20 Jun


Honey dripped from hazel eyes as she gazed back at him. Wearing nothing but a come-hither smile, her sunkissed,  beachdusted perfection, lounged lazily in Caribbean sunshine. He could smell her, taste her, wanted her so badly…


Suddenly there was a bang on the bathroom door. “What the hell you doing in there?” 

Sam shocked back to reality from girly-mag reverie, and quickly stashed the source of his desire behind the cistern.“Alright, alright, hold your horses!” 

“Don’t give me no cheek boy” came his father’s agitated voice from behind the door. “Bloody finish up and get out of there. I’ve got to be at work  in an hour.” 

He flushed, even though it wasn’t necessary, then ran the tap to simulate good  hygiene – playing the part and cloaking adolescent desire. What was wrong with him, why couldn’t he get a girl? He opened the door and his father pushed past. 

 “Bout time too. You’ll go bloody blind you know.” 

“Give over dad, I was using the toilet.” 

His dad closed the door.

Blondes, brunettes, redheads and ravens. Big girls, small girls, fat girls, thin girls. Cheeky school girls and air stewardesses. Robust farm girls and sultry teachers. Naughty secretaries and wanton bus conductors. Every kind of female imaginable was available at the turn of a page. He had access to them all. 

 The world of women had revealed itself since finding his dad’s stash at the back of the garage. It wasn’t as though he’d been snooping. It was his father who’d told Sam to clean out the garage and that’s where he’d discovered the mother lode. Like a gift from heaven he’d found legions of them hidden in cardboard boxes, just waiting to be manhandled, perused, and lusted over. He’d lost count of the sleepless nights he had endured, his mind focused and fixated on one thing – Girls.

 He’d come to understand them perfectly, learned about their psyche, knew what it was that real women wanted. Listed and catalogued within the pages of the magazines, alongside articles on super cars and real ale, the mysterious world of woman was revealed. As much as he enjoyed the features it was the pictures that truly expressed a thousand words. He’d imagined what it would be like,  pictured the scene, lived every detail a thousand times. He’d even memorized their names. Candy, Abby, Susie, Brittany. Names that rolled off the toungue. Girls you wouldn’t be ashamed to introduce to your mum. Course they were a bit flighty – open minded is what the magazines called it. But deep down behind the sultry looks and spread-legged invitation they were good girls, nice girls – the girls next door. 

So why was it then, as the uncrowned king of adult literature, he couldn’t capture one of those sloe-eyed beauties for himself? He was quickly discovering that the old adage “the more you know, the little you know” also applied to the female fraternity. He wasn’t a bad looking lad and he certainly wasn’t stupid. True he didn’t have a lot of money, but that wasn’t really what women were looking for. Right?  

His mum had told him he was good looking and a couple of his cousins had said the same thing. Q.E.D. he was a catch. So why was it he couldn’t get caught? All his mates were seeing somebody. Some of them had even done the deed, and if what they were telling him was true, then he was missing out. Maybe he’d never find anybody? Maybe romance and love would slip by without him ever knowing a woman. He had to be quick about it. If he didn’t meet a woman soon, he’d probably die. The buildup of seminal fluid in his body would turn toxic, and if he didn’t burst he would surely drown. The paramedics would find him leaking from every orifice and he’d be interned and beatified in the local church yard. But who wanted to be revered for sainthood? There was already one virgin in the church, they didn’t need another!

That evening Sam went to the pub, The Queen’s Legs, open from six till ten-thirty – a standing joke in the small village. His mate John was standing at the bar, pint in hand, fag in mouth. There was totty everywhere, girls dressed-and-bested in makeup and high heels. They were out there waiting in the wilds of pub land to be hunted down, amused, wooed and cosseted. It wasn’t for lack of trying, he’d given it his best shot. Used all the one liners, tried to be smooth, offered to buy drinks. The best he’d achieved so far was a half hearted smile, a  bugger off  and an, “ If you don’t leave me alone, I’ll tell me boyfriend.” John understood his pain, he’d been through the same thing. 

 “You ain’t got no strength, that’s your problem. No pulling power, no manliness about you. Women can see that, and I knows what women wants. A real man, someone who’ll chuck ‘em about a bit, or stand up for ‘em if needs be. They want a bastard see, not some bloke that’s going to buy em flowers. You’ve got to be tough with ’em.” 

Sam had tried that, walked into the pubs like he owned the place, and ignored the supping-sirens. Only problem was the women he was supposed to be ignoring had done the same thing to him. In a Mexican-standoff of unrequited lust, he’d spent hours in pubs alone, sipping half-pints of shandy. Pathetic. 

