychically sharing the same thought they all, including a drawn Ginny and her fitful 'Cleo Duo', as it were, stumble collectively to the umbrella stand, nearly coming to blows as they make fevered grabs for the ones they arrived with, then wait at the door to bid their confused hostess a huffy "Good Evening!" before streaming outside.
 "Hmpf! Well, 's long 's I'm wearin' 'em might 's well bloody use 'em, right?!" Aggie shouts angrily. "You were all in my way anyhow s' what choice did I 'ave - and you all so dad-gummed rude for not allowin' a beautifully naked an' nakedly beautiful gurgle-oh-oops, I mean gurgle(shit!) - GIRL! - to get to th' crapper (ha ha! 's what they call it in America too, no lie!) an' let 'er do 'er...whatnot. But fine, leave. Go. See all you nibs in July, then. Uh-oh, got yer attention there din't I? Hah! A'right then, I've been a very dirty girl an' I really need t' clean myself up now, so...g'night and get the hell out, all you horribly upstandin' an' terribly important peoples! Oh, an'...HAPPY NEW YEARRR!!" Aggie cackles and whirls her arms about in the empty space she now solely possesses, nearly keeling over but rescued in time by a concerned Emilie, who helps her step a little ways down the dimly lit hallway before being assured that she can move steadily enough on her own. Emilie looks after her for a few moments, then goes to the buffet table, pulls out one of the few unopened bottles of beer and rips the cap off with an opener while allowing the froth to drip messily onto the floor as she hurries back to the dais. She whispers something to the maestro, who nods and grins excitedly, then consults an equally enthusiastic orchestra, and soon the lively strains of the Brindisi from Verdi's La Traviata waft into the air. Emilie glugs heavily from her bottle as she faces the vacant room, then just before she sings raises high the bottle and in her rich soprano voice musically belts out one word: "SCHMPF!!"
 "Schmpf!" weakly echoes a slurred voice from the hallway.
 "Libiamo, libiamo ne'lieti calici che la bellezza infiora..."
 After shuffling by more wall art and also small, askew tables covered in toppled and damaged Art Deco objets d'art between all of the bedroom suites, their doors ajar and the familiar hot stink of sex slapping her a little more into sobriety, not to mention the stentorian Welsh curses cannonading from Cadwyn's lips as she once again cleans up after the detested sybarites, Aggie finally reaches the last door at the end of the hall and nearly wrenches the knob off as she staggers into Mary's bedroom. Without so much as a glance at her surroundings, including yet again those powder blue walls, a Queen-sized canopied bed, walk-in closet, and a cozy little table and chair set in the corner Aggie slips into the adjoining bathroom, where she quickly hurtles herself down in front of the open toilet and retches violently into it while desperately anchoring onto its cold porcelain rim. In a short while she straddles the toilet, kicks off her sandals and carefully unpins her loincloth, which plops heavily into the bowl. The naked girl then scurries over to use the adjoining bidet, the frigid geyser of water jetting up between her buttocks making her gasp, then sigh deeply. As she sits and relaxes for a moment Aggie notices for the first time the shower running in the curtained tub in front of her, as well as pieces of men's clothing strewn all across the turquoise tile floor. She slowly looks up and recognizes the wet heads and faces of Oscar Wilde and Alfred, Lord Douglas thrust through the curtain and gazing at her with both curiosity and concern.
 "Hullo, Diana, Adora," Aggie says dully. "Good to see you again. I simply loved your costumes tonight, though they look a bit out of place on the floor there."
 "Heat of the moment. But I say, Aggie, are you all right?" asks Diana.
 "Yes, has anything happened out there?" adds Adora
 "Yes, ladies," sighs Aggie. "Something did happen, namely the party's over and I ended it. Please don't ask why or how, as I'm sure Mary or someone will shoot the dope straight into you. Or something like that. Damn it! I'm sorry, I just can't quite think clearly yet."
 "Are you somewhat sloshed right now, Ag?" asks Diana.
 Aggie roughly rubs her face. "It's not as bad as before; I actually sober up pretty fast, and the, well, purging seems to have helped some. I do think I'm feeling just a bit more jim dandy now. Oh, and don't use or flush this toilet yet, by the way, it's, um, not quite flushable. Or clean."
 "Do we even want to know what-?"
 "No, you don't. Believe me."
 "All right. Glad we already made use of it, then. Well, as long as you're - what's that strange American term I once heard you use - ah, 'buck naked,' Ag, do you want to join us in here and get cleaned up a bit more?"
 "Well, yes, I rather would but, um...I don't, um-"
 "Um what?" asks Adora.
 "I really don't - want to interrupt - whatever it is you - you're doing in there," Aggie replies haltingly. "If it's what I think."
 Diana beams broadly. "It is, oh, it really is, Aggie!" she purrs.
 Adora chuckles and shakes her head. "Oh, Di! But really, if you're concerned we shall simply wait 'til you're good and squeaky clean to-well, continue. It's really no trouble."
 "I say, this is just a thought, but would you like Adora and I to assist you in washing up, especially if you're still not feeling cricket? And don't worry, we shan't do anything sapphic to you."
 "And if you're feeling vulnerable do remember that we are all women here."
 "And English," adds Diana.
 "And buck naked at Mary's house," admits Aggie.
 Diana and Adora roar with glee, then each push two glistening, slender white arms through the curtain and beckon to her.
