Today we shall mark the release of the film Hysteria with a return to the world of Richard the Rabbit and his friends.
Like its predecessor, this was published on the old Whispers of Wickedness website.
At one point we were approached by the proprietors of a sex shop who wished to link to the story on their website, and they asked us to change the name in the story from ‘Ann Summers’ to that of their shop, which we were happy to do.
Later on they diversified into the sale of hardcore porn DVDs, and we broke the link as we had reservations about the material involved (this was at a time in my life when I had principles).
I hope you all pick up on the anti-racism subtext (why I wasn’t asked to contribute this story to the Never Again anthology is beyond me) and not so subtle allusion to Martin Luther King.
SEX TOY STORY 2
‘Richard, I need to ask your opinion,’ said Lily the Lube Tube.
Richard the Rabbit looked up – he’d been sitting in a far corner of the drawer and humming quietly to himself and didn’t really want company, but Lily had that look in her eyes, as if she’d go all mushy if he told her to leave him alone.
‘What is it Lily?’
‘It’s about Lance,’ said Lily. ‘I don’t think he’s what he claims to be.’
‘Really?’ said Richard, all ears now. It had been months since their mistress had last taken Lance the Light Sabre out of the drawer and his own position as her Sunday night favourite had been re-established to his satisfaction, but all the same he still felt a certain animosity toward his old rival.
‘I think he’s a torch,’ said Lily. Richard made to interrupt, but she cut him off. ‘Consider the facts. All the stuff he claims to have, such as a rotating head and a clitoral stimulator, well have you ever seen him demonstrate any of them? The only thing he’s ever done is flash his light.’
‘Like a torch,’ said Richard, his own face aglow.
‘Exactly,’ said Lily, shaking her head so hard that liquid sloshed from one side to the other. ‘And then there’s the size of him. His head is at least twelve centimetres in diameter. That’s way outside the design parameters of any self-respecting vibrator.’
‘Goodness gracious,’ said Richard, realising that she had something. Mistress would never use anything that big. ‘You’re right. He’s a torch. It’s the only thing that makes sense.’
‘Lance is a torch,’ echoed Bertie the Butt Plug, who’d been rolled up in a silk thong nearby and trying to sleep, and had overheard the entire conversation.
‘Bertie, I’ve told you before not to go skulking around in dark corners,’ said Richard.
‘Lance is a torch,’ repeated Bertie and ran off towards the other toys shouting the news at the top of his voice.
‘Richard, we have to do something,’ said Lily.
‘We?’ queried Richard, who didn’t really have a lot of sympathy for Lance. He’d tried to deceive them all.
‘Poor Lance. They’ll tear him apart. Toys can be so intolerant of other appliances. Remember what happened that time mistress put an electric toothbrush in the toy drawer by mistake?’
Richard blanched at the memory. He’d been weeks getting the bristles out of his moving parts.
‘We can’t just stand by and let him be dismantled,’ said Lily, her features creasing up in pain.
Richard sighed. He couldn’t stand it when she got like this. ‘Oh very well!’
By the time they reached the far side of the drawer the other toys had tangled Lance up in a string vest abandoned by one of their mistress’ old boyfriends and were calling for his parts, led by Donald the Dildo, who had something of an inferiority complex when it came to dealing with battery powered appliances and was relishing the chance to settle a few scores.
The mob had broken open a packet of Krazy Kat Kondoms and they’d cut mouth and eyeholes in the white sheaths and pulled them on over their bodies, but Richard could still tell who they were from their voices.
‘How dare you pretend to be one of us,’ Donald yelled, ‘when you’re just a blasted torch.’
‘I only wanted to fit in,’ said Lance, but their cries of indignation drowned out his plea.
‘Impostor,’ screeched Eddie the Egg. ‘You’ve never given anyone an orgasm in your life. You’re a fake.’
‘The toy drawer is for toys,’ shouted Bertie the Butt Plug, who’d got his sheath on back to front and was facing the wrong way. ‘Torches go home.’
‘Can’t come, won’t come,’ chanted Chang and Cheng, the Ben Wa Balls. ‘Can’t come, won’t come.’
‘Now stop this at once,’ said Richard, pushing his way through the crowd and standing in front of Lance, who cowered with his back to the front panel of the drawer and flicked his light on and off in terror.
‘He’s a blasted torch,’ shouted Donald. ‘He’s not one of us. We should pull him apart and put his batteries to good use.’
The others surged forward to grab Lance, but Richard hummed as loudly as he could and throbbed from tip to toe causing them all to fall back.
‘All appliances are equal,’ cried Richard, his voice rising above their protests. ‘I have a dream that one day in the bedroom of our mistress the sons of torches and the sons of vibrators will work together to bring her pleasure, the one providing the light by which the other may see to function.’
They stared at him in wonder, mouths hanging open. And then they began to cheer, leaping up and down in excitement at this inspirational vision of the equality of all appliances, a world in which torches and vibrators and electric toothbrushes and even humble butt plugs had their part to play.
‘Thank you Richard,’ said Lance, his voice close to breaking, humility and gratitude in his eyes.
‘You’re welcome,’ said Richard and preened, feeling quite pleased with himself.
Lily was staring at him in admiration. At that moment Richard realised he loved her, that he had always loved her. She was far more to him than a mere water based accessory with a limited shelf life; she was the one who brought out the best in him and helped him realise his true potential, who guided him and smoothed his passage in places he might never enter alone.
He opened his arms to embrace her, but Lily stepped past him and threw herself at Lance.
‘Oh Lance, thank Ann Summers you’re safe.’
Richard looked on as the couple hugged and stared in each other’s eyes, his heart breaking and the tiny balls in his shaft fluttering with agitation.
Finally he turned back to the other toys, who fell silent in anticipation of whatever new pearls of wisdom would drop from his lips.
‘Mind you,’ he said, choosing his words with care, ‘mistress does have a bedside lamp, so strictly speaking a torch isn’t necessary.’
Trumpetville 