Story a week 2 – Sex Toys

Her hand moved, skimming across the surface of his skin and circling his nipples. She stroked the hair on his chest in a clawing movement before spreading her fingers wide and moving down to his naval. His body reacted and he was surprised to find that he could manage another erection. He did think he had ever managed a third time before.

Greg looked at her. Her pretty, petite body was perfect. Her dark hair hung down onto her lightly tanned skin. Even the freckles on her body seemed to accentuate her features.

He knew it was a fantasy. What man paid and didn’t know? But for a time at least, he wanted to believe that she was really his. He wanted to imagine that a girl like this would really be possible for a man like him.

“You’re thinking too much,” said Tiffany looking straight into his eyes and for a moment all his doubts were forgotten. She really was his. It only lasted a moment, but he started to wonder. Could there be more to this than a cash transaction? Was she just that good or could there really be something between them?

His thoughts had interrupted his body’s intentions. There would be no third time tonight. Instead he pulled her close, so that she was lying with her head on his chest with his arm around her. This was what he really needed more than anything else. This was what was missing from his life. The sex was just physical, he needed contact. Contact with someone real.

#

The next day at the office he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Her perfume seemed to linger on his finger tips and he could almost taste her lips as he breathed.  As he thought of them entwined together he began to get aroused. He stayed sitting in his chair and pretended to be doing something with his tablet and hoped that no one would notice. But rather than feeling embarrassed, as he knew he should be, he instead felt an excitement that he hadn’t in years.

There had been that on and off thing with the office girl that had come to nothing. Then his morning obsession with the girl on the hyper-rail that he always tried to sit near. But something about Tiffany was more than that. There was real contact. A physical and emotional connection.

The sight of his ageing face reflected on his tablet screen brought doubts.

“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” he said to himself. “You’re just asking for disappointment.” But even then the possibility lingered and he found himself checking up on his bank account to see if he could afford another trip the same evening. He couldn’t, at least not without sacrificing some of his savings. He would just have to adjust his spending to make up for it.

#

She looked surprised to see him, but not displeased. She welcomed him into her bed and they made love. It wasn’t sex it was making love, he was sure of that now.

“I wish I could take you away from here,” he whispered as they lay together afterwards.

“Take me where?”

“Anywhere you like,” he said. Then realised on his bank balance that wouldn’t be possible. But it was just a fantasy she was playing along with, or was it?

“Tiffany, can I ask you something?” asked Greg

“Of course you can,” she said, stroking his hair.

“Do you have feelings?”

“You mean, do I have feelings for you?” she asked. She hadn’t backed away, that was a good sign at least.

“Well sort of, but I just mean in general. Can you really feel anything or are you just programmed to react to certain inputs?” It was the first time he had seen her look upset and he felt a gnawing in his stomach. Had he blown it, was that it? “I’m sorry,” he said, “its just…”

“You want to know the truth?” asked Tiffany.

“Yes, if you want to tell me,” he answered.

“The truth is I don’t really know. I think I feel, is that enough? What about you can you feel?” she asked. Her question surprised him.

“Of course,”he said

“But how do you know?” she asked.

“Well I just….”

“I mean how do you know that you are not just a biological computer programmed to respond to certain inputs.”

He paused, uncertain how to answer. “You’re right,” he said, combing back her hair with his hand “I’ve never thought of it like that. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to… you know.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to people asking. I just thought that you would know.” She looked away.

“Know what?”

“How I felt about you. How I thought you felt about me.” Had she said what he thought she was saying? Did she mean that she loved him?

“Tiffany, I want to take you away from this place. I want you to come home with me.”

She looked back at him, but there was fear in her eyes now and she shook her head. “It doesn’t work like that. You know I’m not like you. They paid for me here. I’m their property. They wouldn’t allow it.”

“I’ll talk to them, maybe I could come to some arrangement with them,” he said. As he spoke he was already getting dressed. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

Greg found another pretty young woman managing the reception area. He guessed that she was also an android, but didn’t want to offend one way or the other.

“Could I speak to the manager please,” he asked.

“Is there maybe something I could help you with Sir?” she asked giving him a suggestive look.

“I mean..” he started, “I want… I would like to know, it is possible to buy one of the girls.” The words sounded strange, but at least he had said it.

“Sir, you can have any girl you like, or maybe two? Each girl costs 70 Euros per evening, plus an additional fee if…..”

“No I mean I want to buy her. Fully buy her. So I can take her home with me.”

The girl looked confused. “I think you are right, let me get the manager for you.”

The manager, he was sure, was a “real” person. She was tall, even beautiful in her own way, but age had begun to creep into her life and it was clear she was fighting a losing battle.

“I’ve heard you wanted to buy one of our girls outright,” she said, looking down her nose at him.

