The Man Who Fucked His Way Across... Ch. 02

'These are Vivienne Westwood! They are super elevated heels, not fucking platforms. Platforms are common' Snapped Camilla. 'I was having a fuck with Marcus Botting earlier and I told him exactly the same thing, these are super elevated, not platforms. Super fucking elevated, darlings!'

'Fucking hell, super elevated or not, I won't get down the steps in them' complained Max.

'Let's do it' I said 'Come on Max, get those Westwoods on, ha ha'

'You fucker, alright let's do this. I'll stuff you, Posset. You won't get far in those Pradas. And put your cock away while we race. I don't want it blocking the light!' Max was zipping up the Westwoods, with his serious 'race face' on. He looked fucking ludicrous in those boots.

'Ha ha ha' Camilla was in hysterics. 'Oh it's going to be the Rocky Horror Picture show and Grandstand rolled in one. Oh fucking brilliant. Bring on Desmond Lynam to commentate.' She dashed off to get her Leica camera.

Rah patted me on the arm 'Just divine, Hugo darling. Now zip those Pradas up tight. Oh you look soooo sweet in them. Now don't scuff them! They were six thousand pounds'

'Right Maxy boy, let's get this race going. Let's get up on to the roof'

'OK Hugo, fuck me, there are some tall chimneys to hurdle. I don't like these boots!'

'Stop complaining, these boots are killing me too' I said.

'Yeah, well, you've got the advantage, I'm well handicapped in these fucking things, look at these heels, I'm like treetop-tall Sally' Max shook his head as we climbed the fire escape to the roof. Several denizens were curious as to our activities. Old Bernard Buffoe who lived adjacent popped his head out of a sash window and commented. 'I sayyyy, look at those fine fillies'. Myopic old twit he was. 'I sayyyy, hello you two naughty pussesses!' What a buffer was Buffoe.

'Shut it Buffoe' warned Max.

'Yeah Buffoe, we can still administer a rather nasty kick in these, you old rogue, now get back to the Sloane Club you fucker'

'Yeah Buffoe' said Max 'Get back to leering at old Conservative dowagers'

'Good idea!' Agreed Buffoe, and he closed his window.

The scene ahead looked formidable. The roofs of Cadogan Square were a mountain range of Ghormenghastian chimneys, aerials, statues, dragonheads, balustrades and rooftop gardens. I was scanning the route. Max was doing the same, sizing up the place. This was not going to be a walk in the park, with no ponds, but there were some chasms to leap. I looked at Max balancing in Camilla's Westwoods. I had the advantage, but he was steady now. Any minute now, we would be off and running. Posh free-running'! I saw Rah with her zoom lens down below with Jibby Bream, the director.

Barwick fired his gun, which blew the top off a period lamp. 'Go on lads!'

The race was on! To my surprise I saw Max mounting a fucking dapple grey mare! The bastard had arranged this with Lucinda Bramley-Briars. This was going to be an unfair steeplechase. He whipped the horse's hind and galloped off, knocking pots over. Cheating swine he is. I sprinted like Linford, over walls and chimneys, like a jack in the boots. Max was miles ahead already. He thinks he's bloody Richard Dunwoody. Lucinda was down in the road clapping him on. I gained some momentum, someone had left a sports trampoline out and I flew over a chasm between buildings like Iron Man or rather Leopard Thong Man. Camilla was snapping with her Leica, Jibby urging her on. 'Oh fantastic, you got him over the chasm! Doesn't he look a darling in Rah's boots'

I was gaining on Max, slightly as we came to the first corner. His horse slowed up and reared up, refusing to jump the next chasm, the one that included the road.

'Come on you stupid bloody horse!' He spurred. That horse was not going over that gap. It whinnied in defiance.

I dashed past, leaping the first large gap and adopting the flying fox position, one of my most reliable. Jibby was having multiple orgasms, clattering about in her red platforms 'Oh my god. Soooooo super. Rah, get this shot, get this one good'

'Bloody good show' bellowed Barwick from below.

