Time: One hour and one half

Themes: A sordid affair, golf, a Siamese cat and a fish slice

"Well, you can't get much stranger than that," Hyacinth observed as she watched her husband's golf ball curve through the air, bounce off a tree, and land right next to the final hole. She shielded her eyes from the sun with a podgy hand and saw her husband wave to her in the distance. She waved back gaily enough with her free hand, but when she turned to her caddy her face did not hold the same mirth. "Blooming bastard. Just a big, fat, lazy show-off. Wish I'd never married him. Smug, self-centred, stupid… Right, onto the next hole, Alex. Chop chop."

"Ma'am, I feel I ought to remind you, it is nearing three o'clock and your mother is expected to arrive at the house then." Hyacinth's face turned from merely annoyed to thunderous.

"Aha. Well. We had best go and see to the – see to her, then." Picking her long red hair off the back of her neck to cool it down, she marched back toward the house with Alex in hot pursuit. He could tell that she was in a foul mood, and would be all the while her mother was visiting.

As they neared the house, Hyacinth stopped and sighed like a buffalo at a watering hole. "I can't be arsed," she said, her old northern accent coming through, as it usually did when she was tired. "She'll just pick at me lifestyle, and me husband, and me whole everything." She raised her hands in defeat, and then threw them to her sides. They slapped against her enormous thighs, sending an undercurrent of ripples to her feet. Fortunately for Alex, they were hidden beneath her voluminous checked trousers. "But, I suppose she must… only thing that keeps the old bitch sane these days. That, and me bloody credit card." She fanned her fat face and turned to Alex. "Is it me or is it boiling hot today?"

Alex looked at the sky and considered his options. One, he could tell the truth – this was a moderate temperature, as it was only March. Two, he could lie and say he was sweltering. Three, he could do nothing.

As usual he went for option two. "It is a trifle hot today, ma'am. Perhaps you'd like a cool drink in the conservatory while you wait for your mother?"

"Splendid." Her new accent had returned, signalling, like a fanfare, a fresh wave of energy, and Alex sighed with relief. She strode on up to the house, Alex struggling to keep up with her. The golf equipment was heavy, and by the time Hyacinth neared the house he was at least twenty yards behind her. She turned around, muttered something along the lines of, "Blooming useless," and stalked indoors. Alex dumped the equipment in the shed and ran after her.

By the time he reached her she was already in the conservatory on the largest chaise lounge – she insisted it was good for her posture, but Alex privately believed it was the only one that would accommodate her rather large bottom. Even so, it spilled over the sides like unkneaded dough. "A drink, ma'am?" he said, standing to attention. He didn't even need to ask, he knew what she would want.

"Lime and soda, boy, with a dash of lemon."

"Yes, ma'am. I shall get Henry to prepare you one." He disappeared into the hall and into the kitchen, delivered his orders and went back to the conservatory. "Anything else, ma'am?" he asked meekly.

She studied him for a moment. "Yes. Come here, boy." Alex made his way to her quickly but nervously. He didn't like that look in her eyes.

She looked him up and down. She sat up, ran her hands along his arms, and stopped at the elbows. Using this as an anchor, she stood up and Alex watched the wave of fat descend almost gracefully from her neck to the small of her back – which, coincidently, wasn't that small.

She was pressed rather close to Alex, and he didn't like it one bit. It took all his inner strength not to back away as fast as humanly possible. To his horror, she pressed herself against him further. "I hate him," she whispered barely audibly. "I despise him."

"Who?" he asked, forgetting to add ma'am.

"That useless potato of a husband. What a waste of space… but you, Alex… now, you're a real man." Alex was beginning to dislike the way the conversation was heading.

"Someone will hear -"

"It's all soundproof, boy. Now. You are staying here. Come here." She pressed herself against him further, looking up into his eyes as her globular breasts swelled against his torso. They rippled and shuddered with every hard breath she took. She moved her right hand up his arm, round the back of his neck…

Alex, hearing footsteps, decided that enough was enough. He broke away and had resumed a normal position just in time for Henry to arrive with the lime and soda (with, of course, a dash of lemon). He stood stiffly and announced, "Your refreshing drink, ma'am."