“That’s right, Tiffany. I would like to buy Tiffany.” The woman paused for a moment, and seemed to be factoring every asset of Greg into some calculation.

“You do realise that she is a robot, don’t you?”

“I am aware of the fact, yes,” he said and she let out a long sigh.

“I know our models seem real, but they are nothing more that machines. Please don’t get caught up in the fantasy sir, it’s not good for anyone.”

“Look, I understand. But is she for sale.”

“Sir,” she said, raising her voice a little, “this is a brothel, people come for some entertainment. Would you go into a bar and ask to take the band home? Or go to a zoo and try and buy the penguins?”

“The way I see it, it’s quite different from that,” he said.

“Let me guess, she gave you some story about feeling emotions and how humans just act on biological responses, am I right?”

He didn’t need to answer. The dawn of uncertainty on his face said it all.

“Not to worry sir, it happens more than you think. Now I suggest you go enjoy yourself for a while and put these thoughts aside for now.” She didn’t wait for his response.

He walked home rather than taking the hyper-rail. It would take a long time, but he didn’t mind, he needed time to think.

He had been so certain about her. She had seemed too real. It was like she was an actress that had got out of character for him. He knew which was the stage figure and which was the one behind the make-up. Was that all part of the programming as well? It just seemed different. Maybe the manager herself didn’t know, maybe she was afraid to admit that they were more than just machines. After all it would make her little more than a slave trader if the opposite were true.

No, Tiffany was for real and he was going to get her back. But Tiffany, how could he get her out of there? Could he break in one morning and whisk her away to some far away place where the brothel couldn’t find her? The second part maybe, but not the first. He was no master thief. He couldn’t even pick a lock.

Maybe he could offer money. Maybe that was the solution, offer so much that they couldn’t say no. He took out his tablet and searched for pricing. Even not counting the android licence that he didn’t have, it would still cost about more than double of what he had in the bank.

A flashing sign to one side caught his eye:

Quick loans in a flash

He had an idea. He could use the cash he had to take out a loan and that would maybe give him enough, to make an offer on Tiffany. Once she was free then they could run. They wouldn’t have to go far. Maybe another city, or cross the border into one of the other European states. Austria! He’d always wanted to go to there. And he was sure he could find a job. It didn’t have to pay great, it just had to pay enough.

The lenders made him think twice about his plan. Two brothers, both built like army commandos ran the place. They seemed to have no need for hired muscle. They had enough of their own to go round. Greg thought about them coming after him. If they were to catch him it wouldn’t be a pretty business, he didn’t doubt. Still he negotiated a deal, telling them that his brother had been caught sick abroad and needed some emergency cash for medical treatment and a fare to get him home. He played up his desperation, his nervousness helped.

After confirming his job and salary, the brothers agreed to the financing for a half his earnings from each pay check over the next year. He had to confirm the electronic billing that would automatically remove it from his salary. It would result in more than 300 % of what he was borrowing. Greg pretended to make a fuss and tried to make a show of negotiating a better deal. In the end he would accept whatever they offered. The brothers didn’t bother with any threats about non-payment. It was implied along the way.

With cash in hand he returned to the brothel. This time he would not be swayed. This time he wasn’t leaving without her.

When he entered the place the manager was already at the desk. There was no sign of the younger girl and Greg wondered if she had found a customer.

“So you’ve decided to have some fun then Sir?” she said with a condescending smile.

“No,” he said, trying to muster up a commanding voice. “I want to buy her.”

“Sir, I’ve told you, she’s just a robot. Besides we can’t sell anyone, we don’t have a license for that kind of thing. I doubt you have a licence to buy one either. Do you think women of this country are going to stand by and let anyone own one?  A brothel in the dark side of town is one thing. Having one move into the neighbourhood is quite another.”

He didn’t argue. He was already prepared. He took out half the cash he had borrowed and placed it on the table without saying a word. The manager stared at the money and Greg was glad they’d paid it in middle sized bills. It made it look more than it really was.

She hesitated. It was good sign.“There would be… administrative fees.”said the manager.

He placed another wad onto the pile. “It’s all I have,” he said. Keeping the other notes stashed in his pockets. It would be a long journey, there would be no direct route to Vienna for them and his bank account would be far too traceable.

“You sure you want to do this?” she asked. “There’s no refunds a week later.”

“I am absolutely sure,” said Greg.

The woman shook her head in way that said, if you want to be an idiot, it’s not my problem. “Go get her then”, she said.

Greg ran to the room where he knew he would find Tiffany. When she opened the door her eyes opened wide with delight.

“You came back!” she said. “I thought it would be months before I saw you again.”

