Short Fiction: A Visitor from the North at the House of Commons

Erotic fiction doesn’t get more forensic than this; as Keir Starmer and Andy Burnham get on top of the detail (and each other)…

I had been doing work experience in The House of Commons for 6 months. Mostly 120+ hours a week and mostly covering for Boris Johnson, who would drag himself into office in the afternoon with an oxygen tank on wheels behind him (it had a pussy wagon sticker on it). Most of the time he would still be in his pyjamas and he would breathlessly shout words at me and then leave. I would be left to try and decipher the meaning. Often it would be things like ‘Carpe Diem, Chair Cobra’. When he first shouted it at me I thought there was a snake in the office but it turned out he wanted me to lead the cabinet for him in a moment of national crisis, which was a relief because I’ve never been a fan of snakes.

Having a snake in the office wouldn’t have been surprising to be honest. The Ministers were constantly pranking each other with strippers, kissograms or fake police come to arrest them – that sort of thing. It was like an endless stag party and I was getting the rough end of it. Hardly a day went by when I wouldn’t have to remove a spunk-covered custard cream from my desk before I started work. I spoke to Laura Kuennsberg about it because it was beginning to annoy me but she just said “och, boys will be boys”. I asked who she thought was leaving them on my desk. She sniffed one of the spunky biscuits and said “Och, it’s that wee Matt Hancock, he must like you”.  I decided to put up with it, I mean, some people would kill for this type of work experience, and there were some definite upsides to the job…

It had become a regular thing now for Sir Keir Starmer to pop his head round the office door about 11pm, lift his perfectly tailored mask a little and, with a completely straight face, just say “donkeys?” to me. I was always ready and willing to go with him to his lovely donkey stables. The baby donkey we had birthed together was getting quite grown up now and I sometimes wondered what the mother and child donkey thought of us… Always turning up to the stables late, giving them a little stroke and then passionately making love on the floor in their hay, or against the stable door, or over the feed bin, often all of these places in one evening.

One night, I couldn’t find my knickers afterwards and Sir Keir Starmer found them actually pinned to the tail of the young donkey. I would always get home late and my flatmates commented on how I smelt like a barnyard. I would just make some jokes about Tory Ministers being like animals, but really it was Sir Keir Starmer who was the animal. I was averaging 3 hours sleep a night, I would often lie awake thinking about Sir Keir and how his pubic hair parted down one side, and how I had looked in his bathroom cupboard once and seen his hair dye ‘Elephants Breath for Men’. I was worried that I was falling in love. Or maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe I was just addicted to the heady smell of the stables and the smell of his hair wax, or the way his arms looked when he rolled his shirt sleeves up. Either way, I knew I would not be – could not be – the one to put an end to it…

I wondered if The Iron Lady herself, who famously never turned, would have had her head turned by Sir Keir Starmer, 6 foot 4 of pure testosterone with specially made shoes for his size 15 feet. I decided she would have respected him and probably masturbated over him whilst Dennis was away in Africa teaching their children how to make land mines. She would probably have relished the angry yet formal and measured letters she received from him. When alone in her office late at night she would probably have sniffed them, hoping to catch the scent of his aftershave… Yes, I thought. The Iron Lady would have been weak at the knees in the presence of Sir Keir Starmer… and don’t even get me started on Edwina Currie. She would have spent her days walking backwards and forwards past his office. Sending him garters through the post and so on. Sending him letters about eggs drenched in perfume… I was glad she was not around anymore.

Despite being dedicated to Sir Keir, only a couple of days later, my head was unexpectedly turned by a visitor from The North. As it turned out, mine was not the only head that turned…

There was to be a debate in The House about The Coronavirus pandemic that was still bloody well going on. I was standing in for Boris Johnson as usual. Not many people had turned up. Jacob Rees Mogg was sleeping on the front row (as he often did). It was his little way of showing that he was very comfortable in The House of Commons and that he felt he belonged there. Often people would spit on him as they walked past or wipe snot on him. I even saw Sir Nicholas Soames wipe some dog excrement on him one day when he came back to collect a jumper he had left on the benches before Boris Johnson sacked him for refusing to join his gang.

Today was slightly different though, as there was to be a guest speaker. He was the Mayor of Manchester and everyone was excited to see what a real Mayor from the North looked like.

Lindsay Hoyle wheeled him in on a sort of trolley and parked him next to his little throne. He lifted him out and gestured to him that he could take the throne whilst speaking to the House. I couldn’t quite see his face at first. I just saw the outline of a smallish man in an anorak and workboots. Someone shouted “Turn the lighting up,” and the lights were turned up. There he was. Proudly standing almost 5 feet tall, his thick dark hair tousled, his little glasses on and his eyes really popping from his trademark thick black eye liner he was never seen without.

He was not what I expected. My nipples hardened and I immediately felt guilty. I flashed a look at Sir Keir Starmer, but I needn’t have worried. His face was as flushed as mine. He gave me a nod and then tilted his head slightly towards Mayor Burnham, the quizzical look could only mean one thing. “Shall we invite Mayor Burnham to come to the stables with us for a threesome?” I nodded back enthusiastically.

