Page 41 of Riding A Cock-Horse
He most certainly was serenading me, and by the way his skin flute is standing at attention, hedefinitelywants to get laid.
Visions of me being the Pied Piper of Jack-flute dance through my mind…
“Quick,” Jack cuts into my fantasy, “we have a problem! Get down here.”
Just like that, he shifts back into a donkey. I look back at Theo helplessly.
“Why did he turn into an ass?”
“He wants us to ride him,” Theo explains. “Something must be terribly wrong.”
My heart rate starts accelerating, wondering what’s happened. I look back down at Jack, waiting for me to get on his back. I'm a good two stories up, about twenty feet from him…
Jack just wants me to jump?
It really doesn't seem like a good idea, but when his donkey brays at me in urgency, I take a leap—literally—of faith. Behind me, Theo bellows. The sound startles me. I scream and tumble ungracefully out of the window. As I plummet below, something catches me. I'm still screaming; so, it takes me a second to realize that I've spliced again.
This time it's just my goat's head coming out my lower back—its horn is hooked on the window sill, miraculously stopping my fall.
I crane my head to look at it just as it does the same. Our eyes connect, and like the animal whisperer I am, I let out a shriek.
I scream.
You scream.
The goat screams…
Where the fuck is my ice cream?!
I’m totally going to need some after this.
Somewhere below me, I hear Jack yelling that it's ok and he’s getting help. I snort out a panicked laugh.
How do you help someone in this situation?
I can only imagine what I look like dangling helplessly with a goat head sprouting from my body, its giant horn caught on the window sill keeping me from falling and breaking every bone in my body.
“It's ok, lass!” a familiar voice calls. “We'll catch you if you fall.”
It's Phineas, Arthur's dad.
I look down and see that the clan Elders are with him. Where hadtheycome from? Did they live with their Laird? In the room, I hear Arthur with Jude, Harry, Dageus, and Alastair. Everyone is here to witness my humiliation.
Can this get any worse?
I feel a tickling sensation on the inside of my thigh as something runs down it. It falls down below, and I hear a muttered curse.
“What the hell isthis?” Phineas roars.
I swallow thickly because I know it’s slippery dick jizzle.
Yep—it definitely can get worse.
There's no way I can date Arthur now; our family holidays have left the realm of awkwardness into a new dimension of mortification. I can easily envision it in my head…
“Excuse me, Mrs. Arthur’s mom that I swear I don’t want to bone, can you please pass me the gravy that looks uncannily like the sperm juice I dripped on your husband’s face while hanging naked out your bedroom window via my goat’s horn?”
I might end up a skanky spinster at this rate.
