Private Joke

Within the first hour of our “holiday” in Wales my bulky drill sergeant Gerhard and his ample wife Hine-Ert began trying to rebalance social scales.
Bad news. I knew…I just knew it, a gut feeling.
I should’ve trusted my instincts.
Gerhard’s wife being touted as a “sure thing” did nothing for me. It was just all too ‘on the plate’ and didn’t turn me on. I need more of a challenge to get my blood pumping, a chase.
And I was left wondering how this proposed sexual show was supposed to go down anyway?
With Mr. G Stast rubbernecking and leering as myself and his Mrs. gyrated through different sex positions? or heaven forbid, him joining in. I wasn’t at all “cool” with seeing that piece, saluting erect or even dangling with aged saggy scrote.
He sure’d been keeping busy making suggestive come-hither motions at me and all afternoon both of them had been tittering together like morons. I’d been getting more and more paranoid and realise now it had been for good reasons, I was the butt of their private joke.

Yeah, at first it was a surprise and indeed, privilege to receive the invitation email with pics of their holiday home cottage and the surrounding picturesque Southern Wales coastline.
But wow..it started getting weird super early. Upon arrival, one of the first things Gerhard did was take out a boombox from the trunk of their car.
Pressing Play “I Feel Fine” kicked in. The opening track of a Beatles compilation he would repeatedly play throughout the day.
He started to do that dance sometimes done by American black females; that sorta rhythmic body and head shimmy, accompanied by finger snaps. 
Hine-Ert jumped in and joined in as I stared, confused by this song-long choreographed performance.
They both mouthed Lennon’s lyrics at me whilst wearing inane fixed smiles and I awkwardly nodded back the backbeat.
Thinking back, maybe this performance referred to my first week in Gerhard’s regiment?
I’d allowed my hair to grow out slightly longer than regulation and only knowing how to play The Beatles and other 1960’s pop songs (thanks Dad) on guitar at singalongs, had affectionately earned me the nickname ‘Hippie’.
I glanced at ‘Titchy’ Richelle Sparklez as she side-eyed me from behind the window ledge plant pots.
Richelle’s the type who takes no shit. Period.
Well, she’s pretty grumpy and “shy” and told me she’d deliberately made and left hardly any impression at Bluebell Fairy Training Academy, but did leave with top recommendations and references.
Richelle’s a Damned Fixer ™ currently under my employ. She’s not by any means my first sprite but I am her first master.
This potential weekend ménage à trois was quickly turning very tricky. A situation I couldn’t figure out an escape route from on my own.
At that point, I was glad she was there.

Afternoon tuned into early evening and tensions had festered all day. Nearly every move I’d made had been turned into an innuendo.
My only respite had been to spend prolonged time in the can, which I’d been afraid might’ve been misconstrued as me dropping a series of deuces throughout the day. 
You see, the can was the only place where I was unobserved long enough for to consult with my sprite. And every time I’d finished and flushed, guess which salacious duo were surreptitiously milling around outside the bathroom??
“What the fuck am I gonna do Richelle?”
(Just make your excuses and leave, feign illness or whatevs…a family emergency?)
“That’s not gonna work, it’s too obv!”
(Maybe keep your voice down Master..?.)
“I’m freaking the fuck out here Richelle, there’s more on the line than a friggin’ sprite like you can understand. My military career for a start, they can make it very, very difficult for me if he wants to..sort it out yeah?”
Questioning from behind the door “Richard? is everything alright in there?”
“Fine thanks, just coming.”
Corridor sniggering.
I grimaced Richelle’s way.
Another courtesy flush cover up, “FIGURE IT OUT.”
(I’m thinking..hey ho? how the hell am I supposed to manifest any sparklez around here?)
A last panic-plead to Richelle, peeping up at me, hidden behind the TP roll, “It’s your job.”

Early evening tuned into night. 
Check it. We were sitting at the dining table cracking Crème brûlées after a lamb hotpot, cooked coquettishly by Hine-Ert, wearing a way-too revealing summer dress which rode up as she bent over to open the aga an unnecessary amount of times.
My subterranean sprite was, worryingly, nowhere to be seen..
“Come on Richard darlin’, dish the dirt, what’s it like to be under the command of my hubby here day after day.”
“Oh Hine, let the young bloke relax, no satirising today plleease, we’re all off duty babo.”
I girded my loins, “He’s an inspiration ma’am.”
Richelle- come on, save me..I’ve only you to turn to..
(Hey ho! I’ve got a spark of an idea.)
Gerhard poured us all some bubbly.
Hine-Ert took a heavy eye-lidded cheeky sip and rose, full bodied, to begin a heavy breathed seduction toast but then spluttered red. Internal red.
(Hey ho! contaminate the sparkling wine.)
Dropping her flute glass, she crumpled to the carpet. Exploding with blood.
“Hine!”
Her eyes bugged right out.
This blew big time.
…..panic stations
“Let’s get her to the hospital!”
“Roger that!”
We bundled Hine-Ert into their car but it wouldn’t start (Hey ho! spark plugs are all gone.)
It was at that point that Gerhard glared at me, navigating my face.
“It’s you!”
“What?”
“All this is you, isn’t it?”
“Gerhard no, no, c’mon..”
“It’s Sergeant Stast to you WORM!”
Bam! His fist connected with my face.
I opened their car door and tumbled out and he was immediately on me. Punching then strangling. The chips were well and truly down.
“You bought a Damned Sprite ™ with you didn’t you?! What’s its command codes?” choking me “What are they?!!”
“Sp..urgh..Sparkles.”
“Just one?!”
“Y..yes.”
“Cheapskate little bastard!” squeezing my neck tighter “We only wanted to fuck you!”
I lost my train of thought and blacked out.

Coming to, I could make out Sgt. Stast lying flat on his back. He was jolting gently, with a fizzing wire from an overhead power line wrapped around his neck.
(Hey ho! electric sparks.)

Long story short

I’m on the run.
“You went way too far,” I whisper to Richelle, perched shattered and sulking on my shoulder. Two days’ve passed with us hiding out and only moving through the countryside by cover of night.
I’m just gonna keep moving, putting distance between us and the cottage.
Yesterday I slipped badly on a mossy rock and nearly bust my leg.
Right now though we’re secluded in dew-covered bracken, spying on a patrol of Damned Demon-Chariots ™ cruising along a lane.
Whizzing above their heads is a pretty sizeable kaleidoscope of ground force Damned Seeker ™ Sprites. The chariot riders are hissing out a shrill screech “Riiiiiccchhhhaaaaarrdddd…Priiiivvvvattte Riiiiiccchhhhaaaaarrdddd SSStaaaaaaassssstttt…”
Gross out.