Proposal 1. The remaining episodes of Greenspun Place will appear here, so we can catch up on all the happenings without traipseing all over the world looking for them.

Proposal 2. There will be an omnibus edition once a week on a day to be decided in consultation with the author(ess). Seconds please.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Answers

Fabulous idea. We here in Bournemouth are thoroughly enjoying the ongoing saga - long may it continue!!!

(;o)

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Proposal 3. Unless I get to have a liason in the next episode with Yelli then Softie dies.

Proposal 4. Under no circumstances is Proposal 3 to be taken lightly.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

This is reserved for genuine literary talent - my mate Softie says it's ok as long as this is my last on this thread. Only genuine episodes on here from now on please.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

The mysterious stranger loitered menacingly outside the shop. He once again found himself discarded, thrown out of the shop without so much as an apology. 'Northern b#stards' he cursed through the tight lips of rejection, as he watched the enraged shopkeeper surreptitiously from the lengthening shadows as she bustled her way down the road, shot gun in her hand. Her sturdy, purposeful gait and the movement of her rough, tweed skirt against her ample thighs once again stirred those uncontrollable feelings within him, and opening up his long, ankle-length coat, he furtively thumbed the glossy magazine clasped tightly against his now pounding chest. 'Later, my lovely, later' he said under his breath....

'You're not from these parts, are you' came a forceful voice from behind

The stranger spun round in shock to see a female figure in jodphurs and riding boots languishing up against the lamp post.

If you're looking for somewhere to stay, I've got a spare bed in the basement, she said, lighly caressing her riding crop between her leather clad fingers.

The stranger stood there, mouth agape, trying to think of something to say, but the words just wouldn't formulate round the lump in his throat, until he blurted out in a high pitch squeak..'Hi, I'm a necrophiliac, how good are you at playing dead?'

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Meanwhile, Mrs Jones continued on her way, oblivious to events behind her. She was nearing Windy's house now, as the 'For Sale' signs bore mute testimony to. As the houses got shabbier, and the weeds pushing through the cracked pavements became thicker, Mrs Jones trod carefully. It wouldn't do to lose her footing now and discharge two barrels of steel pellets into her leg. Soon the grottiest hovel of all hove into view. Had there been any doubt that this empty-windowed shell was the right place, one of the local urchins has helpfully spray-painted: "Windy is a junkee!" Demonstrating that education was just another necessity in short supply on the estate.

Mrs Jones stood in front of the rain-warped door. Her acute hearing picked up the monotonous humming and rustling which indicated that the Miller was 'working'. She eased back the hammers on her shotgun and slowly turned the door handle...

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

'Hello. Who's that?' came a cheerful, female voice from down the hall. Mrs Jones speedily hid the gun under her coat as she stumbled around the empty packing crates strewn across the floor.

'Err. I..I was after Windy' she stammered, trying to regain her composure. 'Ohh, we're the Southerners. We moved in last week, but haven't had time to take down the sign. Lovely, though isn't it? Lot's of potential'

'Pleased to meet you, Mrs Southerner. I'm Mrs Jones..call me Bridget. I run the shop down the hill. At least for the time being anyway.' she said as her voice trailed off and her sad eyes turned towards door and the bleak future that awaited her. But just as she turned to go, the door swung open on it's remaining hinge and the man she recognised from the shop earlier hurried in, out of breath, peering into the dusk before closing the door behind him.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

"Hello, Honey,' called Mrs Southerner, 'Have you been servicing that lass on the corner again. You really shouldn't, you know, not until she learns to ask nicely."

Mrs Jones looked from one to the other, amazed to hear such a potentially explosive issue discussed so matter-of-factly.

"Oh, don't be shocked, Mrs Jones, I have to let the poor lamb get his exercise elsewhere, he's far too energetic for me. This makes things much easier on me and helps us make friends with the neighbours."

Mrs Southerner ushered Mrs Jones into the living room for a refreshing cup of tea. Whilst the hostess pottered about, Mrs Jones was left alone with Mr Southerner. Once they were alone, he leant forward and fixed her with a steely glance.

"The chap from the shop who rubbed himself against me and scarpered with a bottle of milk, are you looking for him?"

Recognizing a kindred-spirit, Mrs Jones replied neutrall, "I might be."

"How interesting," said Mr Southerner. "He's currently doing something unpleasant in our garden shed. Would you care for a look at the garden? Don't snag that shotgun on any rosebushes, the factory siren will be sounding off in a couple of minutes, I doubt anyone will be able to hear anything at all when that goes off..." Mrs Jones looked up and felt a conspiratorial grin twitching at the corners of her mouth, as Mr Southerner gave her a hand up from the couch.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

"Yeuch!" cried Mrs Jones, with a scream often heard in 'Omen' films.

"Oh don't worry", laughed Mrs Southerner, "it's just a plastic stage prop hand...very realistic, isn't it?"