'Sorry Max, darling' gasped Lucinda with her leather dress up her back, with a caterer giving her one up the shitter, 'Moonlight doesn't like large gaps. Oh.....he....doesn't.....like.....uh....uh'

Max had dismounted and was off like a terrier after a rabbit. He flew over the gap in the Brewster Buffalo position, quite a rare one for Max, but he carried it off elegantly enough. Jibby was on the floor with delight as Camilla snapped away like mad with her telephoto lens projecting upward. Moonlight, now retired, was munching on some rooftop aubergines, his head silhouetted against a nice full moon over Peter Jones department store. I heard they had some nice new Mulberry bags.

The second leg of the rooftops resumed and Max and I were almost neck and neck, boot for boot. Sir Edward Muntrick-Bayfallow had been experimenting in his rooftop garden with some marrows that grew to Brobdingnagian proportions in the new climate. Some of them were the size of fucking dwikkas. One marrow was eight metres long, by three in diameter. Sir Edward had only recently sprayed it and the bloody thing was as slippery as an eel. We both fumbled and slithered back down the thing, until after several attempts we managed to crawl over it. The rules were, anything can be leapt, with one exception. Marrows had to be climbed over, they could not be leapt.

'Well done on scaling the marrow!' Cried Barwick Ford from the road. 'You could have easily been penalized for jumping it'

'Fucking thing!' Max growled, getting his speed back up again.

Sir Edward came out to respray it, he patted it and said 'We'll be taking you to Pimlico Road Farmers Market next week old chap'

Jibby was pleased Camilla had got some good angles on the marrow debacle. Jibby Bream was always looking for increasingly kinky art, the more eccentric the better for Jibby. She had installed a new exhibit, simply entitled 'wanking hobo'. It was very popular.

Max was in front again, getting used to the nuances of super elevated boots, leaping chimneys and statues and crashing through leafy gardens, knocking flowers off stalks, upsetting a few denizens. He spent some time trying to start an old replica Sopwith Camel biplane, but gave up when he realized it was chained down.

'Fuck' he muttered 'I was hoping to fly across the second large gap in that'

I grabbed a large axe, Max had missed the axe and I hacked away those chains and started up the Camel. It spluttered into life and there was just enough runway space, along the edge of the roof. The owner, Mr Gaines-Shutterworth was shaking a fist. Max looked back and sighed, as I went flying over his head, holding out a middle finger, dropping old aubergines from the bomb hatch on his ginger head.

'Ere, give me back my aubergines!' Cried Gaines-Shutterworth.

Jibby was skipping and laughing. Barwick was slapping his thigh as he thundered' By Jove it's fucking Malcolm McDowell from Aces High!' Camilla's lens was following.

Sarah Cavendish-Peel was down there. Henrietta too. Zita Zippa had just turned up in a Ferrari. Guests were still arriving. Giles too, the prick, he was down there, a look of disapproval on his face. I made sure I dropped a few aubergines on him. I ditched the plane after it spluttered and stalled, luckily I landed it in one piece on a large terrace on the west rooftop of the square. I leapt out and resumed the sprint. Max was also on the west rooftop, he was on that bloody horse again, not far behind. Lucinda had walked it across the square and up to the start of the west rooftop. Come on Moonlight' urged Max. We were almost half way. Max came galloping past me, Moonlight's mane trailing in the wind like a scene from Royal Ascot. I could hear Peter O'Sullivan commentating in my mind. Jibby licking her Louboutin clutch, she was so excited. The race was far from over. I had some catching up to do. Max was on his way to the third corner fast, leaping chimney after statue after skylight while I shook off one of his Dobermans. Oh those Dobermans are always about. Barwick was on his mobile phone. He was ordering something from Quentessentially.com. A large Q lorry turned up in seconds. Fuck me, on the back of the lorry was an LP cover. It was huge. It was the General Johnson LP circa 1976. The cover was so tall it blocked the third gap when they wheeled it into position! Max jumped off Moonlight and leaped high and was hanging on to the top edge of the LP cover, wavering about ten metres above the rooftops, with his booted legs trying to get a foothold. Jibby was ecstatic 'Oh Bravo, fucking bravo'

'Bloody hell, that's a good album' said one of the lorry drivers.

