Condom Molly

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Survey story on condoms creates big upset.
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Chapter 1

Molly Childs was thirty-four. Yes, freeking thirty-four and patiently waiting for true love to sweep her into a delirious union, even marriage.

In recent years, she'd become awash with more pearls of advice to achieve that goal than legs on a centipede.

Her father Roy suggested that she allow some jerk to impregnate her to allow her mother to have the granddaughter that she desperately wanted. And then, in the glow of new motherhood. Molly would find a plum guy wanting a ready-made family.

Aunt Flo advised that if Molly dressed more conservatively and eliminated her foul-mouth, she'd begin to hit on acceptable looking and behaving guys unable to find a babe willing to marry them. Alternatively, she could hunt for a guy emerging from his first or second marriage desperate to re-marry to re-establish his social acceptability and regain solid family life.

Aunt Madge suggested Molly would do better with men if she learned to fuck like a pro.

That well-meaning advice swept over Molly like water on a duck's back.

She was aware her father was keen for her to leave home permanently so he could convert her bedroom into a home office.

In contrast, her dear mother Merle's advice was, 'Patience dear, Mr Right will come charging down the hill, sweep you against him in the saddle and gallop you off into the sunset'.

Molly sighed. She didn't know any guy who rode a horse and anyway, with her luck she'd fall off during the anticipated romantic exit and break a leg.

Her best friend Meg Littleton, regularly tried to offer Molly one or two of her caste-off lovers with the warning they had the morals of buck rabbits.

Molly would sniff, saying no thanks, immorality was not her thing.

The one person to offer classic advice was Grandma King.

Grandma, when brushing Molly's streaming golden hair repeatedly would say for example, 'Don't indulge in putting it about like all your unmarried and married girlfriends. Give the impression you are untouchable and lo, a desirable gentleman of virtue will commence engaging in something with you that long ago was called wooing'.

'Oh,' Molly would say, tightening her buttocks, aware from reading Victorian English literature that wooing was a civil and socially acceptable way that men in centuries past worked patiently to get between a lady's legs on or before the wedding night.

Once, when overhearing one of those advisory head-brushing intimate sessions, Grandpa Bert interjected with sage advice: 'Leave Muddy Brook and go to a big city and shape a noticeable impression of being a highly intelligence young woman of virtue. Thus, you'll come under the scrutiny of mothers of substance, and be recognised as a desirable bearer of their grandchildren'.

Molly recalled responding indignantly to Grandpa Bert that she had no intention of becoming a fucking nannie.

"Hush dear, and language," Grandma Doris had murmured. "He means those women would be capable of steering their eligible sons into your arms."

"Really?" Molly said, confused. "What is it about me that is desirable?"

"Plenty," said Bert. "You have wide hips, big tits and there is a suggestion of a pulsating pussy."

"That's enough of that, Bert," said his wife. "Continue to embarrass our granddaughter and there will be no sex for your tonight."

That confused Molly even further. How could her maternal grandparents indulge in sex? Both were over 50 years old.

Later, when they were alone, Molly said to her grandmother, "I've decided you may have given me profound advice and I'm going to London to find my prince. But I'll need money."

"How much?"

"Ten thousand pounds."

"I'll give you five thousand," said her grandmother. "Get the rest from your stingy father."

"Oh thanks, you're a sweetheart," said her youngest grandchild.

When Doris pedalled off to the supermarket, Molly went to Bert who was in his study watching porn.

"Grandpa, I'm going to London to live but will need money."

"We're your grandparents. Get the money off your parents."

"I need five thousand pounds from you."

"Oh yeah? Get lost."

"What say I suck you off like that woman is doing to that guy on-screen."

"Five thousand is way too much for a blow job. Two thousand."

"Five thou otherwise I'll tell grandma you're a filthy wanker and ordered me to suck your cock."

"What! You evil bitch."

His granddaughter's face turned puce.

Bert apologised for calling her evil and under extreme pressure agreed to pay the demanded five thousand pounds.

"Where did all that cum come from?" Molly asked later, wiping her tits, neck, face and hair with a towel.

"From my balls that you have been treating royally," Bert smirked. "That was the best blow job I've ever had and I've been worked over by experts, young lady, including your mother. You are a natural."

