Chapter Nine


I just got through reading the Doctorís story after he spent all night working on it and I have to sayÖwow! I donít know what kind of porn stories the Doctorís been reading, but Iím pretty sure those stories are nothing like his. I am going to write this story into my blog word for word because itís too good not to save. Itís an example of the Doctorís cluelessness about human sexuality in general and erotic fiction in particular. So in the interest of preserving this little gem for all time, Iím going to write it out and add my own comments from time to time( My comments will be in brackets like this.)

Before I begin, I just want to say something about the Doctor. The Doctorís ego is enormous which leads him to make himself look better than everyone else. He also loves to lecture people whenever he can so this story is filled with needless explanations and pointless ramblings that kill the mood of the story. Anyway, Iíll write it out here and let you be the judge. Here goes.

Picture this, RoseÖLondon on a calm, fall morning. The temperature is slightly frigid and the barometric pressure is dropping indicating the onset of bad weather later in the day. London is looking as London-y as always. Humans are scurrying around as humans do going back and forth to places of business and pleasure. Amidst the hustle and the bustle of the morning crowd, there is one who is a man above all men, a giant in the world of business. He is a player on the world stage and a maker and breaker of menís fortunes. Yes, you guessed it, Rose. Itís yours truly! (As if I couldnít guess it from the egotistical introduction he just gave.)

This man is no longer the Doctor you know and love, my Rose, but rather Basil Bananabottom, Chairman and CEO of Banana Daiquiri Delights. (Basil Bananabottom? How in the hell did he come up with a name like that? The Doctorís thought processes really scare me sometimes.) Yes, I am the king of Banana Daiquiris. (I can just see the smug grin on the Doctorís face while heís writing this part.) As I told you before, I came from a dairy farm in Dorset and got up early in the morn to shovel dung and milk the cows and that is why I am a fortune 500 CEO now.

But everything is not as it seems for behind my triumphant grin there is a tormented soul in need of love and affection. That is where you come in, Rose, or should I say, Miss Sally Fortesque, my loyal but harried executive assistant. You, of course, live in complete squalor in Stepney (Of course I do. Roll eyes.) You grew up there in a run-down house with a father who went out every day to mime for pocket change while your next-door neighbor looked after you. He was an overweight, balding, toothless World War Two veteran named Jonesy who used to beat you relentlessly with his wooden leg (Like I said, I donít know how he comes up with this stuff and Iím not sure I wanna know!) As you might expect, miming is not an extremely lucrative business venture and so you and your dad were as poor as church mice. (And now we have Doctor pointless ramble number one.) I wonder who decided that church mice were poorer than other mice. I figure mice all over the world have it rough unless they are living in a cheese factory, so why church mice were singled out for a simile of their own is a puzzling puzzle to me, Rose. You humans sure do come up with the weirdest turn of phrases, but anyway, Iím getting off on a tangent so itís back to the story...(By now you are probably thinking, okay, when is he going to get to the erotic part of the story. Yup, I was thinking the same thing when I first read this.)

Of course, I could get into your whole back-story at this point and talk about your teenage life of prostitution and your abuse at the hands of a pimp named Benny. Not to mention your side job of pole dancing in sleazy, degrading dives that are only populated by the most depraved, vicious criminal element that London has to offer, but since that is irrelevant to the story at large, I will leave these juicy details for another fanfic. (Thank the Lord Jesus for small favors!)

So, instead of me wasting several pages on back-story, just envision your sordid past instead, Rose, and imagine the utter relief you had when you came to work for me right after getting your BSc from Stepney Collegeís School of Business. Imagine yourself, fresh from university, standing in my office as I hire you and being overawed at the magnificence that is me! (At this point, I had to pause in my reading to go vomit in the loo.) I, being the magnanimous soul that I am, decided to give a fresh faced cutie like yourself a cushy job as my executive assistant because I could see you had loads of potential, not to mention a nice set of bouncy breasts. And so you and your breasts came to work for me and we hit it off from day one! (I bet we did since I have bouncy breasts apparently.)

And so for several years you toiled under my benevolent guidance as I molded you into a model employee. You did everything I asked of you and always bent over backwards to please me. Now whether this was because you were still in awe of my god-like aura of authority or because you were terrified I would drop kick you out the door into the waiting arms of Benny, I canít say for sure, I leave that up to you to decide. (How about neither choice, Doctor? I pick that.)

