Get Ballsack!

[Terry Ballsack]

**Mature Content**

‘You’ve been a very naughty boy, and you know what happens to naughty boys, don’t you?’

‘Yes mistress!’

‘Well, come along then, pants down and get over my knee.’

I did as I was told, and she started to slap my buttocks. Her hand was firm and brought down with force, each blow accompanied by a loud smacking sound and some stinging.

‘What’s this I can feel on my thigh? Is the naughty boy getting aroused? Is the naughty boy a dirty boy with a hard pee-pee?’

‘Yes mistress.’

‘Up, up and let’s see what the naughty dirty boy has between his legs.’

I stood up. Well, in truth I might be flattering myself with that comment. I sort of struggled into an upright stance as best an overweight and unfit man in later middle age could. I probably made a bit of a grunting sound as I rose. Yes, it happens to us all. One day we’re young, fit and lithe, and the next we’ve gone to the dogs, paying a plain-looking Polish woman to spank our arses.

She shifted on her throne to take a closer look at my e******n. When I say throne, it was actually a plastic chair, the type you find in cheap cafes, with a grubby sheet draped over it. The room was gloomy, with a dark sheet fixed over the window with drawing pins. In one corner was an old ironing board, again festooned with a stained sheet, masquerading as a bar. In another corner was a stained mattress. Ironically, it was the only thing in the room that wasn’t covered with a sheet.

She had advertised her services in the window of a nearby newsagents. She described it as a fantasy experience. You needed a good imagination to get the best of it. Still, what could you expect for £25 and a bottle of Lambrusco?

She had hold of my old chap now and was working at it, pulling me closer as she slightly opened her legs to show off her fanny. For a split second I had the urge to run, but I’d already paid her so I figured I might as well see it through and get my jollies. I often had a moment of self-loathing. Maybe that was part of the thrill, although as she worked harder, muttering about how I was naughty and dirty, I had a real desire to be in the pub with a cold beer and a hot pie and chips.

Sensing my inner distraction, she asked, ‘Are you okay, dirty boy? Doesn’t Mummy turn you on?’

‘No mistress. I mean yes, mistress. I was just trying not to make a mess all over you.’

‘Don’t worry, make a mess, you dirty naughty messy boy.’

In the corner of the room, a bugle started playing frantically. The William Tell overture. It always was the theme to the Lone Ranger for me, and my ring tone. She stopped jerking my winkle and looked at me quizzically.

‘Sorry mistress, it’s my phone. Let me just get it.’

I was too distracted. I wasn’t going to have a happy ending, so I figured I might as well cut my losses to go for that pint. I hooked the phone out of my pocket. The number was blocked but I decided to answer it anyway. If I didn’t she might have another go at my d**k and I’d lost the mood, as well as the erection!

‘Hello?’

‘Is that Terry Ballsack?’

‘Speaking.’

‘Ballsack, you’re a dead man!’

[mark wilson27]

Welcome to FMS Terry, just a quick note regarding this opening post. If there is going to be mature posting please let readers know with a warning like I've edited into your OP.

[Terry Ballsack]

** Mature Content **

Steve was already sitting at the bar in the Mother Red Cap when I arrived. He spotted me as I meandered towards him, navigating a path between the suited city workers and the shabby hipster flotsam that washed in off the streets at lunchtime. By the time I reached him a pint was waiting.

‘There you are, Terry, a drink for the hunted man.’

‘Thanks, but it’s not funny.’

‘Not for you, granted, but for me it’s hysterical. Terry Ballsack, the bane of Camden Town, with a price on his head. So, who’s after you? The Mafia, jihadists, a spurned lover, Russian spies, that crippled bloke at the Buck’s Head?’

‘What crippled bloke?’

‘Two weeks ago, he annoyed you because he reckoned you’d farted, so when we left you chucked his walking stick into the fire.’

‘Him? Come on, he wouldn’t have known who did it, and he certainly wouldn’t be able to get my phone number.’

‘Maybe he did his research, he’s tracking you down, waiting for his time before he pounces.’

‘Well, I’m glad I arranged to meet you because I knew I could count on you for support. So, are you just here to take the rise?’

Steve laughed and waved his hand, indicating I should calm down. I felt like punching him in the face, but I knew he was probably the only person who’d be willing to help. I waited until the last traces of a smirk had left his face before speaking.

‘I’ve racked my brains but I can’t think of anyone I’ve upset.’

‘What?’ Steve shouted in mock surprise. ‘Terry, I can’t think of anyone you haven’t upset. If someone did bump you off I reckon the police would give up before they’d even started, because there would be so many suspects, including every single one of them at the Nick. If we think about people you’ve hacked off, we’ll be here till next Sunday. Right, who do you owe money to?’

