Homepage > Flesh fiction is for short people who don`t want to wait for the long winded raconteur to begin putting the flesh on the bones of the story
Flesh fiction is for short people who don`t want to wait for the long winded raconteur to begin putting the flesh on the bones of the story
`Ere Flesh?` The St. Trannys schoolgirl with the creamy wobblers billowing over her brimful bustierre, brazenly accosted the ubiquitous shadowy figure often to be discovered mooching along the young ladies` dormitory corridors in the early hours of a weekday, before the misses went home for the weekend; with the heinous secrets they`d shared with the macintoshed trilby still pursed behind mean lips: never careless of dropping even so much as a farthing`s worth of information that could jeopardise the liberty of the fabled rogue.
Though not a Cazenova, Flesh was a purveyor and a fixer for his girls, who were nothing if not contemptuous of the hoi polloi that didn`t understand the nature of their cordial relations with their Flesh. `What is it young miss?` Flesh paused in his dropping of the shoulder to hurtle mysteriously around the corner of an opportune building, and straightened with his hands in the pockets of his macintosh and the distinctive trilby of his professional demeanour pushed as low down upon his forehead as his lips. `The girls want to speak with you Flesh,` Creamy Wobblers announced from the side of her mouth, whilst looking imperiously off at some distant spot to her interlocutor`s right lest anyone suspect that she was with the shady miscreant. Only she could convince the incurious gaze of another imagination that there was something more interesting to see at the other side of the grimy downtown Grimthorpe street, rather than herself and Flesh, which is why Creamy Wobblers was a professional schoolgirl and not none of your rubbish.
Bedecked in the straw boater of St. Trannys` schoolgirls` uniformity, Creamy Wobblers was still able to bring a degree of individuality to the blazer and tie that would dumbfound a critic. Flesh had seen many visions of loveliness in his time as a St. Trannys hall monitor, between midnight and the end of matins at 5. 00 am, but a school tie so far below the collar as to perform the role of a halter neck bra for the young woman`s breasts was, as Flesh later described it to his old mum, `Distinguishable from oyster soup.`