In Soho

The author is unknown. I really wish I had written it, but not completely.

On a recent business trip to London I got lost between the Royal Courts of Justice and Chancery Lane (as one does) and was surprised to find myself in an area apparently called “Soho”.

A charming young man saw that I was at a loss, if not a loose end, and suggested that I might enjoy “The experience of a lifetime” for a mere pittance. I paid him and he directed me to a narrow corridor leading into a rather tall building.

At the end of the corridor a doorman sat at a desk. “Are you here for the experience?” he asked.

“Indeed I am” I replied.

He pointed me towards the lift doors.

He said “Try floors 2, 4, or 6. Don’t go onto 1, 3 or 5 which are for private parties.”

Curiosity driving me on, I went immediately to the sixth floor and arrived in a plush yet tasteful bar where the most beautiful topless waitresses plied me with drink whilst I watched a most unusual and inventive cabaret involving several naked women and a large collection of household objects. It was, I must admit, a most stimulating experience.

At the end of the show I returned to the lift and went down to the fourth floor.

There I was welcomed by a young lady of most pleasing appearance who took me into small room and gave me an extremely soothing massage. She finished with what she described as “hand relief” in a manner which I found surprisingly satisfying.

Relaxed and yet at the same time invigorated, and now bursting with curiosity as to what the rest of the building might contain, I made my way back to the lift.

Despite the doorman’s warning, I could not resist finding out what I might have missed on the floor between the two I had visited and selected the fifth button on the lift panel.

Initially the floor appeared completely empty. A vast expanse of bare concrete without even the benefit of electric light.

A curious snuffling noise caught my attention, and as I turned to face the apparent source of it I was set upon by a pack of alsatians. I barely made back into the lift without serious injury and was appalled to find that the arms and legs of my suit were in tatters.

Somewhat distressed by this narrow escape, I took the lift to the second floor where I was delighted to be welcomed by a group of the most attractive girls I have ever seen from all races and creeds.

They made no comment as to my dishevelled experience, and led me into a room filled with cushions, soft music and sweetest of scents. All I can say of that which transpired there is that it was, indeed, the experience of a lifetime and a memory I will treasure for ever.

Unfortunately, curiosity got the better of me again and I could not resist looking in on the third floor.

The second I stepped out of the lift I was set upon by a pack of St. Bernards which severely savaged my arms and legs. Torn and bleeding I staggered back into the lift.

I have to confess that even then I could not resist the temptation to see what the first floor might hold.

It held the greatest horror of all. Attacked by a pack of rabid Afghan Hounds, I found myself held in the jaws of four of them by the wrists and ankles whilst the rest assaulted me sexually from the rear.

As they left me, each satisfied animal cocked its leg and urinated on my supine form.

When they had all had their way with me, they threw me bodily into the lift.

I all but fell out of the lift on the ground floor. With a single glance, the doorman took in my torn and tattered clothing, my bloodied arms and legs, my pronounced limp, and the putrid liquid in which I was soaked.

Without a change of expression he remarked, “I told you to stay away from the shaggy dog stories.”

Next Post

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *