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Tales From Beyond The Enchanted Prong Hills

The Poetic Eels Of Lake Quimby

Mike

Page 6



  

She led him out of the ballroom, through the gardens and down to Anglepoise's boat yard on the lake shore. There, she clambered up onto a half completed tug boat and fingered a long flat wooden piece of boarding that was waiting to be installed.
"What's this?" she asked.
"It's a poop-deck," said Anglepoise.
"Ideal," said Armagnac.
She bent herself over the poop-deck kicking her legs playfully behind her. Anglepoise ran to join her.
He knelt down behind her and held her feet down. Armagnac stopped kicking. Anglepoise hitched up her skirts to reveal a deliciously peachy rounded bottom. He puckered his lips and took a deep lung-full of air. Then he leaned forward and placed his mouth firmly upon her left buttock.
Then he blew.
Rasp!
Armagnac's fleshy bottom rippled and quivered. Anglepoise's lips rasped and vibrated. The resonating sound echoed about the boat yard scattering seagulls and intriguing the eels.
"Ooooooohhhhhhh!" went Armagnac.
"Ah," went Anglepoise when he'd finished.
They spent the rest of the night blowing raspberries on each other's bottoms until the dawn cast an orange glow across the lake. Breathless and exhausted, they collapsed into a tired heap and watched as the sun climbed from its nightly slumber. A distant cock heralded the arrival of a new day, a day in which mankind shall henceforth never again be plagued by that most acurd of afflictions - spoon-handle pigs.
"Turned out nice again," chuckled Anglepoise as he snuggled up to Armagnac.
Then they fell asleep.

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Mike - June 1995

The Poetic Eels Of Lake Quimby
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