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NNTP-Posting-Date: Tue, 17 Nov 2009 11:55:43 -0600
From: teddyren <mark18@ekit.com>
Newsgroups: alt.adult.stories.text
Subject: THE VESTIGE OF THE SHREW
Date: Tue, 17 Nov 2009 17:55:42 -0000
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===================
Hi,
I was just wondering what folk here thought of Mark Thomas's "The
Vestige of the Shrew"? I've just seen it and reckon it's brilliant.
I'd love to hear some other opinions. Sareena Majewska is awesome in
it and the excerpt from "Shon's Diary" which accompanies it goes some
way to making sense of what I think is really a porno mystery. Weird
but very watchable and sexy.
Excerpt from "Shon's Diary":
"The shrew arrived at just the right time for me. I was just a dog-
end she spotted in the gutter - she picked me up, re-lit me, and
smoked me right down to the butt. OK, I'm a spent nub all the time
now that it's over - all I seem to do is grub around obsessively
looking for remnants of the kicks we got together, but I wouldn't have
missed that fortnight for the world, and I'll probably carry on
dancing to her tune when she decides to call me and send me on some
wild goose chase for the rest of my days.
Sorry, I'd better fill in the background for all you jizz jockeys
(like you fucking care!). I'd taken a month out of my boring life and
was starting it off with a ten day stretch in a cheap hotel in a big
dirty sprawling western town. I'd done this kind of thing before when
the normality got too weird - weird in a bad way, I mean - just lock
myself down with a load of booze, porn, and a selection of choice
candy. Self-medication, all us no-hopers from outer space are doing it
these days. I dunno, when it's time for a self-indulgent binge, I
really enjoy the anonymity of those worn-out fuckpad hotels - lieing
on the sagging bed in the afternoon smoking, watching the flies buzz
around, listening to the other sad case next door flushing his loo, or
vomiting at midnight, or trying to make it with one of the skanky hos
endlessly arriving and leaving, the swish-swish of their fat thighs
brushing together as they prowl up and down the halls all night
heading for the next trick, or leaving the last one sobbing on his bed
'cos he was too drunk to come. The endless muffled arguments behind a
hundred partition walls, punctuated regularly with that sudden dull
thump or smash, yell, slam of door, tears, the sound of the police
radios coming and going - an immediate but removed kind of voyeurism I
guess - listening to and breathing in that dull fucking blend of human
shittiness day and night would eventually start to dissolve the bad
weirdness. That and the candy.
I was, in fact, lieing there off my proverbial tits soaking in the
sounds of this lowlife orchestra of despair, and planning my next
wank, when she walked straight on in with a pass key, bold as brass,
followed by a guy in a boiler suit hauling the big fuck-off hoovery
thing for washing all the crap and disease out of the carpet. I
thought she was hotel staff at first, smartly dressed in her black
skirt and heels, crisp white blouse. She apologised for the cockup
and sent the monkey on to do some other room. I didn't get a good
look at him but I think it was Renoir now 'cos he grunted something at
her in Scottish before he fucked off. Giving the room the quick once
over she sussed my game and turned straight on to me. Just like
that. Bummed a ciggy, sat down and started chatting. Tuning into a
fellow nutjob. I built her a spliff and she soon started telling me
all her weird shit. Turned out the carpet-cleaning bizz was the day
job. Apparently she was raking in the real big money doing corporate
bukakke parties - I'd heard of all that team building management
bullshit before, I guess this was working out cheaper for the suits
than all those paintballing weekends, two hours in a hotel room with
that slut and the boys really got to know one another - it was mostly
mortgage firms, hedge fund managers, that kind of verminous scum - the
shiniest shit on the pile back then. And the carpet sucking machine,
what a little entrepreneur, eh? Funny that - I only twigged later on
- the one weekend she'd be on death row in some sleazy hotel going
before a different firing squad of dicks every few hours, and the next
she'd be back at reception in her business clothes, horn-rimmed
glasses, hair in a bun, clipboard in hand, touting for Renoirs
Industrial cleaning service. Talk about creating your own markets.
Mind you it took some serious kit to get all that dodo jizz out of the
carpet. There ain't much meat in that office spongle, it's all
starch - hard to get out. She sure got the laptop boys' weedy arms
pumping with her antics though. A huddle of swiss watches and argyle
socks hunched over watching her messy little display. She really
enjoyed lowering herself into the nastiest little spunk spitoon ever.
Proud of it. There's nothing that piece of shit wouldn't or couldn't
do to make a man lose his muck. Actually, looking back, I think she
had cash targets to meet for Renoir and his boys or they wouldn't be
pleased with her, so she'd draw it out, mop it up, draw it out, mop it
up, round and round. The more volume dumped and then removed the
better. But there's no doubting she was a compulsive slut. I knew
that within two minutes of knowing her. I gave her a
whack on my little bottle, although even if I hadn't I'm sure she'd
still have pulled my dick out within the first half hour of knowing
her. So began a fortnight of crazed debauchery - we just clicked -
knew we had to play every game once then go our separate ways. It was
a recreational-drug-fuelled random randy rollercoaster road trip with
that cunt extraordinaire Renoir somewhere out of shot but always in
the back of her mind. I think I was her annual holiday. She told me
all along she'd have to get back with him, said he knew how to look
after her. Of course, being an asshole, I thought I could track them
down and enter their little world. That ended in a comprehensive not-
welcome-here beating. I should be grateful, at least she arranged for
me to pick up this little keepsake movie. Said I could find it back
at one of our old stomping grounds. That's why, as a dirty fucking
bastard myself I got so obsessed with her dirty cuntiness. That's why
I was walking around here in the middle of nowhere like a goon,
looking for a DVD which probably didn't even exist. But I knew that
if I did find it I was in for a great evening on the couch with my
pecker oiled up and straining at the leash......"