 "We've actually only been in here a short time, so come in now while the water's still nice and warm," says Diana.
 "Well, Aggie?"
 Seconds later Aggie steps carefully into the shower bath and is welcomed by the attractive young women who place her gently beneath the vertical cascade of invigorating water. She quietly allows them to lovingly lather and rinse nearly every inch of her body as she mentally mulls over the night's more memorable events, little by little, beginning with her humiliation of Teddy Crewecott and ending with the more recent moments of her own unfortunate but preventable situation and retreat to this intimate space with two accommodating ladies. And when she finally breaks, when they notice the tears at last dropping from her weary eyes and her shoulders shaking with her gasping sobs they awkwardly sandwich her in a slippery embrace and bless her with kind reassurances. Grateful for these little gestures and now feeling much less of a bete Aggie quickly rallies, and in a happy show of vibrancy trades banter and gossip with her shower-mates. One bit of fun, improvisational artistry thought up right there by Diana is for all three to pose as Raphael's "Three Graces", with each of them holding one of Mary's lavender pomme soaps, and the scene is quite graceful for nearly a minute...until Aggie breaks wind.
 "What the hell are you cackling like bloody witches about in there?!" demands Mary from the other side of the curtain a moment later. "I'd ask you face to face but I'm not up for seeing any more naked people tonight. So?"
 "Nuh-nothing, M-mary!" says Adora, barely containing her glee.
 'Oh, quh-quite right, old g-girl!" adds Diana in much the same way.
 "I just farted, Mary, and it was a real humdinger," chimes in Aggie, nothing daunted. "And speaking of my ass don't use the toilet yet, I haven't flushed it."
 "Ohhh, I can see and...smell that quite plainly, my dear," answers Mary with a sternness that makes Aggie feel a bit uneasy. "Are you nearly finished with Ag, Diana? And Adora? Not in the way I'm expecting you to be, of course."
 "Yes, I'm-I'm ready to come out now," Aggie says nervously, and cautiously slips back out through the curtain, Diana and Adora still giggling but patting their friend reassuringly on the shoulder before she exits. Mary stands clad in a cotton robe colorfully embroidered with all manner of English garden blooms, her jaw set, but flashes a wink to her relieved friend as she enfolds her in a clean white towel and takes up a smaller one to vigorously dry her hair.
 "I can't believe what you did back there, Agrippina!" Mary says sharply. "Even with all your daring and defiance you've shown these past years you doing...that at my fancy dress party is-well, quite shocking!"
 "Ah! Not so consarned rough! Look, Mary, I am sor-" she barely manages to say before Mary cuts in with, "Tsk! You should be sorry for tonight, Miss Agrippina Dovecote! Really you should! It's just unbelievable! Incredible! Revolting! Unsanitary! And bloody hell, I'll even say it again - shocking! And do you know what the really horrid part of it is?"
 "No, what?"
 A wry smile creeps over Mary's lips. "What you did...that, my dear, was originally my plan to end the party early! And I wasn't wearing any underwear, either! So thanks a lot!"
 Aggie, Diana and Adora nearly die from their gasping guffaws.
 "Breathe, ladies!" orders Mary, then kisses Aggie's forehead. "Little notion thief! Steal my lovely, deafening thunder, will ya?! Hm, looks like I'll need to use that firewood after all!"
 "Ach, button your brown-hole, Mary!"
 "Oh, yeah? Zip your lips," Mary slowly enunciates with another wink. "Get it?"
 "Good lord, is that another family saying, too?"
 "No, I think that one may be American."
 "Really? 'Zip your lips'. I'll have to remember it. But Mary, you dirty gel, I'm beginning to think you need a good cleansing shower much more than I do tonight, like a punishing sort, complete with a rough, violent scrubbing and a carbolic soap enema!"
 "Oh, my God! Ag, however did you discover my bathing routine?!"
 "I didn't, it's actually mine."
 "Might you have considered sometimes taking on someone to assist you, like an especially burly Bedlam matron with thick, angry red arms? Because Cadwyn can't, but then again she simply refuses!"
 "That would be horribly lovely, but no, we poor girls usually go it alone, and I should mention right off that I usually don't stop scrubbing until I bleed out at least a pint's worth."
 "Hah! Pint and a half, here! I win! And the...enema?"
 "No, I've actually stopped doing that. I almost lost a whole bar up there once. You?"
 "I, um...lost...two bars, oh, for God's sake!"
 "Leaping lizards, that was fun, Mary!"
 "Uhnnnn, oh, yesss!" Diana suddenly and mechanically exclaims. "Ahem! Yes. Oh, my Addie, do DO put your nice little finger up there where the sun does not shine and move it around very slowly! Just how I like it! Ahem! Cough! Oh yes, that's quite lovely! Ahem!"
 "Oh, oh, Di, I can quite feel your wet, quivering womanhood! Cough, cough! Are you rather coming yet?"
 "No, no, no, not quite! Not for quite a while. Yes. No. Cough, cough! Ahem!"
 A bewildered Aggie and Mary soon see two pairs of eyes glance at them between the curtain slit, then dart away.
 "OHHHH,YESSS!!" Diana booms. "UHNNNNNGGG!!!"
 "We should probably go," Aggie says, smoothing down her hair as best she can.
 "Not too much longer, ladies!" Mary warns. "Yes, Ag, and find you something to wear before you go home. It's getting late, too, so come on."
 Mary crooks an arm around Aggie's shoulders as they head back into the bedroom.
 "So where were we, Bosie?" purrs Diana.


