Friday, 26 July 2013

Caught In The Act (Living With Mum 24)


Mornings begin with a quick shower followed by a spot of breakfast, usually a walk before settling down to telephone prospective clients. Today was no different. Armed with towels supplied by dearest mother, and washed without softener so that said absorbent fabric resembles scouring pad as used by labourers to polish rough brick surfaces, I absconded to washing facility.

It has come to my attention since returning back to childhood home that the old six pack, once the thing you could scrub your linen on, is more a six pack of doughnuts than rigid tin. In light of this I decided, now standing as naked as the day I was born, that it might be advisable if I were to do one or two exercises. Nothing too vigorous you understand, just a few scissor jumps; you know the sort of thing where one leaps up, thrusts out arms and legs and back again.

I did a couple of these and found that my gentlemen’s under parts were so enthused that they too joined in. Unfortunately, for me and for aforementioned genitalia, their thrashing around thwacking against my thighs was not a pleasant experience. Taking my self firmly in hand, something chaps often do but this time I was focused on keeping fit, I began to leap up and down again but his time with tackle in fist..

Why mum chose this particular time to open bathroom door and thrust her head in I will never know. The sight that caught her rheumy eyes was a chap pogoing frantically with penis in palm apparently trying to insert male member into bathroom architecture
.
I stood, with meat and two veg still wedged in fist with expression on face that was part moronic grin and part shame whilst mum stared liked Mother Theresa observing primitive man’s sexual ritual dance.

Why I remained holding flaccid and shrinking male part rather than cup hands around wee thing I will never know, Why mum stood gawping like a chimp watching a gorilla buggering a nun was also beyond me.

She left in haste and we have never spoken of the incident although it has to be said she subsequently bought copious amounts of industrial strength bleach with which she now applies to tiled walls of WC.

For future reference all exercise shall be taken alfresco and fully clothed.

.
.
.
Russell Cuts the Corn From The Brewers Whiskers.

8 comments:

Vanessa V Kilmer said...

Just don't end up looking like Geraldo Rivera http://www.nydailynews.com/entertainment/gossip/geraldo-twitter-blames-nude-selfie-tequila-article-1.1406782

Your Mum will go blind.

Russell C.J. Duffy said...

Have never heard of the guy but at least I know what to look out for now!

thecheesewhines said...

I only do jumping jacks in the water, otherwise I might hurt my knees. I don't have the meat and two veg, but two large lumps of bread dough would fly up and slap me in the chin were I try to do jumping jacks naked.
I agree with Nessa. Don't end up looking like Geraldo. It's not so much his physical appearance as his arrogance that makes him a vile subject.

Russell C.J. Duffy said...

thecheesewines>>>Jumping Jacks! That's the name! II clean forgot what they were called.
I will have to look into this Geraldo. He sounds and odd character

Shadow Lor said...

As my first foray back onto the internet since I vanished, this was not entirely what I expected.

Although I did laugh for a solid five minutes so I appreciate it.

Your poor mum, seriously, just imagining the thoughts running through her head is cracking me up again XD

RYN: I got very bad and then I moved. I live alone now. Well, with two cats. I finally have all the solitude that I've been craving and it turns out I'm still crazy, just crazy and alone. With cats. I believe this is how the Crazy Cat Lady begins.

Russell C.J. Duffy said...

Shadow Lor>>>Living alone be a double edged sword. On one hand you have the solitude both you and I crave but conversely you have that loneliness that can drive you spare.

Welcome back Crazy Cat Lady. Good to see you again and well.

Vanessa V Kilmer said...

Geraldo is a talk show host / reporter [both terms used very loosely] who has been trying to become famous for decades. He is well-known but not well respected. He's reach the level of infamy.

Russell C.J. Duffy said...

Infamy, infamy, the bastard has got it in for me.

Nessa>>>In that case you can keep him. We have enough like that over here!