26 May 2008
Likely in Exile – Part the First.
â€”The Sad Chronicles of Lord Likely in Exileâ€”
Part One: Lord Likely lands in Australia.
â€œWith the aid of a friendly native, I come upon my new home.â€
19th May, 1861
Sydney, New South Wales
Her Majestyâ€™s Austrailian Territories
So there I was, standing, finally, on the soil of my new homeland, staring at the smiling red-haired wench and experiencing my first Australian erection.
Suddenly, the oppressive gloom that had followed me on my long voyage lifted. With a smile, I quickly undid my trousers and loosed the mighty Lord Palmerston to the morning breeze. It was invigorating! I realized that, far from being in captivity, I was at last truly free for the first time in my life.
Standing thus fully â€œunsheathedâ€ as it were, I turned my attentions back to the buxom lady, who, I couldnâ€™t help but notice, had rather increased her attentions in my direction as well.
All the Victorian restraints of my native land were behind me now, and how I reveled in my new freedom of being able to expose myself as I pleased! After all, what could they do to me nowâ€”send me off to Australia?
The lovely Molly Muff, as I soon discovered was her name, approached Lord Palmerston and stretched out her hand to shake him in greeting. I say she approached Lord Palmerston, because that is where her eyes were steadfastly fixed, and that is to whom she addressed her greeting.
â€œI say!â€, she said to my engorged cock, â€œnow what do we have here, then?â€
And she abruptly reached out a plump freckled hand and grasped my now happily twitching member firmly, and rather drew me towards her, as if it were my â€œhandle.â€
Although she did not immediately include me in the conversation she was having with Lord Palmerston, she soon gave me reason to believe that she had in mind more of a greeting than simply her hand.
Quickly I looked around to see if I could spy some outbuilding or even alleyway where I might allow the lass to experience a greater knowledge of her new friend, when it suddenly occurred to me that seclusion was no longer necessary for this sort of thing.
What could they do to me for publicly pumping this little milkmaid? Send me to Australia? This new feeling of freedom now bubbled over and I threw back my head and roared with laughter, almost dislodging my glorious top hat in doing so.
Lord Palmerson was almost roaring as well, as Miss Muff continued her vigorous greeting and hand-shaking. So without further ado, I ensconced the now rather feverishâ€”though still smilingâ€”peasant girl on a nearby bale of cotton and before you could say â€œHoly snapping duck shitâ€â€”as the Aussies were often wont to exclaimâ€”Lord Palmerston had begun doing some shaking of his own. Soon my Australian virginity was no more.
It was remarkable! Passersby barely glanced our wayâ€”even as my sturdy truncheon began to produce loud exclamations of encouragement from the red-haired Molly Muff.
But as is so often the case lately, my diversionary exercises were to be short-lived. Just as I was about release a litre or so of frothy cream, I perceived a figure standing quietly, yet intrusively, next to the bale of cotton which was supporting the energetically bouncing bottom of the cooing girl.
â€œBotter! You stinking pile of sheep scum! Canâ€™t you see I am otherwise engaged at the moment, you blithering moron?â€
Alas, my condition was irreversible, and as I half arose to face Botter, a long shot of spunk erupted and hit the ignorant fuck-stick squarely on his grimy neck and began to run down the front of his reeking shirt.
â€œHoly snapping duck shit!â€ I repeated inanely, over and over again. â€œHoly snapping duck shit! You cretinous fuck-wad! Did you think this was the time I wanted to withdraw from the field of play?â€
And I began to beat the unfortunate Botter mercilessly about the head and shoulders as Lord Palmerston continued to spew forth his disappointment at being interrupted in so untimely a fashion.
To be continued…
Faithfully transcribed from the original journals by Mr. Relax Max, lately author of the web-log entitled â€œBritishSpeak.blogspot.comâ€.
is currently away
, adventuring in foreign climes and exploring virgin territories.
A Ghastly Affair! The erstwhile editor of these fine journals, Mr. A.D. Fanton, wishes to apologise for the lack of updates this past week. Unfortunately, his well-laid plans were thrown asunder when he was accosted by ruffians last Friday. Read about this terrible event here, and offer forth your sympathies and offers of pity intercourse.
8 incredible interjections thus far.