"Yes", said Mrs Jones, wiping her increasingly perspiration covered brow with her sleeve, "very".

Mrs Southerner grinned broadly and leaned in to whisper in Mrs Jones' ear.

"He uses this for immoral purposes, you know"

Mrs Jones' gripped the shotgun even tighter. The madness set in.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

But as he leant over, the magazine slipped out from under his coat, and landed with thud on the coffee table, for all to see. A stony silence descended on the room as all eyes fixated on the tawdry publication lying before them all.

The picture of David Beckham on the cover was a complete give away, despite the feeble attempt to scrawl over the title with a child's crayon. Mrs Jones could feel her trigger finger twitching as the feeling of utter despair welled up inside her..

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

"It's, it's, it's..." he stuttered, "It's not for me! I, I, I...oh, for Keegan's sake, it's mine"

The plastic hand dropped on the floor.

Mrs Jones' sweat was beginning to soak through her linen blouse, revealing a rather supportive bustier. Her breath quickened, her mouth was dry, her hair was beautifully permed.

"Enough!" she exclaimed, raising the moistened Elephant gun suddenly.

But her palms slipped and the firearm fell to the floor; with the safety pin off and cartridges in place it was Russian Roulette...Southerner style!

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Just then Windy stumbled into the room with what looked like flour sprinkled around his nose and on the lapels of his coat.

Oblivious to the obvious tension that gripped the room, he mumbled 'Here's your milk, Mrs Jones' as he thrust a pint of opaque, gelatinous liquid into her hand. Leaving them all gawping, he stepped over the gun on the floor and made his way down the hall and out of the front door, this time being careful not to brush against Mr Southerner on the way.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

This was an inopportune moment for Windy to appear in the doorway, but the sound of a glossy magazine dropping to the floor had brought him hurrying in to get some more 'grist for his mill', right as the gun went off...

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

This is getting confusing isn't it? :-D

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Pheww. Looks like I escaped just in time ;-D

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

...Mrs Southerner said, with a grin so broad he jaw ached.

The shotgun fell to the floor, yet miraculously failed to fire. The group paused to consider the event. On observation, the curiously magazine handling miscreant noted that the Beckham glossy had in fact, and by some quite tenuous way, lodged itself between the hammer and shells of the gun.

It was truly a spiritual moment as they all fell to their knees, a bit too quickly causing some chronic rheumatism in later life, and praised David Beckham saying in chorus:

"Thou art the only truly classy player in the England squad"

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Debonaire man of the world William (Bill to his creditors) Pit, having completed another successful night of debonairing, decided to take the air, hoping that he wouldn't have to use his highly developed diplomatic skills in fending off the many offers of transportation to the nearest taxi rank which would obviously be forthcoming during his perambulation.

Strangely, and luckily, in light of his intention to take the air, for some reason that he could not fathom, he managed to stroll the five and a half miles to the taxi rank he had in mind, without the need to politely turn down even one offer of transportation.

Supressing his puzzlement, he approached the taxi rank to take up the position in the long line of late night revellers returning to their places of abode, which he'd requested of a rather neanderthal official at the establishment he had visited last, be reserved for him in advance.

Having skillfully deflected the torrents of abuse hurled at him - 'Fuck off, you queue jumping puff' was one he recalled as being particulary unnecessary - by nonchalantly taking up a position at the end of the three mile queue, he began to read the financial section of the previous weekend's edition of the Sunday Sport, the details of which he had been too busy to peruse earlier.

The torrential rain had finally ceased - luckily his expensive Oksfemme suit would look as good as new when he'd had a chance to clean off some of the oriental food scraps that had been hurled at him by the ignorant serfs who had refused to acknowledge his queue reservation - and the disturbing thought began to surface that perhaps, also, there had been some misunderstanding concerning his supposedly previously reserved taxi. He was now, also, three quarters of a mile further away from the front of the queue due to numbers of rather unsavoury characters whose queue bookings obviously hadn't been misunderstood, taking up places in front of him.

Ever the optimist, the debonaire Mr. Pit decided to continue his interrupted perambulations in the certainty that before long some good samaritan would offer him succour. Having reached the large roundabout at the Tyneside end of Sherriff Hill, partly due to the very poor lighting and partly (mainly ?) due to the fact that he was still feeling the effects of the liquid refreshment he'd imbibed in copious quantities over the course of the evening, the debonaire Mr. Pit stumbled. Luckily the expected good samaritan appeared as if by magic and assisted Mr. Pit to his feet.

Half a mile further on, partway up Sherriff Hill, on the way to Wrekenton, it occurred to the debonaire Mr. Pit that the numbness in his upper arm was due to the rather heroic grip of the good samaritan, who obviously had forgotten to relinquish his hold on Mr. Pit.

