Man Talk

Discussion in 'The Big Bookshelf (Library)' started by Meanhatter, Oct 8, 2018.

  1. Meanhatter New Member

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    Man Talk


    The lunch-eaters have gone, the plates have been cleared away and the evening is distant. The pub is quiet.


    Quiet, but not silent. Two men sit chatting over beers. Apart from them, there is only the lone barman and two curvy young women occasionally giggling over short drinks and pictures on a smartphone.


    The two men could possibly be father and son. The older, small and wiry with a lined face, is definitely of Far Eastern origin. The younger, bigger, muscular and fit-looking, might be mixed race, European and Asian. One of them had mentioned policewomen and now they’re debating the respective merits of skirts and trousers.


    “No, no, nowadays they try to make the policewomen look like men with these trousers and yellow jackets,” says the older man. “With skirts, there was much more feminine allure. Why, with any luck you could look up them. Tip the ladies upside down and the view was very fine. We used to call it shaking the bottle. There was a fashion for black tights, of course, which was interesting up to a point, a point just below their cunts, but in the end very frustrating unless you took them off. How do you look up trousers?”


    “In a clothes catalogue, I suppose,” the younger man ripostes. “Nah, obviously, if you’re lying on the ground and a cop girl stands over you, it’s better with a skirt than trousers. But haven’t you seen how them trousers make their arses stick out? I read somewhere some of them are complaining the trousers make their behinds look huge. I mean, what are they there for? Good citizens pay their taxes and they should get some fat arses in uniform for that, right?”


    “You pay taxes?” the older man seems surprised.


    “Well, some. For a start, these pints we’re drinking are taxed and we pay more for it. Anyway, you haven’t answered my point.”


    “It was a point? Oh, that policewomen’s hindquarters look better in trousers than skirts. I do not agree. There is a mystery. In tight trousers, the form of the buttocks is plain for all to see, though whether they’re taut or sag, you cannot be sure till the trousers come off. In a tight skirt, the size, the fluidity, the roundness of the backside can be seen, but not so much unnecessary detail. Remember, the purpose of trousers or skirts on some young tart is to encourage men to remove them.” The young man seems almost disgusted by this.


    “Have you seen a fat-arsed cop girl walking or running in tight trousers?” he demands.


    “Of course, and it’s interesting. But have you ever seen a cop girl running in a tight skirt? No, because you are too young. If you’ve seen this, it was a strippogram or a party girl in fancy dress.” The young man rose, took both empty glasses to the bar and came back with refills.


    “You know why they say police took policewomen’s skirts off and put them in trousers?” the older man continued. “Because the policewomen complained they could not run fast in the tight skirts and so could not catch criminals! Of course, really it was because in those tight skirts, they could not run fast enough to get away from a criminal chasing them. What better reason to return them to tight skirts?”


    “You might have a point there, Dad,” the younger man concedes. “But the sight of a cop girl’s fat arse with its cheeks swinging around as they do in tight trousers – well, it’s enough to drive a man mad.”


    “You have become mad? From watching a policewoman walking?”


    “Well, she was running, in fact. Running away from me.”


    “To the site of a car crash or the sound of a burglar alarm, no doubt.”


    “Actually, no. But it was one hell of a view, I can tell you. Nearest thing I’ve ever seen to it was a TV programme on the fastest steam trains. Buttocks going like pistons, she had.”


    “And you just watched in admiration.” The young man is hurt. One of the two girls goes to the toilets and is some time.


    “No, Dad, I was running after her. Caught her, too. And before you ask – pink ones, blue bra – and shaven and fucking tight.”


    “A likely story!” The young man does not reply with words, but with his smartphone. His father stares at an image. Then another image. His father thinks deeply.


    “You are indeed my son,” he says finally, but do not say “fucking tight”. Say “tight fucking”. The son grins.


    “Look, Dad,” he says, “I admire your imagination. But all this stuff you were giving me a while back about regularly upending policewomen. It’s not true, is it?” His father looks indignant.


    “Of course it is true! Well, perhaps not regularly. But did I say ‘regularly’? I think not. You want to know what possibilities there were, when policewomen wore skirts?”


    “OK.” The two girls bought soft drinks and went on chatting.


    “You remember Oberon Tower? Not high enough for a tower, really. Demolished three years ago for the outer ring road Burslem extension. Well, at one time the top floor was occupied by Harris, MacDonald, the office equipment people and half the space they used to try out prototypes in an office environment. Expensive stuff – also rivals might pay well to get a peek at new things. So I decided to do the place. Five different businesses there, so easy enough to enter looking like I belonged and find somewhere to hide. But I knew the overnight security firm were keen bastards. At weekends daytime, different team, lower standards. So I entered Friday 4:15, made sure I used the toilet and hid in this storage space on the third floor – fourth was Harris, MacDonald – till Saturday morning. A few people on the second floor worked Saturdays, no-one on third or fourth as far as I could tell.