But as you slaved away making sure I looked good in the eyes of the world and my other employees, all was not well at home. (Insert sinister music here.) Yes, even though I was a corporate giant and the envy of Bill Gates (Píeh, he wishes.) My home life was in a complete shambles. My wife, Beryl, was obsessed with my money. She loved payday, for that was when she would rip the paycheck from my hand as soon as I entered the mansion and go spend it on expensive mink furs and trips to Kokomo where she would lie on the beach all day getting thoroughly pissed drinking bottle after bottle of pinot noir wine. While poor little rich me, who barely saw a pence of it, sat at home wiling away many a lonely hour playing round after round of snakes and ladders with Amanda and walking the family dog, Barkley. (By now, you are probably screaming out, Sod all this you rambling alien git, where is the bloody sex? Well, unfortunately, you still have to wait for it because the Doctor still feels the need at this point to set the stage for our sexual encounter.)

So, while this is going on, you are still slaving away, never dreaming that my eyes are fixed upon you and your bouncy breasts. Nope, you never dreamed that the most powerful CEO in Britain was eyeing you up and down and fantasizing about having an illicit affair with you. No, you just spent your days typing memos, walking back and forth to the copier, drinking copious amounts of coffee and then peeing in the loo every five minutes because you were drinking the beverage constantly. (Meaningless Doctor ramble number two.) The reason you had to pee so much, Rose, is because the caffeine in the coffee is a diuretic. That means that when you drink it, your kidneys produce more urine than usual with the result that you are in the bathroom twice as much as you normally would be, which of course means you are not at your desk typing memos and letters for me and getting behind in your work. That is why you should drink water instead of coffee or sodas, Rose. You are supposed to drink eight glasses of water a day to keep your skin hydrated and your body functioning properly. (Okay, now you are probably half-asleep like I was because instead of writing a steamy, pornographic story the Doctor chose instead to lecture me on the dangers of caffeine and the importance of drinking water. This is why the man is a Time Lord and not William bloody Shakespeare.)

So, now that Iíve set the stage for our illicit rendezvous, on with the steamy sex. (You are probably thinking Ďbout bloody time'. So was I until I read on.) The night in question when I finally make my move, you were working late catching up on loads of paperwork that piled up after you drank all that coffee and had to go to the loo every five minutes, see previous paragraph for my stern warning to you on engaging in that type of behavior (Roll eyes.) So, there you are working late, busy little bee that you are. (At this point, I braced for a long ramble about why humans chose a bee to be busy, but thankfully, he didnít think of saying anything about that.) I was in my office doing CEO type stuff while a severe thunderstorm raged outside my enormous plate glass window. The lightning bolts hit the ground every few seconds and the illumination from their beautiful savagery bathed my gorgeous body in an angelic radiance. (Wow, lightning bolts must have been striking right outside the bleediní building if they were doing that to him.) It was then that I looked out the office door, saw you typing and guzzling down coffee and it was at that moment that I experienced a gargantuan erection. (Finally, after pages and pages of rambling, he gets to the point of the story.)

(Okay, now what I think he starts out trying to do is imitate the fanfiction writers he has been reading because he suddenly has all this flowery language that just comes out of left field. Then, the Doctor side of him barges back into the story and he ends up failing miserably at trying to make the whole thing sensual and erotic. One thing Iíve learned from all this, the man should never write a porn story, ever, ever again or any story come to think of it. Anyway, on to the sex scene he conjured up in his headÖ)

I rise as quickly as my hardening penis and slink around the desk towards my unsuspecting executive secretary. The thunderstorm produces a cacophony of noise that echoes the loud thumping of my heart in my chestÖI only have one heart here, Rose, because Iím a human in this story, just letting you know that so you wonít call me on my grammatical error. Anyway, I saunter out the door, my eyes filled with unbridled lust as I watch your bouncing breasts rise and fall with each deep breath you take. I pause at the edge of your desk, carnal thoughts dancing around feverishly in my brain like the night we danced to Glenn Miller in the TARDIS. I stare straight down at your bouncing breasts and think naughty thoughts about squeezing them like I would squeeze a huge pimple on my foreheadÖI have bad skin, Rose, but you know that already. As I stand there with my crotch tingling and my eyes burning with desire, you finally look up at me with wide, fearful eyes that are reminiscent of a young fawn noticing a human hunter about to shoot her and realizing that she has seconds until she meets her death.

ďMiss Fortesque,Ē I say in a deep bass voice.

ďYes?Ē you say with your wide-eyed, innocent fawn about to die eyes.

ďMake love to me!Ē

(Now in real life, I would tell the Doctor to get away from me with that thing and go take a cold shower, but not here. Nope, in this story I,)

You leap up onto your chair and scream at the top of your lungs,


(At this point, I had to make another quick vomit run.)

