series2bk5.041

 

Once I a bumbling fumbler in my handling of women, I’m timidly fearful of the trigger mechanisms that my dismal advances unwittingly might release - like sneezing from pepper, or coughing from acrid smoke. Token of absurdity, like the village idiot transposed to the closed circle of the Queen's court, who resorts to chortles in sessions of silence, smiling inanely to kill the pain from some inner inadequate hollow. Emboldened now with frequent booze, I flash a brash personality, like an oversized prized penis, seen as a shock measure - a treasure to take their wandering attention by storm.      Regardless of their sham outraged ado,      I've got the knack - no matter what I do!