At this point, alarm bells began to ring in Mr. Pit's imagination. In his state of heightened awarness, the good samaritan bore a remarkably close likeness to the serf who had made the '.. queue jumping puff' remark, and Mr. Pit's thoughts turned to the possible outcome of this episode. Under the present circumstances, Mr. Pit did not believe that his diplomatic skills were of a sufficiently high standard to dissuade the samaritan from further physical contact, if indeed that was his ultimate intention.

Further advances along these lines were fortuitously pre-empted by the arrival of what Mr. Pit could only assume was his previously reserved taxi, the arrival of which apparently had been delayed by the current occupants, who luckily had specified a journey which coincided exactly with Mr. Pit's current location. How they had arranged this in advance was something on which Mr. Pit did not dwell, being eternally grateful that someone up there apparently liked him.

The debonaire Mr. Pit gratefully took his seat in the rear of the taxi, without even a backward glance at the villain whose evil plan Mr. Pit had skillfully thwarted. Breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Mr. Pit began to glance around the interior of the cab and noticed that the fare meter already had a reading of ten pounds ninety eight pence.

This could not be true. The debonaire Mr.Pit, having already thwarted one evil plot was now facing the necessity of preventing another villain having his evil way. Assuming the aggressive posture necessary in such circumstances, and in a suitably superior tone of voice, Mr. Pit voiced his concern saying ' My good man, I'm aware of your intentions and intend that under no circumstances will I pay the exhorbitant amount currently being indicated by your tariff register' to which the villain crushingly replied 'What yer on aboot bonny lad, that's me radio'.

The debonaire Mr. Pit's Harley Street specialist is issuing weekly bulletins. The aspect giving most cause for concern is Mr. Pit's uncontrollable urge to offer an amount of cash corresponding in value with the tuned in frequency of any radio that is activated in his presence. Sadly, Mr. Pit still suffers uncontrollable bouts of weeping whenever he hears the sound of a taxi coming to a halt.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Having taken quite a hammering in the rating wars, the new episode opened with a view of Jay doing her makeup in her bedroom. Pink bedspread, a Jason Donovan poster on the wall, lots of cuddly toys, a pink dressing gown, furry slippers and her favourite Mills and Boon classic on the night stand. Jay can be seen dilligently painting her nails (she already has cotton dividers between her toes) and is planning a hard day's shopping and a meet up with her friends in their favourite restaurant.

At the moment the door to the en-suite bathroom opens and Gavin walks into the room, wrapped in a towel and combing his belly. Jay's face lights up to see her husband, knowing that his hard work is what provides her expense account, and it is his brain that keeps them safe, stopping her from having to worry about politics or business or any of that hard stuff. Seemingly, this whole Windy/Softie interplay had been a bad dream, and things were back to normal on Greenspun Farm....

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Ho ho! Nice one Bill, almost sounds like a fella getting trollied and joining the wrong end of the taxi-queue :-) Thing is, your mind allows you to completely forget all the good part of the evening and yet remember something cringe-makingly embarrassing like the radio incident in full technicolor, widescreen, dolby surround sound, picture-perfect clarity. Bollocks!

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Gavin had awoken earlier with a start. He was dripping with sweat and his head was throbbing madly. A quick adjustment to his boxer shorts had eased the pain somewhat, but the memories of Beckham's arse in those thongs were still imprinted on his mind. He shuddered and rolled over, to see Jay lying peacefully next to him, a picture of tranquility. He took the opportunity to slip out of bed and have a quick shower..

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Wait am minute I was a Dr in the last episode....and let me tell you I have no clothes or beadspreads in my possesion that are pink!

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Shower completed but head still throbbing, Gavin searches the unfamiliar kitchen cupboards for some Resolve. After taking a double dose he quietly retraces his steps into the bedroom to retrieve his shoes, being very careful not to wake the snoring Jay.

Shoes on he tiptoes into the front room where he quickly scrawls a note to Jay, it reads "Tell anyone and you die!".

He leaves the house quietly vowing to himself never to drink that much tequila again and wondering what excuses he can make to his beautiful wife Yelli to cover his terrible mistake...

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Cursing himself for a fool Gavin makes his way through the silent grey morning heading for home, he passes the town hall and notices the time on the clock is 5.40am. Renewed hope that his wife might not yet have awoken to notice him not there gives his pace some added urgency.

Arriving home he quietly sneaks in through the back door quieting the beautiful weimarana dog they own, he steps through the kitchen and into the front room to be confronted by the sight of his wife sitting sobbing on the white leather sofa.

Hearing him she jumps up and rushes over to him, "who have you been with" she says accusingly. Realising that he cannot lie to her who he loves most in the world he comes clean with the whole sordid story of how he was entrapped Jay and her tricks with the bottle of Tequila.

His hopes shattered he expects the worst but is overjoyed when Yelli throws her arms around him and tells him she loves him eternally and forgives him.