So Rose, or should I say Miss Fortesque, leaps into my arms like a grasshopper fleeing an overeager kid and wrap your arms around me. Your innocent, fawn about to die eyes have been replaced with a look of total awe at my supremeness and anticipation of the two of us having carnal relations in your squalid, dingy apartment. I would, of course, take you home to my mansion, but Amanda and Barkley are there and wanting to avoid the risk of scarring them for life when they awaken and see daddy in the arms of his young, nubile secretary, I decline and we head off to your roach infested hovel instead. (Gee, Doctor, how noble of you. Roll eyes.)

So we climb into my enormous white stretch limo and head off for shantytown to have sex on your urine stained floor. (I just love how heís made himself out to be the god of this story while Iím reduced to being this pathetic ass kissing waif who is just jumping at the chance to give him a blow job.)

Now, mind you, a man as important as myself normally wouldnít be slumming it at eleven at night, but you are an enchanting minx and Iím willing to risk several infectious diseases from the vermin in your apartment for the chance to make sweet love to you. (Gee Romeo; you certainly have a way with words there.)

Finally, we reach the firetrap that passes for living quarters in this part of town and we get out of my lavish limo. (Now at this point, Iím thinking if I live in that big of a slum, that limo of his will be stripped in two seconds flat the moment we get inside, but no, the Doctor thought of that too.) I turn and push a little red button on the top of the limo and it collapses into a little portable white suitcase that I take with me when we go into the building. (Gotta hand it to the Doctor, he thinks of everything! I guess he figures since the TARDIS is bigger on the inside, then anything can be bigger on the inside.)

So we climb the rickety steps, past sprawled out winos and the decaying corpses of gang members to your modest, but smelly flat. (No comment, that is all Iím gonna say.) You unlock the door and bang on it several times with your shoulder to get it open. Finally the door swings open revealing the musty, moldy hell that you reside in. (At this point Iím thinking, if you are such a big shot CEO and youíre so in love with me, then why donít you pay me enough to move somewhere nice, you cheap bastard!)

I hold my breath as I enterÖmind you; Iím human in this story so I donít have the luxury of a respiratory bypass system. Therefore, I must breathe in the nauseating urine odor, but I will fight the impulse to run because as I said, you are an enchanting woman who I would like to get to know better. This, Rose, is the sacrifice Iím willing to make to be with you. (Why am I not impressed by that?)

I close the door and set my suitcase limo down by it. You offer me a drink, but seeing as how you only have Mad Dog 20/20 in the fridge, I graciously decline. (Now I had no idea the Doctor even knew of the existence of Mad Dog 20/20 and Iím not going to ask him how he knows because Iím terrified of hearing the answer.) You then pop in a sappy easy listening music CD into your dingy stereo and we instantly disrobe for a night of sex on your floor. Why the floor, you may ask? Well, because your bed is a sleeping bag and a pillow and so it wouldnít make much difference making love on it. (I am so gonna kill him for this.)

Finally, after stripping naked, you lie down on the floor and spread your legs ready to receive the glorious bounty between my thighs.

(Third vomit run.)

I insert my penis into your vagina and begin to move up and down while we both have intercourse. (Jesus, Doctor, this is an erotic story, not stereo instructions.) As you moan and groan, I move in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out and in and out ( Oh! I forgot about this bit. I wanted to type out the story exactly as he wrote it, but I have to cut this part down. For some reason he typed the phrase Ďin and outí repeatedly for two and a half pages. I donít know if he was trying to show that the sex went on for awhile or maybe he wrote the first Ďin and outí, got randy from imagining us doing it and his brain locked for two and a half pages, but Iím not about to type out every Ďin and outí that he has. Anyway, back to the story.)

Finally, after a couple of hours of vigorous sex, you and I climax, we have an orgasm, and I share my bodily fluids with you. (Why do I feel like Iím in sex ed class when Iím reading this?) You enjoy it immensely because you scream bloody murder, which of course brings the police who think you are being murdered and we have to go hide naked in your closet until they leaveÖbecause after all, Iím a CEO, remember, and it wouldnít do for me to be seen naked in your flat by the police. Scandal, you know. And after they do leave, I get my clothes on, thank you graciously for a night of hot sex, grab my suitcase and remind you that the Stepperton letter is due on my desk by nine A.M. I then go out the door, close it behind me and go back to my work-a-holic life.

The End.

There you have it, Rose, my little offering to you. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I donít get to use the right side of my brain that often so it was a rare treat. I look forward to what the right side of your brain conjures up for me.

The Doctor.

There it is, the Doctorís ďeroticĒ fanfiction, which couldnít even get a raging nymphomaniac off. I suppose itís the thought that counts and he really did try. Once again, the man is a Time Lord for a very, very good reason! So, I guess Iíll just have to come up with something in return now and I know heíll be waiting and asking every ten minutes where it is, so Iím signing off for now to go to my room to come up with my story.

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