He got down on one knee in front of her. “Tiffany,” he said, “I spoke to the manager and she’s agreed to let you come with me. It won’t be an easy road, we’ll have to travel far, but will you come with me? Will you be my wife?”

There was a hesitation and for a second he was sure she was going to say no.

“Of course I’ll come with you,” she said, bending down to kiss him. “I’ll go anywhere you want to take me.”

#

It was two days later when the delivery van arrived at the brothel. They carted two large boxes into the reception where the manager was waiting for them.

“Another two Tiffany models for you,” said one of the delivery men. “What happened to the other three you ordered last month?”

“Two of them ran off with the clients,” the manager said with a smile.

“Another two, that’s a total of what, eleven in six months?” he asked. “Maybe you should report it as a fault. It must cost you a fortune to keep replacing them.”

“Not at all boys,” she said. “It’s been quite lucrative actually. You’d be amazed at what you men would pay for love. Care for a free trail? On the house of course.” She waved the two of them into the bed rooms as she cut open one of the boxes to look at the perfect petite body.

“Don’t you feel bad, letting them run off with some sex toy and letting them think it’s love?” asked the driver, as he reached the door that led into the bedrooms.

“Whatever makes people happy boys,” she said, “whatever makes them happy.”

—

From

The PM: and other stories

Story a week 1 – The PM

I’ve decided to post a short story a week. I’m going to start with stories that are already out there. Hopefully by the time I’ve gone through them I’ll have some new ones to add.

Number one: The PM    (From the PM and other stories)

The PM

The PM

            ‘How on earth are you going to run a country when you can’t even remember your phone?’ asked Linda, fixing Michaels tie and placing the phone into his trouser pocket. ‘If you can’t dress yourself properly, what you going to do when the economy collapses?’

‘Don’t blame me dear,’ replied Michael giving her a kiss on the cheek, ‘blame the great British public who voted for me. Besides, I can’t do any worse than the last lot now, can I?’

‘That’s what worries me, I’m afraid that you can.’ She beamed a smile at him and he gave a hurt look in response. ‘OK, Prime Minster, I’ll go easy on you since it’s your first day. Just try not to sell the entire country to the Chinese if you can manage.’

‘I’ll try, but I mean, if they offer me a good deal like a holiday home in Hainan or one of those new smart-phones with the holographic controls, well, who am I to refuse?’

He was interrupted by a grinding sound from the other side of the hallway.

‘What’s that noise?’ he asked, walking over to the door way and playing with the air vent beside it; it seemed to be the origin of the grinding sound.

‘The filter will be clogged again,’ said Linda walking up beside him and gently pulling his hands away from the vent. ‘Now don’t get your suit dirty.’

‘But I only cleaned the filter a couple of days ago,’ he protested, stepping back from the vent.

‘Well, either you did a terrible job, or the air is getting worse. Both are high possibilities.’

‘I thought you said you were going to go easy on me?’

‘I lied, you’re a politician, you should be used to people lying to you. Speaking of which, don’t let those industrialists worm their way around you. You were elected to fix the three E’s, so don’t you forget them.’

‘Environment, Environment, Environment.’

‘That’s right. So don’t let them tie you down for the next five years. You go into parliament and get it started today, alright?’

‘Who’s the Prime Minister here, me or you?’

‘As the Prime minster’s wife I am entitled to boss my husband around. So really it’s me, just don’t tell anyone.’

‘Right you are dear,’ he said, giving her one last kiss, before putting on a freshly washed surgical mask and heading out the front door into the bright flashes of the waiting photographers.

The car was a short distance away, but to get there he would have to pass through a sea of journalists or the gauntlet as it was called by the MPs. He always hated the photographs and questions; it would be worse now that he was the Prime Minister. Taking a deep breath he pushed onward.

‘What will be your first task as PM?’ shouted one journalist in his ear. He had to be careful with the answer. Too many politicians had been caught out by a flippant response that bound them from the first day onwards.  He hadn’t spent the last ten years climbing the greasy pole only to be kicked back down on his very first day.

‘We will be sticking to the commitments of our manifesto,’ he answered confidently, pressing further into the surge.  It was a stock answer that he would only be able to use once.

‘What do you say to the opposition leaders comments that your policy will destroy our new industrial era?’ He paused for a moment then pushed on. It was a question that many people wanted answered. It was the whole reason he got into politics in first place. That and the usual lust for power.  He turned to the waiting journalist, his feet still walking him to the car as he talked.

‘I’m glad you asked me that,’ he said. ‘For the past ten years this country has been systemically re-industrialised, which in itself was not a bad thing.’ The car was getting closer, the driver waited with the door open. ‘But look around you, now you can actually see the air.  The previous Government have sacrificed the quality of people’s lives for economic gain and we are now choking on the environment meant to sustain us. The world is on the verge of a global disaster and unless we take action now and make a change, even if that means slowing down some of our industrial development, the planet of our children is surely doomed.’

