Heart-Pounding Tales of The Manliness of Men Vol. 3
By Giania • Feb 24th, 2009 at 12:31 pm • Category: Fiction| Hot: |  |  | | | |
Tales written for discerning young ladies with a keen admiration of the manliness of the male half of the species, this volume deals with heart-pounding tales of men performing stunning feats of self-surgery and suffering such injuries as would surely destroy men of lesser manliness. Yet never fear! For these manly men always get the better of every trial and tribulation that comes their way! Read on for more exciting stories of the manliness of men!
The Fearsome Beast of Waddlesby Kitchens
Allan had retired for the evening to his study. A confident and clear-headed sort was he, untroubled by the dangerous nature of everyday life. It showed so clearly in his features, the brow broad and lineless, the jaw firm and square – the very picture of a consumate professional at the height of his prime. Indeed, he was as fine a fellow as could be found in any street or home of Waddlesby Commons (the town itself being named after Allan’s great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather, a most bold and tremendous hero of time gone by). The touches of grey at his temples only highlighted this appearance, adding an almost academic quality to his comely face, and his broad, square shoulders unbent by the ravages of menial labor made the picture complete. Here by the fire, amber drink at the ready, relaxed a man who was secretly the envy of every one of his fellows, yet loved by all.
Sucking thoughtfully on a handcarved pipe of finest, richly stained cherry he poured over the latest from the world abroad, contemplating with great care on matters most keenly felt. Halfway through a most enthralling piece of art (detailing the introspective misadventures of a lonesome young man and his obese feline), a dreadful scream shattered the very air!
It had come from elsewhere in the house, nay, it had come directly from the kitchen itself where his winsome wife Barbara was plying her domestic trade. ‘What awful thing has befallen my fairest?!‘ Allan’s heart raced as he swiftly sprang into action, upsetting his 18 year single malt from the fireside table in his great concern for his most significant of others. ‘Surely this must be some cavalier ruffian! Well, if he thinks to harm my Barbara, he’s got another think coming!‘ With no further thought, he snatched up the sharpest of instruments from the fireplace stand – an iron poker and fine-pointed at that – and raced across the quaint but palatial home to rescue his darling from the most gruesome peril.
Yet upon bursting into the kitchen with a terror-inspiring snarl, he found himself at a loss. No mountebank to be seen, yet here was his Barbara, huddled shivering in the corner, so white with fear was her gentle face that she bordered upon the look of death itself.
“Where are they!? How many!? I shall make them pay for this intrusion!” Allan’s chest heaved with every invective-laden inquiry. Surely whatever criminal element would know fear and surrender! (A well-versed historian of Waddlesby Commons would have at that very moment fallen dead with shock, for he so looked like great-great-great-great grandfather just then that said historian would have sworn they had somehow traversed the veils of space and time to witness the hero Aloisius Waddlesby in the very flesh!)
Yet the kitchen was empty, save for the quivering form of Barbara herself, and the bubbling pots upon the stovetop. No man nor beast could be discerned, no disruption could be observed!
“What’s happened, Barbara? Speak to me!” Allan’s clear and thoughtful brow creased with ever-mounting worry for his trembling beloved. Benumbed with terror, Barbara could only point up and behind Allan. It was with no small measure of consternation that he turned, prepared to face the worst. There, upon the wall near the mantlepiece was the fiend which had inspired this crippling, white-knuckled dread.
Fixing his eyes upon the area to which his beloved had marked, he drew in a breath. The size of this demonic presence was remarkable indeed, and Allan understood Barbara’s fright at once. It flexed its forelegs with gruesome menace, intimating the possibility of swift and deadly movement. Its thorax quivered with a passing breeze from the open window across the room, belying astounding responsiveness that would surely translate to an uncanny ability to predetermine the moves of any possible assailant. There was truely something majestic to this terrible beast, a kind of sanguine grace in the deadly foulness of the thing. Slowly Allan removed a delicately brocaded slipper and moved to strike!
Then, leaning the fireplace poker against the mantle, he walked over to the dustbin, scraped the now very dead spider from off the bottom of his slipper and put it back on.
“There, there now dear. I’ve gotten it. Come up from the floor and finish supper, won’t you? Oh, and could you hand me a towel? I’m afraid I spilled my drink.”