She glanced at Alex, who had decided that the floor tiles were actually quite fascinating, and went to retrieve her drink. Thanking Henry and, after he had bowed and praised her and all the usual, making sure he had gone down the hall, she placed the drink on a side table and went back to Alex. He began to sweat slightly as she returned to her last position. He noticed that her shirt was low enough for him to see directly down her – so he looked at her face instead, which was red with passion. Her blue eyes were positively luminous. She leaned towards his face – their lips were almost touching – Alex was about to wet himself – and –

- there was a knock on the window. Hyacinth turned and saw her useless 'potato' of a husband banging on the window, smiling manically. She waved back gaily again, with an expression to match. She turned to Alex. "Tonight, spare room, eleven o'clock. Be there, or be fired." She turned and waddled from the conservatory.

Alex sunk down on the chaise lounge her rear had previously occupied and placed his head in his hands. This was blackmail, this was practically rape. And he had no choice.


He waited fretfully outside the spare room door, debating whether to knock or to bugger off and get fired in the process. Deciding that he needed this job – at a ridiculous wage nearly fifteen pounds an hour – he knocked and the door flew open almost immediately.

He gasped.

She was barefoot, and as his eyes travelled up her ham-like legs they met a lace hem. A lace hem on a slinky negligee which looked like it was bursting at the seams. It had an extremely low neckline. And held in her arms to the centre of those breasts – he could hardly bear to look – was a small Siamese cat, mewing softly.

This was possibly the most disgusting sight he had ever seen. Still, he smiled weakly and said, "You look… um…"

"I know," she grinned. Her straightened red hair moved as she spoke. "Come in…" she beckoned, with a finger movement from the hand nearest the cat's neck.

She let the cat go and it ran gratefully under the bed. She sat on it, and presently the cat ran underneath the bedside table instead. Alex thought the cat may be wiser than he was.

"Join me," she gestured again. He sat nervously on the edge of the bed, and was immediately pulled down onto it in a sweaty embrace. He felt strangely detached from the situation and – he nearly laughed out loud – he thought this is what a romantic clinch with a whale would be like. He just thanked God she wasn't on top of him, or he knew he'd never work again.

As they kissed more, he found he was almost enjoying it. Almost. Until she decided that the necessity of clothes no longer applied to the situation. Specifically, his.

He struggled to stop her, but her frying pan hands had ripped the shirt apart and the buttons bounced off the walls. She attempted his trouser belt, but he wriggled away again. Finally, she pounced on his legs, winding him and trapping him at the same time. She successfully removed his clothing and slowly began to remove hers.


The cat was sleeping peacefully as the kinky antics commenced. Alex was no longer enjoying it; in fact, he felt he might vomit at any second.

Hyacinth, however, was having the time of her life. Suddenly, she screamed. Alex looked at her, alarmed. That soon? No, she had stopped in confusion. She lifted herself off the bed slightly, and searched her behind with her hand. Alex got off the bed and watched her struggle. She turned to him, her eyes pleading. As she turned over, Alex realised he had, without knowing it, agreed to search her ass for a missing object. As soon as she rolled over, he doubled up laughing.

A fish slice poked out of her crack like a flagpole, complete with a white flag, which on closer inspection was a note. He removed it gingerly and read it.

Hyacinth,

I hope this time it works. The fork, spoon, salad spoon, and sieve didn't seem to deter you from bringing your lovers here, so hopefully this time you'll notice something's up your arse. Unless it gets lost, of course. Come to think of it, I never did get that fork back.

Yours, with no affection,

Your useless potato of a husband.

PS: And no, the conservatory window panes aren't soundproof.

He passed the note to Hyacinth, who read it with a creased brow. Suddenly, her face lit up, and she reached into her armpit. Triumphantly bringing out a small silver fork, she exclaimed, "I wondered what that pain was!"

Alex's mouth dropped open. Silently, he collected his clothes, donned them and made his way out. Hyacinth dropped back on the bed, and the cat leapt up on to her wobbling stomach. As she stroked it, she felt something twinge in the fold of her other armpit. She felt around, and smiled. She'd found the spoon too.