"Please don't tell grandma that you made me suck you off for money."

"No, of course I won't. I only look stupid, Molly."

At home that evening, Molly told her mother she'd decided to go to London to find a husband and she'd need money to survive.

"We have no money to spare."

"You give me two thou mum and talk dad into giving me six thou. He wants me out of the house."

"Very well, but he'll probably only give you five."

"That's okay mum," Molly said, and told her mum that grandma reckoned she needed to impress prospective mothers-in-law as well as eligible guys."

"I agree," Laura said.

"Mom, could you teach me to suck pussy?"

"No, certainly not. What an evil thing to say to me."

"I might need the skill to sway a dithering mother my way. Consider it as a worthwhile concession to protect dad's and your investment in my husband-seeking venture."

"Oh, that makes sense and it's a powerful argument."

Mother and daughter disappeared behind a locked bedroom door for a couple of hours.

* * *

Molly worked in her provincial town as a shopping reporter for the local newspaper and, as a result of that experience, secured a job in London working as a copy-writer and assistant to the leading shopping reporter working for BBC morning television.

Mrs Briscoe was resentful of having a young provincial woman appointed as her assistant instead of having a seconded senior assistant of solid social standing and considerable broadcasting experience. She gave Molly a terrible time until Molly, realizing she could lose her job wailed, "What do I have to do to make you find me acceptable?"

"What's on offer?"

Molly said impulsively, "I lick pussy."

She immediately thought that was reckless and she would be done for. But to her surprise, Alice Briscoe put a finger to her lips and whispered for Molly to accompany her home for a drink after work. Her husband would be out until 8 pm.

Molly licked her way into favour.

Several weeks later, Mrs Briscoe went to France to attend a long-time girlfriend's 10th wedding anniversary and appointed Molly to write the script and produce the end-of -month 15-minute 'Monthly Shopping Special'.

Molly asked her boss what topic should she choose.

"It's your choice, darling. Be original and use your flair if you have any beyond licking."

Molly thought cooking appliances could be a good choice but then decided how boring.

She went out for a drink with a young journalist who was attempting to get into her pants and explained her quandary. Basil encouraged her to choose a riveting topic that had the potential to make her name in broadcasting.

"What on shopping, you have to be joking," she said, removing his hand from her thigh.

On the way to the flat she shared with three other young women, Molly received a call to pick up spuds (potatoes). In the shop ready to pay, she reached over condoms to grab a packet of mints and thought the condoms should be displayed out of sight of children.

Next morning arriving at work, she had decided to choose condoms for the 'Monthly Shopper's Special'. She contacted condom resellers enquiring about the demands for condoms including what sizes were available, range of flavours (if any) and types that were reusable (if any).

An assistant director of BBC programming called Molly, asking had her choice of shopper's program being cleared.

Unaware that all programs containing possible controversial content had to be cleared by a special venting sub-committee before being submitted for airing Molly replied yes, assuming that Mrs Briscoe's direction for Molly to choose the topic she desired was the approval she was required to possess.

The program went to air and created a public furore and led to questions being raised in The House (British Parliament).

The BBC received hundreds of complaints about the nature of the programme as well as thousands of requests for programs of 'similar domestic enlightenment'.

Molly was fired but she complained of unnecessary harsh action and the matter became a union-employer issue. She was ordered to go on 'gardening leave' (stay at home on full pay pending resolution of the issue). Mrs Briscoe was transferred to an administration position with her seniority intact and she ordered Molly to stay away from her.

Two days after being placed on 'gardening leave', Molly resigned from the BBC to take a job with a top British newspaper 'British Life' as a roving columnist to report on, well, riveting aspects of British life. The newspaper ran a huge photograph of Molly's face and partly-covered bust on its front page under the headline, 'Condom Molly'. with a story on how she'd been severely mistreated by the BBC for simply doing her job. That of course plunged Molly into the realms of self-made notoriety.

Celebrities lined up to be interviewed by Molly Childs, condom specialist among other skills that the newspaper suggested she possessed, although she dismissed most of the skill claims as bullshit.

Molly was given a ghost-writer for a month to assist her until she settled in to her newspaper role.

