Free The Bottle Stopper by Angeline Trevena Page A

but it also left him with a satisfying sense of vengeance.
    Stopping by his house in Hole Street to drop off the medicine, he set off to his job at The Burnt Scroll. He was the chef there, and today there was a wedding party, so he really didn't need the added complication of a toilet trip every ten minutes. Plus, he didn't want his boss finding out. Weddings meant good tips, and she'd be sure to send him home if she knew he was ill. She usually sorted her staff out with medicines from her sister. But he needed a quick-fix today.
    Shortly after arriving at work, the stomach ache began. He shrugged it off as a by-product of his loose bowel, and put it down to a good sign that the foul medicine was doing its job.
    But then he found himself running to the bathroom to vomit, and as he pulled the chain, Jody realised that his hand was shaking. In fact, his whole body was shaking. His legs, unable to support him any longer, gave way, and he fell to the floor, convulsing in a pool of his own shit and piss.
    Luckily for Jody, he was unconscious when his lungs and heart gave up working.
    Unluckily for Faith Wallace, the young barmaid, she was the next person into the toilet. As the stench of Jody's emptied bowels hit her, she vomited on the floor. Little did she know at the time, but this was the beginning of a long, and vicious spell of morning sickness that would, eventually, force her to leave her job.
    In addition, the happy couple getting married that day were left with no party, and nothing to feed their guests. There was no refund given. They went their separate ways five years later, although that can't be attributed to this particular event.
     
    Meanwhile, at the other end of The Floor, Mayra Hahn's husband had just bought her a bottle of medicine. Mayra didn't have anything wrong with her, other than an acute case of frigidity, brought on by her husband's lack of romantic tendencies. To him, a proposition of sex consisted of grabbing her crotch, and winking at her. This was often done while she was otherwise engaged; cooking, cleaning, redressing after a trip to the toilet. No one could blame the poor woman for being less than willing.
    But the apothecary had assured Monty Hahn that his medicine would make his wife's legs open like a well-oiled swing door.
    He slipped the medicine into his poor wife's morning tea. The tea itself was foul stuff, although she insisted on drinking it on the claim that it helped her to keep her figure. Monty couldn't work out who she might be keeping it for.
    He brought her tea to her in bed, and returned to the kitchen to find something for breakfast. He settled down at the enormous kitchen table—they had six children themselves, who had gone on to bless them with twenty three grandchildren so far—to enjoy his own cup of tea and the morning newspaper in peace.
    After completing the crossword, Monty crept up the stairs to see if his wife had changed her rigid view on copulation. By halfway up, he could hear her gasping. Afraid that she'd started without him, he ran up the rest of the stairs so as not to miss all of the action.
    Monty found her lying on the bed, her eyes and mouth wide, and her ample chest heaving. Mistaking this for an act of foreplay, albeit unusual, Monty hurriedly undressed. As he was desperately coaxing his sceptical penis into life, his wife's heart stopped.
    Monty never forgave himself, and his hands only ever entered his underwear when he was emptying his bladder. Even in death, his wife managed to dissuade him from one of his favourite pastimes.

22
    Harris rolled off the woman, and lay next to her, breathless. He was certainly beginning to feel his age.
    The prostitute propped herself up on her elbow, her large breasts dropping to one side. She walked her fingers up Harris' chest.
    “Mmmm, that was good,” she said.
    Harris lay back and closed his eyes. He was too set in his ways to try something new, he should always stick to what he knew he liked. He hated the