Last Orders: The final instalment

18 Nov 08

You might remember that last month I ended my regular column on something of a 'cliff hanger'. I made this apparent by using those exciting words 'to be continued'. This time around I am going to continue with my story.

At the end that piece I thrillingly revealed that during my work as a nude art model, I'd made eye contact with a person with beautiful bloodshot eyes. Here is the rest of the tale, up until now.

Unfortunately, when I made contact with these eyes, my body took it upon itself to perform some kind of involuntary spasm, sending me careening around the room like a headless chicken, knocking over easels and art supplies and forcing my naked bulk onto a great many unsuspecting aspirant artist ladies.

I'm sure this was a delight for them, but nevertheless, it was not my desired means of introducing myself to anyone.

As I lay on the art room floor amongst the carnage I had wreaked – by accident, obviously (and I must apologise to the tutor who required quite serious invasive hip surgery) – my mind dizzy, my knees throbbing, I wondered to myself: would that vision of beauty, that wondrous princess, make herself known to me? Or would she remain forever an enigma, driven away by my sheer, brute, masculine presence?

(This has always been a problem for me, I’m sad to say. Women – and many men, I imagine – are often simultaneously attracted and repulsed by my aura of intimidating fertility and masculine power. It’s a shame. For everyone.)

It was not long before my question was answered.

Question answered

When the room had cleared of dust and noise, there remained only one figure other than my nude, prostrate self. Her (it was a lady) red eyes blinked in the darkness (for some reason the lights had been turned off).

"Are you ok?" she asked, her feminine, mothering, nursing instinct coming to the fore. It is a trait I find attractive in women.

"Yes, thankyou," I lied. "It's just a few serious cuts and bruises and strained ligaments and whatnot. But the thing that really hurts is my pride hahaha," I wittily added, lightening the mood. The female person giggled seductively.

"Well, let me help you up," was all she could muster, as she was in the process of being charmed by me.

It was then, as she leant down to offer me her hand, that I first glimpsed her sublime beauty, her dungaree-clad majesty. Her mousy brown hair, her solid, child-bearing hips, her strong back and shoulders, her chiselled jaw – these were all the things I was looking for in a wife-type person! When she accidentally brushed my nether regions with her elbow, I knew I was in love.

"Don't turn the lights on!" I commanded. "There are some things that should be kept for the honeymoon."

"What.. You don't mean.. Really? Are you really asking me to marry you? Oh, this is beyond my wildest dreams! It's all my fantasies come true at once! I always hoped the man of my dreams would propose to me, nude, in a decimated classroom. Yes, my darling, yes! Oh, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou! You've made me the happiest female person alive!" she gushed, unable to control her womanly emotions. At least, this is what happened to the best of my memory.

After pausing to ask her name – it's June, by the way – I asked her to come and take a nap with me in the back of my van. You know, to celebrate.

A whole new life

After I had been to hospital and had my concussion dealt with, it turned out I had not actually imagined any of these proceedings. I am engaged to be married to an actual, soft, bosomy female person!

And this is not just any old actual female person. June, as it turns out, is an enthusiastic amateur security installer, and is only too keen to assist me in the running of my security installation business.

What's also wonderful is that she is quite up to date with computers and things, so in addition to her driving and installation duties, she will be responsible for the administration of the business – the accounting and promotion and marketing and customer service. I will be free to undertake my supervisory duties, and to indulge in the kind of sleeping/napping routine that allows me to be at my most creative.

June has already shown a willingness to take the initiative, and is looking to take on my former work experience student Dominic as an apprentice. She can also more than hold her own in our regular after-work refreshment sessions at The King's Legs with my old pal Guthead and his lady wife, Mrs Guthead.

Amazingly, June has also managed to negotiate some kind of truce with my mother. As a consequence I am able to sleep past 11am most mornings, as June (who has moved into my room!) is normally taking care of most work business at that hour.

But I am afraid that my newfound happiness will mean devastating, horrific sadness for you, dear Security Installer reader. For, despite editor Alan Hyder pleading and crying like a child, this column is to be no more. June has no time to take dictation, she has explained, and I am focusing on other business expansion concepts. It has been a pleasure entertaining and informing you with my wisdom and knowledge these past three years. I will miss you dearly.

With all my love and endless kindness.

Orson.

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