Just as he began to push the ring onto her finger, a huge crash and the scattering of glass sounded as Pete from next door hurled himself through the oldest and finest of the stained glass windows, failing to halt proceedings by more than ten minutes and subjecting himself to a night in hospital, during which time the bride and groom had a marathon session of hard sex with her being treated to a copious serving of thick cum.
He was in Liverpool! Oh, God, no. No!
The hand cupping his sack was wrinkled with age, but still it gave him that spunking feeling and oh, God, no, he’d just seen her face for the first time and now he was flaccid, flaccider even than her sagging cheeks, and now he imagined her collapsed old titrack, and then the rest, and he shuddered with horror. No way was he going to cream one off now. The load had run for cover and wouldn’t be coming out until this lubricious crone had been ejected (slowly, because of her knees) from not only his office but the whole area around the Pentagon.
“Stop biting your nails!” she screeched as she slipped between two dimensions.
“I never liked her. I never liked that fucking bitch,” she sneered cattily as she disappeared into the void.
The whistle blew again and they had to end their embrace. She kissed him one last time on the lips and tried to smile as she let him go. He backed away, waving, then turned and jogged to jump onto the train as it began to steam away. An older couple just near them had gone through the same wistful routine. The old man broke from his loved one too, and ran to leap onto the train, but he had left it a moment too late, and even as he tried to muster a sprint, the carriage door moved just ahead of him. He ran faster than he thought possible, but he was losing ground, and as he frantically tried to catch any handhold he ran over a dozing dog, fell onto a most unfortunately-placed oil slick and slid sideways under the train, the wheels running over and through him, mangling his flesh and bones, rendering him an unsalvageable mess and, to cap it all off, drawing from his sagging rear a huge, noxious grunt and, the subsequent silence suggested, a thick final turd to complete the morbid humiliation.
As he realised with dread that gravity was taking over, he tried to grasp at some kind of handhold, but couldn’t get any purchase and tumbled with a panicked yelp off the huge heap of binbags, expecting to hit the hard floor but instead landing in the total darkness on more bin bags, from which he fell onto more below, and still more, unable to see where they ended or prepare for the moment when he would meet something solid, which not even the bags contained, every one being stuffed full with a squelchy melange of beans, putrid chicken offcuts and amazingly heavily-laden nappies and tampons.
He had been repeatedly told that ‘always be moving forward’ was the key tenet of freerunning, yet he found it increasingly difficult to do so as both his ankles shattered, he crumpled awkwardly between two buildings, his screams of agony were unheeded, and darkness fell.
He delved deep into her flanginal cavework, rooting around for a good place to deposit his spunk, finding one, unloading with a guttural growl, and then falling asleep on top of her before fouling himself just as he suffered a massive brain haemorrhage.
She was peeling and chopping parsnips at a stupendous rate, already sitting by a pile way too big for all of them to eat, and still doing more, and more, and more. Still, at least it took her mind off the ferocious rectal pounding she’d taken the night before, which had left her severely ruptured and two hundred florins worse off, the gigolo having insisted on a higher fee than usual because the age difference was greater than eighty years.