‘No one.’

‘Really?’

‘Honestly; no one.’

‘Bullsh*t, you owe me money for a start.’

‘Okay, there’s you. That’s all. Well, I probably owe Wendy a few quid too. Then there’s one-eyed Geoff at the off-licence, and I’ve exhausted my tab with Salim at the Ace High club. I probably need to repay a few of guys I play poker with, and the Chinese bookie. Look, okay, I might not be in the best of financial health, but I can’t see any of them being so angry they’d threaten me. It can’t be money, and it can’t be love, because ... well, just because.’

‘Still paying for it?’

‘I prefer it that way.’

‘So Wendy said. You know, at times, I can’t believe what a screw-up you really are.’

We sat and sipped our pints for a while in silence. Steve checked his watch a few times as if he had to be somewhere else, and when I offered him another drink he said, ‘Okay, one swift one and we’ll see what we can do about the latest Ballsack balls-up.’

The problem I faced was that I couldn’t think of a single reason why anyone would threaten me, let alone want to kill me. Sure, I wasn’t always rapid to repay debts, and my humour did rub a few people up the wrong way, but none of that deserved violence; not as far as I could see. Maybe if I could just get away for a bit, disappear for a short time, then maybe things would settle down.

Steve listened as I prattled on, and when I stopped talking he sat still, eyes focused on some mid-air point. I knew he was thinking, so I shut up and let him do it. Eventually he sighed and looked at me. I know he had a solution, and while he was reluctant to say it, it was a solution of some type and that was all that mattered to me.

‘Look, Terry, I’ve got a bit of business that needs looking after. I was going to have to shift some stuff around to fit it in, but maybe you could do it for me.’

‘Sure, anything. Just say the word!’

He seemed reluctant, so I tried not to grin like an idiot. He had to trust me.

‘I’ve got some stuff that needs delivering to a guy I know in Dobrich in Bulgaria. He’s a bit old school so prefers things done in person.’

‘I hope you don’t expect me to swallowing a bunch of condoms filled with smack. Is this thing legal?’ I asked, somewhat tongue in cheek. Steve was an old friend, and I’d never known him do anything dodgy.

‘Of course it's legal. It’s just some antique costume jewellery I bought in a lot at auction. My friend specialises in that sort of thing and he can get good prices from buyers in the Middle East. All you have to do is take him the stuff, let him check it out, wait around for a while so he can liaise with his customers, and then either leave it with him or bring it back, dependent upon what he wants to do with it.’

‘Hang on. Does this mean I’ve got to deal with making sure he pays? I don’t want to be responsible...’

Steve laughed. ‘Hell no. He’s a friend, so I don’t want you hacking him off. Just take the stuff to him, wait for his decision, and then either leave it there or bring it back.’

‘It sounds too easy.’

‘Terry, mate, you’re getting carried away. This isn’t some secret deal or million dollar scam. I thought you just wanted to be off the streets of Camden for a while. If I go I’ll lose work, I’ll have to make it up to the missus and kids, and to be honest I’d rather be at home in my own bed. It is easy because, well, it’s easy. It just costs time, and time is about the only thing you have. I’ll cover your expenses. It’ll be like a little break while whoever is p*ssed off with you calms down.’

‘Okay, when do I go?’

Steve drained his pint and replied, ‘As soon as possible really. We’ll nip to my office and I can book a flight online. Once you get into town, head to the football ground. At the main gate there’s a bar on the opposite side of the road, and next to that is Borislav’s antique shop. It’s easy to find.’

Things had worked out well. I could disappear for a few days, have a short holiday, enjoy some beer and football, and who knows; I might even be able to pull a flanker and make a few quid myself. Happy days. I drained my glass and we headed out.

As he reached the door, Steve turned and said, ‘Please, Terry, this is my work and my friend, and my money too. Please, please, don’t f*ck it up!’

I smiled at him and replied, ‘Steve, Terry Ballsack is on the case. What could go wrong?’

[tenthreeleader]

Thanks for understanding about content. Carry on. So to speak.

[Cheesey1975]

lets see what this brings

[jdoyle9293]

Got a good laugh out of the opening post - sounded like a Yorkshire version of Eyes Wide Shut.

[Terry Ballsack]

** Mature Content **

The air ticket was booked for a few days time. I went home and laid low. Well, I spent a fair bit of time drinking cans of warm lager and going at myself over an old copy of Shaven Ravers. I just had to wait for Steve and the final instructions, and I was off on my holidays! Okay, I was supposed to be working for Steve, but it was still a holiday of sorts. The following evening he popped round. I tried to get him to sit down and have a beer, but he didn't seem too happy to be in my flat. We usually either met as his or in the pub. I think it was the first time he'd been inside Chez Ballsack.

