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Patricia Ann Fondel was fond of her status as office skank. She clung to it with relish (and not a little “special sauce” if you know what I mean) though she was well past prime. Each morning, after putting her Ron Jeremy molded vibrator safely away amongst her satiny unmentionables, she dusted the half moons that peaked out of her brassier with a bit of blush to make them stand out and spritzed her underarms with eau de toilet. This however could not obscure some of the subtler arts of hygiene that her failing memory let slide.

Her nemesis was Hester Primrose. Why she was everything Patricia was not: young, beautiful, clean living and smelling. She was a breath of fresh air in the hallways that Patricia always choked on. The only thing the two women had in common was bra size. But while Patricia needed trusses and levers to keep her old milk sacks upright, Hester’s perky little friends stood up and said “hello” all on their own—almost, it seemed, against Hester’s will.

One Monday morning, troubled by her own sneaking suspicions, Patricia paid her regular visit to Harrison Gumm, the office stud. She leaned over his desk to give him the best possible view of her ample, but withering, breasts.


“Ah, that’s Harrison…do you smell tuna?” Harrison began rapidly opening and closing desk drawers, paying no attention to Patricia’s advances.

“Word has it you have a little something on the side with Hester Primrose.”

“Gawd…that smell…I was really sure I threw that sandwich away…Hester? What about her?”

“Well, it could be a rumor…or…and maybe I’m out of line about this but, uh….did you Schtoop her?”

“Did I….Schtoop Hester…” asked Harrison, digging through his waste basket “…last night?”

“Any night! Ever!”

The more Harrison searched and ignored Patricia, and the more convinced she became that she was right.

“Okay,” she said, exasperated, “If I walk out of here without you giving it to me in the tail pipe, I’ll know am right.” Slowly Patricia stood up and began to back out of the office.

“Am I right, Harrison? Harrison?”

Harrison was now covering his nose with a white hanky and turning on his fan in the corner.


But Harrison had passed out and Patricia walked out with her worst suspicions confirmed. Her place had been taken by that little goody-goody, and Patricia, for shit sure, wouldn’t let cute little Hester escape smelling like a rose…oh no she wouldn’t!

Date Written: February 27, 2003
Author: Jimson S. Sorghum
Average Vote: 3

02/27/2003 anonymous (2):
02/27/2003 anonymous (5):
02/27/2003 anonymous (1):
02/27/2003 anonymous (1):
02/27/2003 anonymous (5):
05/24/2004 TheBuyer (4): The implication of a bacteria infected twat smeared on a fresh smelling young lass or her belongings makes me smile.
03/31/2005 deliciousbrains (3):