 

                                    TO BE CONCLUDED
 

  
 
 
 

 





 
   

     
 
 

Nervous

 A guy drove with his girlfriend to the local mall (as a way to make up for supposedly leering at her best friend in a suspiciously sexy way (he was actually stifling a sneeze)) so she could meet her favorite TV star, who was making a fifteen minute appearance at the food court.
 When they arrived there the guy joined the rapidly forming line while his girlfriend freshened up in the washroom. And when she rejoined him a few minutes later the guy noticed that her hands were dripping wet.
 "Your hands are dripping wet, Irina," he said. "Did you forget to dry them?"
 "I didn't wash my hands, Vassily!" Irina replied curtly. "I didn't need to."
 "Oh. Sorry," muttered Vassily. And as the line moved forward some more Vassily noticed that Irina was standing in a small pool of yellow liquid.
 "You're standing in a pool of yellow liquid, Irina," he said. "Did you spill your Diet MelloYello?"
 "No, I didn't spill my Diet MelloYello, Vassily!" she replied hotly. "I don't even have any Diet MelloYello! I don't even like Diet MelloYello! God, what the hell is the matter with you?!"
 "Sorry, Irina, sorry," Vassily mumbled, his cheeks flaming red. Then the line moved forward a little bit more and for about five minutes Vassily busied himself by making an Incan quipu out of some string he found in his windbreaker pocket, so he wasn't looking at Irina at all during this time. When he noticed how close they were getting to the table where the TV star sat he turned to see if Irina was ready - and also to proudly show her what he had done with his bit of string. He was not a little surprised to see that his girlfriend was, from head to toe, drenched in sweat and exuding a rather unpleasant odor.
 Everybody who was in line behind them was long gone.
 The people in front of them remained but had carved out a wide swath of space between themselves and Irina.
 Now Vassily was not a dumb young man. True, he may have been a little daft sometimes, but he was savvy enough to piece this particular puzzle together.
 "I think we'd better go, Irina," he said softly, leading her gently away by the arm. When she balked at this Vassily replied, "The dog from 'Frasier' will come back again someday. Right now what you need is a nice, long, hot, soapy shower."
 And as she fell into his arms and cried bitterly Irina knew that Vassily was right on both counts.



