Two Tarts in a Kitchenbyoggbashan©
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia:
Two C's in a K (for "two cunts in a kitchen"), is slang used within the advertising industry for a type of television commercial and other advertising. Generally, the commercial shows two women in a domestic scene, discussing, using, or otherwise portraying the advertiser's product in a positive manner. This method has been typical for advertising targeted at women, such as commercials for household cleaning products, personal care products or feminine hygiene products.
The British version is "Two Tarts in a Kitchen".
Copyright oggbashan April 2014
The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons.
Joy and Heather were standing in Joy's kitchen. They had just finished the preparation for dinner. The meal would be for four people only, themselves and their husbands. Their children had taken the grandchildren to the other grandparents this holiday.
"That was easy, wasn't it, Heather?" Joy said.
"Only because we insisted that it should be," Heather replied. "A beef joint and roast potatoes in foil trays, the other vegetables ready-prepared - even one of our husbands could have cooked it."
"Are you sure? Your Bill might. I'm not convinced my Sam could."
"Of course he can, Joy. He managed for a whole month while you were on that river cruise in China."
"Did he? I thought he lived on instant meals, take-aways and eating out."
"He might have done that once or twice, but most of the time he cooked as you would have done. He even invited Bill and I round for dinner - twice. I too was dubious, but his cooking was nearly up to your standard."
"He doesn't cook while I'm around, Heather."
"Do you let him? Or ask him?"
"Well, I suppose not. I'm so used to doing it myself..."
"...and reluctant to share your kitchen. This is YOUR space, isn't it?"
"Yes. It is. I don't like Sam in the way. He tries to do things my way but he does things just slightly wrong. The utensils are in the wrong drawer, the items he's used aren't put on my shopping list. Perhaps I'm too defensive of my role to let him cook..."
"...and you've had your own way in here for more than thirty years, Joy. You'd notice even a single knife out of place."
"But I didn't notice anything amiss when I came back from China. Why not?"
"Because your Sam was clever enough to ask my help. The day before you came back he and I spent an hour or so putting everything back exactly where it should be. We made a list of everything than needed to be bought, and where those items should go."
"Thank you, Heather."
"Not me, Joy. I helped Sam because he loves you enough to ask for my help. I wish my Bill was as thoughtful."
"But Bill loves you."
"I know he does. He's not like Sam. He shows it in other ways."
"Showing? That reminds me. Remember when we were impoverished post-graduate student girls sharing that grotty flat in London?"
"I couldn't forget, Joy. That time is burned deep into my memory."
"Do you associate 'showing' with that flat's kitchen?"
"Yes, Pablo. He was unforgettable the first time, wasn't he?"
"And very drunk. Too drunk to be any use, even though we both wanted him."
"When he dropped his jeans to show us his manhood, the booze effect made it slack and droopy, despite our encouragement."
"And then he had to rush to the toilet..."
"And tripped over his jeans..."
The two of them smiled at the memory. Joy topped up their glasses of sherry.
"Do you remember, Heather, Pablo thought he was being the macho Spanish stud..."
"...with us two as his harem while we were using him as our toy. We drained him every night. He crawled out of our bed each morning, shagged out."
"And he would do anything for a blow-job. He painted the flat, did the washing-up, took us anywhere we wanted to go, and still believed he was the boss."
"Joy, whatever happened to Pablo?"
"You mean, after we had finished with him, Heather?"
"Of course I meant after us. We fucked him so often he fled our flat to recover, didn't he?"
"Consuela happened to him. Remember her?"
"Consuela? Of course. She fucked all our male friends, except him, didn't she?"
"So did we, Heather, so did we."
"It was the sixties. We were on the pill and could fuck anyone we wanted to. STDs were rare and easily cured, not that anyone we knew caught one. We were fucking so often I'm surprised we ever achieved our Ph.Ds. We could have earned one in practical sex several times over."
"Our kids would never believe it. We're staid suburban housewives now, and as far as they know, we never did anything..."
They laughed at the innocence of their children.
"Joy. Didn't you go to Pablo and Consuela's wedding?"
"You know I did. You were invited too, but turned it down because you couldn't speak Spanish and Spain was a long way away."
"It was - then. And exotic. Not like now."
"You wouldn't have needed Spanish. The men soon learned enough English to seduce English girls. I had a great time at the wedding and after. I was Consuela's principal bridesmaid."
"I bet you fucked the Best Man," Heather said.
"Of course, and all the Ushers. The wedding feast lasted three days. Consuela was very pleased she had chosen me. She wanted advice about Pablo's preferences. She hadn't fucked him because she wanted to marry him, and Spanish tradition meant she had to be a virgin."
"A virgin? Consuela! She fucked more men than we did."
"But, Heather, she never fucked Pablo, nor let him know she was fucking all his male friends."
"So what advice did you give the virgin bride?"
"I told her that Pablo would do anything for a blow-job. It made him feel he was in charge, the head honcho. He never realised that he was being led around by his prick. He probably doesn't know even now. Consuela had a problem on the wedding night, apparently a common one for Spanish brides at the time. She had to prove she had been a virgin by producing bloodstained sheets to his female relations."
"How, Joy? She wasn't a virgin and hadn't been for years, had she?"
