Back by Popular Demand … The Sequel to Fifty Shades of Telephone Man
She was gushing with excitement that she might re-meet the engineer that had satisfied her every need on that memorable afternoon last year with her previous employer. A telephone systems fault had been her fantasy since that incident and her dream came true that Wednesday at 10 am. She’d tried to rinse those thoughts from her mind as she knew that she shouldn’t have them but resistance was futile. Her yearning for a fresh encounter was stronger than any feeling that she’d experience before. Such was the grip on her desires!
She eagerly adjusted her appearance whilst hogging the ladies room. She retouched her Mabelline-d lashes and fragranced her torso with CHANEL. The GUCCI outfit ran perfectly over her slender shoulders. Her attitude was positively willing the repairer along. After 3 hours of expectations she couldn’t help phoning to confirm his E.T.A.. But they weren’t forthcoming and could offer no estimate as to when he’d roll-up. The anticipation was killing her but her thirst was unquenchable.
Finally the doorbell rang late on the following morning. She leapt to her feet and rushed to greet him. She was shocked to the core as she opened the door.
His hair was windswept and he had the look of a rocker. Although he was different she took solace in his masculinity as she deployed her wiles and charms. His manly face was chiselled and solemn so she smiled to inspire his reaction. For a moment she thought she spotted a missing tooth but then convinced herself that her mind was deceiving her.
Then she glimpsed the spider’s web tattoo on his neck. She hurriedly reprogrammed herself for a bit of rough. Just as well because when his hand stretched forward for a shake it bore the word hate across the knuckle. It was uneasy but she was determined to maximise the opportunity. But it was like saying, “I won’t go to the Take That Concert tonight, I’ll get my Dad to sing, he’s a man!”
As they moved closer it became obvious that she’d seen more attractive gravel rashes. Not only was he untimely but his shirt was tighter round his belly than Vanessa Mae’s G-string. His aroma was more … well, musky than musk. He posessed all of the raw appeal of a salivating Saint Bernard dog. He could bust a mirror at a hundred metres. Sure he wore the logo of an international telecoms firm but it was akin to putting a Agent Provocateur thong on Mrs Merton.
Having huffed and puffed for 20 minutes he eventually said that he’d come on Friday to complete the repair. “Don’t bother”, she shrieked, “We’ll use Abbey Telecom’s dependable hunks to maintain our telephone systems before then!” She was guaranteed that they would stretch that extra mile to please her!