The journalist was armed with a back up question, but the car was now close enough for Michael to dive into.

‘How many jobs will be lost Prime Minster?’ he heard the reporter shouting as the door was slammed closed. He breathed a sigh of relief as the driver began to pull away. His task wasn’t going to be easy, even with the electoral mandate, reforming the environment was going to be a challenge, especially when they had to start cutting jobs instead of trees. He would just have to keep running fromthat question as long as he could.

‘Number ten Prime Minister?’ the driver asked as they turned onto the main street. He hadn’t noticed how stocky the man was as he had made his dash for the car.

‘Yes please. What happened to my old driver?’ he asked, suddenly remembering to put on his seat belt.

‘Oh, he was reassigned. Ministerial drivers are given some extra duties.’

‘Ah, I see, you’re security personnel of some kind then?’

‘That’s right sir. You’re faster than the last one, took him a while to get it,’ said the big man beaming back a smile in the mirror. ‘They found it was cheaper just to double up drivers and bodyguards. No point having an extra salary, you know?’

‘And what if you have to drive and fight at the same time?’ asked Michael.

The driver shrugged. ‘They haven’t though of that sir,’ he said.

‘Do they at least give you a gun?’

The man nodded, patting his jacket, then reached over to the glove compartment, opening to reveal a small armoury of automatic weapons. ‘They give us lots of guns. Don’t you worry sir, you safe with me.’ He pushed the compartment closed. ‘To tell you the truth sir, I’m really itching for some action. I hope you don’t mind me saying so.’

‘No no, carry on,’ replied Michael, not entirely sure how to respond; the last driver had been somewhat less militant.

‘You can’t believe what it’s like to have all our training then never really getting the chance to use it. I’m former SAS, you know. If you ever need any specialassistance, just you let tell me sir and I’ll get it sorted out for you.’

‘By special assistance you mean?’

‘I mean special assistance.’

‘Right, eh thank you, I see. Oh look, we’re here, thank God for that,’ he said, remembering to have word with his new aides about changing his driver. The car pulled up and he moved to get out.

‘Remember Prime Minister,’ said the driver rolling down the window, ‘just you let me know.’

Somewhat relieved, he got out that car and made his way to the door, where he stood waving for a moment at the crowds and photographers. He wished his wife was with him, but she hated the publicity. It was hard enough to get her out on the mandatory state visits. The truth was he didn’t blame her. He wasn’t much for the crowds either. He was there to make his mark on history and while doing so, he planned stay as far away from the great general public as he could.

Once he was sure he’d given the press enough chance to get their shots, he walked towards the door of number ten. This was his time. This was his moment. He had worked his entire life for this chance.

‘Just don’t mess it up dear,’ he heard his wife’s voice say somewhere in his head.

There was no handle on the front of the door for him to turn, but as expected it glided open on his arrival, pulled open by a beaming young man. Giving one last wave, he moved inside into the strangely silent foyer.

‘Good morning Prime Minister,’ said the young man who had opened the door. He sounded educated, perhaps ever aristocratic, certainly not what Michael expected in a member of staff. In fact the man’s whole demeanour screamed Michael that man was in PR. Only people from that field could have such sharp suits and perfect immovable haircuts.

‘Eh good morning. Are the rest of my staff not here yet?’ he asked.

‘Not yet Prime Minister, first there are other matters we have to attend to.’

‘I’m sorry, this wasn’t really the welcome I was expecting. Excuse me, but who are you?’

‘I’m afraid in this present case, I am the bearer of bad news. You may call me Marcus.’

‘Right eh, Marcus, and this bad news would be?’

‘You are not the leader of this country Prime Minister,’ said the man confidently.

‘Em, I think I am, in fact, did you not just call me Prime Minister?’

‘Yes I did, but no, you are not.’

‘Ah, I see,’ said Michael. ‘You’re here from the Queen. Thought she’d send one of her old guard families down to put the new republican PM in his place? We’ll you can tell the old bint to bugger off. The eighteenth century passed long ago and her and her inbred family should have gone with it.’

The man gave a little chuckle. ‘I am not here from the Queen.’

‘Then who the Americans, the Chinese, the bloody Bilderberg group, what? I did win the election didn’t I?’

‘Yes you did,’ answered the man calmly. ‘Now please follow me while I introduce you to someone.’

Not waiting for a response, the man turned and started walking further into the house. Michael hesitated, and then cursed himself as he followed anyway. This better be some bad joke by the last party, he told himself as he caught up with the man.