"Consuela was clever. She enlisted the help of her mother-in-law to be. She told the mother-in-law that Pablo would be too drunk to perform on the wedding night. He was, of course. But if ma-in-law 'helped', Consuela would produce the bloodstained sheets that might not actually happen until the second night of the honeymoon. Of course, the bloodstained sheets would NEVER happen, but mother-in-law didn't know that..."
"...or pretended she didn't know, Joy?"
"Probably. I don't think mother-in-law was as innocent as Pablo thought she was. Anyway, between mother-in-law and new daughter they produced suitable stains that even convinced Pablo that he had done it in his drunken state."
"While you were fucking his Best Man?"
"No, Heather, not that night. The Best Man and all the Ushers were as incapable as the Bridegroom. We bridesmaids all crowded naked into one bed for the night and enjoyed ourselves. We talked, we cuddled, we caressed. Fingers were inserted, tits were stroked, kissed, sucked. I was the centre of attention. They had never met a genuine redhead before. They were intrigued by my freckles and my flaming bush."
"And none of them were as tall as you?"
"Nor as you, Heather. We're both six feet in our bare feet. Pablo was a couple of inches shorter than us and the tallest man at the wedding. Consuela was nearly the same height as Pablo, very tall for a Spanish woman - then."
"You must have been a shock to Consuela's parents."
"And to Pablo's. In some of the wedding photos I am sitting beside Consuela as she stands next to Pablo. In the ones taken when I was standing, I'm head and shoulders above the bride's father and mother. Consuela was wearing a tall headdress that made her the same height as me, and with her high heels on, taller than Pablo."
"What was the Best Man like, Joy?"
"He and the Ushers were like most Spanish men including Pablo. They were convinced they were God's gift to women, and women should know their place. I was a shock. I rode them all and none of them rode me. The Best Man was the first. He was reluctant until after a blow job. Then he would do anything for me, including letting me ride him."
"OK, I suppose, Heather. One, José, wanted to be really macho and throw me on the bed. He was the smallest and lightest. I suppose he was trying to compensate. I threw him instead. Afterwards he wanted to try throwing me again. He wouldn't take no for an answer even though he was shagged out."
"Let me guess. You beat him up?"
"No. That would have been unkind. He had tried his best. I tied him up with my pantyhose and blindfolded him with my panties. It was too hot to wear pantyhose anyway."
"You didn't leave him like that?"
"I did. But I hadn't tied him as tight as I could have done. He freed himself about ten minutes after I'd gone. Later he told Pablo, who told Consuela, who of course told me - that I was a dangerous woman. Pablo and Consuela weren't surprised by what I had done. You know I'd tied Pablo up one evening in our flat when it was that time of the month and he wanted sex."
"I remember, Joy. You left him on my bed. I think that was the last straw that made him quit and go to Consuela."
"Possibly, Heather. But he was getting to be a bore, wasn't he? And you're no one to complain. You left Sam as a helpless bundle on my bed."
"And you know why. He had tried to seduce me while you were on the way from work. I tied him up to encourage him to stick to one flatmate at a time."
"And he and Bill did, didn't they? How did you persuade Bill?"
"Easy, Joy. I let him peep round your bedroom door at a writhing Sam, and told him that is what you'd do to him if he made a pass. Bill thought you'd tied Sam up hours earlier. It took him months to work out that I'd done the tying. They're still both slow about working out what we arrange, aren't they?"
"That reminds me, Heather. Thank you for changing the bedclothes. I recognised your expert hand."
"Of course I did. You did it for me when I was away looking after the grandchildren while my daughter-in-law was having her latest baby."
"And neither Bill nor Sam realise that when one of us is away they get to fuck the other's wife because we agreed between us. They think they are randy goats cheating on us. But they're not. We're borrowing husbands."
"And the only cheats are us. While we're away..."
"...we let them pretend to seduce their best friend's wife..."
"...while we fuck any man we can get our hands on."
"How many this time, Joy? Any Chinese?"
"Four of the men on the tour, all widowers, and six of the tour staff. I think two of the tour staff were Chinese."
"You don't know? Why not?"
"I let them creep into my cabin after dark. In the darkness how do I know whether they are Chinese or not?"
"Is that a record, Joy? Ten?"
"Of course it isn't. I'm slowing down as I get older. So are you, Heather. We're both randy grandmothers, but we are grandmothers. When we were young, ten in a month would have been a very poor total. I don't know how many it was in a month in the 1960s. I can't remember. But I wouldn't have been surprised if it had been more than ten just at a weekend Pop Festival."
"I'd forgotten them. Those tiny tents! We couldn't do it in one now."
"No. We prefer comfort. Look at the time! The men should be back from the pub in the next ten minutes. We should make it look as if we have been busy and ready to serve the meal as soon as they arrive."
"Don't overdo it, Joy. There's a new barmaid at the pub. Sam and Bill will have been drooling over her. They won't notice that this meal was prepared. They don't notice much when they've been staring at tits."
"They haven't changed, Heather, have they?"
"No, Joy. Neither have we. We used to spend hours in a kitchen talking about men we've fucked. We still do."
"Advertisers think women stand around in a kitchen discussing their latest product. They haven't a clue."