He made me show him the air ticket again. He was insistent in case I'd lost it or tried to sell it. Then he gave me a small battered leather briefcase and a rather full looking brown envelope. I started to joke about it, but he held up his hand to indicate I should stop talking. He looked stressed, unhappy, even slightly angry.

'Right, Terry, this case...' he pointed to it, as if I'd think he was talking about anything else. 'Don't let it out of your sight. When you get there, put in in the hotel safe. Then go and find Borislav. Once you've gone and made sure he's ready, then fetch it from the safe and take it to him. There's a key in the envelope, along with some Euros to keep you going. Never put the key and the case together, until you're with Borislav. There's enough cash there to cover the return trip and living expenses. Get a receipt for everything. I'm going to want any money left over returned. I'm not joking, mate. If you mess around then I'll kill you. Your mystery stalker will be the last of your problems. Okay?'

I nodded. I was tempted to crack a joke, but I knew if I did he'd just pick everything up and leave.

He looked around the flat with disdain, then he glanced back at the case. He touched it, looked and me, then just turned and left without another word.

I counted to 30 after I heard the door close. He hadn't come back, so I tore the envelope open and counted the money. There was 1,000 Euros, the briefcase key and a hand-drawn map of the Antique shop's location. I quickly unlocked the case and lifted the lid. Inside were numerous objects wrapped in velvet cloth. One contained a gaudy necklace with gilded claws holding coloured spheres. Another had a dragon's head on a chain with a jewel between its jaws. It all looked like a pile of crap to me so I left the other bits unopened.

I went into the bedroom and found an old sports bag. I chucked in a few pairs of socks and boxers, followed by a couple of shirts and a t-shirt I'd only worn once. I rummaged through the drawers and found my passport, then went into the bathroom and picked up the essentials: a toothbrush, a disposable razor and a half-full can of Lynx. It stank like pine resin, but it was good enough for me.

I went back into the kitchen, pushed the briefcase in on top of my stuff, added a bottle of Smirnoff Blue from the cupboard and pocketed the Euros and the case key. Then I headed out. My flight wasn't until the morning, but I figured a night at Gatwick would be better than hiding in my flat.

I jumped on the tube to Victoria and caught the Gatwick Express from there. By 9pm I was in the Holiday Inn Express by the North Terminal. I poured myself a tumbler of vodka, opened a packed of nuts from the mini bar, and connected to the internet with my phone. A few minutes later I was making the call.

'Hi, is that ****ty Sadie? You do outcalls, right? I'm at the Holiday Inn Express Gatwick, room 322. Terry. I'm interested in the A-levels with a Golden Surprise. Just one thing, love. Do you take Euros?'

*

There was a faint odour of urine. Sometimes it faded, but never quite disappeared. Other times it was so strong I wanted to gag. I fanned myself with the card but I wasn't sure if I was just wafting the stench towards me.

'Any refreshments sir?'

I looked up. He had a very feminine voice but a spotty and unpleasant face. I looked back at the card.

'Beer and a chicken panini, please.'

He scribbled theatrically on what appeared to be a soiled napkin and was gone.

I looked out the window at the clouds. Mountains of clouds, mostly white, but the of ridge of grey. I started to imagine what it would be like inside them, floating, lost, alone...

'Sir.'

She made me jump. The stewardess was ugly, frowning and impatient. I lower the seat tray and she slammed down the tumblerful of warm beer and the cardboard abomination masquerading as a sandwich. The urine smell was very strong.

'Euros or Sterling?'

'Pardon?'

'Do you want to pay in Euros or Sterling?'

'Err, Euros please.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Why? Doesn't anyone pay in Euros?'

'Not no-one with any sense. The rate is crap. Most pay in Sterling.'

'Well, I only have Euros, so...'

'60 Euros please.'

'What? For this?' I waved my hand over the tiny glass of beer and the stale sandwich.

'60 Euros, it's on the menu.'

'I'm not sure I want it, actually.'

She jerked her head to look up the plane and shrieked, 'Rupert! Code 6!'

The fop who had taken the order can scurrying towards us with the look of a frustrated Diva on his face.

'Rupert, he don't want it' she said.

'I don't want it, Rupert, not for 60 Euros' I added.

Rupert pointed at the items.

'Beer's been opened, panini's been microwaved. You should have said before. Sorry, no returns. 60 Euros.'

'60 Euros' she echoed. I handed over the money and asked for a receipt. Rupert flounced off and she scribbled 60 Euros on a napkin.

'Thank you for choosing EasyJet' she chimed, dropping the napkin on the seat tray. As she walked away the urine smell faded. It could only have been her.

By the time we descended into Sofia, I had heartburn!