The Angie’s Room Trilogy – Part 2

Gimp-masks are not permitted in the family area.  

I arrived at the address on the letter which turned out to be a lock-up garage, with the words ‘Fuck Allah’ spray painted on the corrugated iron door. Quite right I thought to myself, and as instructed in the letter I knocked twice.

“Who’s there?” said a gruff voice, muffled through the iron roller door.

“My name is Clive. I was invited by Angie.” I replied, clearing my throat.

“What’s the password?” the voice sneered back at me through an eye-level slit that opened in the door.”

“Erm, I wasn’t given a password in the letter, my dear.”  I instantly regretted the ‘my dear’ I had added to the end of the sentence when the door furiously rolled open with a crash.

“In ya come then chuck” said the Annie Duke lookalike. “I do apologise for the clerical error in the invite, I’ll have to have a word in the club administrator’s ear”.

“You didn’t write the letter?” I enquired. “Of course not, Clive, I merely sign them. Come on in.”

Judging from the exterior of Angie’s Room, I didn’t expect much from the interior, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that they had took the advice of the BBC’s Changing Rooms, and created the illusion of space by painting horizontal stripes on the two longest walls – to great success.

“Do keep up, Clive” Angie scolded, ushering me hurriedly into a small office to the right of the entrance, where she asked me matter-of-factly:

“So, Clive, what got you into collecting venereal diseases?”

“I see you are a fan of my work on the Berwick Herald“ I said rhetorically. “Well, Angie, it all started a few years ago when I caught Gonorrhoea from a female banjo player from Caerphilly, that made her living by busking using George Formby tunes. By sheer good luck I’d caught Chlamydia a couple of weeks earlier, and after having a nasty dose of Syphilis a couple of years ago, I got the idea to go on and earn the full set, wrap up the whole shooting match, tick it off the to do list, put it in the done and dusted folder, if you will.”

“Fascinating Clive, I can see you’ll be a great addition to our little club” Angie beamed.

She then approached me, giving me an exaggerated wink “This is the delightful Dee, our club administrator” she gestured to the desk behind me with an outstretched arm. “And general dogs body” she barely whispered to me in a high pitched voice, shielding her lips from Dee with the other hand, John Cleese style.

I spun around to be greeted by an abomination which was stood up at it’s desk, with it’s hand out to shake mine. I couldn’t help but notice the unfortunate denim skirt. She had the sort of figure that made it look like she had put it on upside down, and corn beef legs with the early signs of varicose veins.

“Dee, great to meet you” I offered with two thumbs up, skilfully avoiding the handshake. “How’s the administration game?”

“Busy. Lots of Stage Two written warnings for lateness to be issued – the three minute rule, is the three minute rule” the beast shrieked, with a callous look on it’s face.

“Come, Clive let me show you around.” interrupted Angie to rescue me after noticing my obvious aversion to Kathy Leibert’s less attractive sister.”Don’t mind Dee, Clive, she hasn’t been herself after getting her offer of sex turned down by a horny Downs Syndrome chap. The poor cow died inside that day. What’s left now is just human remains”

“So, tell me about yourself Angie” I enquired, as she led me out of the office.

“Okay. My real name is actually Anne, and amongst other things, I like to shove broken Tuc biscuits up my rectum and have a young chap lick them out. Occasionally, my lover and I will harvest the congealed blood and Tuc mixture to have it on toast for supper.”

“JESUS H CHRIST, YOU ANIMAL” I bellowed (in case it was a test).

“Don’t be shocked, Clive. We’ve all got our preferences here, and we like to promote an atmosphere of openness and sharing amongst our members. In fact, it’s considered rude to down an offer of sexual congress here at Angie’s Room”

“Marvellous.” I said, in the style of Neil Channing on the Black Belt Poker adverts. “What time is the poker game?”

“Not for two hours, Clive, you’re a little early. Why don’t you wait in the bar area, I’ll introduce you to our poker sweat shop director, Jimbo.”

“Splendid.” I exclaimed with mooted enthusiasm.

She led me through a set of double doors to a rather comfortable looking bar area where my eyes were instantly drawn to the sign on the opposite wall that read

“Members Only. Gimp-masks are not permitted in the family area.”

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6 Responses to The Angie’s Room Trilogy – Part 2

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