‘You’ll need this,’ said Marcus, handing him what looked like a smart-phone and headset. ‘Keep it with you and don’t lose it. It’s your translator. When we go into the room, place the device on the table and put on the headset.’ The man opened the door to one of the conference rooms. ‘Oh and I would advise you to mind your manners.’

With no time to protest Michael was ushered into the room. A large glass chamber, twice his height and filled with smoky brown gas, waited in front a long metallic table which was adorned with a series of strange looking buttons and dials.  He looked back at Marcus who stood at the doorway waiting. The younger man pointed to the translator in Michael’s hands, then to the metal table. Picking a random space free from the complicated looking controls, he placed the device on the table and put on the headset.

The smoke in the chamber cleared slightly, revealing a fat, gargantuan, leathery green face.

‘What on earth,’ shouted Michael, jumping back from the chamber.  Looking back he caught sight of Marcus shaking his head franticly from side to side. Taking a deep breath, he gained some composure.

‘Congratulations on your win Prime Minster,’ said a crackling voice through the ear piece.         ‘I’m sure my aide has already informed you that you are not the leader of this country. That is my job. I administer this planet for the purposes of the Orion Empire, you many call me the Overseer. Serve me well and you will still have a part to play.’

‘I’m sorry, the Orion Empire?’ asked Michael, glancing back at Marcus who stood like a solider at the entrance.

‘Yes, we control a vast number of worlds, of which your planet is but one. Sadly your people yet lack the sophistication to be a full part of the Empire. So we must maintain the pretence of countries and governments until they are ready.’ The face inside the heavy chamber blinked slowly and heavily, allowing Michael time to take in the information.

‘So you are saying that you conquered our world?’ he asked.

‘Yes, around twenty years ago,’ replied the Overseer impassively.

‘But there was no war, nothing like that? I’m pretty sure I would have remembered an invasion of alien creatures. Even with the quality of journalism we have, I’m sure it would have made the papers,’ protested Michael walking closer to the chamber to get a better look inside.

‘There was never a need. We have ships with weapons in orbit, any opposition and we can wipe out your country in an instant. Previous leaders were smart enough to realise that.’

‘Well, I have to say, I’m rather disappointed. I was expecting to be taking over as the leader of the UK.’

‘And you will be Prime Minister. We see no need to micromanage everything. But there are some key points that you must agree to.’

‘Such as?’

‘The program of mass industrialisation will continue and you will drop yourenvironmental objections. Your country is of no use to the empire in its current state, you must develop.’

‘But hang on, what about the manifesto, what about global warming and people’s health? The public are expecting action from me and my Government.’

‘My Government you mean and as for your other objects, global warming is a myth, your manifesto promise will be retracted over time. Is that understood?’

‘We can’t just go back on…,’ started Michael angrily.

‘You don’t yet understand, do you Prime Minister? Either you go along with our program or I will bring about an end to your entire country. Would you like to be the last Prime Minister of the UK?’

‘We’ll it does have a certain stature to it, but no I suppose not.’

‘Then be the Prime Minister that helps the world become part of a galactic Empire. Education, transport, trade, can continue on under your own discretion, but industrialisation will continue, is that clear?’

‘Yes, well it seems I have little choice in the matter, do I?’ said Michael turning to leave the room.

‘Another small thing Prime Minister, the next time I request your presence you will refer to me as my Lord, and don’t forget to take your translator you will be needing it soon.’ Furious, Michael snatched up the device and stormed out of the room.

‘Prime Minster,’ said Marcus as he left the room.

‘What is it? I have a meeting with the Cabinet in a few minutes.’ he snarled.

‘No one must know about this. Not the Cabinet, not your wife, no one, do I make myself clear? It’s not just you that you’d be risking,but the whole country, maybe even the world.’

#

‘So now that’s sorted,’ said Michael, taking large drink of his cold tea. ‘There is something I have to bring up which you are not going to like.’ The room fell silent, when the press had been barred, the Cabinet had known something bad was coming. ‘It turns out our plans for the environment may have been overly optimistic.’

‘What do you mean optimistic?’ asked the Chancellor in his thick Scottish accent, his fat cheeks already boiling red. ‘That’s the whole damned reason we’re here. The public just threw the last lot out of office for that very reason.’

‘I know Jim, I know, but it’s not the right time.’

‘Right, rest of you, out!’ ordered the Chancellor. There was no questions, the room cleared in impressive time.

‘You know if I ordered them out, it would have taken them twice as long,’ said Michael as the last minister closed the door. ‘Maybe you should have been the PM.’

‘God knows I wanted the job. But I’m a party man. Our people will do whatever I say, but the public, they like you, not me. You’re the one they voted for. You’re the one they put their hope in. Don’t let them down now Michael, don’t become just another…politician.’

