Sex sells

Well Hank and Bill settled down to their normal ways. The quiz machine took a pile of money and the Guinness flowed. There were a few romantic interludes but after  a while Hank tired of Bill’s tickles, he really wanted a decent fuck. To that end he decided to go in search of a good woman and if he couldn’t find one of those he would find a cheap one. So Saturday night came and Hank set off for the best place in Plymouth.  Unbeknownst to Bill,  Hank got himself ready for his nights hunting.  It was only when Bill walked in from a busy day at the hospital and found Hank, in his black silk shirt, his Brut aftershave, and his st christophers medallion, dancing in front of his mirror to rod stewarts ‘do you think I’m sexy’ was the only warning Bill had to Hanks plan.  He looked at him and realised,  he didn’t have enough cash for bail money. Hank of course was oblivious. With his recent media stardom and a successful appearance on Bargain Hunt Hank felt he could not fail.

“You off out tonight shippers?” asked Bill.

“Yeah fella, nothing special, just going to have a few quiet ones down the Stoke.”

“Well give me a minute and I’ll join you, maybe make a night of it?”

“No fella, no offence but I am meeting some people who……..have children, you’ll understand…..”

Bill stood there with a scowl,  He knew it was a joke, and they both knew their piss takes weren’t really nasty but this one seemed to be going too far.  Bill looked down at his ankle, the crown prosecutions service monitor was still there and would be for another three weeks.  Ah well best not not to let it get to me, he thought, I’ll get the cunt back. He walked to the fridge, “Fella fancy a sandwich?” He put his hand in his pocket, pulled out a sachet of  laxative he forgot was there, and smiled.

“Brilliant mate, just cheese or something quick would be great” said Hank ironing his favourite white socks. As he entered the kitchen he apologised for  the recent piss takes and reaffirmed his strong friendship with Bill. They both laughed at what arseholes they had been and Bill wished him happy hunting. Wolfing down the last of his sandwich Hank ran down the stairs and ordered his first pint in the Stoke.

Dave took one look at him and knew something was amiss.  He smelled clean, looked creased free, and Bill was nowhere to be seen.  Also he was making a faint effort of dancing to the music from the juke box.  Which was a shame as it was playing johnny cash’s “boy named sue”.  Hank trying to be nonchalant, looked like he had parkinsons disease. As he slithered to the bar a pint was presented in all its glory. Looking around Hank smiled at everyone……individually. Then taking pint in hand and with a wink to some strumpet in the corner he raised it to his lips. Suddenly his stomach gave a tremendous growl and he started to sweat, gulping down half the pint in one go he realised that something was wrong. The pub was packed and the way to the heads blocked, so laying down his pint the tucked his trousers into his recently ironed socks and in a clear and loud voice shouted to the assembled crowd, “Fire!”.  The entire pub stopped their private conversations and turned around to look at…Hank.  Dressed in black from head to toe, head to ankle, his white socks making him look like a coal miner stepping out of a bath, clutching his belly, looking pale and now, just as the pub had gone quiet, making the loudest, wettest fart humanly possible. His arse exploded and he was really pissed off. He would have to go home and change. No pub would serve him in this state he knew from previous experience. Just to be on the safe side he went to the toilet to inspect the level of damage done. In all actuality it was not that bad. Yes the trousers were soiled and his boxers soaked but a quick rinse under the tap would sort that out, so he took them off. As he was crashing out his skiddies a large hairy biker entered the toilet and Hank saw red.

“what the fuck are you looking at?” Said Hank with his undies in his hand and trousers around his ankles.

The biker, out of confusion more than anything else took in the picture before him.  AN overweight, irish man with his trousers around his ankles, washing what appeared to be his underwear  in the urinal.  He actually had to ask himself, ‘what am I looking at?’

“well, you hairy fucking cunt, want to make something of it? Well do yer?”

The biker, a normally placid guy, new to the area did not want to get into trouble, nor did he want a reputation of being a coward either.  Confident he could take Hank, especially with his pants around his heels, “If you want a fucking kicking mate then fine by me, let’s have it”.

Hank ready for blood, threw down his boxers and raised his fists, then felt his stomach burble.

“Fuck, ok mate just give us five minutes will you?”  And dived for the toilet.