I turned to listen to Mayor Burnham’s speech and, to be honest, I couldn’t understand most of it. His accent was impenetrable (unlike me), he sounded like he was from a 1960s episode of Coronation Street. I could just about made out the phrase ‘ee by gum’. I knew though, that later that night we would find a way to communicate.

When he had finished speaking, Sir Lindsay Hoyle lifted Mayor Burnham down from the throne and patted him on the head.

We all then voted to lock down The North of England for the next year or so as that seemed to be what Mayor Burnham was getting at; no-one really knew.

As Mayor Andy Burnham left, he punched Jacob Rees Mogg in the dick really hard, which woke him up with a start.

Sir Keir gave me one of his blank faces that I knew meant “I will pick you up later and take you and Mayor Burnham to the Donkey Stable” he then rushed after Mayor Burnham, linked his arm and I saw him slipping a note into his pocket that must have been a hurriedly written invitation.

Later, in Sir Keir Starmer’s car, we all wore our face masks and listened to Enya. Mayor Burnham sat in the back on a booster seat. I noticed that on his facemask there was an embroidered picture of some pigeons, a pie, the Gallagher brothers and a Bee.

He said something and I guessed he had asked how far it was to the stables, but before I could answer Sir Keir Starmer said “Don’t worry, you can borrow my son’s wellies, we’ll stuff some socks in them if they’re too big”.

When we got to the stables, Sir Keir Starmer had arranged a surprise. Horses for us to ride and a little Shetland pony for Mayor Burnham to ride on. Mayor Burnham and Sir Keir Starmer changed before we set off into loose fitting, white, billowing shirts and breeches.

Sir Keir and I mounted the stallions after we’d helped Mayor Burnham get onto the patient little Shetland pony, then the three of us rode off into a nearby forest. We arrived at a clearing. I heard Sir Keir saying “woah, girl” and we all came to a halt. Sir Keir and I got off our horses and then helped Mayor Burnham down.

Sir Keir put his hand on Mayor Burnhams face and stroked it tenderly. Then they kissed. Gently at first and then with a sense of urgency. ‘They must really respect each other’ I thought to myself happily. I watched until they beckoned me to join them. Soon it was impossible to tell stallion from mayor, Sir from stallion, work experience girl from pony.

Exhausted, we all dozed under a tree for a while. Sir Keir ran his fingers through Mayor Burnham’s hair and gently kissed the top of his head. Then Mayor Burnham awoke and in his pockets he had some bread that he tore up for us to eat and a piece of ham he had wrapped in brown paper. He used a little pocket knife to cut it and share it out. I was glad of the snack. I hadn’t had any lunch that day because all the pret a mangers had closed down because of the virus.

“Oh no” I cried, “we forgot to social distance”

“It’s ok” said Sir Keir Starmer. “There’s the 2 stallions, the pony, Mayor Burnham, Me, (Sir Keir Starmer) and you, the work experience girl. That’s six.  The rule of six applies, we’re outdoors, in the countryside and it’s only tier 2. So long as no one else comes along I won’t have to hand us all in.” I smiled thinking he was having a little joke but then I realised he was deadly serious.

Once we had eaten and retrieved our clothes we took our mounts again and this time slowly plodded back to the stables. I was exhausted and my vagina hurt with every clop, clop, clop of the hooves.

We helped Mayor Burnham down from his pony again and he spoke, it might have been something like “Thank you for a lovely time”, but it might have been something or other about politics, neither I nor Sir Keir could understand him and we couldn’t read his writing. He kept writing on post it notes and gesticulating furiously but we had no idea what he was on about so we just smiled at him and ruffled his hair. He was so cute.

We dropped him off at the train station and looked at each other smiling as he hurried away. I wondered if we had crossed a line we could never uncross…  I wasn’t sure and decided it was a bad time to bring up the chlamydia and urinary infection (there was a pandemic going on after all).

It was time to get back to the HOUSE OF COMMONS, I had work experience to do and the country wasn’t just going to run itself.


Short Fiction: Little Donkey

She arrived in Westminster for work experience with Boris Johnson, but she could never have imagined where she’d end up with Keir Starmer…

I’d always been a little bit interested in politics so imagine my joy when I got a phone call from Boris Johnson saying he’d read my CV and that it was very promising.

He asked me to email him a full length picture of myself and said that he’d be making a decision that day.

I sent him the best selfie I could manage.

He replied asking me to send another picture but this time without my jumper on.

I sent one back quickly and he replied within 2 minutes asking me to start on Wednesday.

I was to be his intern for the next few months. I couldn’t be happier.

It took a while to get through security but eventually I was in The House of Commons! I was so excited. Now I needed to find his office.

The House of Commons is a big place with hundreds of people milling about, so it was not going to be easy to find. I looked around to see if I could see a familiar face. I spotted Laura Kuensberg, she was trying to take a selfie with the Margaret Thatcher statue.