Quietly they head off upstairs to the bedroom together with Yelli pointing out that she'd unfortunately had to feed his dinner so carefully prepared by his mother in law to the dog....Gavin smiles happily and gently lowers Yelli to the bed....

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

"..Russian roulette, Southerner style".
Priceless. You lot are unreal - great entertainment gang.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

How could anybody say you're not an incurable romantic, Gav?

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

The sixty-seven year-old relaxed on his sunlounger, before heading for the airport and yet another international flight to continental Europe. Robby had led a full life, but still had his feet firmly on the ground, which is just as well, because at his age, he was prone to lapses in concentration. Yes, it had been a full life, but he still had one unrequited passion which he was determined to fulfil before hanging up his tracksuit for good.

Sitting on the sunlounger, he reflected on the events of the last few days down at Greenspun Place. Robby had never really liked Kevin Herron ever since he joined the club. Kevin was a loud mouth who had expressed great concern about a sexagenarian being in charge. Well, as far as Robby was concerned, it was better to be a sexagenarian than a sex maniac. No, Robby and Kevin were poles apart even though Kevin had reluctantly agreed that Robby had done well. Robby had every intention of proving Kevin wrong and was determined to bring success to Newcastle United Football Club, which he reminded himself, had come a long way since he'd arrived. But there was still a long way to go.

Mr Souwester was a different kettle of pish. One was a master with words while the other often got his words confused. Poor Souwester - he tried, but couldn't string a sentence together with the same style as Robby. Yet despite this, and although they had never met, Robby felt a certain bond existed between them. Perhaps it was their common experiences of the WW, though what the World Wildlife Fund had to do with wretling, Robby couldn't think. Confusion was beginning to return, so he closed his eyes for a few minutes and began to dream......................

.o0o.

Dr Jay happened by, and noticed Robby asleep on his lounger. "Silly old sod" she thought to herself. "Give me 10 minutes alone with him and I'd whip him into shape. Once I've finished my home improvements, the likes of Robby will be like butter in my hands". Thankfully, Robby snored on, blissfully unaware of Dr Jay's plans.

Meanwhile, down by the sea, Welli had finally got Kevin to bed. To be honest, it hadn't been a difficult task, but the next few moments were going to be crucial to the rest of her life. Despite Kevin's relief at not having to eat the Gala(xy) Pie that had been fed to the dog, he was unaware of what had made up the contents of the sausage roll which he had so ravenously eaten before making his way up the stairs. A bit chewy, and quite a distinctive flavour. Nevermind, with a slug to steady his nerves, he was ready for his evil ways with Welli. It was going to be touch and go. At least Welli hoped so. She didn't want anything more than a touch and desperately hoped Kevin would go.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

On the other side of town, Jay awakes from her slumber to the note that has been left by Gav.

On reading the note Jay bursts into tears, but the tears quickly dry to be replaced with anger, then anger turns to hate and hate turns to a need for revenge at any cost.

She storms downstairs and picks up the bottle of tequila that Gav had left ready to throw it against the nearest wall. Then she abruptly stops and takes a long gulp of the clear liquid. Almost as quickly as she lifts the bottle to her lips she drops it as it smashes to the floor, she screams it wasnt tequila in the bottle at all but water. Gav had pretended to be drunk while she had drank two bottles of wine and here actions had been that of a drunk women, just to get her into bed!

She had heard rumours of the like but never thought it was true. She had even blamed his pour performance and he preference for dressing in pink frilly housedresses on the liquor. No she knew better.

But revenge would be hers. She reaches for the telephone book and finds Gav address, reaches for a pen and begins to write a letter to Yelli Gavs beloved wife. Tell anyone and you die eh? Well someone would suffer alright but it wouldn't be her.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.
No mercy, Jay!

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

I must admit I enjoyed typing it.....but I am only having a laugh ;o) I have been reading them through and crying with laughter I couldn't do it at work ass my boss wouldn't be able to make out why I found environmental legislation so funny!

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

As Gav ushered Yelli up the stairs, smirking to himself at his cleverness in fooling the impressionable young lass into letting him have his cake and eat it, he would have been better advised to proceed with caution. All those nights that he had abandoned Yelli at home to stay out late carousing with his workmates had not been wasted. Just because she could be found sitting up in bed with her eye makeup running when he came in too drunk to perform his conjugal duties or sitting tight-lipped on the settee leafing angrily through a Littlewoods catalogue, didn't mean that this was anything other than the impression she wanted him to have. Oh no, Yelli had been a very busy girl.

A copy she made of Gav's little black book had provided her with plenty of potential clients. She had allowed herself to be talked into getting a camera fitted in the master bedroom, but had added a few refinements. This system now linked directly onto the internet. Over the last 3 weeks she had tracked down every lass ever: stood up, dumped, dumped on, simply never called back, cheated on and lied to by Gav. For the knockdown fee of #500 per head, each of them sat in front of a PC watching an image of Gav and Yelli's room.