I managed to catch up with Max, we were both ready to leap from the top edge of the LP cover onto the North end of the rooftops. The kinky throng was gradually emerging alluvial from Sarah's parent's apartment, to see the race. Zara Parker-Pumpkinson was waving a large navy blue leather dildo, cheering. 'Go on boys in your sexy boots. Next time you must wear mine, Hugo darling!'

'Right Max, I'm having you on the final stretch, mate' I said.

'Yeah and the three bears' grinned Max, as we both jumped the fourth and last big chasm, Max adopting the avocet position and me adopting the lionfish. The positions were always very well calculated, according to the atmospherics. The lionfish was always good on North Easterly corners.

'He's adopted the lionfish' observed Barwick, looking round at the crowd. 'Splendid!'

'Really, golly gosh' smiled Rah. 'I'll have to see if Hugo knows any novel sex positions'

'Oh yahh' agreed Camilla.

'Oh he's awfully adept' added Sarah Cavenish-Peel. 'His Rampant Goat motion, is well documented, darling'

'Oh Gosh, yah' said Henrietta.

'Bloody posh totty all together, all you think about is shagging!' Grumbled Barwick 'There's a race on, the final furlong'

'Yes, indeed' said Sarah 'Come on Hugo'

'Come on Max' cried Lucinda.

'Go on boy' said a Doberman.

The last stretch was easy, but Max and I overtook each other like Ferraris on the M25, weaving and slipstreaming across rooftop terraces.

'Mind my begonias' shouted Laura Beep.

'Beep off' I said.

Max won again. Oh for fuck sake. That's two in a row. He managed to win this one by a hare's whisker. He was knocking back the Krug before I got a chance to get my breath back. Barwick was on his way up the stairs to the finish line, as were Jibby, Rah, Camilla and Lucinda. The girls zipped their boots back on and I thought they were much easier on the eye now they were being sported by their rightful owners. Barwick splashed my face with Evian.

'Good run old boy, too bad!' He rumbled, patting my back.

'Jolly well done' Lucinda snogged Max.

'I'm going to wank off in those begonias' I said.

'Ha ha' laughed everyone. So I did. Laura Beep threw a dragon-fruit at me.

DOGGING IN SURREY

On the day after the party I decided to go dogging with Camilla and Rah, in the old Jag convertible. I sat on Rah's knee in the front, while Camilla drove, in her Westwoods. The car wouldn't start after trying for about five minutes, so Max and Barwick gave it a push start.

'Fucking car' said Camilla.

'Yah, sooo temperamental' agreed Rah.

Out of Cadogan Square we went, onto Pont Street. A man who lives on Pont Street must know how to Pont. On one occasion I saw a bloke in his apartment with hardly anything going on, the walls were bare, the place looked utterly sterile. 'You simply do not know how to Pont' I said, through his front window 'A man who lives on Pont Street must surely make more of an effort and Pont with the best of them'. The man was bemused. I continued 'You make sure you know how to Pont next time I come past here'. Well, Rah drove right by that man's apartment and the place was much better. He was Ponting now.

'The Ponters of Pont Street' chuckled Camilla.

