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He Rages Inside Like a Furnace

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Alfie twitched as he slept. Caspian Wint grinned at his yorkie. When was the last time he had a bath? Was it recent? He ought to mark down on his diary he is past due.

And his yorkie Alfie, he decided, probably needed a bath too. Maybe they could do it together.

And invite the neighbors. He stirred a straw around in his lukewarm water and absently wondered where he put his pen.

“Caspian!” shouted Deb, the producer currently standing on the other side of his dressing room door.


“You know we are on in twenty minutes and hair and makeup hasn’t even seen you? Unlock it.”

“In fact I was just looking over my hair,” he noted as a stray strand fell over his forehead, “and it looks fine.”

Caspian got up and, slowly, opened the door. He licked his lips. “But I do love seeing Martha.”

A very frail, older woman wearing a very big, blonde wig crept into the dressing room from behind Deb. Her thick rimmed glasses were half the size of her face, and her frame looked like it could be snapped into two like a twig, by Caspian’s measures. He did so like to imagine bending her over and trying. It gave him a little tickle.

“Hello, dear.” Caspian began. “How would you like me?”

Martha looked around to find the source of the voice.
She squinted. “Is that Caspian? Please have a seat, love, and I’ll give you a good looking after.”

“I bet you will.” Caspian watched her intently as she adjusted her wig. Her dentures were looking very clean today. Only a spot or two of lunch in them. Caspian got goosebumps imagining what they would taste like.

“What was for lunch, Martha?”

“I had some tea and a sandwich, love. Now hold still while I comb you.”

Caspian could not hold still. With every finger, every touch, he felt like Heaven itself was massaging his soul. She was positioned behind him, fondling each strand of hair with her devil’s comb like the saucy minx he knew she was. He stared ahead at the mirror, studying her heaving, droopy, heavy bosom, hidden beneath her hand-knit jumpers and paisley cardigan.

He reached out to grab that bosom -- and was immediately on the floor, head spinning. Alfie yelped and ran out of the room. He cheek smarted.

“Creep!” Martha shouted. “You bloody bum-licker!” Martha was soon down the hall yelling something about ‘sexual’ and ‘her ass.’ He agreed.

Caspian was, despite his best efforts, now alone on the floor.

He had knocked over his water. It drenched his trousers. He stared at the straw, which had landed, alone, several feet away. The way it bent gave him a little tingle. He wondered if the straw felt the same way.