Gav would have been very well advised to leave the house right there and then in fact. A quick glance at the selection of cuttings she had ordered from the press room would have alerted him to what was coming. As he giggled foolishly upstairs whilst Yelli handcuffed him to the headboard and blindfolded him, the cuttings lay strewn accross the kitchen table:

Lorena Bobbitt Emasculates Loverat Husband

The Cruelest Cut of All

Bobbitt Woman Walks Free

Upstairs, the light glinted off the point of the blade in Yelli's hand. The edge glittered as she gently leaned down to lift him between her fingers, lips curled in distaste. In front of dozens of PC's women sat forward with a thrill of anticipation...

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

[In a Jerry Springer stylee] Jay! You go girl! Whoo hoo!

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Before Yelli could give Gav a circumcision he would never forget, Jay burst into the bedroom, mind full of Yellis cunning plot, she had a several fine instruments of torture she wanted to carry out Gav first.

In fact she had been in contact with most of the women in Gavs little black book, comparing stories and had complied a list of Gav various fetishes and even had a top ten preferred method of which to extract revenge on him. The list had in fact topped over 100 and had taken much time and effort to cut down into a workable format.

Why all the candles? Jay asked Yelli.

Because Gav likes them replied Yelli.

Jay cocked and eyebrow at that one, likes them eh? Lets see how much.

Jay retrieves a bowl, from the bathroom and proceeds to pour all of the hot candle wax into it. When the bowl is full, she turns to Yelli and says shall you pour it on him or I?

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

"Ayee ayee ayee" came a cry from the distance. "Don't do it ladies. Don't be so cruel. Surely nothing can warrant a razor-sharp knife and a bowl of hot wax."

But the women would take no notice and were determined to have their evil ways with the recumbant Gav.

"Pour the wax all over him" said Yelli

"My pleasure" retorted Jay You get the knife ready"

"Effing 'ell. What's going on" screamed the helpless Gav. "Sting, come and save me!"

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

'But won't the hot wax numb it? Where's the fun in that when I cut it off?' asks Yelli.

Bang.....thats the sound of the door closes as grab me coat and leg it. Till tomorrow....To use a Dave Alan phrase 'may your gods go with you'.

-- Anonymous, June 06, 2000

Blindfolded and tied to the bed Gav knew he was in a very dangerous situation here, as his mind worked furiously for a way out he cursed himself for a fool realising that it must've been the pink frilly housedress he'd left in the washing basket last week that had given his extra curricula activities away.

Suddenly there was the sound of splintering wood causing the girls to scream and then curse, chaos ensued with poor Gav still none the wiser as to what was occuring, after what seemed an eternity the noise died down to be replaced by the sound of slow deliberate footsteps across the wooden floorboards towards him, Gav wondered what new fate awaited him.

Suddenly Gav felt movement around his hands and realised that his handcuffs were being released and then his gimp hood was removed, taken some time to adjust his eyesight to the blinding light Gav couldn't quite make out the tall figure standing above him, as his eyes slowly adjusted he realised that the figure was dressed in lederhosen and it all came flooding back......Monday morning was when Sting came round after his night in the fetish club around the corner, Gav had been rescued by his strange friend Sting! Standing up and looking around the destruction that had once been his bedroom he noticed Jay and Yelli tightly bound and gagged in the corner, it was time for him and Sting to have some fun!!

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Bugger I wasn't left any room to have my own fun with Gav. Mind I'm a bit disturbed that Yelli herself didn't get involved one way or the other. Oh well time to continue on with the first episode of Dr. Jay Greer's fun and games...

Nobody would guess it to look at her, but behind Dr Jay Greer's quietly competent exterior, a dark secret lay hidden. She seemed to all the world to be another smart, prim, young academic, newly crowned with the laurels of learning and with her whole career ahead of her, but all that stopped at her front door when she went home.

For months now she had hurried home from her classes of students and changed into overalls as she set about transforming her unobtrusive semi-detached house. Even the lad from the builders' merchants who delivered the materials she ordered noticed nothing odd about how she would greet him on the doorstep and sign for the goods with flowing strokes of her wrist and hand him back his pen. As he would carefully stack the materials in the front garden, Gavin Herron would wish that he could find an excuse to linger and talk to her, but the only response he got to his hesitant questions as to what she was doing with all the wall-cladding and insulation he delivered was, 'Decorating.' How he wished that she would offer him a cup of tea so that he could learn more about her, but no such offer was ever forthcoming, and he would say his goodbyes and stroll dejectedly away under her cool gaze.

