Ooh la la

Dear Reader,

We don’t hear from Trainboy anymore, but his girlfriend – Amelia – turned up on our doorstoop this evening, on account of how she has a French exam coming up on Wednesday.

Princess speaks a fair bit of French. It was the main official language on the island she comes from, and – even though it’s really a foreign language to her cos she came here when she was so little – she’s made a study of learning it as best as she can. She’s been back a few times as a teenager, so it’s not all book learnin’; she has the benefit of some real life application of the tongue (so to speak).

Amelia knows this, and figured that spending a couple of hours speaking with someone who parlay voos Fronsay might be a good thing to do in the lead up to an exam in the language. It would be a refreshing break from all the podcasts she’s been listening to, she confided in us as she shook off her hoody in the entranceway, revealing courtesy of her tanktop a fine set of gingernut snap coloured shoulders and – in a hoody-removal unrelated matter – her beaming smile.

« This’ll be such a great opportunity! Thank you so much, » she gushed.

I was under the impression that Trainboy was doing French as well, but it would appear that he wasn’t interested in any last minute brush-ups on the lingo. Not of the sitting and talking to Princess kind, anyway.

Sybylla dragged me into the studio and we left the two of them to settle down into the buzzing, pouting, lip-licking syllables of the most romantic of the human languages, even though i wanted quite a bit to be able to sit and watch these two gorgeous women conversing in the horniest language on the planet.

« Well, they’ve clearly done it, » Sybylla harumphed the moment the door was closed.

« Sorry? »

« Last time i saw that girl, she was a virgin. Now, that ticket has been punched. » I allowed her to spend a moment fuming. « That should have been *me*, you realise. Not miss fricken entreé. »

I figured there was no good purpose or possible happy outcome to dwelling on the loss of Trainboy’s virginity to Amelia and vice versa, so i went in as different a direction as i could without flat out changing the subject.

« Is it true that you can tell? Is that some sort of womens’ intuition thing or something, or is there a secret handshake…? »

Sybylla was lost in a sort of impotent fury, imagining, no doubt, Trainboy’s less-than-impotent fury (of a different kind) as he nailed the pretty young teen in the next room with his previously undipped phallus.

« They didn’t even invite me to his fricken eighteenth! » she railed, mostly to herself. Then she remembered that i was there; that i had spoken. « What? Oh, of *course* you can tell. What, can’t you? »

« Well, i always heard that mothers can tell when their little girl comes home perforate, but i thought that was, you know, something that mothers just say. Like that film, Nice girls don’t explode. »

« As soon as i opened the fricken door i could tell! It’s the way she was standing, the way she swung on her pelvis differently as she walked, the way she thrust out her chest when she took off her top… Just take my word for it; you can tell. »

She sat on my chair and crossed everything except her eyes. Her frown was so far down that she couldn’t have crossed her eyes even if she’d wanted to. « I speak a little French. I should go in there and have a few words with the little bitch… »

« So you want to wade in there with your SBS French and try to outwit the girl who’s doing a French exam in two days with your cutting irony? I don’t think so. »

« Maybe i could just punch her in the face. »

« Maybe you could just let go and move on? »

« Maybe she could not come here into my home with her differently-tilted pelvis, and her thrusting bosom, and her ex-virginal way of standing, rubbing it all in my face… »

She put her face in her hands and started rocking. I thought she was going to sob.

« What’s wrong, » i asked.

« I’m imagining her rubbing it in his face. »

I was about to laugh, when i realised she wasn’t joking.

She took her hands away from her face and lay down on the floor of the studio, her head hitting the floor with a thunk. She lay there, looking up with a squint at the energy-saver light fitting.

« I really need to get laid, » she said quietly to herself.

Yours,
Gullybogan