The Adventures of Arabella Henderson - Episode 7: A Subtle Message
By Kate Wood It was a typical Monday morning at the University of New England.
People were studying, socialising, sleeping in, protesting or whatever. But that probably doesn’t interest you. At Mary White College, a ladies only residential establishment, a mystery was being solved.
In the laundry room of Block 4, Lance Corporal Hank Hardwood sat astride an industrial dryer, watching as Arabella Henderson, UNE Time Detective paced beneath the windows. She held her notebook in her hand, her long fingers curling around the pages in a light, delicate, flocculent caress. Out of breath from stress and from her continual pacing, she breathed heavily. Hank tried to pay attention to what she was saying, but found himself focusing on her large, ample, grandiose bosom and the shapely, rounded curvilineal thighs silhouetted by her stretchy, tight and indeed, constricted, skirt. Wondering to himself why he was thinking entirely in trios of adjectives, Hank gulped as she approached him and leant on the dryer.
‘I can’t see why you don’t just tell me her name,’ Arabella said. She was trying to solve the mystery posed her in the July Issue of Nucleus – the identity of the female resident Hank had spent the night visiting. ‘I know you think a Gentleman never tells, but if I can give a name to that absurd, lunatic, maniacal Gender Segregation Enforcer, it will save her life as well as yours.’
‘But shatter her reputation!’ Hank protested. ‘I would rather face the firing squad!’
‘So you won’t cooperate?’ Arabella asked. ‘Then I must solve this mystery alone.’
‘You must,’ he said.
‘Will you at least give me a clue?’ she asked, her sweet, mellow, mellifluent voice wafting into his ears and overloading his senses.
‘If I didn’t break under torture, I would hardly tell you, would I?’ he said, with a nervous, flustered, apprehensive gulp. He might not have told his torturer, but there was every chance he would misspeak in a fit of lust.
‘You’re taking gentlemanly too far!’ Arabella insisted. ‘A reputation isn’t worth your life!’
Bewitching though she was, her words irritated him. Who was she to speak to him in such a way? He had faced the Viet Cong to protect the nation and the future… a future she was living in.
‘Perhaps in the future, you live in a perfect society, free of moral judgement! But here, now, in 1967, it IS worth my life!’
‘Then maybe you shouldn’t have banged her!’ she snapped in reply.
Hank was too stunned to reply to her remarks, and instead glared at her. In the silence that followed, the alluring, captivating, beguiling Detective from the future placed the end of her pen just inside her mouth and closed her lips around it. She made a soft, muffled, hushful sound as she sucked upon the plastic.
Lance Corporal Hardwood gripped onto the dryer as he felt himself live up to his name. There was something about this woman that filled him with a sensual, salacious, libidinous desire that he hadn’t felt since the previous night.
I hope this petty, trivial, frivolous bickering continues for another week or so, before we realise we’re deeply attracted to one another and have sudden, impetuous, precipitous, yet predictable, sex.
‘That would seem to be appropriate,’ said the author. ‘But I only get 1000 words per instalment and this is the Nucleus sex edition and we must give the people what they want.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Hank Hardwood.
He didn’t realise he had spoken aloud until he realised Arabella was looking at him, those severe, piercing, penetrating eyes regarding him with confusion.
Being utterly controlled by the author, who realised that all these triple adjectives were causing time constraints, Hank stood up, grabbed Arabella and kissed her, passionately, wantonly, pruriently!
With an enthusiastic, fervent, rhapsodic moan, she threw her arms around him, allowing him to lift her into his muscular, robust, sinewy arms. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he turned her around and slammed her against the washing machine in a manner that might be considered violent in any other context but is apparently totally acceptable in a sex scene.
She reached for his belt, whipping it from his neat uniform trousers, while he lifted her skirt and ran his hand along her silky thighs.
“That’s only got one adjective,” said Nucleus editor Alana.
“Huh? What? Yeah, I guess…” mumbled Nucleus editor, Bridgette, fanning herself with the nearest available paper.
‘Wow,’ said Hank Hardwood, ‘Your thighs are so silky.’
Arabella flushed. ‘Thankyou, I’m amazed by your monumental, leviathan, behemothic penis.’
“Put down the thesaurus, Kate” said editor Alana, and the author reluctantly did so.
Somewhat perturbed by hearing his member described as “behemothic”, Hank covered his discomfort by kissing Arabella again.
After five minutes of passionate kissing and silky thigh rubbing, Arabella stopped in alarm.
‘Do you have a condom?’ she asked.
‘What?’ asked Hank Hardwood. ‘No one uses condoms. They make sex less pleasurable.’
Arabella pushed him away. ‘That’s a bullshit misconception that leads to unsafe sex and the spread of STDs as well as unwanted pregnancy.’
‘Wow…’ said Hank Hardwood. ‘You’re kind of a square.’
‘But I’m a square with a clean sexual health record and I always use a condom. Do you have one or not?’
‘I don’t,’ said Hank Hardwood.
‘Well, where can we get one?’
‘I never use condoms and that’s that,’ he told her.
So even though she found him incredibly attractive, Arabella flatly refused to have sex with him.