DB/c1998,2014

Aggie Dovecote and All Her Pals: Pt.1, Ch.3

                                                                 III

 Teddy is not wearing any underwear.
 Ginny jerks backward in shock and falls clumsily and half-fainting in Tim's unprepared arms, while Poppy unhelpfully vomits atop Ginny's disordered coif.
 "Shame about that wig!" someone snidely remarks.
 Aggie numbly sits up, wincing at the soreness she feels in her backside, with Teddy's loincloth still clutched tightly in her hand. She feels as if she's floating lazily in slow motion as she gapes hypnotically up at his bare buttocks and can sniff what is, for lack of a better term, that powerful 'baby cologne' scent Mary had alluded to earlier. She shakes her head into lucidity when she suddenly feels, or thinks she feels, aroused, and then realizes the unseemliness of it when for a moment Teddy's pained and embarrassed gaze meets hers. He plows into the vulgarly jeering crowd, flings open the front door and barrels down the slick steps, nearly losing his footing as he vanishes into the still thickly rainy London evening. Aggie carefully lifts herself up off the floor and plops into a chair next to the orchestra, which has not, except for the soprano (who naturally couldn't help but briefly stop and stare before resuming "Toot Toot Tootsie"), missed a beat during the commotion. Mary speaks with a dazed Ginny, who asks of the young man's current whereabouts, and when notified insists on being led to a telephone before she consents to get herself cleaned up. Mary politely concedes and with Tim's assistance leads her away, meekly followed by an ashen Poppy. A disgusted Cadwyn soon appears with bucket and brush to clean the floor of residual vomit while the laughing dancers swirl heedlessly around her, oftentimes coming very near to crushing her hands as she works.
 Aggie sits despondently with head tucked in hands and stares at the loincloth she let drop to the floor as Mary soon approaches, and in her constricting dress struggles yet incredibly succeeds in deftly scooping it up and then subjecting it to casual scrutiny.
 "Mary, I-" Aggie begins.
 "Wait just a bit."
 "Cripes, what the hell are you doing that for?"
 "Curiosity, of course," Mary answers. "Hmm, it's quite clean. I wonder if he may have had it double-pleated, else my eyesight is going. Sorry, Ag, I seem to have been wrong about this." She neatly folds the loincloth and hands it to Aggie, who avoids looking at it further as she slips it beneath her chair.
 "You're sorry?! No, I'm-Mary, I swear, I swear I would not have done that at all if I knew-"
 "No, stop, stop! I put the underwear idea in your mind so I'm to blame just as much as you."
 "Oh, I really do wish I could apologize to him right now. I feel just awful. Wait! Have you rung for the police already to help look for him?" 
 "That's rather an odd thing. Ginny insisted on ringing someone she knows to search 'round Chiswick but leaving the police strictly out of it."
 "Hmm, that is a bit odd. Are she and Teddy pals or something?"
 "I'm not really sure, Ag, but they must mean something to each other if she's willing to personally see to his welfare."
 "Well, as much as I detest Ginny I'm glad of that, because I'd really rather Teddy was not pinched by the cops tonight and put in the hoosegow."
 "I don't want that either, my friend."
 "Just out of curiosity did you say anything to him when he arrived earlier tonight? About his...what he wore?"
 "Not to me, no. We barely exchanged pleasantries before he moved over here. People gawped at him, of course, and said some unkind things, but thankfully they just ignored him. Also he's tall so perhaps they were a bit intimidated by him to try and...well..."
 "Pull it off of him," Aggie finishes. "And...he was waiting for me. He wore that because of me! And I..."
 Mary puts her hand under Aggie's chin and gently lifts up her head. "Look at me, Ag. Like I said before, I do believe he fancies you. I'll wager he still does, even after tonight. And how could he not, with a sweet mug like yours? But if I see him again I'll be sure to let him know how you feel, and perhaps we can arrange a meeting sometime. And as the hostess it's only proper that I apologize to him, too."
