 |
|
|
Post By The Hooded Hood explains what happens when you have a sixteen-year old Lisa on the loose Mon Oct 11, 2004 at 11:42:53 am EDT |
Subject
Follies of Youth #3: New and Old Alike | |
|
|
Next In Thread >> | |
| Follies of Youth #3: New and Old Alike Previous and subsequent chapters at the Follies of Youth Archive Page Lisa woke up in an unfamiliar bed. Somehow that seemed normal. Then she realised she was wrapped around a sleeping boy. Her lips formed a surprised O and she jolted to full awakeness. Where was she? Who was he? What the hell had she been drinking last night? But the foremost thought in her mind was: so it’s happened at last. It was inevitable, she supposed. After all, every time she sneaked out, dressed in those skimpy leather outfits to tease the boys and raise Cain she knew she was putting herself on the market. It was only a matter of time before somebody came at her with a line she couldn’t laugh off. Lisa checked the room. Not a motel. More like some kind of stately home, with a big old-fashioned fireplace and framed paintings of horses on the wall. She liked the horses. She spotted her clothes scattered across the floor, except for her panties which were artistically draped from the chandelier. Some male clothing, a tweed suit by the looks of it, was neatly folded on a beside chair. There were empty pots of some kind of dairy product lying on the carpet. Lisa didn’t remember ever eating Kool-Whip, but now she felt a sudden desire for the taste on her tongue. Weird. She almost reached out to run a finger round the rim of a discarded pot so she could try the stuff, before she noticed the handcuffs discarded beside the cartons and a couple of other devices she only ever seen before in Mother Superior’s discipline lessons. Weirder still. Bracing herself, she turned over to take a look at whoever it was she’d given her cherry to. He was very young, surely no older than sixteen like Lisa herself. He had tousled brown hair and the first fuzz of sideburns and moustache self-consciously cultivated on his smooth cheeks. He was quite good looking, in a stocky musclebound way. Lisa could see why she’d gone for him. And being Lisa, she lifted the blanket higher to check out the rest. The movement woke him. “Snuuurrrghhh!” he mumbled, shifting to his side and reaching an arm out. When the hand fell upon soft naked girlflesh his eyes snapped wide open. “Molly?” “No,” said Lisa, slightly miffed. “Try again.” The youth blinked the sleep out of his eyes and stared at the stranger in his bed. “I say!” Lisa clutched the sheet to her chest defensively, although all common sense told her it was probably a bit late for modesty at this stage. “What do you say?” More clues came to her. “You’re English, aren’t you?” Her bedmate looked at her in mingled delight and puzzlement. “You’re not one of the maids, are you?” he realised. “Did… did my father hire you?” Lisa flushed angrily. “Nobody hires me! What do you think I am?” The young man looked abashed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend. But dash it, what’s a chap to think when he wakes up and finds a gal laying in his bed without a stitch on and… this ain’t my bed!” “Well it’s not mine!” Lisa denied. “I really have to learn to hold my drink better.” “Jolly mysterious,” her companion admitted. Then he came to his senses. “Oh, I apologise. I’m being frightfully rude. Introductions. Under the circumstances, may I be so bold as to introduce myself?” “I’m guessing from the stuff over the floor and our state of dishabille you might already have done that,” Lisa noted. “Ah. Yes. Absolutely.” He looked uncertain for a moment. “Did I… get it right?” “I’m Lisa Waltz,” the girl declared, sidestepping the issue that she remembered nothing of the night before. She suspected men might be a bit sensitive about that. “You?” “Oh sorry, yes.” The boy held his hand out. “Wilton. Mortimer Humphrey St George Wilton. My, er, my friends call me Mumphrey.” Lisa giggled in spite of herself, and deigned to clasp the proffered hand. “Any idea where we are at all, Mumphrey?” she asked. “Memory’s a little spotty,” Mortimer Humphrey admitted. “Was expecting to be at home for the half-term hols. In fact today’s my birthday.” “Mine too!” Lisa confessed. “That’s why I esc… why I was out and about last night. I, um, I don’t remember all the details of how we met and… and stuff.” Mumphrey frowned in concentration. “Me either. Worrying. Dashed peculiar.” He shrugged and took charge. “First things first, Miss Waltz. I’m sorry to be so indelicate, but it may be that we’re victims of some kind of bizarre kidnapping plot, don’t y know? Thing is, up to last night at least, were you, um, you know, virgo intacta?” “What?” This Lisa hadn’t yet mastered the Latin required for a law degree. “A maiden,” blushed Mumphrey. “Were you a virgin? If you don’t mind me asking.” “Pretty much,” admitted Lisa. “You know, technically.” Mumphrey carefully lifted the sheets and inspected the mattress. “No sign of blood,” he noted. “Hymen, y’know? Would you have expected…” “I’m not an expert on this like you obviously are,” Lisa retorted. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying that if we’d been lovers I’d have expected there to be some signs of it on the bed. Apart from these, um, dairy stains. Especially if it had been your first… your first occasion so to speak.” “Right. I see what you’re saying,” Lisa admitted. “Good point. So you don’t think we…?” Mumphrey looked a little crestfallen. “Probably not. Which is a dashed shame, you being such an absolute corker, if you don’t mind me commentin’.” He looked as her with a secret little grin and for a moment Lisa was terribly tempted to put matters right then and there. “So you claim not to know how I got here,” she cross-examined instead. “You’re not, for example, part of some sleazy drug and prostitution ring , kidnapping almost-innocent runaways into a life of vice and shame?” “Absolutely not,” Mumphrey denied, shocked, and a little puzzled at the slightly-hopeful way his bedfellow had asked that. “I assure you, Miss Waltz, that if that is what has happened I shall defend you to the uttermost against whatever fiends have brought us here. You have my word on it!” Lisa realised the youngster was absolutely serious. “So these aren’t yours?” she asked, showing him the handcuffs. “Those bounders!” Mumphrey frowned. “We’d better prepare some kind of getaway.” “I guess so. Er, do you want to turn your back while I slip on my clothes?” Mumphrey reluctantly turned away while Lisa slithered into her mini-skirt and bustier. The stockings were shredded so she didn’t bother with them. Her corset was slightly loose at the top, making it hard to keep up. Lisa was surprised to notice it was a bust size higher than she usually took. Then Mumphrey picked up the suit on the chair beside him. “Nice cut, and very soft fabric,” he approved. “But it’s far too loose at the waist.” He cinched his belt in four notches. The shirt seemed very odd, and there was no collar except for the little bit of reinforced fabric attached to the shirt itself. He admired himself in the mirror and noticed Lisa watching his reflection in the glass opposite. “I say,” he complained. “Like you weren’t looking when I was getting dressed!” Lisa scorned. “Miss Waltz, I assure you…” “Don’t assure me, Mumph. Just reach my panties down from the light fitting, will you?” Mumphrey puzzled a little over the glass cones where the candles should have been, but then he was distracted by the gauzy floss he was handing down to Lisa. “What on earth are these?” he wondered, only to be enlightened as Lisa stepped into them and slithered them up her legs. “Those are hardly proper drawers. They don’t cover anything!” “You’re objecting?” smirked the girl. “C’mon, let’s do our big escape.” “But Miss Waltz, where are your outer clothes? If this is a den of vice and inequity it would hardly be safe for you to wander about in those skimpy underthings.” “These are my clothes, Mumph,” Lisa assured him. “What, you’ve not seen standard disco slutwear before?” Mumphrey frowned again. “I’m baffled,” he admitted. “I thought you said you were a maiden? Then why would you be dressed like a streetwalker? Is this some kind of special joke by father? I know he promised me a visit to the East End when I was sixteen, to learn how to rodger, but…” A strange thought dawned on Lisa. “Mumphrey, what year is it?” “Year? What kind of question is that?” “An important one. What year do you think this is?” “It’s ’64,” Mumphrey told her. “1864.” “Whoa. Not even close, sparky,” Lisa warned him. “I’m from the 1990s.” Mumphrey looked stunned for a moment then spoke in very calm, reasonable tones. “Of course it is, Miss Waltz. It’s the 1990s. Yes. Now suppose you just sit down here in the jolly old chair while I go find someone to, um, to look after you, what?” Lisa sighed and flicked on the light switch and the bedside radio. “1990s,” she repeated. “Deal with it.” Mumphrey gaped. “I’m in the future?” And his face split into a great big grin. “By jove!” Lisa couldn’t help but grin back. “Okay, this is getting maximum weird now, but if you’ll believe I’m a 90’s gal I’ll buy that you’re old enough to be my great-great grandfather. And we’d both better find out who brought us here and put us in bed together, and why.” “Perhaps they expected me to take advantage of you?” Mumphrey speculated. “The bounders! As if I would.” “Oh, you seemed to be pretty willing to do some taking,” Lisa admitted. Mumphrey was trying gallantly but his eyes kept following her round the room. She hastily caught her corset again before she gave him even more of an eyeful. “You are perfectly safe with me, Mistress Waltz. I promise.” Lisa wasn’t used to boys of her own age being such a strange combination of confidence and diffidence. “I make no such promises,” she warned him. She stared out of the window to see if that could tell them where they were, but apart from determining she was in a large house overlooking the sea there wasn’t much to help her. Mumphrey began to rummage through the drawers of the room. “Let’s see if we can find any clues here, or perhaps something useful for our escape. Aha!” “Aha?” Lisa asked, craning over to see into the bureau (and having to stop her top slipping again). Mumphrey pulled out a service revolver and an ammunition belt. “Just what we need,” he assured her. “Don’t