The International Writers
The Adventures of Guy Block
Guy Block walked briskly across the windswept concrete square
that was optimistically called a piazza at an incredibly
early hour of the day he knew that what lay ahead for him did
not bode well.
The fact that Anarchic Anna, the resident tramp or bag lady
of Hopemouth University who enrolled in its first glorious year back in
the 60s and had remained ever since, though no one knew why, wandering
its environs with multiple blue plastic carrier bags, drunk, stoned or
just plain bonkers, proceeded to point and cackle at him as he passed,
was certainly his very own hides of march. He turned to look
at her and felt a chill run through his bones that was surely not just
down to the weather. With a jolt of his head he turned and continued his
It was a rare day out for Guy. He was going to travel across the country
to another decrepit failing University and deliver a paper on the stylistics
of pain and despair in English Literature. Something Guy felt he was a
justified expert in as he had certainly known some pain and despair in
his time. And today would be no exception. Already he was rushed and stressful,
he had barely shaved allowing for sparse smatterings of blonde and grey
stubble to still permeate his chin and he had chosen to wear a turtleneck
pullover that was uncomfortably itchy.
As he finally reached his beloved MG, he realised that the first of many
mistakes was surely in inviting along a student of his for the trip. A
rather gorgeous, delectable young female by the apt name of Tottie Love,
with whom Guy had enjoyed some rather vigorous nights with. It was indeed
one such night that Guy asked her to come along with him, an offer he
had regretted ever since. She was also it was worth noting a student of
some merit and a keen musical fan; having had several reviews appear in
The NME. Sadly for Guy this meant that some of these vigorous nights involved
less of the horizontal tango and more of the hopping up and down and tempting
a blown eardrum in dingy cellars where loud and annoying music was played
live by spotty slobbering idiots professing to be the band
This was not exactly enjoyable for Guy, for although he was indeed a music
fan of longstanding, he could even remember when Glastonbury was all fields,
he preferred his audio tucking in of an evening to be a haunting Dylan
song or a wistful jazz record before dozing off in the comfort of his
own bed. Girl optional.
Still, these live acts he had to suffer to ensure he did get a chance
of sleeping with the NME
Read it back quickly now.
There she was, leaning her trim figure onto his MGs passenger side,
reading one of her own articles and chewing bubblegum, a finger curling
her glossy blonde hair. She was clearly adorable, though ever so bloody
annoying, and Guy realised as he greeted her that he was in for a very
long road trip. "Youre late" she offered helpfully with
the barest of glances in his direction. "I know" he apologised
With a quick peck on the cheek he slumped into the car, selected Alan
Prices O Lucky Man CD, and revved off, hoping for the best.
It was not to be.
Guy began the journey by attempting to explain to Tottie how important
the day was to him. That he considered it an honour to be asked by the
notable Prof Worth to give a paper, especially as Prof Worth was quite
a high flyer. He was mockingly known as Self Worth in academic
circles, on account of his ability to talk majestically and at length
on a variety of subjects, that would essentially all revert back to himself
to an enrapt audience. He was often described by colleagues as an assured
man, very confident, and balls out
Though this troubled Guy, as he had never felt very confident with his
Tottie nodded her way through Guys speech before metaphorically
kicking him in said balls by innocently enquiring "So why did they
ask you to give this paper?"
With a heavy sigh Guy explained that he was not first choice, and that
his good friend Prof Emma Latimer had passed on the opportunity, suggesting
Guy might like to take her place.
Emma Latimer was something of a puzzle to Guy, in that she was a deeply
attractive, witty and erudite woman whom he would dearly love to conquer,
but for some reason this would never be. The reason being that for Emma,
Guy was simply a good friend.
Now, this is just wrong. Women having a man as their best friend struck
Guy as somewhat akin to being invited to a job interview where you are
told you are simply by far and away the best candidate, but that they
wont ever employ you. No, they will instead offer the vacancy to
a drunk, unreliable and potentially violent candidate who will eventually
leave before a succession of similar wastrels take up the job role. The
unsuccessful candidate however will be expected to be somewhat content
to know that his CV will be the one that is constantly held up by the
employer as the template for the prospective workforce on how they should
be and that said unlucky candidate will also be expected to answer the
telephone at several opportunities to hear the employer bemoan of their
latest recruit and how they cant find someone like you, and wished that
they could find someone like you, though not of course, you. That would
Guys reverie was broken off as he realised that Tottie was informing
him that they were stuck in a deeply unpromising looking traffic jam on
the motorway. This was not good. He felt a shiver run down his back and
into his bottom. With a panicked look at his watch he closed his eyes
tight and cursed whatever God had decided to piss on him from on high.
Relax he told himself; theres plenty of time. No need for a panic
An hour later and they had barely moved. Tottie, a delight in the bedroom,
was proving a pain of a passenger. Guy could feel the blood run through
his veins as she twittered on.
"Oh look at that over there" she said
"What?" Guy replied through clenched teeth. Realising that she
had the most appalling voice. It grated on him immensely. He recalled
her recital of Blake in class, God that was awful, but at least that day
she had the good grace to not wear a bra and stand by the window affording
him an excellent view of her nipples.
"That old car, you like old cars, whats that one?" it
droned on in reply.
A momentary glance in the direction revealed it to be a rather good example
of an Aston Martin DBS from the early 70s. Guy informed of this fact and
watched her brain take it in slowly.
"Have you ever had one? There supposed to be really good arent
"What?" Guy asked incredulously
"A Martin, have you ever had one? Theyre dead classy arent
Jesus Christ on a bike on Boxing Day Guy thought. Can someone be so monumentally
stupid? Guy corrected her as patiently as he could, which wasnt
"Theyre Astons you dim-witted bint, not Martins, Astons!"He
withdrew his face from hers and forcefully twisted himself back into the
driving position. Martin I mean honestly come on, Guy smouldered to himself,
how could someone think a graceful panther of an automobile would be called
a Martin? Martin suggests some wimpy, snivelling ginger type dwarfish
in stature who likely as not would give a parking ticket to an Aston.
He had come to a decision, one quite rare in his life; he must lose the
The opportunity presented itself some twenty minutes later when the traffic
calmed and they crawled to a service station, Guy suggested she run in
and bring back some sweets to eat on the long journey. As her beautiful
back and behind encased in a long red Mac faded from view he speed off
at great haste. Already he felt better and calmer. A panic attack had
been averted. With a sigh of relief he turned the radio on and up. The
song playing was The Polices Dont Stand So Close To Me,
a rather apt song on two fronts, in that its detailing of student
and teacher lust mirrored Guys life, and also Tottie, ever the music
fan, once suggested that Guy looked not unlike the drummer from the band.
With good cheer restored and an only slight nagging feeling that he was
late, Guy smirked as he contented himself that Tottie would forgive him
his abandoning of her and that vigorous nights would occur once more.
He began to drum along on the steering wheel, unaware of the ominous black
clouds rolling over the hills.
Eventually the stretch of motorway that lay promising ahead became increasingly
hard to see as the rain bounced down with all the alarming force of Dawn
French on a trampoline. To make matters worse, the heavy rainfall reminded
Guys bladder that it was rather full and in need of unloading. With
some annoyance he moved further and further across lanes until eventually
he saw ahead a quiet lay by that looked suitable to pull in for the operation
of pulling out.
Slamming the car door shut Guy tugged his tweed jacket close around him
and hunched his shoulders up to make his neck disappear, which is of course
the internationally accepted and completely futile action we all make
when faced with being out in a downpour. He began to hop across to the
lay bys end with a distressing feeling that water was coming in through
his Cuban heels.
It was with great relief that Guy unzipped his trousers and urinated freely
into the bushes below. He breathed out deeply and was momentarily distracted
by the sight of his breath billowing in the cold air. It was indeed very
windy out too, unbearably the rain kept slanting into his body from every
direction. He needed to get back in the dry so he willed his willy to
cease sometime soon.
Suddenly as he was almost finished a huge articulated lorry juggernauted
passed the lay by, the full force of which sent a sheet of icy cold filthy
rainwater up the legs and back of Prof Block which ultimately sent him
off balance and still freely unzipped, into the bushes.
Unfortunately, the said bushes consisted of large stinging nettles that
attacked Guys offered penis causing Guy to swear at the top of his
voice as the unbearable stinging pain inflicted what he treasured most.
It certainly brought tears to his eyes, not that you could see with all
Thankfully nature provides and Guy hurriedly, or as hurriedly as he could
with trousers now round his ankles and trailing through puddles, found
himself some neighbouring dock leaves. Clutching at a few he proceeded
to wrap his sore member with them and rub at it to ease the pain.
It was an alarming sight for the drivers and passengers on the motorway
that day to see a middle-aged man hop from foot to foot in a lay by in
the pouring rain apparently relieving himself sexually with the aid of
a selection of leaves whilst howling to the elements no doubt in depraved
ecstasy. Some drivers and passengers would point in abject horror, others
would point and laugh, some attempted to shield small childrens
eyes whilst others in that typically British way would pretend that they
had not seen anything and would look ahead determinedly, keeping their
eyes on the road.
One car pulled up to assist. Sadly this car was one fitted with flashing
blue lights and a siren that whooped once lamely in deference to its duty.
Did I say assist? Sorry I meant arrest.
Guy Block was later let out of the local police station some hours later,
dejected and hurt in more ways than one, still he was thankful for the
TCP cream and the offer of a plaster. No charge was brought forward to
the embarrassed Block, but a good deal of merriment was brought to the
constabulary in attendance; as well as the occasional wince and there
but for the grace of God sentiment that most males would no doubt
Needless to say Guy did not make it to give his paper, but as he traipsed
off to his waiting MG for home with a painful throb in the trouser department,
the onset of a cold brought on by his soaked attire and the laughs still
ringing in his ears, Guy felt assured that if anyone was an expert in
pain and despair it was surely him.
© Mark Cunliffe March 2007
Block: Guy Block gets some libido therapy
was a crisp January morning at Hopemouth University.
All was normal.
Ill make it
The man was running, fast and hard, his heart in his mouth and his lungs
ablaze, he tore through the undergrowth ignoring the long stinging nettles
that attacked his entire frame...
Sin and biscuits
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