 "That would be swell, Mary, thank you very much." Then after a short pause Aggie says, "Um, this is really quite off the topic and probably not the best time to ask, but could you maybe please tell me about 'Button your brown-ho-'"
 Suddenly the grandfather clock chimes seven o'clock, startling Mary. "Oh, shit! I forgot all about them!"
 "Who?"
 "You'll see in a minute. I'm very sorry, Ag, but I must go right now. Will you be all right?"
 "Yes, yes. Go on."
 Mary smiles and pats her on the shoulder. "Talk to you later, then." She politely but swiftly elbows her way between her guests, and Aggie resumes her neo-Thinker pose. Soon she hears a general tittering and then applause as people make way for the four white-robed young men solemnly and carefully hefting the table from the sitting room to a spot near Aggie and the orchestra. As an especially interested knot of people look on as the men pull from their robe pockets small papier-mache, Mycenaean-inspired funerary masks covered in gold leaf and fit them snugly over their faces with yellow twine, after which they each stand one to a table corner, and for a few moments appear to make adjustments beneath their robes and the table. They slowly, stoically loosen their belts while remaining quite stationary, then on a shared cue let their robes slither to the floor, revealing their lean, naked bodies. Though some women and men fall into a faint, everyone (excluding Aggie who, having had her fill of naked men for one night, barely looks askance at them) simply gasps, but then very quickly and heartily applaud this tableau. Mary moves in between the four men and her guests and demands the latter's attention.
 "Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen!" she begins. "I shall try to be brief here with my remarks, but as many of you have known for some time I have agreed to install this piece of Living Art for my little party tonight and yes, all of my future ones upon the request of and for the especial benefit of those of you with...particular tastes." She shoots a glance at the increasingly antsy knot. "You may already know that this piece was named, though supposedly not conceived by the woefully late and lamented artiste Anita Berber, who in fact herself dubbed this 'Die Titanen von den Weissen Nepenthe', or rather 'The Titans of the White Nepenthe'. Rather poetic, don't you think? Don't have too great a care about the stamina of these, mm, handsome and brave lads, they  will be allowed rest and movement for fifteen minutes but shall remain here until they resume their postures. Ah, and here comes Cadwyn now with the four chamber pots they will need to use for...well, I'm sure you can imagine. Oh, and I do hope you won't mind the awful stench." She gestures to a spot behind the aghast crowd where all turn back to look, as Mary quickly winks at a mildly curious Aggie; Cadwyn is nowhere to be seen. "Ha ha ha! Oh my goodness! No, no, my friends, as you know I do have working flush toilets so you needn't fret about that. Good lord! Now, as you all will no doubt wonder, no, the penises you will be seeing through the glass are sadly fraudulent, but for obvious safety reasons, and were originally prototypes I borrowed with my  enduring gratitude to former army surgeon and a dear friend of mine, Dr. Trevor Trewe, currently at London Hospital, who is fashioning them for our... blessed Tommies who can't...who won't...well now, I really rather feel I needn't explain further to you all, do I? These lads' own, well, 'equipment,' if I may euphemize for a bit, are carefully concealed under the penises they now wear. Or are they called 'penae'? Oh, do stop your bloody gasping, Poppy! Yes, yes, I know, I'm saying one of your least favorite fucking words in the whole god-damned world! And for Christ's sake, why are you here and not assisting your - oh, well, she's off. Ahem! Ladies and gentlemen, I beg you to please pardon both the rather sensitive Miss St.Cecile and my vulgar language. At any rate, here it is - 'The Titans of the White Nepenthe' - created by Anonymous but dubbed as such by Fraulein Anita Berber. I thank you all. What's that, Lord Dunmore? Oh yes, I am finished, so you and the others may use it now, there's really no need to beg so; do let go of my sleeve, please. Thank you. Right, enjoy your oblivion, my friends, though in moderation if possible. No overdosing, please! The rest of you may carry on as you were. Music, Maestro! Andiamo!"