What Gavin would never have guessed at, is that behind that plain front door was anything but an ordinary suburban house. For no ordinary house had 6 inches of insulation behind stone wall-cladding. York stone floors were uneven under the feet, and the wall sconces cast a lurid flame effect across the rough walls. Dr Greer changed into her favourite pvc suit and made her way down to the cellar to see how her new 'houseboy' was doing with the cleaning. She lightly flexed her riding crop and smiled behind her leather eye-mask; this was one undergraduate who would learn why you didn't skip Mistress Jay's lectures. Even so, she couldn't help but remember the way that the delivery-boy's muscles had flexed as he lay down his burden, and she had the unaccountable desire to put on a Laura Ashley floral dress and run after him. She shook this foolishness from her mind and loosened her shoulders before continuing down the steps, her spiked heels clicking in the confined space, and from below, muffled sobbing could be heard over the desperate scratching of a scrubbing brush against unyielding stone

Peter knelt backdown and redoubled his efforts at removing the stain of blood, and gibbets of flesh, from the stone flagging. He carefully shifted the position of his body, his back to the cellar door, so as to protect the scabs that were slowly healing on his palms and knees. The clicking of Dr. Greers' heels indicated that she was almost at the bottom of the stairs. Soon the cellar door open, the feeble light that would enter with the evil Dr. would cuase almost as much pain as her riding crop.

Peter had given up hope of attracting the attention of visitors to this house a long time ago. For almost a month he had screamed for help everytime he heard the front door open. Sometimes, he new, it would be the delivery boy dropping off a consignment of materials for Dr. Greer, or postman. Otherwise he had come to learn that the front door opening indicated only one of three possibilities. The first two would be, the departure or arrival of Dr. Greer, to and from college. The third possiblity Peter had grown to both detest and anticpate. It signalled the arrival of a new student for Dr. Greer to 'play' with.

Peter could still remember the day he had arrived at Dr. Greer's front door. He had missed her previous lecture, again, and had recieved a request to visit her office on Campus. He had feared one of Dr. Greer's famous quiet scoldings. The type where the vioce is never raised, thus relieving some of the tension, just a quiet, continous berrating that brooks no response other than "yes ma'am", "no ma'am".

Many of the male students, and not a few of the female students, anticipated such a request. For Dr. Greer was the subject of many a toilet wall scrawl, of the students' and a number of the faculty's desires, and constant gossip. To put it bluntly, she was gorgeous. Though a quiet and reserved woman, many stories floated around the campus cafes. Unfortunately none of the stories had ever been verified.

However, this time Dr. Greer quietly requested that Peter make-up the accumulated missed lectures by helping her with some research over the week-end. At her place. Though it was against college protocol for students to visit lecturers homes, it wasn't unheard of. Particularly for some high of the higher achieving students of certain lecturers. Dr. Greer wasn't one of these lecturers.

Anticipating spending a weekend in close contact with a very attractive and very single older women, Peter had arrived at Dr. Greers house. And disappeared. He was lucky in some respects. He had been an intended victim of Dr. Greers. One to strapped down and slowly killed. The flesh slowly stripped from his body. However Dr. Greer's previous 'houseboy' had died early into Peter's punishment. So Peter had replaced him. Manacled to the wall by a dog collor that had left a ring of calluses around his neck.

He had come to anticipate the arrival of some of Dr. Greers other students. They provided him with someone to talk to during the long hours of darkness. He had also come to resent their arrival. Their blood curdling screams cuasing him to cower in a basement corner, blocking his ears and covering his eyes from the feeble light, their flesh and blood dirtying his clean stone floor.

To the sound of desperate scratching of a scrubbing brush on unyielding stone, the basement door opened, light and Dr. Greer entered as one. Both were unwelcomed. ....

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

....... and so Sting and Gav went at it hammer and tongs with one another. Meanwhile the delectable girls, bound and ignored in the corner, were forced to endure hours of bestial grunting and prolific sweating before Sodom and Gomorrah finally dropped off to sleep, still enmeshed with one another.

Cautiously, Yelli managed to work herself free from her uncommon state of bondage (!), then freed Jay from hers. "Howay sis. Snap out of it girl. We've got to get going before these .... monsters wake up and start afresh. We simply must do something to put a stop these heinous and sordid crimes against humanity. Here, help me with this can of petrol and box of matches that someone has carelessly left lying about."

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

I have just read this thread in full, and will be plotting revenge whilst at work today!!!

(;o)

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Tre, you aren't the only one who's disturbed that Yelli didn't get involved one way or another ;) anyway.....

....Gav woke to the smell of petrol fumes and felt the heat of the flames as he managed to disentangle himself from Sting, he quickly woke Sting and they removed the boxing gloves and helmets that they'd been sparring in!!, bruised and battered they staggered to the window, opened it and climbed onto the outhouse roof.

At that moment an explosion shook the house knocking them from the outhouse roof and into the garden, shaken they stood and looked at each other, grimly they determined that vengence would be theirs....

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

(Damn & botheration. I must've been posting mine at the same time as Tre. Not to worry, it'll just have to be one of those books where the chapters jump backwards & forwards in time)

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Quick Sergeant Perkins, we've flushed him from cover. Bring the straight jacket Nurse Deakins. I always suspected that Tre was a degenerate pervert and now we have proof! To the laboratory with him. Thank you for your assistance Dr Greer, you were right again...

