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Derek G Rogers

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Member Since: May, 2006

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TWISTICLE. A Likely Story
By Derek G Rogers
Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Rated "PG" by the Author.

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Do you believe him?

You are probably not going to believe this! Well my wife, Jenny didn't, in fact she was very unpleasant about the whole thing; said to her it sounded more like a shaggy dog story than an explanation. Two weeks have passed since that night and I'm still getting the 'Cold bum and deaf and dumb breakfast' treatment. To be fair, I must admit it does sound a bit far fetched, but if you don't believe me either, ring her best friend Polly, you've got her number and she'll confirm everything I say. Nothing happened! Absolutely nothing! I've got a bloody great lump on my head to prove it. I had to go to hospital to have stitches, it's all on record. And in any case it was partly Jennie's fault….well it was…look, this is what actually happened, you judge for yourself.
Jenny and Polly are dancers and are best friends, have been since school days, they both have parts in that big all singing all dancing West End show everyone wants to see at the moment. Every afternoon they go to the gym for a light work-out, they reckon it keeps them in shape and provides a welcome change from the theatre. Yesterday I was working from home for the day and they asked if I wanted to go with them. Normally I avoid the gym like the plague but with Jennie so busy with the show, rehearsals and the gym, I took the opportunity to spend some 'quality time' with her. I quite like Polly too, she's a bit feisty but I find her great fun.
I wish now I had kept to my golden rule of taking as little physical exercise as possible, then none of this would have happened. Anyway just before the show that evening they were going through a particularly awkward routine when Polly twisted her ankle, she clearly wasn't going to be able to dance that evening. Naturally she was upset and Jenny suggested that rather than both of us spending the evening alone, we should meet up for dinner. It seemed a sensible suggestion so we agreed to meet at eight o'clock in the little Italian restaurant near her flat.
Gino's is a great place to eat and generally relax, maybe you've been there? The one on the corner of Islington High Street? No? Well take my word for it, to eat there is not just a pleasure it's a virtual trip to Italy. We met at eight, had a few drinks, a few laughs, a few more dinks and a meal, and a few more drinks. Gino's Italian expressions, his food and the atmosphere of his restaurant worked their magic and I am sure Polly was getting a little squiffy, so, at about ten-thirty I offered to see her safely home. Well I couldn’t let her find her own way home could I? She is after all Jenny’s best friend.
She accepted somewhat theatrically I thought by curtsying low and looking upwards at me, fluttering her eyelids and saying “Thank you kind Sir”. It took us about ten minutes to reach her place. Well you know how these things happen, "Would I like coffee?" Of course I would, and I had coffee, and another drink, so did she.
Yes! I realise now that was a mistake, but….one thing led to another and another until it seemed that quite by accident we were in her bedroom and…..just as things were moving towards the need for a serious decision there was a tremendous crash from her kitchen.
I jumped off the bed full of testosterone pumped aggression and ran towards the cause of the crash, stopping short just outside the kitchen door as sensibility reasserted itself. What if he, I presumed it would be a he, was bigger than me? What if he was armed? The worst of drinking too much must surely be the sense of invincibility it engenders? I grabbed the door handle and burst into the kitchen.
There was no one there! All was quiet and orderly, except for the shiny metal colander on the floor just underneath the corner of the heavy oak kitchen table. Why was it on the floor when it should have been on the shelf above the taps? Simple, Webber, her marmalade cat, not quite out of the inquisitive kitten stage, had been attracted by the light reflecting on it's chrome surface from the street-light outside, had climbed onto the top, reached up and raked his claws along the surface of the colander. One of his talons had caught in one of the holes and brought the whole thing down causing it to bounce off a number of surfaces before hitting the floor with the almighty crash that had probably, as it turned out, saved my marriage and ensured the continuation of the long friendship of Jenny and Polly.
Obviously that should have been the end of the evening…..should have, but it wasn't! I bent down to retrieve the colander from under the table, in my excited state quite forgetting that my trousers and boxers were not where they should have been. You can imagine what that blasted cat saw dangling under my shirt-tail? That's right…that's exactly what he saw. The next I knew was a searing pain in my scrotum. The bloody cat had slunk out from the side of the cupboard, crossed the floor of the kitchen as swiftly as an exocet missile and sprung upon his 'prey'. He did! He sunk his talons into my tenderest parts with savage enthusiasm, and his teeth too! I shot into an upright position letting go a scream of pain and fury, turning simultaneously to rip the moggy off my privates. Both actions were serious mistakes.
The first resulted in me smashing my head against the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The second…well I'm a bit embarrassed to tell you about that. Polly, bless her, following me into the kitchen and finding me unconscious immediately grabbed her mobile and called an ambulance.
I woke up in the London Hospital three hours later heavily bandaged round my head and with a fearful pain in my lower regions, no, no, not just there, throughout my entire stomach. The twist I had made to grab that sodding cat had done longer lasting damage than the bash on the head. But for me worse was to come.
How was I to explain my 'accident' to Jenny? I could hardly tell her that I and her best friend had….well, we hadn't actually, so my conscience was clear on that matter at least. But how was I to explain what I was doing at Polly's place at that time of night? I love Jenny very much and was desperately scared she might think Polly and I had betrayed her. Well we hadn't. No really we hadn't!
Then I hit on the perfect explanation. Her car! That was it! Her car. Polly had asked me to put something in the boot of her car and while I was doing it the boot door fell on me. That would explain the bandage on my head, the stomach problem? Easy, that came about because I tried to avoid the door and crushed it between the edge of the boot and the door.
Polly readily agreed to support my story, she wanted to maintain her long friendship with Jenny and felt as guilty about the whole thing as I did. And it would have worked, after all no immorality had taken place, though I must agree that what did happen wasn't quite moral. Still, it was a plausible story that would save everyone from a lot of grief. BUT.....
Be sure your sins will find you out. They usually do! Jenny arrived at the London Hospital straight from the show and identified herself as my wife, Polly very sensibly gave her a short version of our story and went home. Then, Dr. Young-and-Trendy came into the little side ward and, clearly overwhelmed by Jenny's showgirl appearance, went through it all again. Nasty blow on the head he agreed….he'd bashed his head on his boot door once, very sympathetic, even rubbed his head in memory of the occasion.
Then he made the gaff of all time as far as I'm concerned. He told her with what I thought was a most unprofessional leer, that we should avoid the gymnastics in our sex life for a while. Why? Well…The stomach ache that was causing me so much pain was what the medical profession termed a "Twisticle" Neither Jenny nor I had ever heard of a "Twisticle" but I had one of those funny feelings come over me that you get when you know something has gone radically wrong but you're not quite sure what or why.
My feeling was spot on. Dr. Young-and-Trendy, hypnotised now by Jenny's blue eyes, went for pontoon! He carefully explained that a "Twisticle" is a twisted testicle. How I had managed to get such a thing he wouldn't hazard a guess but, with that leer again, suggested that in future we tone down the physical side of our relationship as it was a recurring state and could do permanent damage..etc…etc…etc. Oh yes and not worry about the scratches and other marks on my scrotum, they had been treated with antiseptic and would vanish in week or two!
That was when the temperature in the whole world plummeted and so far it hasn't risen to normal levels. Having told her over and over again what happened that night and repeatedly asked her to confirm it with Polly, I can't very well change the story can I? Whether or not she has spoken to Polly I don't know, because Jenny has hardly spoken to me since it all happened. And Polly won't take my calls either!
So what about you? Would you have believed me? No? Well I said you wouldn't when I started, but as it happens….....END


 


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