Dogsbody stood at the end of the enclosing machine.
Scratching his arse.
Staring at nothing.
Every thirty seconds or so he would shovel up the personalised envelopes that churned out of the machine and cram them into a box.
Then he would scratch his arse.
Nothing much went on in Dogsbody’s life.
Nothing much went through his mind.
His life was drudgery.
He knew that.
But at least while he was at work, drudgery paid.
And he didn’t have to look at his wife.
In between scratching his arse and yawning, Dogsbody shuddered.
He knew what his wife would be doing at that precise moment.
Laid on the couch in a cup-a-soup stained nightie, smoking fags and drinking a blue WKD in front of the Jeremy Kyle show while the kids set fire to things in their bedroom.
No, work was shit, but it was better than being at home.
With a glazed expression he watched as the cleaners clocked in and limped, waddled and shuffled to their work.
They filed past, and…
A new cleaner.
Long dark hair.
Admittedly she was less than four feet tall, but you can’t have everything.
She was the loveliest dwarf he’d ever seen.
She realised he was staring, and glanced across at him.
Dogsbody quickly looked away, pretending to concentrate on his work.
He couldn’t help himself.
He looked back.
She was still looking at him.
Then she was gone, heading to the offices to vacuum, dust and empty bins.
The envelopes began to pile up, but Dogsbody didn’t notice.
He was looking at a closing door, and thinking of one hot midget.
As the days went by, he waited in excited anticipation for her arrival each day at four.
The heavy clunk of the punch clock was enough to set his heart racing.
The pitter patter of her tiny feet gave him goose bumps.
One time he saw her bend over to tie her shoe lace, and he caught a glimpse of a black thong.
He was stunned.
He didn’t know they made stuff like that in kids sizes.
Two weeks later, and Dogsbody was clocking off for another day.
It was nine o’clock at night.
He hadn’t seen her for a couple of days.
It made him feel strange and empty.
As he walked across the car park he wondered if he might be falling in love.
He couldn’t stop thinking about her cute little hands, and the smooth skin of her large forehead.
Yes, he was in love.
He sighed, and trudged to his car.
There was a note under the windscreen wiper.
It was only just held in place.
She couldn’t reach any higher.
With fumbling hands he opened it.
“I’ve seen you watching me. I think you’re cute!
If you want to go for a drink, give me a ring. X”
There was a phone number.
Dogsbody was ecstatic.
That night he sent her a text.
“it is me. dogsbody. off the mashine. i thinc yoor rilly hott. i wud rite like to go out wi yoo, maybe too pub. if yoo fansi it give us a bell. by th way wot is yor name. from dogsbody. xxx”
The next day at work, his phone buzzed.
It was a text.
Hi dogsbody. glad you got my message. my name is Tracy…”
Tracy! What a beautiful name!
“…You are my kind of man, dogsbody. I think you are very handsome. I knew you were looking the other day. I saw you looking at my knickers, you dirty man. I fancied you the moment I saw you. I would like to do all sorts of things to you. What would you like to do with me? xxx”
Dogsbody felt faint.
His mouth was dry.
His heart punched painfully against his rib cage.
He tried to hide his hard on behind a pile of envelopes.
The years of bitter dissatisfaction at work and home suddenly seemed about to end, and a new option presented itself to him.
Light at the end of a dark tunnel.
The sun’s weak rays banishing the bitter cold of night.
He was going to have red hot, no holds barred sex with a nympho of restricted growth.
His knees went weak, and with sweaty thumbs he clumsily began to write a text, tentatively describing how he wanted to fuck her brains out…
He didn’t see her at work any more.
Her shift had been changed.
They kept in touch by text.
Lots of texts.
Dirty, filthy, texts, full of bad spelling and sordid fantasies.
He struggled with the phone, wishing he owned a dictionary so he could spell words such as ‘facial’ and ‘vibrator’.
Did you spell ‘fisting’ with one or two ‘t’s?
English had never been his strong point.
He didn’t have any strong point, for that matter.
But that wasn’t important any more.
Tracy wanted to see him.
He’d got the text that morning.
He was going to meet her at The Pheasant, that evening at eight.
Anything could happen.
He only hoped he didn’t make a fool of himself and cum too early.
He was nearly cumming just thinking about it…
It was 7.50.
Dogsbody slipped through the side door of The Pheasant, hiding the large bunch of flowers behind his back.
He felt like a right tit.
He knew he should have left the flowers in the car.
Too late now.
He wished he’d worn something less conspicuous, but he’d wanted to look smart, make a good impression.
He was wearing the only smart outfit in his meagre wardrobe.
His wedding suit.
He’d been married for twenty years.
The lapels were seven inches wide.
The suit was chocolate brown.
His tie was purple paisley.
He’d told his wife he was going to play snooker with the lads.
She caught him trying to sneak out in his suit.
She asked him where he’d be playing – 1978?
They’d had a right row.
She’d threatened him with divorce.
He didn’t care.
All he wanted was Tracy.
Lovely little Tracy.
He hoped she was wearing something that showed off her tits.
It would be a piece of piss to look down her top.
His mouth was dry just thinking about it.
He needed a drink.
Dogsbody went to the bar.
As he waited to get served he glanced around the pub.
He didn’t think she had arrived.
He couldn’t be sure though.
It was quite a high bar.
He’d have a look round when he got a drink.
The barman arrived, but before Dogsbody could order anything, he put a drink down in front of him.
It was a single whiskey.
Dogsbody looked puzzled.
“It’s from a lady in the other room.”
Dogsbody’s heart leaped.
The barman continued.
“Yeah, she said you’d come here for a short, so here it is.”
He picked up the glass, and his phone buzzed.
It was a text message.
‘Come and get me! I’m in the other room!’
Dogsbody pushed open the adjoining door, but Tracy wasn’t there.
All his work mates were, though.
Laughter and wolf whistles exploded as he walked in.
Everyone was calling him a wanker, a pervert.
He was stunned.
One of the women from the mailroom was tapping on her phone.
Dogsbody’s own phone buzzed.
‘Tracy left work weeks ago. She was scared off by you grinning at her.
We left that message on your car, you pervert!!’
Somebody threw something at him.
It hit him on the chest and flopped to the floor.
It was a strap on dildo.
He remembered all the texts he’d sent.
All the dirty secrets, all his fantasies.
Now everybody knew.
He ran, the screams and laughter of his work mates ringing in his ears.
He dropped the flowers in a filthy puddle, and slumped behind the wheel of his car.
He’d have to go home and face the wife.
He’d have to face his work mates on Monday.
Tracy had been nothing but a dream, a fantasy.
He should have known it was too good to be true.
Why would a sexy dwarf like her go for a loser like him?
She was out of his league.
Mind you, he had thought he’d noticed her mate giving him the eye once or twice.
He felt honoured that she’s give him the eye, seeing as she only had one to give.
It was a very nice eye though.
And he’d always like a girl with a fuller figure.
Like an hour glass.
Well, a pint glass, really.
Maybe he’d give it a go with her.
He’d never forget Tracy though.
That had been love.
Scratched his arse.
Started the car, and drove home.