He was tall, so tall that it was all you thought about. That and the constant need to keep your distance for fear that too close an approach may see your nose accidentally swallowed by his navel. The ancient stone lined tunnel, down which we were being lead, had barely enough headroom for we of average height, “tall” was not faring well. He shuffled along, bent almost double, like some extruded, subterranean Quasimodo. The occasional bump of shaved head on stone, accompanied by muffled curse, suggested that his gravel rash would not, at least today, be on his knees.
Marginally brighter light ahead held promise of a larger space. Sure enough we soon entered a large domed vault, and rubbing his wounded bonce, our temporary “Quasi” creaked tentatively upward until he reached his full height.
The vault was expansive with two passages, apart from ours, leading into it. The gloom hinted at a chest high “alter” at its centre and extravagant wall decoration topped by two broad, parallel dados set high on the wall and acting as “ dual crowns” to the elaborate wall embellishment.
Adjusting eyes revealed that alter and wall decoration were of human bones. The dados were human skulls. The group gasped at the realisation. Then a scream! It speared from one of the tunnels to echo its fear around the walls of our vault.............
Hey, wait a moment, wasn't I supposed to be doing a “to be continued “ from last week? Oops sorry, yes, now where was I?
Oh, that's right, tales of lovers' revenge and unfamiliar intimate devices. So what of last week's abruptly ex-couple? The chemist's colleague and member of our little group, as well as reporting his method of establishing infidelity, advised that he was now being socially awkward in Asia. She, on the other hand, totally disappeared from our radar, obviously looking for another generous partner. I imagine she carefully avoided chemists, researchers or, for that matter, anyone who had access to a laboratory. I'm sure paranoia would have seen to it that her knickers were, hence forth, individually numbered and meticulously accounted for every morning and night. Either that or future partners were left to wonder why, regardless of what time she got home, she did a load of washing. Even if the load was only one pair of knickers.
As for “aids to intimacy” which confronted my ignorance during the Adult Shop Gala Opening? I dealt with that issue the way I handle most problems. Don't worry about them until they confront you, then bluff. Alternatively, just ignore them and they will eventually tire of the effort required to bring themselves to your attention and, accepting defeat, quietly retire. In this case, good mental discipline sweeps them from memory before they even properly enter it.
Of course, inevitably, most things catch up with you. Such was the case with “aids to intimacy”. We had a German customer whose catalogue offered a cornucopia of consumerism via the medium of its pages. It was, by the way, their policy that all purchased product could be returned if found unsatisfactory. This customer's offering of “aids to intimacy” was extensive.
They were having trouble with product quality from their Chinese suppliers, we had a factory inspection and quality assessment capacity. They implied an offer we couldn't refuse' If we managed their “toys”, they'd keep buying other stuff from us.
There were four problems. The first, though not directly ours, related to their return policy. It would take a certain sort of person to handle product. Of this type, which had been tested and returned as being unsatisfactory. Our initial OMG reaction turned eventually to school boy giggling at the misfortune of the person whose duty it was. For instance, what would he put in the “occupation” space on his tax return?
The second, and much greater horror soon put an end to the giggling. Some of the unsatisfactory product would be sent back to us for factory evaluation and discussion, OMG indeed! (Munch's Scream comes to mind).
The third related to discussing poor performance, when we didn't really understand what good performance was........well, we understood what it was supposed to produce, but not the subtleties of good function.
The fourth was formulating an operational check list for our primarily young, unworldly female product inspection team. All very tricky.
The product divided into three classes, intimate female products (passive and active), all then referred to as “Non Doctors”, don't ask! Aids for the “under endowed' male, and finally sundry items, I still shudder when I think of their various intended uses.
Needless to say the vast majority of items returned for unsatisfactory performance were in the middle group. The device consisted of a clear plastic tube connected at one end to a hand pump which extracted air from the tube, The other end was open, it received the inadequate organ. The pump was then operated, causing a vacuum in the tube, which was obviously filled by an ever more distended member. Over enthusiasm was the major problem in initial batches. These had no air release valve, so that more than a few keen users suffered unconsciousness from a reduction in blood flow to their heads. There was also the issue of extensive bruising to what was, after the swelling went down, an otherwise unchanged member. A large red emergency release button halved the flow of returns, though I suspect the overall user satisfaction rating remained poor. Those were, as they say, “were the days”.
I suppose you are also keen for more tales of unusual personal intimacy both observed and experienced. Sure, there have been many of the former, even a few of the latter, since the case of the vengeful chemist, however I see the promise of a book in them, so you'll have to wait!
What?....... you want to know about the scream? Sorry, I'm already well and truly over my word limit.
blakekathryn
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