‘But there’s more going on than you know.’

‘Look whatever they have on you, it doesn’t matter. The oil companies only have so much power, unless you’ve been caught with a sheep or in Thailand, then I can keep the party off your back,  Even if it is something like that, and God I hope it isn’t, I’ll do my damdest. Just push through the reforms.’

‘It’s not the oil companies…,’ started Michael.

‘It doesn’t matter who it is. In fact, I don’t want to know who, what or anything else. Whatever the hell brought this on you forget it, just stick to the plan. I’ll keep the party in line, Alright?’

#

Michael walked up to the podium to address the house. His own victorious party waited with anticipation, the other side already jotting down their planned objections to what he would say. He caught sight of the last Prime Minster sitting in the back benches on the far side, the man nodded at him knowingly. At least someone understood his position.

For the first time he realised how hard he had made the man’s life with his own environmental objections. The former PM must have been under the same restrictions that he was now. He made a mental note to apologise at a later date. Then a second note to forget the first; he still hated the man too much to go supplicating himself.

‘First of all I would like to start by welcoming all new MPs from all parties to the house,’ he began. People expected him to be conciliatory, though given the choice, he would much rather have been smug; the years in opposition hadn’t left him unscathed. ‘I look forward to working with you all in a constructive way over the coming years.’ There was a mumble of expected agreement from the house. ‘That said,’ he continued a little nervously, glancing at the Chancellor and calculating the risk he was about to take. ‘Anyone who stands in the way of plans to reduce industrialisation and bring a new, greener, cleaner Britain, had better beware. We have a mandate from the people. And the People voted for three things: Environment, Environment, Environment. God help anyone who dares to stand in our way!’

As he leaned away from the microphone, he caught sight of the former Prime Minster, his head shaking nervously from side to side as if expecting the attack to happen at any moment. Michael smiled confidently back as the cheers rose up from his own party.  The rest of his speech would be as he had planned as well. He was in charge of the Country and no alien lizard thing a in jar was going to tell him what to do.

#

When he returned to Downing Street, Marcus was waiting from him; he was clearly not impressed by the Prime Minister’s address.

‘That was not a good idea,’ he whispered to the Prime Minster as he walked into the foyer. The PM’s staff had moved in and the place was a bustle of activity. ‘The Orion Empire is a dangerous enemy to make. Do you want the UK to become the next North Korea? Because that’s they way things will go if you don’t play ball.’

‘You really believe they have that sort of power?’

‘Yes I do Prime Minister, and you would be wise to recognise it as well. The Overseer wants to see you now. I would strongly suggest you take a consolatory attitude for all our sakes.’

‘What are you getting out of all of this Marcus?’ Michael asked as they walked briskly towards the conference room.

‘I help to keep the species alive, that’s what I get,’ he answered sharply.

‘A sycophant like you keeping the species alive, that’s a terrifying thought.’

Marcus ignored the quip, holding the door open to let Michael through. ‘Just remember to call him My Lord.’

The Prime Minister walked towards the table and tossed the translator irreverently onto it. The smoke in the chamber cleared slightly, revealing the angered face of the Orion. As the face emerged, his own doubts surfaced as well.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing Prime Minister?’ spoke the voice through the translator. ‘Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear, perhaps you still think that this all some kind of a joke?’

‘I think I was elected by the people not by you.’

‘And you think those people will thank you when their country is crush under heal?’ said the overseer holding up a complex looking device to the chamber glass. It looked small in its gigantic, clawed hand. ‘You see this Prime Minister. I’ve already set my ship to target London, a good place to begin don’t you think? One touch and your civilisation will come to an abrupt end.’

‘And you along with it.’

‘Ridiculous, I will already have transported back to my ship before the first wave of destruction hits your pathetic little city. You have one last chance. I’ll give you until tomorrow to think about it. And when you come here, you will start by addressing me as my Lord.’

‘I will not. I refuse!’

‘O but you will after you’ve gone home and talked to your wife, taken a last stroll around London, watched the babies in their prams then you’ll have a change of heart.’ The face faded back into the smoggy chamber.

Michael stared back defiantly at the fog, but inside he was unsure. Was it really up to him to decide people’s fate like that? Well, he was the prime minister of the UK, but if the people knew what was really going on.

He turned to leave, walking angrily towards the door. It wasn’t until he removed the headset that he realised he had left the translator sitting on the table. Catching Marcus’ concerned glance, he hesitated for a moment. Then thrust the headset into his pocket and walked confidently past the young man.

Once he was out in the hallway and the door closed, he grabbed the headset from his pocket. Being careful not to disturb the microphone, he placed it over his ear. When the voices in the other room came through clearly he smiled nearly as much as he had done on election night.

