My Fair Friday (Or Fridaymalion)

by Mark Reed

Read at your own risk. If smut offends you, don't read this. If you're younger than 18, don't read this.

Dedication: Girl Friday and Alienor, thanks for being good sports.

[Oh no, not you too!]
[Hush, dear girl. If Arty can do it then so can I]

She didn't have much money, so her clothes were always torn and ragged- just barely enough to cover her more sensitive parts from the cold British air. She didn't mind being poor, though. She was an unusually beautiful girl (if you could see through the dirt and grime) and rather enjoyed the free feeling she got from wearing her clothes.

[Oh, please! Could you be even more obvious?]
[Sure I could! Does the phrase 'scantily clad nubile young body' strike your fancy?]
[Ugh! Can we just hurry up so I can get out of these rags?]
[As you wish, my dear...]

Being the poor girl that she was, she made her living selling the only thing she had left...

[Hey there, buster!]

...flowers. And that's exactly what she was doing one rainy evening when two professor type people found each other.

"Is THAT who you are? Well! I came all the way from India to meet you!" Colonel Hickory said.

"And I was just on my way to India to meet YOU!" Professor Dickory crowed.

"Buy a flower, sir?" Friday asked. The two men looked at her with an appalled expression.

"I say, chap. Have you ever heard a more atrocious use of the English language?" Hickory asked.

"No." Dickory answered quickly. "The only thing keeping that poor girl in the gutter is her horrible mangling of her native speech. It would be no problem for men like us, though. Why, within six months I could pass this gutter trash off as a Duchess." Hickory scoffed in reply. Dickory reasserted his claim in an even more grandiose (not to mention rude!) manner, and so it went on for several minutes. Friday had moved on and sold three more flowers by the time the two men quit tooting their own horns and decided on a plan. They quickly grabbed her and hauled her off to Dickory's house.

"Hey, whattaya think yer doing!" Friday protested. "I'm a good girl, I am! Let go of me!" The two scholars hushed her cries of protest and went inside the house.

Inside the house, Dickory's maid presented herself. Her name was the only thing it could possibly be in a story with characters named Hickory and Dickory: Ali. (Hah! Fooled ya, didn't I? Don't worry. I never let a bad pun slip by.)

"Hey! Why'd I get dragged into this?" Ali said to the two startled professors.

[It was the logical choice,] the author protested as the two professors suffered a small lapse of amnesia. [Can you think of anyone better to stuff into a French Maid outfit?]

Ali rolled her eyes and shared a look of frustration with Friday as the two professors remembered where they were.

"Right then," Dickory said. "Ali, this is Friday. She'll be sharing your room for a while. Please take her upstairs to the bath and while she's busy, burn her clothes."

[Hey there buster! I am not spending another story prancing around naked!]
[Don't worry, dear. I just saw Pygmalion last night, and it's in the play. You get some much better clothes after the obligatory screaming and shouting in the bath.]

With the matter of her clothing settled, Friday and Ali set off to fulfill Dickory's wishes. Ali burned Friday's clothes and stuffed her into the bath. For some reason, Friday knew she shouldn't like the water, but after feeling the soap and bubbles wash across her chest…

[Oh come on Friday, you know I HAD to get that picture in somewhere]
[Why not? Everyone has seen it.]

…decided that some parts of the play this story is based off of were just plain silly and enjoyed the feel of the warm water thoroughly. Somewhere far up in the sky where Friday couldn't see, the author realized that the precedent of diverging even further from the original play had now been set and smiled evilly.

Alone in the bath, Friday noticed that the bubbles completely blocked the view of everything in the tub and snuck a hand under the water to enjoy herself more thoroughly. Outside the bathroom, Ali heard the moans and decided Friday would be a while. Ali took up her feather duster and flounced about the house, shaking and jiggling certain parts of her body while she cleaned. Suddenly she looked to the ceiling and rolled her eyes again. "Is this all really necessary?"

[Hey, I've got to keep the readership entertained! I could pan back to Friday's fun in the tub, but frankly I've seen what happens to authors who mess with that woman's libido too much.]

Ali gave a heavy sigh and decided to be a good sport and play the martyr. With that settled, music began to play from one of the rooms below and Ali found herself getting into the sway of the music. She jiggled and shook and rotated her hips around and rose up and down on the balls of her... er.. high heels. She in the process of grinding her pelvis into the nearest solid object when she stopped and looked once again to the ceiling. "Just what kind of music is this, anyway?"