She quickly became wildly known as Condom Molly and that inflated her notoriety. She loved her cute unofficial title and believed naively that guys would rush her with marriage proposals.

But oh dear. Nothing.

Guys pressed her, but only to ask which condoms were best at getting her off. She received a flood of postal and electronic mail from females warning her to stay clear of their man.

This resulted in the small-town transplant Molly, who'd overnight risen to minor fame after doing practically nothing, on Saturday contemplating in despair to immigrate to Botswana or Belarus, or even worse, to return home.

But, as everyone knows, a good night's sleep can change things.

On Sunday morning, Billy Clawback, host of the BBC's popular Saturday night's peak viewing time 'The Unauthorised Pot Stirring Show' awoke at 11.30 am to coffee, cheese on toast and the Sunday newspapers delivered to the bedside by Tom, Billie's man-servant and lover.

Tom said in his falsetto voice that Billy should read the lead story in 'London Life'.

"Who's the writer?"

"Condom Molly."

"Who the fuck is Condom whoever?"

"A babe from up North who was fired by our Granny BBC for squiring an unauthorised shopping report on Shopping TV giving prices on supermarket condoms, details of the most popular sizes that, incidentally, are 5 inches comfort fit, and the most popular flavours."

"Ah, I remember that kerfuffle. The shit hit the fan," Billy chuckled. "She fell into the centre of an unfair dismissal dispute that she won, thanks to five influential London women, hiring a top City lawyer to represent her and the Babe was awarded nineteen thousand pounds and 7p in damages, most of which went to pay her initial legal costs before the QC was hired by her supporters."

Billie read the article on safe sex by columnist Molly Childs. She'd interviewed by phone eighty-one sexually-active women taken at random living between John o' Groats at the north eastern tip of mainland Great Britain and Land's End 876 miles south west at the bottom of Cornwall. Further interviews were conducted on the topic with twenty-one women living on a few of Britain's 4400 islands of all sizes at all states of the tide measuring half-an acre or larger.

The principal finding was 68 percent of all females interviewed preferred from trouble-free usage or in simple belief after reading about them that the most desirable condom was Ladies Friend Single Use Soft Stroke Condom. manufactured in Leeds by the Birtwistle Latex Corporation.

"Christ, this babe will be sued by the condom industry for being a novice researcher daring to name a superior condom, Billie giggled as he began reading the article.

"Never fear," Tom said. "Smart-ass Condom Molly says later in the story she gave the contract for the research to the Research Department of one of England's internationally highest acclaimed universities with funding from the UK Women's Affairs Guild."

"Wow, I'm impressed," Billy said. "Ah, in hosting the BBC's premier show next Saturday, I'll use this lass in my program."

"Negotiate with Condom Molly and get her to meet me at the studio on Saturday at 6.00 for rehearsal dressed for a live interview on National TV at 8.15. Meanwhile, I'll get the producer and director to agree to feature um Miss Molly Whoever as the first item up. Go!"

Chapter 2

Sir Geoffrey Birtwistle, wife Lady Meg, elder son Mark and wife Linda and rebellious younger son Anthony, who insisted on being called Ant, were dinning in their home in Chapel Allerton, in Leeds, West Yorkshire, in northern England.

Geoffrey had the wall-mounted TV in the dining room to be turn on at 8.00 for the screening of 'The Unauthorised Pot-stirring Show' during which, he understood, one of his family company's condoms would be brought to the fore.

He called his wife lounging alone at the bar to remind her to watch the show. She hiccupped and said, "What if we are named for marketing faulty French letters."

Geoffrey snarled at his younger wife, "For goodness sake woman, refrain from using such gutter language."

"Yes dear," intoned Meg, an Australian who Geoffrey had hastily married after impregnating while some years ago following a British cricket team touring Australia.

"Incidentally dear Geoff," Meg said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, "I would have thought that a manufacturer of your standing would have learned by know what product the BBC will focus the nation on."

White-faced, Geoffrey snapped curtly "Shut your uncouth mouth."

"The product concerns our Lady's Friend condom," Geoffrey told Mark.

"You and Linda, Anthony and our daughter Linda, before she left to become our director of marketing in Paris for all of Europe, pleaded successfully to have me reverse my decision to cease producing that brand . Miraculously, for whatever reason, it went on to become our biggest seller."

"This publicity is, dad. The product may go on to win an international award."

"That's nonsense Anthony. The industry only permits recognition of scientific and technological innovations etc, never recognition of brands because the effectiveness of all brands of condoms is particularly subjective."

That lofty-delivered edict stifled that family conversation.

Meg came to the table carrying a beer glass brimming with gin-and-tonic and goaded the family into discussing the weather that lasted until it was time to watch TV.

She had initiated that discussion by sweetly asked the family, "Could someone kindly remind me which day of the year is it in Britain when it doesn't actually rain?"

Radiant although a little over-weight guest in a pink dress that was too tight, presenter Molly Childs was introduced to TV viewers by show host Billy Clawback to kick off the program opener, the subject being condoms.

Billy asked sagely, "You are widely known throughout Britain as Condom Molly, are you not?"

"I've possibly heard it mentioned."

"Oh," said the surprised Billy. "Carry on."

As the presentation progressed, Mark, the corporation's managing-director breathed, "This young woman's revelation via the news media providing it continues to be favourable to us, could push our Ladies Friend Single Use product into the No. 1 condom by sales volume in this country and potentially the world. We may have to licence its production internationally."

"Hey, wait up," Meg said reverting to her Australian accent. "As our director of marketing, I possess the knowledge to know that such revelations today begin to subside in interest in as little time as twenty-four hours. We should just hold our breath for a while."

"Agreed," wheezed Geoffrey. "Christ, take a look at that babe's breasts."

"Yeah," chorused his sons.

Meg said, "Golly wow. You'll soon begin seeing them up close as personal because in the morning I'll be off to London to pitch to that babe to become my deputy director of marketing."

* * *

Meg's train trip to London was successful because the previous night Billy and the director and the producer of the 'Unauthorised Pot Stirring Show' had been placed on suspension in preparation of being legally-correct fired from the BBC together with those executives who had approved of the Pot Stirring show being screened each week without vetting authorisation.

Meanwhile, Molly had been contacted by phone by the British Life and fired forthwith for consorting with other media without authorisation. The dismissal notice was signed by the newspaper's managing-editor, the notice of termination was being couriered to her residential address.

Hours later, Molly received a call from the guy called Cedric, who'd claimed he represented the condom industry and wished to announce her possible doom.

"This is my first and last warning, you destructive bitch. If you are not gone from London within 24 hours from now, your death will hit the headlines, bitch."

The call ended before Molly could angrily open her mouth to abuse him as being a nut case.

Molly was on her third Vodka on the rocks wondering what to do, who to call to discuss her predicament, when there was a knock on the door of her flat.

She went to the door clasping a carving knife under the side of her dressing gown and called, "Yes."

"It's Meg Birtwistle, Lady Meg Birtwistle actually."

Still suspicious, Molly intelligently asked, "What is the city of your birth?"

"Seed-knee (Sydney with local accent)."

Relieved, Molly opened the door and glimpsed the attractive caller just as the knife dropped to dig into the floor boards just beside one of her bared feet.

"Are you an amateur knife-thrower under tuition?" smiled Lady Meg.

"Oh, you darling," screeched Molly, grasping the startled lowly-titled caller and kissing her on the mouth.

"I'm not gay," Lady Meg gasped.

"Nor me, I'm just scared shitless, your Ladyship. Fifteen minutes ago, I received a death threat."

"What, from a condom salesman?"

"Actually, it was a nut-case claiming to represent the entire condom industry."

"There's no such industrial segment, Molly."

"Oh, then he's a lying nut-case."

"Perhaps, or he's just an unofficial spokesman for the industry, and you can expect more threats and abuse. Molly, are you upset that the guy who hosted the program featuring you in particularly has been suspended?"

"Who, Billy Clawback?"

"Yes."

"Yes, I am indeed. He's quite a character and that is unusual to say about anyone working for the BBC apart from comedians and my favourite female Victorian character actors."

"Well, yes, Billy is likeable despite being gay but then so are many engaged in public entertainment these days and that is their strength."

"However, never-fear, the BBC will not sack Billy in fear of a monumental public outcry," claimed Lady Meg. He's the only non-conformist, apart from comedians, within the BBC Empire."

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