He brought back the clubhead, paused, but annoyingly the Skype incoming ring tone completely put him off his stroke, so to speak, and he missed the putt by a good 6 inches. Ben stood up straight, looked up at his ceiling, Lord, give me strength, he said.
He ambled over to the laptop on his desk, in his work shirt and tie, and boxers, the ring tone continuing, yes, yes, I'm coming. Pressed the screen and Jenny popped up looking pristine, as normal.
Uuuuugh, Ben, put your nads away!
Eh?
I can see your meat and two veg for God's sake!
Ben suddenly realised that as he was standing up, the camera was pointing directly towards his boxers, and his penis was poking out the unbuttoned opening.
Oh, I'm so sorry Jenny!, he fumbled around his groin while also swinging the seat around at the same time as trying to sit down. It all went horribly wrong. He mistimed and found himself sprawled across the floor with his Amazon "Luxury Executive" seat swivelling around almost laughing at the state of him.
Ben? Are you alright?
Jenny, his PA was attempting to keep a straight face having just seen her boss's tiny member. She wishes now that she had set 'record' on the Skype call - that would be worth a pay rise.
No. No, I'm not bloody, alright!
Ben was trying to get his 20 stone body off the floor.
Christ, Christ, and bloody Christ again! Jenny, why are you calling me so bloody early?
It's 10 in the morning, Ben.
Precisely, what's the urgency?
He managed to get seated and tried to make his appearance look something more appropriate for a business call. He has been struggling with this technological advancement since the lockdown. At 55, he really wasn't expecting things to turn out this way. Ben had always found in his working life that face to face contact in business was far more effective than staring at screens. But Jenny insisted that there was no alternative.
It's John.
What's John?
You know, the driving instructor from Boston.
Ben looked down only to see his manhood still peeping through an opening in his boxers. Christ, what is wrong with his cock? Could this morning get any worse he thought to himself?
You ok Ben?
Ben looked up to see Jenny with a slightly concerned look, staring at him.
Please don't tell me it's "Needy John from Bost on". This blokes taking the piss, isn't he?
I've just had an earful from him, to go with the eyeful I've just had from you. Well, when I say eyeful...
Yes, thank you, Jenny. When God was handing out the dicks, shall we say that I wasn't quite first in the queue?
Were you in the queue at all?
Yes, thank you.
I mean, I've got a 6-month-old grandson and his....
Yes, thank you, Jenny, if it's ok with you, can we move on, please?
Jenny raised her hands, palms towards the camera.
Ben, your secret is safe with me. For now.
For now?! What do you mean for now?
You're my boss Ben. I'm pretty sure that exposing your tiny cock to your employees is not part of their job role.
Ben didn't quite know how to take that. He couldn't work out if the use of the word "tiny" was worse than the veiled threat.
He's still banging on about his diary Ben.
Can we not just buy him a bloody diary? Christ, let's get him one for Christmas. Fuck me, get him a fancy one Jenny, that will shut him up.
I'm not sure it's the actual diary that's the issue. More the fact that he has very few appointments in it. He's saying we aren't handing him enough work.
Well, he should see my diary then Jenny. Show him mine.
Your what?
Jenny smiled. How she wished she had set record.
This is no time for doodle ontond avez voos Jenny. Weren't you able to bat him off?
Well, we managed to have a good chat about his rats.
His rats?
Yes, he's having an awful time of rats, gnawing his house down by all accounts.
What do you mean?
He's got rats, Ben, in his house. The thought of it is disgusting.
Well, aren't you supposed to pop down B and Q and get some mouse traps, that's what most people do. Fuck me, why doesn't he put that appointment in his fucking empty diary?
Well, she said in the tone teachers like to use, that's mistake number one you see.
Ben looked at her, not quite believing the way the discussion was going.
Rats are a lot smarter than mice Ben. You have to have a far more sophisticated approach with rats.
Frankly, Jenny, I'd just kill the bastard things...
But how Ben, how? That's the problem.
The only problem as far as I can tell right now Jenny is that my golf practice is being interrupted because of "John from Bost on".
Anyway; Jenny felt the need for a cup of tea and mid-morning biscuit, I've arranged for him to call you direct.
Why?
Because it's serious.
At this point, Ben leaned back in his chair. Well, there's a thing he thought to himself. It's 'serious'. He looked around his office. This is the office that he had built on to his house when he divorced his wife. He wanted there to be something positive to mark the occasion. He momentarily stared at his photo on the desk, of him with his arm around his local M.P. at their secret society annual club gala.
I'll tell you what's serious Jenny, and feel free to relay to this to "Boston John"; another fucking lockdown is serious. Where I've got four fucking hundred instructors sitting around with their finger up their arse, complaining to me that they can't earn any money. Perhaps our friend needs to start smelling his breath and discovering why he's got no appointments considering the whole bloody nation is wanting to learn to drive at the moment!
Calm down, Ben, calm down.
Ben looked at Jenny and sighed.
I don't know what they do in Boston Jenny, but I imagine it involves driving to places.
I think it's near the sea.
What is?
Boston.
God give me strength, Ben thought.
Well, perhaps he should think of getting his boat fucking licence because if this government gets its way, we are going to be needing a lot more fucking fishing boats in the not too distant!
Ben leaned over to terminate the Skype, just at that very moment, his little nob fell out of his boxers.
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