The Adventures of Hugh Wittleberry.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A fascinating tale of high speed thrills and sexual tension.

Submitted: January 03, 2009

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Submitted: January 03, 2009

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The key jammed in the lock.

"Fuck- a doo. Not again."

Hugh took a hairpin from his ballerina bun and pushed it into the lock. Scratch. Eek. KABOOM. The door flew open.

"OY STEVE! YOU HOME?!"

"Yeah yeah... Did you get the chicken?" His flatmate never seemed to leave the house these days. Hugh blamed Sandra. All she did was want want want. Need need need.

"Err... No."

"Why not?! You know Sandra won't eat tuna... It's a sensitive issue for her, Hugh!"

"Then she can do her own flipping shopping" replied a disgruntled Hugh, before he could think of the consequences. Steve said nothing, but it was obvious from his face that Hugh had overstepped the mark. Fuck, thought Hugh, they'll be no more Twister for me now.

An awkward silence ensued, filled only with the swishing sound of Steve's bathrobe as he crossed and criss-crossed his legs, unaware of his exposed sensitive area. It was moments like this that Hugh hated. Should he tell him? It would save his own mental health. But Twister was dead; Hugh couldn't risk losing Monopoly too. No, he'd fight to the death.

A muffled banging came from above, followed by footsteps descending the stairs.

"Is she... Is she... here?!" exclaimed Hugh, before slowly letting his crumpled body fall to the floor in front of Steve, Steve's sensitive parts no longer the forefront of Hugh's mind.

"Oh for fuck's sake Hugh. Yes she bloody well is! It astounds me that you're surprised really. She lives here, how many times do I have to tell you?! And you can put away that cross. And the garlic. Bloody hell, Hugh, she's not a vampire."

Sandra entered the room, smelling strongly of shit. Hugh reeled back in horror, Steve went to cover his nose and then thought better of it.

"What's that smell, honeybunch?" Said Steve. Oh the irony, thought Hugh.

"Oh I expect it'll be my bath oils, pudding. Lovely, aren't they?" Steve nodded and his face went into a sort of spasm, which he hoped passed for a smile. So that's what that stuff was, thought Hugh, once again sincerely regretting letting Fluffy drink it.He missed that cat.

"So are you nearly ready, Sandy?" Asked Steve.

"I haven't even started my makeup yet... Why are you always pushing me? You pushed me into taking that course, and now this?!"

Sandra's gross overreaction was Hugh's cue:

"Yes, Steve, how could you?!" Hugh exclaimed with almost convincing sincerity. Sandra was momentarily thrown by Hugh's sudden support, but herpeanut- sized brain prevented her from analysing Hugh's sudden intervention.Steve, however, was no fool. But there was only time for a splutter of shock and a faint whiff of last night's curry before someone else entered. Someone small.

"Can i come in now?! You've been away ages. I'm gonna tell my dadabout this!" asked a rather rotund but short human being. Sandra assumed this must be what a child looked like.

"And what?! He'll take away my television privilages?! I told you to wait for me in the porch GODAMMIT" screamed Hugh. He'd had enough of this brat. Frankly, slavery wasn't all it was cracked up to be.


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