Mental Health Stories #4

Petra was an interior designer and sometimes she had to go away for a couple of days to visit clients. This time she had to travel to Northumberland, but the firm’s van driver, Bill, had kindly offered to take her there, as part of his delivery round.
“Isn’t it a bit out of your way Bill?” she enquired.
“Only a hundred miles or so, love, but I enjoy taking people for a ride.”
She was mildly surprised when he turned up in his own car the following morning, dressed in an all white three piece suit, polka dot cravat, gold fob watch and chunky silver rings.
“You look wonderful Bill.”
“Yes.” he said.
The car was quite a sight too, resplendent in wide wheels, England F.C. Flags, 12” diameter exhaust and flashy white paintwork which perfectly matched Bill’s teeth.
“Ooooh! What a fantastic car. It must have cost a packet.”
“Well, they were full strength Woodbines” he replied, looking a little put out.
“Is it a Ferrari?”
“Er…of course….. It’s a rare Ferrari Reliant actually.”
“Oh. Why has it only got one wheel at the front?”
“Ah! A modern design feature to aid streamlining, Petra. Formula One cars will probably have it next year.”
“You are clever. And so rich.”
“Well, yes, but I’ll be even richer when I move into F1 myself. The offer’s on the table. Mummy says it’s a good idea.”
“I’m surprised you’re still living at home Bill.”
“Oh, it’s only temporary while the old girl’s poorly. I’m a family man at heart.”
“I wish Chris was a family man…..”
“That insufferable, odious, obnoxious fiend!” he interrupted. “Although it’s not my place to say” he added mildly, looking like an endearing teddy bear.
“…he’s not quite that bad. Er…..shall we get off now?”
“Indeed” he winked. “Would you like to go all the way?”
“Perhaps we can stop at Whitby for a break?”
For a second, Bill’s perfect grinning mouth seemed to include a pair of two inch canines and his widow’s peak appeared to move just a little closer to his nose. A classic double-take from Petra instantly dispersed this illusion, however, and the car roared into life.
“Will I have to push it every time?” panted Petra.
“Just a minor technical glitch. These thoroughbred vehicles are a touch temperamental at times. Mummy says it’s the sign of a good car.”
“Oh. I’ve never met your mum have I?”
“She very rarely moves from her rocking chair at the Motel. But being a family man. I’m hoping to meet a woman who’ll appreciate her taciturn nature and encourage her to eat again….er…..more.”
The moors whipped by as Bill topped forty downhill, leaving his pursuers behind in a cloud of dense blue-black smoke. Petra sank down into the luxurious plywood bucket seats and contemplated her prospects. Bill was so long and thin, he was hard to resist and, of course, Jack the Ripper would be far preferable to Chris, so what was holding her back?
It was Bill’s left arm, slowly going through the alphabet on her spine.
“Just a chaste and platonic massage, my dear” he leered.
Yes, he was very attractive and obviously trustworthy. Perhaps this was her chance for the big time; seven Oxbridge children, malaria guaranteed foreign holidays, a cosy twenty bedroomed chateau in Times Square, more exotic motors, and the indescribable joy of Bill’s perfumed crutch every day of her life. Yes! Yes! She would go for it, given half a chance.
And that gear stick looked so phallic.
After a quick stop for refreshments at Whitby, during which Bill donned oversized. impenetrable sunglasses and sipped red wine, they resumed their journey at a more sedate pace. The radio gave up after a large spring burst through the dashboard, but Bill proved himself an excellent conversationalist and travelling companion, as Petra knew he would.
“The sun’s dazzling me Bill.”
“Yes, I’m a candidate for the UK space programme. Mummy says I’ll be brilliant at it.”
“Oh, look at those lovely cows.”
“You’re right. I might be better off running several farms in Wales. Mummy would love it.”
“What do you think of the spending cuts?”
“Well. If I’m elected next year, I’ll definitely consider the question…….or mummy will anyway.”
“Ummmm.” sighed Petra. He was perfect.
And so long and thin.
Petra had booked into a hotel overlooking Lindisfarne and Bill didn’t need a second invitation when she invited him up to her room for a coffee. Expecting a degree of token resistance he gently cupped her innocent face and murmured a litany of well-rehearsed endearments.
Petra hurled the door shut and bounded across the room. Leaping like a professional wrestler, she pinned Bill to the bed and ripped his waistcoat apart with two savage jerks.
“I’m mad for it Bill, wild, lewd and desperate. I want to slobber and slurp all over your quivering body. I want to suck the nipples clean off your chest and devour your…..”
“Steady on, old girl!”
“But first ……I’m going to give you a massive, throbbing erection.”
“I’ve already got one. Can’t you see?”
“What? Oh…..well size isn’t everything, Bill. Chris has an absolute tree trunk, but it’s you I want. You’re so long and thin.”
“Chris! That miserable, vile, inhuman bag of shite!” he shrieked “Although it’s not really my place to say.”
“Take me! Take me!”
“Oh very well. I’ll just check with mummy to make sure it’s all right.”
Sharing a romantic window seat the following morning, they gazed at the waves gently lapping Holy Island.
“Oh, this is such a holy place, Bill.”
“Yes, indeed. I’ve discovered three already.” he winked.


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