Fifty Blends of Earl Gray

Annie felt no regret turning down Jorge’s advances. He was drunk. More than that, she knew she could never love a Mexican. It would only put her third stepfather’s Klan membership in further jeopardy. No, her love sat tightly wrapped in that box sitting neatly on the bench.

She glanced over, fixing her eyes on the label- Lipton Earl Gray. Her face blushed. Its surface gave no sign of its thoughts, but she knew- it wanted her. Why else would it be here?

Nervously walking to the kitchen bench, trying again not to trip over herself, she carefully peeled off the plastic wrapping, opened the lid and peered inside. “I want you,” she said, her voice soft with a slight tone excitement. “I want to brew you and I want to drink you.”

“I don’t brew. I steep…”

Annie felt a tingle of pleasure inside her that only the strong assertive tone of the tea’s voice could deliver. She bit her bottom lip and smiled. She knew what turned it on. It was the way it looked back of her, its black leaves piled gently into the box.

“So how are we going to do this, Mr Earl Gray?” She asked sheepishly.

“Well Miss Wood, I have here a clear set of instructions, instructions you are to follow precisely to a tee. If there is anything listed that you are uncomfortable doing I want you to write them here.”

Annie gazed at its instructions:

  1. Begin by pouring hot water into the pot and rocking the pot to warm the surface, then discard the liquid.
  2. Place the right amount of tea into the pot and add enough hot water for all the cups
  3. Cover and infuse for 3-4 minutes
  4. Serve tea taking care not to leave any water in the pot.

“So Annie,” he said. “Is there anything else you want to add?”

“I’m not sure”

“Unsure?”

“It’s just… just that I’ve never drank tea before.” Annie’s face was now bright red in embarrassment.

“A virgin?” said the tea. “How could I be so stupid?”

“I’m sorry” Annie replied, a single tear falling against her soft cheek.

“No, it’s not your fault. Sure, I knew you were inexperienced, I just assumed a sophisticated lady like yourself would have at least tried one cup of tea”

Annie felt herself smile. Sophisticated lady? Wait until the girls at the Broady RSL hear about this. Then she remembered the non-disclosure agreement she’d signed earlier. She’d say nothing of this to anyone. “So what are we going to do?” she asked.

“Well Annie, if you’re still comfortable with this, we can still go ahead.”

Annie carefully removed her top. It was the one with the straps and the lacy bits on it that her sister had brought back for her from Bali. It was her favourite top, not for sentiment of receiving a gift from her sister, nor the dream of one-day visiting Bali herself, no. Annie loved this top because its cut made her breasts appear larger and perkier than in any other top she owned. It was this reason that she didn’t want it damaged. Making tea is no tea party and things were about to get messy.  “Are you ready?” She asked.

“Are you?”

After following the tea into the kitchen, she bent down, slowly. She could feel the tea gazing at her curvy figure. Its hard leaves rustle in anticipation. Opening the cupboard, she found exactly what she was looking for- the kettle.

Annie softly caressed the kettle’s long, black spout. It felt hard in her delicate hands. She had never had a real kettle before. Holding it under the tap, she turned on the water- full blast. Without warning, the kettle shot water out of its spout and onto her hands, making her moist. This was almost too much for her and she made an almost inaudible moan, but the tea had heard her, as it erected itself into a pile on the bench.

“Now here’s the tricky part,” Annie said.

“Don’t worry, you’re doing fine.”

With that, she walked confidently over to the stove. Its big knobs and intimidating burners were familiar to her. She remembered back to that sleepover at Cathy’s.

Being young and innocent Annie and Cathy had decided to experiment. Giggling the whole time, they managed to heat up their soup on the stove. For Annie it was all a bit of a laugh, but for Cathy heating the soup on the stove had revealed urges towards Annie that she had never felt before. She wanted to heat more things with Annie, maybe even use the oven. It was all too much for Annie and she never spoke to Cathy again.

Annie grabbed hold of the stove’s big knob and turned it to high. She then reached for the ignition, pressing it hard into the stove. Click-click-click-click… Nothing! She tried again- click-click-click-click… Still nothing. She panicked, realising the gas was flowing from the stove’s hole.

Relief came from the discovery of a box of matches sitting atop a shelf. Quickly, she struck a mach, the flame glowing orange/yellow- the colour of the tea’s box. Holding the match to the burner, it let out a poof and with that, blue flames dancing erotically around the ring. Wasting no more time, Annie placed the kettle on the stove.

Annie watched the kettle, waiting for it to boil, but it seemed shy, unable to perform under her stare. She turned to the tea, gently smelling its leaves. Its scent was amazing, sending shivers through her body. “I want you inside me,” she whispered.

“I want to be inside you.”

The kettle let out a high-pitched scream, like nothing Annie had heard before. Its time, she thought. With that, she bent down once more to the cupboard and retrieved a white ceramic teapot, its spout not as long as the black kettle’s, which was still screaming in pleasure. She removed the kettle from the stove and gently filled the teapot with its boiling water.

“Caress it,” said the tea.

Annie gently touched the sides of the teapot. Wow! It was the hottest thing she had ever felt. The condensation forming on its surface made her moist. She then emptied the water and spooned the tea into the teapot. The tea groaned. “That feels so good, “ it said.

