Oily Skin, Dirty Sin

When I arose from out of my bed at 6:00am this morning’s afternoon, I had no idea what the day would have in store. I had to be in Stepney for 8:00, in order to begin work on emptying the house we were contracted to renovate. My mind turned to wanking a bit, when the phone rang. It was my mother, trying to catch me before I left for work, checking that all was well. I felt rather agitated and frustrated at this maternal wank-block, but before long I had quite forgotten. We talked for long enough to ensure that even a mass-quicksturbate would have been out of the question. I hurriedly left the house and left for Stepney.

Once there, I realised that my late arrived had ensured I received the short straw. I had garbage collection duty. George had drawn the best lot which entailed sitting at the window with a pair of binoculars checking that no-one was trespassing and vandalising the property. This is often called “bagsying the Bill Oddie”, as most of the shift is taken up bird-spotting.

I got to work. The house, which had been unoccupied since the early 80s, was crammed with old rubbish and with it, the occasional gem. In amongst the Walker’s Crisps and Top Deck cans, I found a practically unused deck of Super Top Trumps – Superheroes Edition. More rubbish, then a copy of Razzle from March 1982. And, with it, the best possession of all – a 23-year-old bottle of Johnson’s Baby Oil. I stared at the vision on the front of the bottle. Luckily, the bottle had been lying face-down on the floor, and so the baby picture on the front had remained unblanched by the sun’s wicked rays. I tucked it in my pocket, eager for the ok so I could sneak my loot back home for a filthy funtime.

Back home, I raced upstairs, locked the bathroom door, and frantically snatched my prize from my hot pocket. I dribbled some of the vintage oil onto my hands, and I was away. Gazing into the picture on the bottle, I felt so very ashamed, but undeniably horny, as I fired my naughtyjustice into a tissue, and once more became overwhelmed by a terrible mixture of lucidity and shame.

Still staring at the bottle, I unlocked the door and made my way to the front room. I sat down, gazing at the photograph of the baby, and considered whether my mother would still remember the time all those years ago that she took me to the Johnson studios for that very first photoshoot.