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Softie hows mine worse than anything you lot have contributed.

Oh it's not really safe to introduce straight jackets.

;-)

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Sing looks and Gav and says what are we going to do Gav all of our leather/rubber/metal/plastic/bubble wrap gear was stored in your loft, now it is all ruined!!!!

At this point the enormity of the situation hits Gav. He is now wife- less, homeless and fetish-less and even worse he black book has been destroyed in the fire. He starts to wail and drops to the ground in despair, not even noticing his the abundance of ladders in his fishnets or that his pink housedress is all muddy.

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Oh nothing Tre....I'm sure enthusiastically submitting 12 paragraphs about yourself being chained in Jay's basement isn't at all frightening to anybody [Quick! Dr Greer, the tranquilizer gun, now!] I'm sure nobody would be concerned that you may have let a bit more slip than you should have done [No, not that! That's only for sedating psychopaths - this will require an Elephant dosage] in fact, I would be amazed to find Jay contacting the Stalker-Buster hotline [Whenever you're ready Blue Team, just make sure you don't miss!] just a perfectly ordinary day down on Greenspun Farm :-)

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Tre honey its just as well I don't have a basement. But I have a loft will that do??

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Birds, eh? Never understand them! O.k team, back to the vans, we're not needed here. Jay and Tre have found love between the barricades...or should that be 'through a layer of PVC and under the lash'?

And I had such hopes of Gav and Jay living together happily ever after, still, there's always the chance of a torrid affair on the side and Tre finding out and bursting free of his manacles...;-)

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

What after seeing some of the things Gav gets up to in his spare time? No thanks !! ;o)

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Meanwhile, the debonaire Mr. William (Bill to his creditors) Pit, having finally been declared compus mentus to a sufficiently acceptible standard that he could blend in well enough with the rest of the nutters inhabiting Greenspun Place, decided to call on his very good friend Gav - 'very good friend' may have been an overstatement, the debonaire Mr. Pit occasionally sold Gav the current Big Issue issue, but Mr. Pit refused to make it a big issue, Gav's occasional snarl of 'Eff off you queue jumping puff' was enough for the time being.

For some reason, Mr. Pit was having great difficilty in tracking down his friend Gav. The streets of Greenspun Place were full of residents minging around, and on several occasions, Mr. Pit had to risk life and limb to avoid losing life or limb avoiding speeding police cars, fire engines and anti terrorist personnel, as well as numerous groups of Greenspun Place residents chanting in unison ' Eff off you queue jumping puff'

Where could Gav be ? The harder it appeared to be to track down Gav, the more determined became the debonaire Mr. Pit. He would stop at nothing in his efforts to sell Gav the latest copy of the Big Issue. It then occurred to Mr. Pit that he could hear just above the roar of the fire engines, police cars and anti terrorist personnel rushing around, the very faint sound of someone screaming 'You two timing shit, Herron, I'll get you for this. And don't ever buy another Big Issue from that queue jumping puff who keeps falling in the wheely bin'.

What Gav had done to upset his grandmother so, Mr. Pit could not imagine, for it surely was she whose dulcit tones were ringing out on the chill night air. Mr. Pit set off in the direction of the faint voice in the hope that Gav was somewhere in it's vicinity. On the way, Mr Pit passed the prefabricated Greenspun Place Raymond Catlick Cathedral - a building having certain architectural merits which had caused it to be declared a Building Having Certain Architectural Merits, when other prefabricated buildings were being dismantled and transported the twelve miles to Makem Ptuh, as executive dwellings - but I digress.

Being in the vicinity of the cathedral, it occurred to Mr. Pit that it was a while since he had confessed, other than the occasion he'd been beaten by local bully boys into admitting to having travelled in four zones on the local Metropolitan Transportation System, using a two zone permit. Again, I digress.

Mr. Pit entered the cathedral and stepped into the confessional booth. He was just about to sit down when a voice began to whisper. The voice was so low that Mr. Pit could not decipher a single syllable. He moved closer to the grill, but still could not make out what was being said. Eventually, having momentarily left the booth to visit the Tandy concession in the nave of the cathedral to purchase a powerful bugging device, Mr Pit returned to the confessional and, using the bugging device he had just purchased, he was able to hear the words 'Eff of you queue jumping puff' issue from the device.

The debonaire Mr. Pit was so taken aback that he passed out in a swoon, which was a swine, because the bishop had neglected to remove the vast amounts of dog poop and half eaten kebabs from the floor of the confessional. The last thing that Mr. Pit could remember was that he'd once again have to try to make presentable, his expensive Oksfemme suit. And also, that in the morning, his new wives Yelli, Galaxy and Jay would receive notification of this fact by first post.

