09 October 2007
Camping It Up
July, 1856
The Red Rump tribe offered us a ride back to their camp, located in the depths of Cockshaft Canyon. Botter rode on the back of Sucking Pole‘s horse, while I had the dubious honour of riding with the tribe’s Chief, Spurting Cock.
The journey was awful, as I had not only had to contend with the intolerable heat and treacherously rocky terrain, but I also had to fend off continued lecherous advances from the over-excitable Chief. His favourite trick was to steer his horse over some particularly bumpy ground at great speed, forcing me to tighten my grip around his waist, at which point he would cry, “Oooooh! You saucy devil!” before breaking out into uncontrollable laughter. By the end of the journey I was praying for a terrible accident to befall the Indian, preferably involving a low-hanging branch, a broken leg and a pack of wild coyotes. Sadly, my prayers went unanswered.
We finally arrived at the tribe’s camp in the late evening, by which time I was considerably saddle-sore – due solely to the pressure of the saddle on my rear, I hasten to add. At no point did I allow any of the nancified natives penetrate my venerable backside.
“Welcome to Camp Camp!” cried Spurting Cock as we trotted into the campsite. I rolled my eyes.
The camp was luridly styled; the tribe’s tents were all coloured in various gaudy hues, with skulls bearing far too much make-up tied to poles flanking them. A large camp-fire acted as a centre-piece for the site, surrounded by large, comfortable, rose-coloured couches, upon which sat more gaily-coloured tribesmen, who leapt to their feet as we entered and clamoured around us in awe-struck wonder.
“My chief! You have bought us fresh meat?” said one, pawing at my leg like an over-affectionate cat.
“You shall keep your hand off of my meat,” I snapped. “Your fresh meat is over there,” I added, pointing to Botter who was half-dismounting and half-falling from his horse. The native regarded my man-servant glumly.
“He doesn’t look very fresh,” he moaned. “In fact, he looks like he has gone off.”
“Yes, he has gone off rather a few times,” I agreed, climbing down from my ride. “But that is all that is on offer. Take it or leave it.”
The Indian sighed, then sloped off towards Botter sadly.
“Take a seat, your lordship,” beamed Spurting Cock, indicating to one of the couches around the fire. I sat down gingerly on the seat. “Now, would you like to suck on my pipe?”
“I beg your pardon?“
“Peace pipe!” the Chief smiled, producing a large, wooden pipe from his belt. “Would you like to smoke the peace pipe with me?”
“If it’s all the same, I shall decline the offer, thank you,” I said, stiffly. “I shall have a cigarette, instead.”
“I must warn you, it is a great insult to refuse the peace pipe,” Spurting Cock said solemnly. “People have died for less!”
“Really?” I said, aghast.
“No! Not really! Hahahaha! You totally fell for that one, your lordship! Your face was a picture!”
I shook my head wearily, and lit a cigarette.
“Alright, let us eat now. You must be famished, your lordship!” The chief clapped his hands loudly. “Will someone go and fetch his lordship a menu – pronto!”
“A menu?” I said. “Why on Earth would you need a menu? Don’t your sort just eat raw buffalo meat?”
“Please, your lordship. We are not savages, you know. We order in a lot of food from the nearby town – salmon, veal, the finest cuts of steak, fresh vegetables – we like to eat well!”
“I stand corrected,” I replied.
“Ah, here comes the menu now!” cried the Chief, indicating towards a stunningly gorgeous young lady, with jet-black hair, beautiful brown eyes and large, round breasts. I felt my interest suddenly perk up, along with my Lord Palmerston.
“Your menu, Chief Spurting Cock,” the girl said, bending over to hand over the menu to the Chief. I allowed myself a quick glance at her pert buttocks as she did so, and hoped that I might get better acquainted with them later.
“Thank you, Titty-Titty,” the Chief said, taking the menu from the girl. “This is our special guest, Lord Likely, from England.”
“A pleasure my dear,” I said, rising to my feet and taking her hand gently in mine. She giggled timidly, her cheeks flushing scarlet. She was positively adorable, I thought, and then I softly kissed the back of her hand. As I withdrew, I became aware that a hushed silence had fallen upon the camp. As I turned around, I saw a sea of open mouths, jaws-dropping wherever I looked. I quickly realised what was up.
My Lord Palmerston was up.
Surely enough, my proud organ had also taken a liking to this pretty Indian girl, and the resulting erection was causing quite a stir in the camp.
“Well, your lordship!” Exclaimed Chief Spurting Cock. “I was going to show you our totem-pole later, but quite frankly I don’t think it will measure up to your own.”
“My apologies, Chief, you have not been introduced. This here is my Lord Palmerston, my closest companion. Evidently he is rather taken with this young lady, as am I.”
“Titty-Titty?” snorted the Chief. “Well, I suppose she’s alright, if you like that sort of thing. We keep her around to foster our children, for we wish our tribe to carry on long after we are gone. Although, having said that, we have only managed to raise one child so far, as only Pounding Ass there could find the nerve to penetrate this vile, cockless hussy.”
“It was a moment of weakness,” whined Pounding Ass forlornly.
“It is alright, Pounding Ass,” Chief Spurting Cock said reassuringly to the saddened brave, patting his back gently.
“Well, maybe I might offer my services to Miss Titty-Titty here?” I asked, brushing a loose hair away from the girl’s face.
In a flash, Spurting Cock was beside me, grabbing Titty-Titty away from my reaches.
“She may lack a lovely, smooth shaft and large, round balls,” he said sternly, “but Titty-Titty is sacred to us, as the bearer of our son, Little Bender. Should any white man interfere with her, we will not hesitate to spear his gonads to the wall!”
“They will, too,” growled a drawling voice behind me. “I came this close to losing a nut myself.”
I swung round, and beheld a rather dishevelled man in a long coat, half his face obscured under the shadow cast by the large brim of his hat.
“I only managed to save mah balls by agreein’ to share some of mah gold with these fellahs. Mine must be the most expensive balls in the entire country.” The stranger smiled, and raised his head, revealing more of his face to me. The sharp, glittering eyes, proud nose and well-maintained moustache left me in no doubt as to the identity of this fellow.
“Lance!” I cried, then there was a brief pause as his words sank into my head. “Hold on…did you say gold?”
- Lord Likely.
