50 Shades Of Dave

Chapter 1 – Bait
Dave stepped out of his works van which he had parked badly on the drive, his urgency to get home threw all sense of accuracy out of the window and he ploughed the corner of the lawn and flattened some of the shite plants he bought in the B & Q closing down sale.
He held his mysterious companion with one hand and used his other hand to open the door, soon realising that a key would in fact be better, rather than trying to insert his hand into the tiny key hole.

He pushed the door with his shoulder and marched straight in. A man on a mission he kicked off his scuffed work shoes carelessly and slipped his hotching work feet into his well worn Primark slippers, his shoes lay untidy on the floor, sole face up, displaying the £12.99 Asda George sticker candidly face up for the world to see, “Dirty, cheap, shoes” he thought to himself.

His trusty companion Snoopy bounded down the stairs and greeted him with the usual enthusiasm as he did every night. He jumped circles, wagging his tail, before nestling his head into Dave’s testicles- longer than was really deemed acceptable, had Snoopy been a human man, he’d be sparked out on the floor missing many of his teeth, however it had been many years since Snoopy had testicles of his own, so Dave allowed him to feel the comforting bulge of two intact pods for a while longer before luring him away with the promise of a biscuit.

With Snoopy distracted Dave wasted no time in throwing his companion onto the bench. He tore, rather than unwrapped the paper from it, upon ripping strips off the package the smell hit him instantly, pungent, unmistakable, Fish.

Battered, golden and more inviting than anything he had seen that day, the fish lay on it’s bed of chips, tail slightly curled up. “Cheeky thing” Dave thought.

Snapping out of the intoxicating gaze he found himself hearing the fish in his head “Stop, you’ll have to use a Condiment”. The fish was right, it was wrong not to, for all it may delay the moment to which he had thought of constantly since picking it up on the way home it was only right to do this properly.

Dave grabbed the ketchup from the cupboard, popped the cap and squeezed it firmly whilst gently shaking, sending overwhelmingly beautiful arcs of red sauce over the fish and it’s companion chips, for a moment he thought he could hear it sigh, or maybe that was himself.

He picked up the fish and chips marched them to the table, not even waiting to sit down before scoffing two of the larger chips on the short journey. At the table, he devoured the fish with a ferocity that scared even himself, fuck knows what the fish was thinking.
All the time both Dave and the fish were aware of someone watching them, it was Snoopy, but neither of them cared, if anything it added to the danger and excitement of the moment, the constant threat that someone might try to grab a chip during the furious feast that was taking place.

It felt like it was over in minutes. But the length of the encounter did not matter, for Dave was satisfied.

Dave sank back in his chair, spent. The fish was gone, and all that was left of the chips were the really shite sharp ones that threatened to lacerate your throat should they be eaten.

There was a silence now, interrupted only by an enormous climatic man belch, which served as a signal to all that the devouring was complete. The air was still, and thick with grease smells. Dave wasn’t sad that fish was gone, they had shared something special that both of them knew couldn’t last for ever, a consumption neither of them had experienced before.

There would be other fish, as they say, plenty more left in the sea.

“Come on snoopy” Dave said. “You can have these sharp dangerous chips for being a good boy”

7 thoughts on “50 Shades Of Dave

  1. Thanks for visiting my “carnival,” Dave. I like your style. I love British history, movies, music, and geography, but have often struggled with British comedy. Yours is “spot on,” though (is that British or Aussie-speak?). Once I understood what “Wellingtons” are, and that fish and chip consumption can make one’s toes curl, I was over the hump. Keep up the good work!
    Cheers, mate! (is that British or Aussie-speak?)

    Like

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