worry, I’ve trained at school in small arms fire.” “We have those kind of schools here in Parodopolis,” Lisa agreed. “Ah,” Mumphrey sighed in satisfaction as he found a rapier and scabbard. “I can use one of these too.” “My hero,” said Lisa. “I don’t suppose there’s a bullwhip in there, is there, because if so I’m pretty good. Or bad, depending on which end of the lash you’re at.” Mumphrey handed her a newspaper-wrapped bundle containing just such an item. “Wow. Very Indiana Jones,” she commented. “Where?” Mumphrey asked, distracted for a moment by worn photograph albums. Some of the pictures were actually in colour, and a few seemed hauntingly familiar. “Never mind. Hey, did you think to check your pockets? I mean, the pockets of that suit you’re wearing?” Mumphrey hadn’t, so he did that now. “Dashed nice pocketwatch,” he admired, laying aside for now the Chronometer of Infinity. “Pipe, cigars, matchbook, compass, pen-knife, Wisden’s cricketing almanac for… 2004?” Lisa’s head jerked up. “For when?” So Mumphrey wasn’t the only time traveller! “With some rude comments scribbled in the margins,” Mumph observed. “I do that sometimes with my Wisden.” “And a wallet,” Lisa pointed out. “Give it here, let’s see who these clothes belong to.” Inside the old leather fold there was around $8000 and £6000 which Lisa stuffed into her bustier to help it stay up, a strange plastic card with a thumb-panel that she couldn’t get to activate, and half a dozen gold credit cards in the name of Sir Mumphrey Wilton. “That is just dashed odd,” commented the young man, once Lisa had explained credit cards to him. “Why would anybody go to this much trouble to set up such an elaborate scenario around us? What do they want?” “Only one way to find out, buster,” Lisa suggested. “Time to sneak out of here.” Mumphrey shot her a sideways glace. “Kiss for good luck?” he suggested. Lisa grabbed him, pushed him to the wall, and gave him a kiss that scorched his boots and left him red and gasping. “I say!” “You asked,” the amorous pre-advocatrix told him with a little quirk of her eyebrow. “Coming?” It took Mumphrey a moment to realise what she mean, but eventually he followed her as she sneaked out of the bedroom. They were on a rich landing, with a balcony running three sides of an upper level and a staircase descending into a formal reception hall. “Someone’s coming!” Lisa hissed urgently. “Hide!” The youngsters dived into the nearest room and Mumphrey closed the door all but a fraction so he could see who their unknown captor was. The drooling morning-suited hunchback lurched past the bedroom unawares, trailing one foot behind him and muttering laviciously. “Only a vile sinkhole of evil could contain such a brute!” Mumph opined, as Flapjack staggered away. “I’m starting to agree,” Lisa admitted. “Have you seen this room?” Mumphrey looked for the first time. The floor was covered with periodicals, gaudily coloured with strange line drawings, or showing explicit coloured images of young naked women in gynocological positions. There were more such pornographic images on cartons beside an odd glass-fronted cabinet. “Devilish!” said the young Englishman weakly. He steeled himself and took Lisa’s hand. “Miss Waltz, I shall extricate you from this den of vice or die trying!” “I’m not too bothered about the den of vice bit,” his companion assured him. “Although seriously weirded out by the whole situation, I admit. But nobody with a collection of action figures this big can be completely sane.” Mumphrey smiled affectionately at Lisa. “I say, you really are a complete corker, aren’t you? As brave as a chap, but a stunner to boot. Most gels would have fainted or had hysterics by now, what?” “You need to get out more,” Lisa told him. Mumphrey led the way out of CrazySugarFreakBoy!’s room onto the landing, leading the damsel by the hand in case she twisted her ankle or had the vapours or something. Lisa indulgently let him pull her along. There was something rather gallant behind the uncertain earnestness of her would-be rescuer that managed to offset any offence he gave by treating her as the weaker sex. Lisa found herself wondering what it would have been like to just stay in bed with Mortimer Herbert. A green-hued ghost flickered into being before them on the stairs. “Back, foul fiend!” Mumphrey warned it, placing himself between Miss Waltz and danger and lunging forward with his rapier. Hallie looked puzzled as the leader of the Lair Legion thrust a duelling blade through her hologram. “Sir Mumphrey?” she asked uncertainly, realising now that the comm.-card wielder she’d homed in on looked rather different to usual. “As I was about to tell you, we seem to have a problem.” To be continued… Original concepts, characters, and situations copyright © 2004 reserved by Ian Watson. Other Parodyverse characters copyright © 2004 to their creators. The use of characters and situations reminiscent of other popular works do not constitute a challenge to the copyrights or trademarks of those works. The right of Ian Watson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs & Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. |
| Echo™ v2.2 © 2003-2005 Powermad Software |
|
|