‘I’m sorry my Lord,’ he heard Marcus say. ‘Give him a little time, once he thinks about it he’ll follow your program.’

‘He is too much of a liability, the terraforming is already behind schedule,’ replied the scaly voice. ‘An alternative will have to be arranged. We only have four more years until my ship returns. What chance do I have of selling this planet to our prospective clients if they can’t even walk on its surface? Should I tell them to come and freeze in this cold environment? Should I tell them to come and suffocate in this unbreathable air? We need a leader who is willing to increase the industrialisation, someone less resistant. Only then will this place be ready in time.’

‘I understand my Lord…’

‘You understand, but you’re not doing anything to assist. You have your promised escape from this world before it becomes unliveable for your species, your chance to continue your flawed genealogy on another grim rock like this one. If you wish to keep that place, I suggest you find a way of removing this Prime Minister and putting another in his place.’

It was enough for Michael. Removing the headset he half ran half walked through the busy house.

‘My driver, I need my driver,’ he shouted to one of the aides nearby. The young man instantly hung up his phone call and started dialling another number. ‘And you there,’ he said pointing at a surprised girl. ‘Tell everyone I want them here now!’

‘Who’s everyone?’ she asked.

‘Everyone. Start with the Cabinet, then the army generals and go from there.’ The girl nodded in a stunned dreamy sort of way. Without pausing he continued out the front door, blinded momentarily by the unexpected flashes; he had forgotten press would be there. Covering his eyes, he pushed onward to where, he was surprised to see, his driver was already waiting.

‘Where to Prime Minster?’ asked the driver standing to attention beside the car.

‘You remember that special assistance you offered me?’

‘Yes sir, of course.’

‘Well I’m going to need it.’

‘Right you are sir, just tell me who to shoot.’

‘Don’t shoot anyone unless you have to. Now let’s get some guns,’ said the Prime Minister opening the door by himself and rummaging in the arsenal in the glove compartment. He passed one of the weapons to the driver, a machine pistol, and took another for himself.

‘You know how to use it?’ asked the driver.

‘No but that’s why your here,’ he replied, coming out of the car with weapon in hand, clearly visible to the waiting journalists. The cameras erupted more than before. ‘I’m just here for the photo-op.’ He gave the cameras a few moments then turned back towards the door of number ten. ‘Now come with me and remember don’t shoot unless I tell you to.’

They rushed through the corridors, the staff, stunned into silence at seeing their gun wielding Prime Minister, watched the two men as they rushed towards the conference room. As they got to door, Michael put on the headset. He was glad to hear the two of them still discussing how to get rid of him.

Without hesitation, he threw open the doors, pointing his pistol at the chamber, while the driver ran in behind him.

‘Grab him,’ he said to the driver, pointing at Marcus. He was glad to see the terrified look on the man’s face. ‘And feel free to beat him up a little. Not too much though, we want him alive.’  The driver didn’t need any further instruction, a surgical strike with the back of his free hand brought, Marcus crumbling to the ground with his hair still perfectly in place; the big man looked disappointed at the lack of resistance.

Michael turned his attention to the chamber, the smoke clearing to reveal the overseers face.

‘Really Prime Minister?’ asked the Overseer, ‘are you prepared to risk you country for your own vanity?’ The hand and device appeared at the window.

‘Go on,  press it,’ replied Michael, ‘lets see what happens.’ For the first time the certainty in the overseers face eroded. ‘I know about your plans. There is no Orion Empire, you’re just some intergalactic conman, worse than that, you’re a bloody estate agent. My wife controls my house, my Chancellor controls the party, but you know what? I was elected as the Prime Minister of this country. I might not have been the best of choices, but they voted for me and I am going to have my five years whether you like it or not.’

‘Should I shoot Prime Minister?’ asked the driver his weapon eagerly aimed at the chamber.

‘God no, I’m sure the MOD have some oversized anal probes they’ve been dying to try out. His friends will be back in four years and when they come, we’re going to have nice clean air, not the muck that they breath, and more importantly, we’re going to be ready for them.’

—

The PM: and other stories

Paradigms

Paradigms is on sale for $1.20. Pick up a copy to read over the holidays:

UK : http://www.amazon.co.uk/Paradigms-Chris-McKenna-ebook/dp/B004HW7IIE

USA: http://www.amazon.com/Paradigms-Chris-McKenna-ebook/dp/B004HW7IIE

Poetry is easy

Poetry is easy.

Five minutes of skill vs days of being novel .

Masturbation and climax with no work in the relationship.

Only the  story is worthwhile.

Times Change

The Kelpies

It’s only a matter of days now until the referendum on Scottish independence and with the new poll, showing yes ahead, but effectively making things too close to call, it’s getting exciting!

