For J. Here’s to a new beginning. <3
The Frog Prince
Are we sitting comfortably? We are? Then I’ll begin.
Once upon a time in a galaxy far, far away there was an evil galactic empire… Oh shit! Sorry, wrong story. Let’s start again.
Once upon a time in land far, far away… That is if you were walking but if you took a plane then you could be there in no time at all, maybe after watching a couple of movies and scoffing down some of those nice in-flight meals. If that’s your plan then I recommend, when booking your ticket, requesting the non-standard meals like vegetarian or kosher so you get served first.
Ok, I’m getting off track. If I do this again then please pull me up on it or I’ll ramble on for hours, forget where I was and we’ll never get finished.
So once upon a time, yada-yada-yada, in this far away land lived a beautiful woman called Aunt Francesca. She was so named because; well because Francesca was her name and she happened to be an aunt. It seems pretty self-explanatory, doesn’t it? I hope I’m not going to have to explain everything to you. Am I?
Now the beautiful Aunt Francesca lived in an expensive house, in an expensive suburb which overlooked a very expensive river.
What makes a river expensive? You may well ask. Well, go on, ask.
Unlike a cheap and bog-standard river this one always flowed with the most polite and gentle tranquillity. It was always clean and fresh. It never ran too fast or too slow but “just right” and the water reflected the sunlight and moonlight with a shimmering perfection. If that wasn’t enough it also made the cutest burbling and gurgling sounds as it tumbled over some high-end, top of the line designer rocks but never too loudly to be a disturbance. But most importantly, no matter what the season the river always kept a steady level and never ran dry or flooded the houses that sat upon its banks because that sort of behaviour would have been very rude and quite terribly common. This was a highly respectable and well-behaved river because that’s the way it was raised to be and all those who lived along its bucolic banks appreciated that.
And so it was into this small kingdom of wealth, privilege and exquisite good taste that one fine day came a young Princess. Now for all you rowdy republicans out there can I just say, she wasn’t a real Princess, so please put away your pitchforks and guillotine.
So, not a real Princess. Not like if a Daddy-king fucked a Mummy-Queen and they didn’t use a condom because they were too drunk after that Grand Ball. Although he had promised to pull out before the big moment… Well, you know how it is after a few too many giddy cotillions; when you’re off-your-face pissed from far too many bottles of “Champers” and decide you just have to have some of that hot royal “totty” doggy-style on the palace balcony?
Trust me, shit like that really happens. And that’s how you get a “real” Princess.
But as I’ve said, not a real Princess. There was no royalty in her family except for maybe Great Uncle Bob who a few years ago changed her name (and other things) to Queen Titania and now lives down south with her partner, Puck. But that’s a fairy-tale for another time.
For this tall tale of truthfulness our Princess is so named, Michelle. She was given the title “Princess” by her Aunt Francesca who doted on her and crowned her so during one of her infrequent flying visits. Aunt Francesca had the tendency to swoop in on a moment’s notice with presents and kisses, spread magic and joy, and then leave again in a flash. But everyone loved her for the magic she brought into their lives and Michelle was no exception.
To Aunt Francesca, little Michelle was a sweet and perfect child who was all love and light. Of course she only saw her on those brief, well-behaved, occasions and for only a few hours at a time when she passed in and out of the family’s life. She wasn’t there when Michelle had that infamous case of diarrhoea which was so bad they had to repaint the ceiling, it took four coats. Or the time, at age eight, she decided to give all the neighbourhood boys an anatomy lesson in “What’s the difference between girls and boys?” This incident wouldn’t have been so bad except for the part where she charged for the privilege of looking in her knickers. It all came to light when her little brother complained to their parents because she wouldn’t give him a family discount. Also, Aunt Francesca wasn’t there the time the cops had to be called in, including a horse mounted riot squad, to break up her eighteenth birthday party. Of course Aunt Francesca has seen the video of the naked woman galloping down the street on one of the riot squad horses. Yes, she saw the naked woman, riding up and down the street yelling and screaming and waving either a police baton or a very large dildo at the gathering crowd. She saw “said naked woman” being chased by an angry, embarrassed and very dismounted police officer. But as she rightly points out, the riot squad helmet the naked woman is wearing completely masks her identity. So just because the naked woman is wearing a satin sash, which covers the right bits to make it YouTube safe, and it reads “Birthday Girl” is not true and proper proof that her dear and precious “Princess” was the one who went all Lady Godiva for the local and national six o’clock, nine o’clock and eleven o’clock news.
