Stories written by The Englishman

Mr Double's Palisades

A Large Stiff One (ALSO), part 1: Revised

Written by The Englishman

Brief foreword: If there's anyone left who has actually read any of my stuff, you'll know what to expect. It's been a long while since I wrote anything. Lots of reasons for that - mostly personal circumstances but also a large degree of indifference. It's disheartening when you put weeks or months of work into a story and nobody seems to even notice.

I've seen one or two posts in the forums about my stuff and some of it appears to have been liked well enough but I doubt that I had more than two or three comments from readers. That is discouraging. Nobody wants to feel that they're writing into a void and, in the area that most of us authors have chosen, we don't have any way of knowing whether our efforts are well received or not. If I was a rock star, I'd know from my position in the charts and the number of ticket sales for my concerts that I was doing okay. All we Doubles authors have as a gauge of our success is the readers' responses. Downloads tell us nothing - the fact that somebody downloaded a story does not mean that they enjoyed it or even that they read it.

The second and final part of this story is already written, in fifth draft. The way that I write means that there will be at least another two drafts before I consider it good enough to post (and even then, as soon as I see it posted, I'll want to take it back and make a final adjustment). This is the heavy-going bit. I know the story, I know what will happen and I know how it ends, so there's very little creative stuff going on now. This is the dishwashing at the end of a very enjoyable dinner party. This is the point where some, and certainly I, get weary and find something more enjoyable to do. Feedback from readers helps us to get through that part...

Not to labour the point. If you want more stories of the sort that you like, write to the bloody authors and tell them so. If you hate the story then let us know that too. Most of us write to please ourselves but none of us is so arrogant that we ignore praise or criticism. Sorry for the sermon but, as you've probably gathered, it has some importance to me. Anyway onto the story and I hope it was worth the wait...

Obligatory warning -

If you're too young to read this, you probably won't take any notice if I tell you to stop now.

If you believe that this story is anything but fantasy, without a hint of reality, then you should seek help.

In real life, sexual activity with minors is a selfish destructive activity - hopefully leading to imprisonment for the perpetrators and certainly leading to permanent harm for the victims. Enjoy the fantasy...

A Large Stiff One, part 1 of 2

I met Millie during my self-allotted month in the sun at a semi-luxurious holiday hotel on the Spanish Costa-del-Sol.

She was small and skinny with a snub nose and a motorised mouth powered by an inexhaustible energy supply that could have solved the world's fuel crisis. She was bright and quick witted with a wicked sense of humour and a heart as wide as an estuary. Sparrow-like, she darted and flitted from person to person, from subject to subject, the words spilling from her lips in her eagerness to say everything at once and to make sure that the whole world was aware of her presence.

Considering that I'm forty, divorced and semi-retired, I doubt that Millie would have even noticed my existence except as just another one of the random targets of her unstoppable social activity.

I sold my computer component business at a good time and was able to live pretty well on the occasional consultancy work that drifted my way from my many contacts in the business. No ties, no obligations and enough money to indulge myself as long as I didn't get too reckless. So, my life was pretty dull and uneventful and I matched it fairly well.

Millie, on the other hand, was anything but dull and uneventful. She was impossible to ignore - her quick and mischievous sense of humour, her sudden laugh, raucous and loud, her moods that switched from gaiety to solemnity in a single breath. Her wide glowing brown eyes, that stared with such honesty and intensity at whomever she was talking to at the time, had me hypnotised. She was heart-achingly beautiful. She was just ten years old and I fell in love with her in the space of time it took between my first seeing her and remembering to breathe again.

So, not exactly a match made in heaven and that's how things would have remained - just two ships passing in the night. Well, more like an aging barge having its sedate course rocked by the wake of a zippy speedboat crossing its bow. But events are seldom as predictable as that. To paraphrase an ancient proverb, if you want to make God laugh, tell him your five year plan.

The world changed for both of us one morning when I was lounging by the hotel pool with a paperback spy novel in one hand and a large Daiquiri in the other. I was only half interested in the book and my eyes were closing under the influence of the alcohol and the heat of the mid-morning sun. Then a sudden splash of cold water hit me like an electric shock.

I sat up quickly, spilling most of my drink and dropping the water-spattered paperback into my lap. My eyes snapped open and then squinted against the glare of the Spanish sun, to see little Millie standing directly in front of me. The sun glinted off tiny beads of water on her tanned skin and she had water streaming from her shoulder length auburn hair. She was in a two-piece orange swimming costume, though I couldn't imagine why she needed the top half - she had nothing on her chest to hide, that I could discern.

"I'm sorry," she said with what sounded like genuine remorse, "did I splash you?"

"Splash me?" I spluttered, "You darn near drowned me."

I was more shocked than angry but my tone was indignant enough that I probably sounded angry. Millie chose not to notice or, more likely, she didn't care. She clapped her hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to muffle the soft giggle.

"You're funny," she said with total seriousness. "It was only a bit of water - can I use your towel?"

"You might as well, seeing that it's the only thing you didn't soak yet," I muttered with mock sarcasm.

She giggled again and took the towel from me. ......(cont)

.......Read the entire A Large Stiff One (ALSO), part 1: Revised ....written by The Englishman.

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This story is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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