"You farted?"
Jim pulled his seaman's cap as low as possible and tried to
hide his face in his own armpit, wanting to twist out of view and into the some
miraculous wormhole that would take him back so he could rescue himself from the
utter and encompassing awfulness.
"You farted as he was spanking you?
You're kidding me?"
"Noooooooo!"
Pete processed that one. I mean,
he was getting his head around the spanking thing anyways, but his mate *was* a
kinky bastard. But this –he mentally flipped through his catalogue of
responses –nope, he had no script for this.
"Man. That's rough. D'ya
think he noticed?"
Jim's head shot up, his face redder than Pete had ever
seen; even when they'd made him play spin the bottle with Sally Fitzgerald in
year 9. Jeeeeeezus. Pete tried to imagine farting on Tanya, but he couldn't even
get his imaginary self over her knee. Jim had some balls, hell yes.
Pete
retrieved a memory and sacrificed a little dignity with his easy grin.
"I
once farted in a job interview. That was bad."
Jim laughed. "D'you get
the job?"
"Yeah, surprisingly enough. I shoulda saved it for when they
fired me."
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