He did not make it. As he dived for the cubicle he presented his arse to the biker. Sensing an opportunity the biker moved in for the kill and just as he raised his Doc Martin clad foot for the killing blow a warm and putrid, mucous like, brown liquid was released in his face. Hank, relieved of his affliction temporarily realised that he had the advantage and rounded on his opponent, he quickly kicked him in the balls and as biker boy fell jumped on his chest. He saw some sweet corn, which pissed him off as he had not eaten any for months, but that soon passed as he felt another motion squirt out of him and on to the bikers chest.  Any sense of bravado soon left him, he was out of order for that and deserved a kicking.  And in his current state would surely get one.  He pulled up his trousers, gathered what dignity he could and ran for it.  As he got to the door of the flat he flung it open and headed for the bathroom, but the door was locked. 

“Bill, it’s an emergency, I need to get in now!”

“What? I’m in  the bath for fucks sake!”  Hank heard what sounded like a cough, or a choking sound, but didn’t have time to think about it.

“Bill please, Now is not a time to be coy, open the fucking door”

Bill got out of the bath, wrapped a towel around himself and hiding a smile, looked at the toilet then opened the door.  “alright fella, no worries, knock yourself out” 

As Hank barged in Bill sauntered out.  Hank’s arse erupted into the toilet and he sighed.  He stayed there a good 30 minutes and when he thought the worst was over stood ready to sort himself out.  His hand reached for the toilet roll and was left wanting.  What the fuck, he thought, I’ve only just put a fresh roll in here. It was then that realisation dawned. Hank couldn’t help but smile. He had been had well and good. With a burning  arse he made his way..gingerly to Bills room. To his amazement and consternation he was unable to shit in Bills bed. Thoroughly exhausted and pissed off he decided that he would have to take matters into his own hands, so gingerly he placed two fingers into his rectum and promptly fell asleep.

Half an hour later Bill went to bed to be confronted by his best mate lying face down on his duvet with his fingers up his arse. He was in shock. 

Bill looked at his mate, prostrate on his bed, hand up his arse and sound asleep.  He never imagined his revenge would have worked so well, but this was an opportunity that surely he couldn’t pass up.  But could he?  Hadn’t Hank suffered enough, despite their cruel pranks on each other, they were best mates, and this was a particularly vulnerable state Hank was in.  And Bill was his best mate, his flat mate, his work mate,  There had to be limits.  Bill smiled, covered Hanks naked body with a blanket and walked out his room, gently closing the door.  He walked into the living room, ensuring that he wouldn’t disturb Hanks slumber and dialled the phone number for the Samaritans.

“Hello this is the Samaritans, how can we help?”

“Well its my friend you see..”

“Yes,..your …friend..?”

“He came home tonight and I found him with his hand up his arse…I cant help but be worried.”

“That is totally natural; being worried I mean, if you give us your phone number we can call you back and save you the expense of the call”

“Yeah, OK, I’ll give you my friends number, that’s where I am now, is that all right?”

“Of course, your  “friends number” will be fine sir.

With that Bill hung up and waited for the return call which did not take long. The phone rang within two minutes and;

“Mr Mason?”

“Yes”

“Have you not been in enough trouble today?; you do realise that you are still under investigation and as a matter of protocol we intercept all your phone calls don’t you?”.

“No listen mate, if you speak to Hank he’ll explain it all to you. It was all just a piss take..really. I am not a kiddy fiddler and never have been. This is an invasion of my privacy….look we will come to the station tomorrow and explain it all, just give me a break will you.”

“Investigations will continue sir and we are just warning you to be on your guard; goodnight sir.”

Bill returned to the living room and opened a can of Stella. The only noise in the flat was Hanks snoring from Bills bedroom. Three cans later he thought that it would be a good idea to get out and about, the night was still young and the Stoke was open so he went to his room and got dressed for a night out; checked shirt, brown cords and a stout pair of brown sensible shoes. Ten minutes later he was standing at the bar with a pint of the black stuff feeling the best he had for days. The bar was quiet and Dave had time to talk. Bill needed to talk, the past few days had been a bit trying after all. Dave’s was a sympathetic ear. Several pints later he had decided that the joking would have to stop and his career should be got back on track, after all he was’nt an idiot and he was a good nurse. Looking at the clock he realized that it was two in the morning and he was supposed to be at work at seven, ah well one more pint would do no harm.