Colin had not felt this way for a long time, but then again it had been a while since he had drunk tea. Being brought up, surrounded by the aged and the permed, he developed something of an aversion to anything that came hot, black and in cups.
Indeed a life spent around Aunts had caused other issues. He associated Aunts with tea, hats and coarse knitwear. That combination of being scoured and pinched brought on a skin allergy that was triggered whenever a friction quotient in excess of 15 combined with a pressure above of 15 pounds per square inch.
Meeting Rosebud (who didn’t blame her parents for her name, but rather a deaf birth registrar) changed his life. He coped, he thought admirably, with her insistence that any physical entangling had to be accompanied by a brew, while seeking to limit the resultant contact in ways that kept his skin clear.
Finally, nature’s hard-wired instinct to procreate and a tongue that appeared to be both double-jointed and unfeasibly elongated overwhelmed even his defences.
Colin sat in bed in a post-coital fug, cradling a stomach that contained in excess of a litre of Ceylon silvertip first pickings with one hand, while discreetly creaming his now obscenely inflamed scrotum with a proprietary paraffin gel, the only substance he had found to constrain an epidemic of hives.
He shifted position and grimaced. The dermatological disaster that was his penis wasn’t his only problem. Tentatively he twisted round and while his early yoga lessons hadn’t progressed very far it was plain to see that even a merely competent fingerprint expert could lift a perfect example of Rosebud’s whorls from his much-cramponed buttocks.
In theory she was a lover’s delight with her anaconda-esque thighs and hips that could develop a thrusting power to far exceed a hyped-up Airbus 380, but so far as Colin was concerned something had to give.
First though, while these superficial passion tattoos were an irritation, was the question of what to do about the fermenting tea and in particular the intestinal infarction that imbibing had induced. Tea of this high quality, it seemed, was something of a gut gazumper, an alimentary alienator. The tumultuous thunderings that had developed since the elastic and ecstatic Rosebud had withdrawn to the bathroom, promising ‘round two’ shortly, appeared to be centred somewhere between his pancreas and prostate and had, to Colin’s growing anxiety, something of a tsunami feel to it.
Any moment Rosebud would return for more of the promised ‘Rumpty-tumpty’ and he knew, with the same certainty that he knew his Aunt’s knitwear would never be described as the new black, that that the flagrantly unfragrant fissile fusillade of flatulence that would follow would finally finish their febrile fumblings.
Colin, however, wasn’t of an inclination either to rush or to give up. He let go of his stomach and, leaning back, reached for a cigarette. He toyed with his lighter while he cogitated.
Timing in love as in life is everything. While Colin flicked the flint, seeking to induce a spark, in the bathroom Rosebud’s concentration momentarily wavered. Her hands, still slippery with soap and seminal fluid lost their grip on her tea cup sending it to the hard floor where it appeared to vaporise.
Her involuntary grasp, audible through the half-opened door sounded to Colin not so much redolent of shock as her recently reached climax. The memory of his initially exquisite and subsequently excruciating ejaculatory response to her moment of high passion had two consequences: first his grip on the lighter tightened; second Colin’s pelvic resistance ceased.
A simple example of why chemistry is taught in schools as a preparation for real life and not just as a means of annoying students ensued. Methane (CH4) with an auto ignition of 580C, when subjected to a Butane flame of circa 880C will inevitably combust. Under pressure from an irritated colon it escapes at 95 metres per second. Flame throwers are less effective. If such a flame meets a sheen of paraffin then the consequences are almost instantaneous as they are inevitable.
When Rosebud emerged from the bathroom moments later, gloriously naked and ready for more, she took in Colin’s surprised expression and immolated genitals. In that second she knew, at last, she had meet a man not only with a matching red hot passion, but also with the sort of dedication to the ultimately sybaritic lifestyle that might be short-lived but would certainly be seared both into their memories and their privates.