Will Smith's "Boom, Shake the Room" suddenly transformed into eloquent ballroom music, more fitting with the times. Ali gave a snort of disgust and continued to wiggle and jiggle and she cleaned the house.

Back in the bathroom, Friday finished making sure her breasts and certain other parts of her body were squeaky clean, and stepped out of the tub. She dried herself off, concentrating on certain areas...

[I'm done, thank you very much.]
[Oh, fine. Spoilsport. You know, I never have this much fun writing any of my OTHER stories. You could at least have the courtesy to let me fantasize in peace!]

...until she was nice and dry. She found a mirror to look into and gasped. It would have been a certain currently-out-of-work magic mirror, but the author figured that THAT author/character didn't need any more trouble, so it was just a standard mirror. The narrative being broken, Friday gasped again at the mirror. She beheld her own image, amazed at how beautiful she looked when not covered in grime. Her days on the street had kept her eating only the necessary foods and exercising frequently. As a result, there was not a pound of unnecessary flab on her long, delicate legs. Her breasts were both large and firm, having learned how to defy physics while escaping from boobies, bobbies, or whatever they called policemen back then, in long mad dashes through London. Her hair glistened and shined, a perfect compliment to her unblemished skin. She glanced down to notice that there was not a hair on her body below her neck, and again wondered why she had been born that way.

[Don't you think you're laying it on a bit thick?]
[A beautiful spirit deserves an equally beautiful mind.]
[Thank you. You're sweet, in your own perverted little way. Now, can we get back to the program?]

Friday smiled in satisfaction at herself and stepped out of the bath. She called for the maid, and raised an eyebrow at the sight Ali presented as she rushed back into the room. The maid outfit did a splendid job of revealing certain areas of the body and hiding the rest to tease the onlookers. Ali's skin was flushed and glistening with sweat, her chest jiggling as she heaved from the exertion of running in such high heels. Vaguely, Friday noticed more Will Smith music playing down below, and Ali glared at the ceiling.

The beautiful nude Friday and the gorgeously near-naked Ali shared yet another look, and slowly descended the stairs to meet Hickory and Dickory on the first floor. (The author would have used the phrase "going down below," but it's best to choose your battles carefully.)

Downstairs, Hickory and Dickory watched in stunned amazement as the female pair presented themselves. Dickory snapped himself out of it, leaving Hickory and the author to drool in peace, and got on with the show. He dismissed Ali to her other household duties and began teaching Friday the nuances of phonetics. Friday frowned and interrupted the lesson. "Shouldn't I be wearing clothes by now? I was promised a pretty dress."

Dickory looked sheepish. "Well, while you were up in the bath, I was reviewing my money books and suddenly realized I'm a bit short on pounds right now. I'm afraid I won't be able to afford a dress until the ball in six months." Friday shot a murderous glare at the ceiling, and everyone in the room blinked their eyes as the thin air began to whistle innocently. Friday sighed another heavy sigh and allowed professor Dickory and colonel Hickory to teach her how to speak like a lady.

It was six months of hard, intensive, mental labor. Hickory would teach her during the day, and Dickory would take over in the evenings, keeping her up most of the night. The pair of professors decided that their student needed as few distractions as possible, so they kept her chained up against a wall during her lessons, arms and legs stretched wide. The logic was that she could concentrate better on the phonetics if she didn't have to worry about moving her body. During these lessons, Friday would occasionally groan in frustration and shoot murderous glares at the ceiling.

When the lessons broke for mealtimes, Hickory and Dickory took it upon themselves to feed Friday. Since her hands stayed chained to the wall, they would sit next to her and take turns feeding her. Occasionally something would drip from a spoon and land on her chest, but the pair of professors were quite fastidious and quickly cleaned up any spills with their tongues. Oddly, many of the meals in that house involved an excess amount of honey or chocolate syrup.

