The story so far:
It is 2050, and under the "Enlightenment", Europe is ruled by Pleasure, love is eschewed, religion is frowned upon, and members of ethnic minorities are considered "Undesirable". Alison, Claire and Bradley are students at the Royal Academy of Fucking, under the tutelage of Professor E. J. Cuntslicker, a pillar of the fucking establishment. However, with the help of Father Ambrose Deconceicao, they are helping their former classmate Chad to escape from his place of work, the sinister Princess Asshole Hospice (run by the sadistic racist Dr Hildegard Fotzenficker), to the Outside World. Chad's beloved Eva, who is black, has chosen to go too, not only to be with Chad, but to be reunited with her exiled family, including her elder brother Rob. Rob is deeply in love with Alison, but Alison is not entirely sure how she feels about him.
~~~~~~~~~~
Outside number 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, any parishioner arriving for the advertised Requiem mass that Sunday morning might have noticed a young couple standing guard on the opposite side of the road. Actually, only one of them was standing; the other was kneeling on the pavement in front of him, sucking his cock.
Bradley gazed down at Claire, her head bobbing slowly back and forth, tongue twisting and slobbering, lips alternately squeezing and releasing, her saliva forming a continuous dangling dribble which swung backwards and forwards from his shaft. He smiled. And then he said something which he had never said before to anyone in his life: "You pleasure me, Claire... You pleasure me."
Claire paused and looked up, a large spit bubble poised, stretched between her lips and Bradley's glans. She opened her lips in a wide grin -- and the bubble popped. "You pleasure me too, Brad," she replied -- and blushed, before doing something utterly unheard of: she willingly interrupted a blowjob. Claire slowly stood up, a long dribble briefly connecting her mouth with Bradley's cock, before it stretched too far and snapped. And then she kissed him. But this was not a fuckers' kiss, full of filthy lust and thrashing tongues; this was tender, sensitive. This was a lovers' kiss.
Bradley felt it too, as their lips gently caressed each other's ears, cheeks, necks. And when their lips met, something passed silently between them. Bradley did not dare say it: that would have been too much for a well brought-up, conscientious, Enlightenment lad like him. And Claire, though already more of a rebel, did not voice it, out of tender concern for him. But they both knew something had changed. And as they wrapped their arms around each other and hugged, almost as if holding on for dear life, it was clear to both of them -- without having said it -- that after today, around them nothing would be quite the same.
~
Inside 38B Tottenham Cunt Road, Father Ambrose was chanting the introit:
Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord,
and let perpetual light shine upon them.
The priest censed and asperged the casket, as the chapel gradually filled with mourners, old and young, mainly Asian or black -- the normal collection of old-style believer Undesirables. They bowed to the coffin and knelt dutifully at their pews. Sister Rina genuflected, kneeling reverently in the front row, surrounded by the other sisters of her order. She turned to Alison with a wry half-grin. Alison sat in a back pew, shaking alternately with sorrow and with mirth. "This is crazy," she muttered to herself, "absolutely fucking bonkers!"
Dark am I, yet lovely, daughters of Jerusalem,
dark like the tents of Kedar,
like the tent curtains of Solomon.
Do not stare at me because I am dark...
Father Ambrose was reading from his Bible -- but it wasn't the usual funeral texts. Judging by the cheeky half-smile on his face, he seemed to be enjoying his subterfuge.
Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth --
for your love is more delightful than wine...
No wonder the young women love you!
The occupants of the coffin seemed to be taking the priest's scripture readings literally. From beneath the casket lid could be heard the soft sound of smooching and slurping.
"Oh fuck," whispered Alison to herself. "Here we go again." But Father Ambrose, a gentle smile fixed on his face, continued unperturbed:
You have stolen my heart, my sister, my bride,
with one glance of your eyes.
How much more pleasing is the fragrance of your perfume than any spice!
"Yeah, I fucking bet it is," giggled Alison under her breath. The muffled amatory soundtrack from within the coffin was getting more insistent: moans and sighs, punctuated with the occasional whispered "oh yeah" or "oh fuck..." Sister Rina and the rest of the congregation maintained their poker faces with studied concentration. Father Ambrose continued to smile inscrutably as he read:
Your lips drop sweetness as the honeycomb, my bride;
milk and honey are under your tongue.
