17 April 2007
A Change of Face
Botter strode up and down the living-room of Mr. Timothy Tackle-Tuck’s house, pausing only to observe his hideous reflection in the full-length mirror positioned at the end of the room.
“I look shit-hot, my Lord,” he said, running his hand over his buttocks. “These new trousers are brilliant!”
“Good, good,” I said half-heartedly. “Maybe now you will cease your irksome whining, and let me be in peace.”
“Yes, milord,” Botter replied. “Thank you, milord. And thank you, Mr and Mrs. Tackle-Tuck.”
Mr Tackle-Tuck smiled back, now joined by his lovely wife Beatrice, who looked as gorgeous today as she did on that afternoon two years ago, when I last introduced my ‘Lord Palmerston’ to her ‘House of Lords’. She was a splendid woman with beautiful brown eyes, jet-black hair and a magnificent bosom that wobbled most agreeably when she laughed.
“Think nothing of it, my boy. Any friend of Likely’s is a frined of mine,” Mr. Tackle-Tuck announced.
“I believe ‘friend’ might be far too strong a term to describe our relationship, Mr. Tackle-Tuck,” I interjected.
Tackle-Tuck let out a long, hard laugh, which was echoed by his wife. I watched closely as those wonderful breasts jiggled in silent accord with their mistress’ cachinnation. It was a vision that was not only highly erotic, but also incredibly hypnotic. I could have watched those marvelous globes all day, but remembered the grave business in hand and snapped myself out of my tit-induced trance.
“Mr. Tackle-Tuck, if I may intrude upon your skills and time once more, I would be most appreciative. I require two of my ‘special orders’.” I said, returning my gaze to the gentleman of the house.
“Ah, I imagined you would, Likely, what with all this bother with the police and whatnot.” Tackle-Tuck replied. “Of course, I will see what I can do for you and your man-servant. Our debt to you is a large one, is it not, my dear?”
Mrs. Tackle-Tuck smiled, and eyed me suggestively. “Yes, darling. It is a very large one.”
“What are these ‘special orders’, milord?” Botter asked, ruining the mood somewhat, as seemed to be his particular forte.
“Not only are Mr and Mrs. Tackle-Tuck a superlative tailor and seamstress respectively, but they are also able to apply their talents in a manner which will be highly beneficial to us in our current situation,” I explained. “For they are also brilliantly adroit in fashioning incredible disguises that would fool any man or woman who clapped eyes upon them.”
“I had no idea,” Botter said.
“There is absolutely nothing new there, Botter,” I sniped. “I wonder, do you recall the house-guest who came to visit the estate while I was away on a pig-shooting holiday?”
“Dr. Ingbar Bumble-Crumble?” Botter answered.
“Exactly the fellow to whom I am referring!” I exclaimed. “Well, Botter, unbeknown to you, that fat, hairy doctor was actually me, wearing one of the Tackle-Tuck’s aforementioned disguises! What do you make of that, prey tell?”
“Oh! I am surprised, my lord. I did not have a clue as to his true identity! What a fantastic disguise!”
“True, true,” I mused.
“Wait a minute,” Botter said, his brow knotting in deep concentration. “Wasn’t that Dr. Bumble-Crumble also the bounder who carried out several illegal, grotesque and unholy sex-acts upon my sister?”
“Yes. Yes he was. Now, let us dwell on past events no more. We must go and get ourselves made-up, so we may venture back onto the streets undetected in order to track down the wretched Russian and clear our names!”
And with a flourish, I left the room with Mrs. Tackle-Tuck, and a long ruler.
– Lord Likely.