20 April 2007
A New Look For Likely
April 1856
I emerged from Tackle-Tuck’s back room some two hours later, having had an extremely pleasurable fitting session with Mrs. Tackle-Tuck. Of course, by ‘fitting session’, I mean to say I fitted my penis into her vagina. To whit: we had sex.
It was not all recreation, however, and Mrs. Tackle-Tuck also did a considerably remarkable job in setting me up with a fine disguise. I was dressed in a lavish fur coat, with a matching hat, and also now sported a highly-convincing fake beard. So complete was the deception, I doubt even my own mother would have recognised me.
Having said that, I would not have recognised her either.
I admired myself in the mirror, stroking the fine fur I was now sporting.
“A sterling job, Mrs. Tackle-Tuck,” I said. “Tell me, is this bear fur I am wearing?”
“No, I believe it is labrador,” came the reply.
“Wonderful!” I exclaimed.
Just then Botter appeared from another fitting-room, with Mr. Tackle-Tuck shaking his head.
“Likely! Your man here is a tricky customer indeed,” Tackle-Tuck explained, as Botter wandered into the room. “I tried my best, but he does reek so badly, I nearly threw up in my own mouth. Sorry.”
Botter was dressed in a suit, at least I believe it must have once been a suit, but on Botter it looked terribly out of place, like it desperately wanted to be somewhere else, and seemed to be in the process of trying to escape. His hair had made a valiant attempt at sporting a style, but half of it appeared to be rebelling and stood up at right angles to Botter’s hideous head.
And then there was the fake beard, which in itself looked like it had been vomited up by a stray cat.
“You…look…well, cocking awful, Botter. Even more so than usual, which is a great deal indeed.” I said.
“Sorry, sir, I do not believe we’ve met,” said Botter, failing to recognise me.
“Oh, Botter! It is I, your master and idol, Lord Likely, you ridiculous fanny.”
“Oh, my apologies milord. I did not recognise you.”
“Well, that is good to hear, I suppose, as it bodes well for our plan. Provided you do not give the game away, looking as stupid as you do. The beard alone is especially noteworthy in it’s awfulness.”
“Ah, well, you see milord, Mr. Tackle-Tuck said he’d have to have lost all his senses before touching my face, so I had to improvise,” Botter said, looking rather overly-pleased with himself. “I fashioned this fake beard out of my own pubic hair.”
I baulked.
“Botter, that is positively revolting. I would strike you, but I fear that any physical contact with you at this stage would leave me disease-ridden, or paralysed.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Well, at least I look like a genuine Russian, even if you do not. I can always pass you off as my loyal hound, if worse comes to worse.”
“You plan to infiltrate the Russian embassy, then, Likely?” Tackle-Tuck inquired.
“Indeed we do. I feel that we may pick up some vital clues as to the whereabouts of our estranged Russian ambassador there, and hopefully locate him and sort out this whole sorry affair. With any luck, we shall be home by supper, at which point I am seriously contemplating having Botter deloused and neutered.”
“Bravo, Likely. Well, we wish you all the luck in the world! Isn’t that right, m’dear?” Tackle-Tuck said, turning to his wife.
“I shall certainly be thinking about you,” said Mrs. Tackle-Tuck, running her hand gently up and down the front of her dress.
“Good show!” Exclaimed Tackle-Tuck.
“Well, we must away,” I said, trying to suppress the urge to ravish Mrs. Tackle-Tuck again, there and then in the drawing-room. “We have much to do!”
“Farewell, then Likely! And remember, you are always welcome in my humble abode!”
“Thank you, Tackle-Tuck. It is much appreciated. Farewell, old friend!”
I turned and made for the door.
“Come, Botter,” I said, slapping my thigh. “Come to master!”
Botter bounded towards me, and we departed the Tackle-Tuck’s house, and into the dark and mysterious night.
- Lord Likely.