But at this moment in time when Princess Michelle arrives in Aunt Francesca’s little kingdom she doesn’t bring her usual badness and gladness. No, on this occasion she unfortunately brings only a heart-weary sadness with her.
For you see, Princess Michelle was here to get away for a time from her old life. Or to be more precise, she wanted to get away from her bastard of a boyfriend. That same bastard of a boyfriend who she’d caught in the act of going down on her supposed best friend. If that double betrayal wasn’t enough she also had to face that they’d been doing it in the bed that she’d just finished paying for. Just like everything else in their third-floor flat because the talentless prick was having a tough time breaking into the music business. She loved that bed. It had taken her an age to find one she liked and with a mattress that gave her a good night’s sleep and didn’t leave her feeling like she’d been sleeping on a pile of pea sized rocks all night.
If that hadn’t been bad enough he’d also been using her favourite vibrator to get the skank of a so-called friend off. Eww, who does that? Who uses someone else’s sex toys without asking? Sure, it’s not like her skank of a so-called friend hadn’t had a go with the toy before but that time was totally different. That time they’d both been really drunk and had crashed on the bed to watch the second season of The L-Word on DVD. A few episodes in things had got a little heated, hot, horny, very wet, and some mutual experimentation took place but the point is it was her fucking toy and she’d decide who, when and where it did its fucking vibrating!
Actually this total disregard for other people really shouldn’t have surprised her as bastard of a boyfriend was generally crap in bed and utterly terrible at giving head. You’d probably see more enthusiastic tongue action from a lactose intolerant vegan at an All-Natural ice-cream eating competition. Most of the time she had to take care of herself with the help of that damn vibrator. A perfectly good vibrator, a well-loved vibrator, now useless and sullied with icky grool from that back-stabbing skank of a so-called friend.
I know what you’re thinking. A bastard of a boyfriend in bed with a skank of a so-called friend. is so cliché? Yes, we know it isn’t ground breaking but it happened, so get the fuck over it!
Cliché would also mean she’d burst into tears and ran from the room. This did not happen. OK that did happen. But when the tears eventually came, it was later and after she’d kicked those two cheating fucks out of her bed and out of her home. Oh and when I say kicked I do mean that literally as our Princess Michelle was well versed in the fighting forms of Krav Maga. That along with having just the teeny-tiniest bit of a temper meant when she opened a can of “Whoopass” it wasn’t the single-serve type. Oh no, this was family-size bulk-buy can and so there was plenty to go around. You do remember what I said about what happened on her eighteenth Birthday? She didn’t get that police horse “just” by being naked and flashing her birthday sash.
By the way, if you’re interested in the Krav Maga then it’s taught on Thursday evenings in the dance studio above the lesbian bookshop on the high street. The one next to Flower Shop run by those three Romanian sisters. I have no idea what they’re saying but if you use a lot of hand gestures they pretty much get your order right. Also I was quite surprised to see how many books there were by, as well as on the subject of lesbians. But what do I know.
By the next day Princess Michelle had got herself pretty much together so when the bastard of a boyfriend came back round to “Talk it over” she could give him his stuff with a certain degree of emotional detachment. That is, she emotionally detached herself of all his clothes, guitar and PS3 and all via the bedroom window of their once happy third-story home. Oh and if anyone asks, it was totally by accident that she clocked him in the head with that now infamous skank-sullied vibrator.
But as days and weeks went by it became clear that the home she’d shared with bastard of a boyfriend had far too many memories. She needed space to clear her mind and she wasn’t going to find it here. She didn’t want to go home to her parents who would give her the “I told you so” routine. They’d never liked him much and that had turned to active dislike when last Christmas Day, while pulling into their driveway, he’d run over her mother’s cat. This animosity towards him was further compounded by him running over her dad’s “Best in show” dog as they made the frantic journey to get the cat to the Vet. Luckily both animals survived but Mr Wiggles never went to Crufts again and you don’t want to know what a Vet charges for a call-out on Christmas Day.
Princess Michelle needed a quiet place to think. She needed a loving and non-judgemental environment where she could soothe her wounded pride and start to rebuild her life. For the first time in a while she smiled as there was only one such place. She thought of her dear Aunt Francesca who was always offering an open invitation to come visit. It was time for a journey, a time for healing, a time for a new start and time to get a new mother-fucking vibrator.
To be continued…