Covering the tea in water and inserting the teapot’s lid back into its hole, Annie now only had to wait for her tea to steep. Oh, how she loved that thought, her tea! But alas, she knew this wasn’t just any tea. This was Earl Gray. This tea belonged to nobody.

Finally it was time, Annie eagerly grabbed a cup, her hands shaking like never before. She poured the tea into her cup and it groaned with pleasure.

“Penetrate me, tea,” she said. “Fill me with your antioxidant-rich substance.”

The tea passed her lips and paused, allowing her to accommodate it inside her. It then shot down her throat with a hard thrust, leaving Annie screaming in ecstasy. “Do you want more?” The tea asked.

“YES!” Annie screamed, “Yes! Yes! Yes”

The tea thrust harder into mouth. “Again?”

“YES!”

With each thrust the tea was pushing harder and faster until Annie couldn’t take it anymore. Her mouth quivered in pleasure sending shockwaves through her body. It felt as if she was floating on a cushion of air around the room. The tea itself let out a scream of pleasure and then collapsed onto Annie.

Annie woke up and checked her watch, it was 8 o’clock and she had a euphonium lesson in half an hour. As she got out of bed to grab her top, the tea sat up and stared at her. It was still in its cup. “You’re leaving so soon?” it asked.

“I have to go.”

“Will you be back?”

And with that, Annie winked at the tea and smiled. It got up and walked Annie to her car. She waved goodbye, started the car and turned on the radio. It was Kings of Leon’s Sex On Fire. Typical, she thought.

Tea

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If you fare evade, you should be shot.

Here’s a frightening thought: These people will now be given guns.

What’s more, they will be given almost the same powers as trigger-happy police.

Some of the new penalties will be as follows:

  • Taking too long to validate your Metcard
    Full cavity search.
  • Myki not working
    Detained for 24 hours.
  • Fare evasion
    Shot on sight.

Good on you Ted, making us all feel safer. Now, who’s going to protect us from the ticket inspectors?

I have updated the “If you fare evade” ad. It is slightly more relevant now.

A Free Book

Today (like any other day) I arrived home from my required 8 hours of enforced slavery, parked my car (ensuring none of my bastard neighbors nor their fucktard guests had stolen my parking space), and walked towards the door. But today was different.  My usual mindless routine (head spinning from a full day of cranial rape) had been rudely interrupted. Today, at my doorstep was something I was sure was not there before. I had to think. Did I put this here? In my Monday morning semi-comatose state, had I placed an object I had never seen before at my doorstep in attempt to confuse myself later that day? Unpossible!

I looked down at my doorstep to see this:

A book! Yes, that’s what it is- a book. And not just any book, but a free book. Excited, I scooped up the book and unlocked the door, keys shaking in my hand as I anticipated the joy of running inside and reading it.

As I entered my home (nearly tripping on my collection of shoes), I sit down and begin to read.

AAABAAB Tv Antenna Parts Bntligh 9553 7170 AAABAAC Telephone & Antenna Outlets Installed High 1300 731 162 AAA Back Open Locksmiths Lvl1/1QueensRd Mobile Telephone…

The story made no sense. I wondered how such rubbish could be published. I then remembered how I came into possession of the book; Someone had dumped it on my doorstep.

Had this been an act of rage by one of my bastard neighbors, disposing of a regretted purchase? No, it couldn’t be. Today is bin day. Surly they would have just thrown it in the bin?

It could have been an attempt to directly insult me. Leaving such rubbish on my doorstep. I mean, the only thing worse would be a Danielle Steel novel. But no. This was a far too cunning stunt for any of my enemies to think up. It had to be something else.

Then the thought hit me. This book was left here by the author. Clearly hurt by the rejection of every publisher in existence, this man/lady/other decided to publish it themselves and, in attempt of promoting their work had dropped free copies on doorsteps.

Unfortunately the author has not only failed to write, but also failed in promotion as the work was delivered unsigned.

And so anonymous, if you’re still out there drowning in your pool of wine with tears flooding your empty room of sorrow as you realize the error of your ways. Please contact me as I would like to return your book.

In the meantime, I shall keep it in my pile of other useless and unwanted “gifts”.

Taxi Driver of the Year

Image Credit: Reinis Traidas, Flikr

It seems we all like to complain about taxi drivers, but really, who else is going to drive you home in the middle of the night?

“He couldn’t even find my street.” Well of course all taxi drivers are expected to memorize the entire Melway.

“He couldn’t even speak English.” I’m sure in the state you were in, neither could you.

Taxi drivers put up with a lot and when it comes down to it, if we only offer negative feedback, how can we expect them to do anything out of the ordinary?

I propose an annual award to encourage drivers who provide outstanding service. Call it: Taxi Driver of the Year. The only issue would be how everyone would getting home from the award ceremony.

In the meantime, share your positive experiences with the VTD. As you can see below, they do appreciate it.

RE: Compliment > Taxi

Thank you for your letter dated 20 March 2011, to the Victorian Taxi Directorate (VTD) regarding your positive experiences whilst travelling in a taxi.

The VTD appreciates your feedback and is always pleased to hear of taxi drivers who have provided exceptional customer service which is professional and courteous such as the one you have recently experienced.

The VTD is the government regulator for the taxi and hire vehicle industries. Our role is to ensure that the services provided by these industries are safe, clean, professional and reliable, and that industry participants adhere to service standards and regulations.

We have taken the liberty of contacting the driver and your comments have been passed on to him.