    I rearranged a few things and slept. I woke up several times and the last time, it was light! To work! On the fourth floor there was a locked door, but the lock was nothing special and I picked it. No alarm went off. I started looking for what I wanted. Then I heard police sirens. Maybe it was for something else? No, a look out of a window and I knew they were coming for me. A silent alarm at the door, no doubt. So I must hide again. I found a room full of filing cabinets and it was easy to hide behind them. I heard voices, boots, doors opening and closing. There must be at least eight of them.


    The door of my hiding-room opened. I waited. It closed again. I had been lucky to come up against one of the less conscientious cops. I waited a while more until things went almost silent. Perhaps they were having a conference about what to do. Very carefully (you know I’m careful) I looked out. The door was shut and there were no coppers about. But I had a problem, right? How was I going to get out? Maybe I could wait until they’d gone, but I’d probably set off that alarm again and they might leave a couple of plods downstairs at reception or somewhere.


    There was a skylight. I’m a small fellow and I’ve always been careful not to lay on extra fat. I reckoned I might get through it and then I’d seen a fire escape, one of those old winding iron ones. Making no more noise than I had to, I moved one of the tall filing cabinets to under the skylight and then one of the short ones next to it. I could get up to it that way. All was still quiet, so I got up on the shorter cabinet. Then there was a noise above me. I froze. Someone on the roof. It was flat, of course. The light from the skylight got less.”


    “Shit. A cop up there?”


    “Had to be. To make as little noise as possible, I sat on the tall cabinet instead of clambering up on it and then I could see what was above the skylight. It was a girl cop. She was standing over the skylight, one leg on each side. They wore skirts in those days, remember? Not your favourite trousers. I could see right up her skirt.”


    “Shit! What could you see?”


    “Two sweet, white legs in those stockings with elasticated tops. No suspenders. Suspenders used to be common and people didn’t think them weird and sexy like they do now.”


    “Yeah, OK, and?”


    “A wispy little scrap of very pale blue panties with a nice little crease in them from her cunt to her arsecrack.”


    “Shit!”


    “Not that I could see, but there were a few little goldy crinkly hairs escaping from the panty-elastic. Like you can imagine, it was an exciting sight. My cock was so keen to get at her, I thought I’d better free it up before it did itself an injury. Kindness to animals, right? So I got it out.


    She moved a fraction, so I thought she was moving off the skylight, but no. Still there with her cunt showing. My cock was standing to attention, big, stiff, urgent, pointing up where it ought to be and I could sense its hunger. I agreed with it, I must say. Well, you know how it is. It happened very quickly. It shot off like a rocket right up to the skylight, pushed the lid open like a punch and went right up her skirt and into that crease. It actually pushed some panty-material into her cunt. I didn’t know what to do. Try to get off the cabinet into hiding and I’d make a lot of noise. Fortunately she had no idea. She must have felt something, and heard the skylight as it rapped shut again, but maybe she thought she’d kicked some mechanism and it had shot some rainwater up her. Or maybe she didn’t think much.”


    “Sounds like a cop.”


    “Well, yes. She just moved off the skylight. I waited a bit, got my cock back inside and then I heard more sounds inside the building. So I got up on the higher cabinet and pulled myself up till I could poke my head out of the skylight. No sign of blonde bush, so I got out. Down the fire escape and away.”


    “You wouldn’t possibly, Dad, have any evidence of this tall story? I know phones couldn’t take pictures back in the Bronze Age.”


    “’Course I have. I impregnated her!” It took the young man a moment to understand and recognise what his father was claiming. The two girls bought more soft drinks.


    “That’s physically impossible!”


    “No, my son. Cop girls have babies because men fuck them.”


    “No, I mean, from that distance, knocking the skylight out of the way, in through her panties…no!”


    “You have an excellent memory for the details of my story. But I do have proof. You were adopted, right?”


    “Yes, but what…”


    “I went to some trouble to find you, yes?”


    “Yes. I’m grateful, like, but what…”


    “If I hadn’t impregnated that cop girl, you wouldn’t exist.” The young man is silent, amazed. The two girls get up and come over. The one with big tits indicates the petite black one, pulls out ID and says,


    “DS Bush, DC Underwood. We’ve heard quite enough. You’re both under arrest for breaking and entering and for sexual assault. We’ve been following you for a while.”


    “I know you have, Big Tits,” the older man replies. “Why do you think this pub is so quiet? Outside it says CLOSED.” Three muscular thugs appear from the back. “OK, boys, get them.”