You are a garden fountain,
a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.
"I know what else is under your tongue," thought Alison, guffawing internally whilst trying in vain to keep a straight face, as Ambrose read on:
Your breasts are like clusters of fruit.
I will take hold of the fruit.
May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine,
and your mouth like the best wine.
"Shit, are you fucking joking?!" muttered Alison. From within the casket could be hear the muffled sound of sucking and squealing, punctuated by mumbled phrases such as: "oh yeah, suck my tits..." or "lick those fucking nipples, baby". The casket was beginning to rock and jiggle -- and yet the congregation kept straight faces.
I have come into my garden, my sister, my bride;
I have gathered my myrrh with my spice.
I have eaten my honeycomb and my honey;
I have drunk my wine and my milk.
"Oh yeah, fuck me baby," came Eva's muffled squealing voice from within. "Yeah, fill me up with that big dick..." The thumps and bumps from the coffin were getting louder and louder, as the casket rocked more violently on its dais.
You are altogether beautiful, my darling;
there is no flaw in you.
Come with me from Lebanon, my bride,
come with me!
Eva and Chad seemed to be doing just that. The sounds of orgasmic ecstasy were unmistakeable now: "Oh motherfucking Jesus, you're gonna make me come, Chad, oh FUUUUU--" came Eva's voice from beneath the oak panelling, cut off -- presumably -- by Chad's hand gently placed over her mouth to silence her. The congregation remained kneeling in prayer.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
if I settle on the far side of the sea,
even there your hand will guide me,
your right hand will hold me fast.
"Pssst!" Alison heard a whisper in her ear, and felt a hand gently touch her shoulder. She turned, to see Rob signalling to her to follow him. Briefly, Alison felt like resisting. But his eyes twinkled, and his grin was broad; Alison melted, and followed.
Rob led Alison up one stairway, along a corridor, and then up a metal spiral staircase which opened onto a small open-air roof-garden at the top of the building, facing the rear balcony of one of the surrounding office blocks. "Hey, fucking!" exclaimed Alison. "This is nice!" They stood side by side leaning against the low cast stone balustrade.
"I remember sneaking out of mass as a kid to come up here and chuck pebbles at the block opposite," grinned Rob. "And after my parents were expelled and Eva and I were living here, we would amuse ourselves by jumping across onto the opposite balcony while holding hands. It terrifies me now to think about it. If either of us had fallen..." He pointed towards the ground. Looking down, Alison could see a set of cast-iron railings which formed the boundary between number 38B and the building opposite; a long row of lethal black metal spikes stuck upwards towards them. "And then," continued Rob, "as I got older, the balcony opposite was a great place to sneak off for a quick fuck when Ambrose wasn't looking..."
"He's pretty fucking, for an old-style priest," said Alison approvingly. "Love the funeral!"
Rob laughed. "I'm seen him conduct those mock-funerals before. It's his favourite way of smuggling Undesirables out of the country. That way, when I drive the hearse onto the ferry this evening, I'll have all the correct paperwork, and we won't get stopped."
Alison felt a sudden pang of regret. "Must you leave today?" she asked. It was all happening too fast for her liking. The shock of realising that Eva was leaving had made her forget that her time with Rob might be so short.
"'Fraid so. Too dangerous for Chad to wait around any longer. And my mum can't wait to see Eva again, for the first time in -- oh God -- so long..."
Alison paused, hoping Rob would say more. Partly because she didn't know what to say in response, and partly because she was just enjoying hearing him talk.
"Shall we sit down?" said Rob, indicating a bench. Alison nodded.
They sat in silence, side by side. The weak winter sun was higher in the sky now, and was just peeping over the rooftops. From inside the building, the distant mumble of Father Ambrose's liturgy continued.
Alison spoke first, cautiously. "I... I need to say..." She paused.
Rob waited.
"I mean, I should have said a long time ago, Rob: thank you. Thank you for being so kind to me. I didn't know at the time, much less care, how... how loving you were being to me, when you took the hit for what happened between me and Eva."