'You can't Pont anywhere else' insisted Rah,

Rah stalled the Jag on Old Brompton Road, opposite the Drayton Arms. The battery was low. Rurr rurr rurr rurr went the engine, sluggishly and sporadically. Rurr Rurr Rurrrrr. Several strapping Hooray Henry's helped push us going again, cheered on by a group of Sloanes in pashminas and Mulberry bags in the beer garden. I stayed on Camilla's lap. This scenario happened several times on the way out of West London. We eventually got on the A3. I wanked furiously on Rah's knee, as we sped down the fast lane of the A3. Camilla was moaning in pleasure wearing a butterfly vibrator as she floored the accelerator passing Guildford in minutes.

'Oh fuck shit wank' said Camilla 'We've got a rozzer on our tail'

'Bugger!' Said Rah.

'Yah, lights flashing. Oh what a killjoy!' said Camilla.

'Let's shake the cunt off' I said. 'Take the next turning off the A3'

'This could be awfully interesting' smiled Rah, rubbing my cock fast.

'Turbo boosters on!' screamed Camilla, pushing a red button on the sleek dashboard.

'Don't fucking stall it' I said. The police were trailing behind, but still tailing. No doubt they would be radioing other units. We need to dash off into the wooded Surrey Hills, find a barn and hide. GTA style. This is exactly what we did. We sat in the barn for an hour, before the sirens faded off. Camilla switched the engine off.

'Fucking excellent place for a spot of shine ma booty' I said.

'Most Deff' said Rah.

'Yah, my Westwoods need a good going over, darling' Camilla shoved a boot heel in my face. 'Now kiss and lick'

'Fucking hell, Max has worn them' I uttered.

Camilla was not perturbed 'Ridiculous, I'm wearing them now, give them a good kissing while Rah gives you a blowjob.' I have to say, I obliged wholeheartedly.

Rah was known throughout London as a BJ expert. Camilla switched her butterfly vibrator to full speed; it was as quiet as mouse. It had to be, she told me she wore it all the time to Claridges and at auctions in Sotheby's. All the posh girls are doing it, she said. They are all buying the new range of discreet designer butterflies which can be controlled via a Blackberry. Awfully chic. Supposedly a few MPs have them and wear them in Parliament. It makes the whole thing far more exciting. At five hundred pounds a butterfly, they work for years. They're even advertised in the Totler with Ultrasex and Coke.

'Oh yah...mmmmm....yahhhh...mmmmm..oooh' Camilla moaned. 'I adore having my posh boots kissed'

'Yah, keep kissing Camilla's posh boots!' said Rah, between cock sucks, with her Prada booted legs crossed. 'Kiss the studs, kiss the zips all the way up to the thigh'

'mmmmmmm....yahh....mmmmmm...yahhh' Camilla was in ecstasy.

'Gosh' added Rah 'Don't you just love the sound of a posh girl vibrating herself orrrrrf?'

'Yeah' I gasped 'Oh yeah I fucking love it, I fucking love your accents'

'Plummy as hell' said Rah, tonguing my helmet, wanking the shaft faster.

'You have a plum in your mouth' giggled Camilla, after an orgasm. I came like a bastard all over the dashboard.

While this was happening a farmers boy was hiding behind a tree, wanking himself stupid. He tripped and snapped a twig Then he ran off into the wheat.

'Ha ha ha, we had an audience all the time' said Camilla, donning her large sunglasses.

'Filthy little cunt' I said.

Rah snorted 'Oh my god, what a fucking pikey, I say we run him down'. Camilla couldn't get the Jag to start. The engine cranked slowly as usual.

'Oh well, he's jolly lucky this time' shouted Rah as the boy vanished into a distant copse of banana trees. Yeah, banana trees grow everywhere in Surrey nowadays.

'We'll have to walk' Camilla said 'There's not enough of a slope here for a push start. We'll have to come back for the Jag. Come on, let's get a steady leg on. It's not far from here'

'Only about five miles in fucking hot sun' frowned Rah.

'Oh bollocks, looks like we're going to get a tan' I said. 'Have you got a spare pair of shades?'