Occasionally, Friday would behave unordinarily bad during a lesson, and the two professors would be forced to do something about it. The first time this happened, they unchained Friday and took turns taking her over their knees and spanking her. Ali, cleaning something nearby, decided that this was going too far and spoke up in defense of Friday. Hickory and Dickory decided that Ali had a point- they shouldn't be the ones to punish Friday. From then on, whenever Friday would misbehave too badly, the pair of professors would call for Ali, unchain Friday, bend Friday over Ali's knee, and have the maid spank her. Ali's breasts always jiggled and bounced along with Friday's rear during these punishment sessions, and both women would roll their eyes and silently plot revenge.

During the lessons, Friday would break out every once in a while with a sudden "I'm a good girl, I am!" or "the Rain in Spain falls Mainly on the Plains." The fact that these are the author's favorite quotes from the movies has NOTHING to do with it.

The six months passed, and the night of the ballroom finally arrived. Hickory and Dickory chipped in enough money to buy Friday a perfectly stunning outfit. Ali waved goodbye to the other three as they left the house and silently thanked whatever gods watched over unfortunate yahoo group members for her part in the story being over.

Buckingham palace was an inordinarily snazzy place. Every year, the king and queen would invite a select number of people to the ball in an attempt to find a woman who caught the eye of their son, the prince. Hickory and Dickory led Friday into the ballroom, until the eyes of the three characters fell on the Long Awaited Bad Pun.

The queen had invited Dickory's star phonetics student so she would have a kind of spy at the court. His job was to listen to everyone speak, and from that tell the queen what languages they spoke and where they were born. He was very good at his job, and because he could do it with a variety of languages across Europe, he had an honorary PHD in phonetics. As a result of this, he preferred to go by the name of Doc.

Hickory, Dickory, and Doc all hugged in greeting. They were thrilled to see one another again, but Hickory and Dickory were concerned by Doc's presence. They were afraid the jig would be up if another expert in phonetics heard Friday speak. Dickory looked around worriedly, noticing that for the moment they were safe, because Friday had disappeared.

As soon as Friday saw Doc, she immediately shuffled off to the other side of the room in an attempt to get as far away from the ensuing bad pun as she could. As it happened, this put her within a short radius of the Prince.

Prince Mark was known far and wide as the only prince who had ever taken up surfing as a hobby. Some people wondered why the royal family would allow a surfing prince, and the rumors were confused. It somehow involved physical threats of violence to lowly author, and even worse, threats of extortion by an unnamed muse to the same author who depended on the muse for story ideas. At any rate, it all resulted in surfing being discovered quiet a bit earlier than it should have been, and the British Royal Family boasted the only known surfing prince in history.

Prince Mark immediately approached Friday, who was charmed by his sexy voice, dashing good looks, incredible charisma, perfect hair, suave and stylish sense of fashion, and unbelievably muscular chest. (Note that for SOME muses, there is no such thing as 'laying it on too thick.' <Sigh>)

Prince Mark was in turn captivated by Friday's beauty and perfect speech. The pair spent most of the night dancing, and quickly fell in love.

The queen noticed Prince Mark's sudden infatuation and quickly signaled Doc to investigate her background. The message was never received, however, for just at that moment the three professors were chatting amiably across the room when they all noticed a mouse scurrying across the floor. It shuffled over their shoes and ran towards a large grandfather clock adorning a nearby wall. Before the mouse could run up the clock, Hickory, Dickory, and Doc all gave out long, curdled screams at the continuation of an already incredibly bad pun and ran out of the palace like madmen. The three professors all ran quickly back to Dickory's house, where Ali saw the bad pun and immediately resigned as their maid.

The queen, not having access to any method of researching Friday's background, decided that after waiting so long for Prince Mark to find someone he was interested in, she wasn't about spend years searching for another phonetics professor with an equally bad name. The interviewed with Friday personally, and decided that with such lovely clothes, firm grasp of etiquette, stunning beauty, and perfect speech, Friday had to be duchess from some place or other.

With his mother's permission now granted, Prince Mark asked Friday to marry him. Friday gladly accepted, and was immediately picked up in the Prince's arms and whisked off to begin the honeymoon.

[Hey! The honeymoon is supposed to happen AFTER the wedding!]
[Yeah, but I really liked Fridayyella, and decided there was really no point in waiting.]
[Just remember what happened to the author AFTER Fridayyella, buster!]
[<Gulp> I'll be good, I'll be good! I'm a good boy, I am! Really!]

And with the honeymoon commencing and the wedding date set, everyone lived happily ever after.

~Fin~