 Those in the knot quickly produce small vials of white powder (some having even brought it in antique snuff boxes) and rolled up pound notes; they then frantically scurry and kneel or stand around the table and get to work, actually prompting Aggie to conclude that it's become like "a doggoned busy beehive" over there.
 Mary continues to mingle with her guests as during the hour's progression Aggie wends her way between chair and table for a plateful of food and  two more bottles of beer. She is barely interested in the goings-on that happen around her, not including the one where a nearly perfect living representation of Edgar Allan Poe saunters around the room waving to and beaming broadly at everyone he sees, including Aggie, though she simply shudders.
 A tizzy of hoydens skip saucily up to the soprano as she rests for the moment and tartly ask who the hell she's supposed to be in her costume. With a gentle smile and a curtsey the young lady graciously answers that she is Emilie du Chatelet, mathematician, dictionary editor and lover of Voltaire, among many other wonderful things. They then cruelly opine that she is, oh, my goodness, really, really too big of a girl to be anyone's lover, let alone Voltaire ("Whoever that poor chap is!" one of them snorts.) Emilie has already had quite enough; she deftly hikes up her skirts and darts into the hallway to the bedroom suites even while still being pursued by inane barbs and honeyed cackling. Aggie watches Emilie disappear even as the hoydens still insult her, but as last she flies up and rushes fiercely at them, scowling hideously. They yelp and flutter away while often glancing fearfully back at her, but at last she only sits back down and resumes her Thinker again between bouts of drinking, noshing and just barely restrained belching.
 At about half-past seven a shrieking Violet Gibson bursts out of the sitting room with Benito Mussolini hot on her heels. He is brandishing a prop pistol and yells "bang-a bang-a!" with every invisible shot he fires at the ceiling. The crowd laughs and fervently cheer him on as he zooms amongst them. He chases Violet around the room until they reach the hallway entrance then suddenly stop, grab hands, turn and bow to receive their audience's wild applause.
 Oscar Wilde and Alfred, Lord Douglas pet heavily in a corner under an especially fleshy Bouguereau; Mary sees them, as well as a few other couples doing the same, and with a little sigh loudly announces to all that she will now "once again" open up her bedrooms for the "rampant sexual abandon" soon to be unleashed - but only for the hour's remainder and no longer. More than half  hurry out for nearly twenty minutes, during which a disgusted Emilie hastily re-emerges. By the time people return flushed and disheveled but ready for more dancing an intoxicated Aggie feels a familiar and quite uncomfortable sensation in her gut. She very slowly rises to her feet and sights with her filmy vision a nearly unnoticeable blue door across the room where she remembers a toilet sits. She feels the acute pressure build with each slight step she makes in that direction.
 "'Scuse me, I need t' get to th' loo, please!" she groggily begs of the dancers, who merely glare at Aggie and mock her with heartless laughter and epithets even as they very nearly knock her down.
 "C'mon! Just, just...please!"
 Too late.


                                     TO BE CONTINUED     
 


 
 

   

Just Pour the Wine

just pour the wine and celebrate,
let Bacchus have his way
with each of our five senses;
OLYMPUS IS OURS TODAY!!

let's scream it from Parnassus!
let's shout it from Delphi!
"the gods are now no more!"
is the mortals' vict'ry cry.

now you might ask, "the gods are dead?"
a fair question one may pose.
but no - they have been "dealt" with
by an upstart named Kratos.

we're not sure what we will do
with Olympus, standing tall.
we'll probably clear it off and build
one more god-damned strip mall!


DB/c1996,2014