We wandered across fields and footpaths while the heat wave took our breathe away. The girls must have been hot in their boots, as they had no intention of taking them off. To carry ones boots is always considered to be very common, besides the ground was thorny in places and there were large ants that could bite. I suffered a few stings to my bare feet, the little critters, I bathed my foot in a forded stream for a while. An old farmer wanked off in his tractor. 'Cor, look at that posh cunt in his leopard thong!' he muttered to himself, eating a pasty. He was a gay old farmer, which was quite unusual.

'How far now' I said 'Do you know where we fucking are?'

Camilla held up her Blackberry and analyzed the map. 'Um...we have gone the wrong way. Fuck. Oh fuck!'

'OK, so let's nick that tractor from that farmer over there' I said. 'I'm pissed off with these fucking ants!'

'Oh I do soooo love a nice walk in the Surrey Hills' sang Rah, standing on the dirt track in her dusty Prada boots. It was like a scene from the Wizard of Oz if it was directed by John Galliano. I walked up to the old farmer who was leering under his old moustache and old straw hat. I saw that he was playing with himself.

'You dirty old bugger' I said. 'Give me the keys to your tractor or I will break your neck'

The farmer obliged with little resistance, seeing the size of me as I approached. He held the keys out in dirty hands.

'You'll get an infection' I smiled, starting up the Ford tractor and heading back to the track where the girls were sitting, looking like abandoned fashion models in the sun, disheveled hair and dusty designer boots.

'Hop on ladies' I said.

'Fucking good work' nodded Camilla, brightening.

'Oh my god, this is sooo chic' said Rah, laughing and snorting, swinging her Mulberry Mabel.

'Yeah, it's like Paris. Paris, Texas' I said.

Then the old tractor stalled and it wouldn't start. It eventually started and we moved off according to Camilla's directions. It must have been a bit of a sight, seeing three Sloanes driving a tractor wearing leopard and leather. It's not an everyday sight in the Surrey countryside.

Camilla switched her butterfly on. 'Oh well, might as well enjoy the ride'

'Yah darling, I'm butterflied up too' said Rah

'Well, I might as well stick a vibrator up my arse and we can all enjoy it' I said, steering the tractor over a rutty hillock, scaring llamas.

I started to feel faint, the scene became more fantastic. We were driving over what looked like an expanse of marble. I saw a huge gold dildo in the distance, like a city tower. My oh my, Guildford skyline has changed. I heard a voice, it sounded very much like Penny Keats. Penny Keats, poshest voice in England. Star of the Wood Life and To the Mansion with a Horn. The sound of the tractor gradually petered out and the sounds of chinking champagne flutes and braying Sloaney girls smelling of Chanel No5 permeated my soul. I could see a window that went on forever, with the words Jibby Bream in gold Edwardian Script. What on earth was this all about.

KINVARA GIRTON

On a hot Saturday afternoon, I walked down Pelham Crescent, when I saw a resident watering her lovely lawn amongst palm trees and white columned facades. The sound of the spray from the hose was refreshing. The woman was clearly enjoying spraying the sun-dappled front garden. She smiled as I walked by. I stopped and looked in the window of a Range Rover Vogue and saw I had reverted to the hobo who polishes seats, the pikey with no name. I invented one for myself, I decided on Tom Leather. Yes, Tom Leather the homeless leather car seat polisher, that's who I am. Maybe one day I will bump into Hugo. I had tried to find him at various intervals, including waiting outside the Royal Gallery, but he never turned up. Maybe when I'm not Hugo, he goes to Cadogan Square for a lie down, I have no idea. I started to wonder about past events, the stolen painting; the jumping competition over the Serpentine; incredible kinky sex with Zita Zippa; Joanna Lamley winning the election with that gorgeous posh smile of hers; getting my cock stuck in Liza Blow's boot; an internship at Totler when I kissed Rah Stockworth's shoes every morning for an hour in a meeting room; Lady Trammerton giving me a handjob outside Le Caprice.