This had really been the reason why Mr. Pit had been trying to track down his good friend Gav. Through the trials and tribulations, it had been the one thought uppermost in Mr. Pit's mind - to pass on his momentous news to the one person in whose snarl of 'Eff off you queue jumping puff' Mr. Pit had thought he could detect a modicum less venom.

Mr. Pit's Harley Street specialist is again issuing weekly bulletins, which may be read also at "http.www.effoff.queuejumping/puff"

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Very debonair and sophisticated you effing queue-jumping puff! :-)

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Can we start a new story thread I am getting a might sick of scrolling down this one?

Cheers

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Yelli and Jay watched the flickering glow of the burning house from the safety of the cathedral graveyard. A loud explosion lit up the night sky, and they saw the forlorn, silhouetted figure of Gav collapsed in despair with his hands over his face. Jay felt a momentary mixture of regret and sorrow, but shut off her thoughts before they had time to take hold of her now confused mind. She reached out and put a strong, sisterly arm around her new found companion. Yelli shivered nervously. A strong odour of methylated spirits wafted by, masked somewhat by a less than pleasant smell that caused both Jay and Yelli to inspect the bottoms of their shoes.

'Biggish Shoe?'came a pleading, apologetic voice from behind

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

In fact it wasn't a biggish shoe, it was a pair of littlish shoes which appeared to be poking from a pile of disgusting rubbish. But then the pile of rubbish moved and Yelli and Jay distinctly heard a pitiful voice whimper 'Big Issue, ladies?'.

The two young ladies immediately took from their poncy satchels the correspondence they had each received that morning and compared the enclosed photographic representation with the features which were emerging from the pile of rubbish. 'It is. It is. It is he', cried Yelli, hardly able to keep from her tones, the mixed pleasure, joy, disgust and loathing.

'Jay, please go to Galaxy and ask her to lay off braying the living daylights out of Gav for a few moments' Yelli said. 'We must do something for this poor unfortunate creature, with whom we appear to be involved in some matrimonial fashion, and who appears to be at the end of it's tether'. Which turned out to be true because some evil bleeder had chained the pile of rubbish to the cathedral railings.

'How do we know it's intentions are horrible - er - honourable ' said Jay. 'I mean, a bit of rough is okay, and none of the three of us is that parky, but we are proud. I think we should initiate divorce proceedings some time within the next thirty nine years, just in case.'

To which Galaxy replied in quivering tones, she being the least experienced of the three in the ways of the world 'And just what are we going to do in the meantime ?'

'He'll be safe enough over there in the cathedral wheely bin' chorussed the other two in unison. 'It'll look like he's fallen in again, so we'll be bomb proof.'

And with that, the three of them left to find the local Unison office to enquire of it's legal branch if there was any way in which they could question the legality of this unwanted and unsolicited liaison.

-- Anonymous, June 07, 2000

Any chance of a Christmas special, Softie?

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

Hahaha superb idea Pete! you're a star!

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

We need to prise him away from those spreadsheets...:-)

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

I'm sure he'd weave them in somewhere:

As she lay there on the bed, her legs spread, sheets shimmering with their black satin glow, into the room walked........................

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

..she was 5ft 3'', 33D, waist 22'', hips 30''. Age 26. Weight 9 stone. Average weight over last 5 years 9 stone 5ozs...

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

LOL! ..and we can prove she was better playing away

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

...................but not in Lahndaan.

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

Wehey!! Buckle up girls and boys.......these things usually get pretty exciting! (;o)

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

Buckle up?!? It's a disgusting thought that people read this BBS whilst, erm, 'unbuckled' so to speak...

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

LOL! Hadn`t thought of that! (:o)

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

As she lay there on the bed, her legs spread, sheets shimmering with their black satin glow, into the room walked........................ one of the stalwarts from the BBS, looking somewhat dishevelled. "Buckle up!" cried Galaxy. "We don't want Yelli to see you in a state of undress like that."

"My goodness!" he cried. "Yelli - we haven't heard from her for ages. What has she been up to? Did she recover from that time..................."

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

Oh flippin` heck Screacher......don`t start the Greenspun thing tonight......I`m in the middle of cooking dinner, and you know how addictive it is! (;o)

-- Anonymous, December 07, 2001

..... it's becoming clear that you've been mixing with them Cheviot hill-billies for way too long, Screacher!! ;-{]

-- Anonymous, December 08, 2001

Guess who'll be the first to post a sheep shaggin tale. Us city slickers have nee chance. :-))

-- Anonymous, December 08, 2001

Well, Aah suppose Washington is a US city for the slickers. But Weshintun? More like shitty clickers.

-- Anonymous, December 08, 2001

Ut maks nee odds tuh me, Screach, buhra tak it thoo means Weshertun.

-- Anonymous, December 08, 2001

It's alive! Stay dead God damn you.

-- Anonymous, December 09, 2001