“What you need is fairy moans. It’s like elixir. Gives a man an edge, if you know what I mean,” said John as he winked, waving his forearm in front of him. “Once you get some of that on you, you’ll be irresistible. Women will fall at your feet. None of the snooty-cows will be able to resist you.”

 “Fairy moans,” Sam asked,“ what’s that then?” 

“It’s like a chemical see. You put it on your self after a bath. It works like magic. Dabb a bit here,” he said pointing behind his ears, “and down there,” he pointed to his zipper, “and Bob’s your uncle. You’ll have more pulling power than a Russian weight lifter.” 

“ Where am I going to get some of those then?” Sam asked. 

 “Look in the back of those spank-mags you found.” The discovery in his father’s garage had travelled far and wide and was the only thing keeping him afloat in his friends estimation. “Fairy moans, they advertise them in the back.”


The next morning, nobody was at home. Sam locked the bathroom door and sat on the loo, reached behind the cistern and pulled out the magazine he’d hidden earlier in the week. Quickly skipping past Miss October, past the twins and the reader’s wives section, he flicked to the back of the magazine. There it was just as John had told him. Fairy moans.  

Pheremones. The inner strength a man requires. Discover the secret of love – what truly attracts woman to a man. 

 The article took up a full page. Lots of color photos of women with cherries gripped between their teeth, or holding tightly onto baseball bats and metal poles. 

Liquid engineering for lovers. The chemical concoction for copulation. Bliss in a bottle. Get any woman you want instantly.  

What more did he need ? If his suave patter and trendy clothes weren’t doing the trick then he was going to have to up his game. A hundred and eighty pounds was a lot of money and he’d have to dig deep to come up with the cash. It didn’t matter – the rewards, according to the advertisement, were clearly worth the financial sacrifice. Sexual strength and animal man-ism were within his grasp. It was precisely what he needed to do.

A week passed before the goods arrived. He tore open the brown nondescript envelope, mindful of the fragile sticker. The bottle was as big as an eyed dropper, with a picture of a roaring lion on the front.  This was it – bottled, backboned brawniness. The missing ingredient required to improve his manly fortitude. Sam was satisfied with his purchase. If this was going to turn him into a steam roller of love, a stalwart of sexual tension, then he’d spent his savings wisely.

It was Friday night and he was supposed to be meeting John down at the pub. Showered and shaved, suited and booted, Sam was dressed to impress. It was the weekly disco and he was determined to succeed in his quest for love. Things were coming to a head, relief was no longer at hand; he needed a girl. Sure he was prepared to be charming and funny but there was an urgency. It needed to happen, and it needed to happen soon. He opened his bedside drawer and looked at the roaring lion. 

 What the hell. 

 He opened the bottle. There was a faint smell of almonds. He used the plastic applicator, dabbed it behind his ears, on his neck, and for good measure stuck it down his trousers. In for a penny, in for a pound.


The pub was full, there were girls everywhere. John was at the end of the bar. “What you drinking mate, lager? Garcon, two pints if you please.” 

A girl pushed up beside Sam. The usual stuck-up-bitch that wouldn’t give him the time of day. He ignored her and turned back to his pint. The hand on his shoulder surprised him. He turned to experience minty breath and perfect dentistry. “Hey, I’m Anastasia. What’s your name?” 

Sam nearky choked. Nothing came out of his mouth. A unitelligeble hum of air hissed over his teeth, but nothing else. The brunette with the perfect complexion reached forward and kissed him full on the lips. He could taste strawberries and his brain exploded. “Give me a call,” she said and wrote her name in lipstick on the back of a beer mat. 

Bloody hell. What just happened? 

John smiled. “Told you fairy moans. You can’t go wrong. You’re going to get more bum than a toilet seat!” 

A blonde pushed between them, waved to the bartender and then turned to stare at Sam. “Do I know you? She asked. “You have the most beautiful eyes. There’s something about you; would you like to go for dinner, drinks, anything?” 

And so it went on. By the end of the night Sam had a pocketfull of telephone numbers, chapped lips, and had committed a carnal act with a mature Sharon Stone lookalike in a PVC dress in the mens bathroom. Truly anointed by the gods, Sam couldn’t believe how his luck had turned around. Life was good. Life was fairy moans. The only disappointment was that he’d only been blessed with one Willy! 

“Last orders please!” the bartender called. It was time – the disco was closing and people were making their way to the exit. 

Sam, finally unencumbered by female flesh turned to his mate, the gratitude in his eyes obvious. “John.  I can’t thank you enough, this has been the night of my life!” 

John smiled. 

Sam stuck out his hand in appreciation to shake the hand of the man that had changed his life, and then recoiled in horror, nearly tripping over the bar stool. What the heck? 

John’s palm was covered in thick, matted hair. The two men stared at each other. 

“Fairy moans,” said John shrugging his shoulders, and walked towards the exit.


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