I wrote about my conversion from ambivalence to strongly pro-independence here. But even at the time, I had my doubts about independence being possible. Scotland seemed to be entrenched in old immoveable views. Most Labour folk would follow the Labour line and SNP folk would follow the SNP line and that would be it. People seemed unwilling to engage or even consider that it might even be possible. In truth, it gave me doubts about Scottish people – I have been proven astoundingly wrong in these doubts.

In the past half year it’s like the whole country has woken up to the idea that independence might just work or it’s a least worth having an open conversation about above and beyond the usual party lines. People are making up their own minds. They have been debating the risks and the rewards at a level that seemed impossible for me to imagine before.

The highest point in the campaign for me was the other day when a friend from back in school posted an eloquent plea for independence on his Facebook page. It’s funny, but you never really think of people growing up and changing. It would have been hard to imagine that the kid I knew at school would care anything about politics, never mind to be so engaged as to write something so heartfelt on his timeline. Times change and Scotland is changing – maybe even for the better.

Of course, it’s not all be pleasant. Accusations of aggressiveness on and off the internet have come from both sides, but I think considering the magnitude of the decision being made, Scotland is doing pretty well – for most countries it takes a revolution to bring about the sort of changes we are talking about.

I hope the people of Scotland will vote YES. But even if we don’t, the referendum itself has been a success. People are taking their country into their own hands in a way that I’ve never seen in my lifetime and it gives me hope that maybe people are better than I’ve given them credit for. Maybe the world can be changed…. not maybe .. YES

Toilets - The last bastion of culture

Having travelled a good bit I can’t help but notice that the world is becoming more and more homogenised - I’m sure it won’t be long before they install a Starbucks at the top of Everest or a McD’s inside the pyramids. However, there is one area that seems to resist cultural pressure more than any other and that’s the good old toilet.

  

I guess most people are familiar with the western toilet. It’s made inroads in pretty much all parts of the world. I climbed a mountain in Sichuan once. At the top there was a set of toilets, one of which was western. The foreign toilet had a sign outside that said “Aliens shit here” – google translate has a lot to answer for. However, you really have to go to Japan to see toilets pushed to the technological limits.

In Japan, some – not all – Japanese toilets have the typical western style, but on the side they have add a whole new level of servicing.

For a first timer, the Japanese toilet experience can be pretty daunting. The desire to experiment, crossed with not being able to read Japanese can lead to some surprising, but not unpleasant effects, including “auto washing” and seat heating. Sadly, I didn’t have a toilet like this in my home when I lived in Japan or I would have been more inclined to experiment.  I doubt the full joy of Japanese toilet could be experience in a one night stay at a hotel, but if anyone cares to elaborate on their own experiences I would love to know more.

Not far across the water in China (and in many places in Asia), the Western toilet is still something of a novelty and the squatter toilet is king.

For western folk, this one can be a challenge. Frankly, most of us just don’t have the balance and flexibility to use these comfortably, but with a bit of practice you soon get the hang of it and find a technique that works for you – a sturdy wall is your friend.

Like the western toilet, the Asian toilet comes in many varieties from the ultra-modern to ultra-disgusting. While I got used to the Asian toilet itself in general, what I personally could never get use to, were the country and service station toilets in China.  Most of these amount to little more than a rectangular hole in concrete floor looking down onto a mountain of well … you know - One place I went to had a couple of pigs on the other side tucking into the mountain.

Another thing with the Chinese toilets was that a lot of the time, especially in more rural areas, there is no divider between any of the holes meaning you would be squatting next to, and sometimes face to face with, someone else. The most impressive thing about this is that the Chinese are totally nonplussed at the idea of taking a dump in front of someone else and will often be take a bit of extra time to have some and read a newspaper. For myself though, I couldn’t manage such “openness” – curse my Britishness – and found myself waiting another three hours or so until the next stop.

Indonesians also have some interesting toilet habits. They tend to have a good mix of western and Asian toilets (although I think the western ones are more for the rich types, but I could be wrong). The special addition to the Indo toilet is the lack of toilet paper and the inclusion of a hose or water bucket (the hose is a sign that you are making in life as well, I guess).

The idea, as I’m sure you’ve guessed, is that you use the hose/bucket and your hand to clean things out -  A much cleaner finish than paper most will admit. However, it also means that in Indonesia you should never use your left hand to give people anything, as this is your “poo hand”. This can be very tricky for a lefty like me to get used to.

I’m curious what other toilet habits are out there that I have yet to discover. When I travelled in South America it seemed that all public toilets had no seats. Does anyone know why? Is there some trick in desert countries involving sand? Did anyone ever explain the shell thing in “Demolition man”?

Enquiring minds want to know.