I went over and offered to take the picture for her.

“Och, that would be great” she said in a Scottish accent.

I took some pictures for her and then asked directions to Boris Johnsons office. “Och” she said “I dinnae think ye wannee be gaen there wee lassie”

“Oh I have to” I said “I’m doing work experience”

She laughed and said “Och, I hope you’re on the pill” and then pointed to some stairs.

Then she turned around to face a TV camera and said “This is the news”.

I turned in the direction she had pointed just in time to see Michael Gove tripping on a banana skin that Anna Soubry had dropped in front of him on purpose. He cut his head open very badly. Dominic Raab came running over, but not to help him, he just laughed, got his penis out and pissed on the blood, which did sort of do the job of washing it away.

I had my my first aid qualification but decided not to get involved. Michael Gove managed to get up but then he slipped again on the blood and Dominc Raab’s piss. This time nobody went to help.

As he lay on the floor he had a resigned look on his face. It seemed like it had happened before. Possibly every day. Eventually Ed Milliband walked past him and booted him in the head really hard with his steel toe capped boots. He was unconscious now and that seemed like the best possible outcome.

I began to climb the stairs, my whole body was tingling. I was SO nervous. I was about to meet The Prime Minister.

I walked along the corridor that housed offices for all of the shadow cabinet, it was amazing seeing the names on all the doors and also how everyone had personalized them. For example, Rishi Sunak had a poster of Carol Vorderman on his office door and Matt Hancock had Wrestle Mania.

As I approached Boris Johnsons office door I could hear a trombone and lots of laughter. It sounded like there were a lot of people in there. I knocked but it was so noisy nobody heard me. Eventually I tentatively opened the door, I didn’t want to be late after all!

The small dark room was filled with men wearing rugby shirts with the collars turned up tucked into reddish pink jeans. They were all drinking tankards of beer and pushing each other around. In the middle of them all was Boris Johnson. He had his trousers around his ankles and was drinking a yard of ale. I noticed he was wearing suspenders for his socks.

Suddenly, my presence was noticed. Everyone stopped what they were doing and stared at me.  Boris Johnson passed the yard of ale to one of his friends and quickly pulled up his trousers.

“You” he said pointing at me “You’re my new helper, yes?”

“Yes” I said.

“Great great, Carpe diem! Carpe diem! Young filly! Seize the day, fill in for me. I just need to go out for a few hours.”

“What do you need me to do?” I asked.
“PMQ’s” It’s at 12 O’clock.

“You want me to fill in for you at PMQ’s?” I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing.

“Yes yes, you can do it, I read your cv, you know about politics and stuff”.
Before I could answer him his friends picked him up on their shoulders and jeering and shouting they ran off with him down the corridor. I peered after them and spotted one of them shooting an air gun at Michael Gove who was just crawling back into his office.

I looked at the clock, I had just a couple of hours to prepare to be questioned. I hoped that the leader of the opposition, Sir Keir Starmer would go easy on me. The problem was though, just thinking about him even a tiny bit made me blush. I’d wanted to apply to do work experience with him but I was afraid that I couldn’t cope with being aroused for 8-12 hours a day.

I decided to just be as honest as I could with my answers and say “I don’t know” if I didn’t know the answer to something, which was quite likely.

I put the radio on and started to tidy away all the beer glasses. There was also an empty piñata hanging from the ceiling and I found not one but 7 cricket bats. I cleared it all away, mopped the spilt alcohol from the floor had a cup of tea and then it was time, time for my first ever PMQ’s.

The chamber was almost empty because the corona virus had killed everyone in the world over the age of 60 except Michael Palin. It was just me, and Sir Keir Starmer and that bloke that bangs a hammer. It was very tense, I was aware that I was being filmed and that this was being broadcast across the world.

That bloke that bangs a hammer banged it and I stood up.

“Any questions?” I asked, trying to look at Sir Keir Starmer but finding it incredibly difficult to meet his eye.

He looked at me warmly. “Is this your first day?”

“Yes, yes it is, but you can ask me anything” I replied.

He laughed and loosened his tie slightly.

Seeing slightly more of his neck than usual was almost too much to bear but I just about managed to bear it.

“Seriously! I said indignantly, you can ask me anything!”

“Ok” he said. “Do you like donkeys?”

“Pardon me?”

“Do you like donkeys?”

“Of course I do!” I replied. “Everyone likes donkeys. They have kind eyes.”

Sir Keir Starmer took off his blazer and threw it over the TV camera. He turned to that bloke with the hammer and calmly asked him to leave immediately.

Now it was just me and him, in the house of commons.

“Would you like to help me birth a donkey?”

I look at him quizzically, had he gone mad?

“You see, I bought my Mum a donkey sanctuary for retired donkeys and it turns out not all the donkeys were past it. I now have a pregnant donkey and she needs help. Will you come with me?” He reached his hand across the desk thingy and I took it.

In the car Sir Keir Starmer loosened his tie even further and drove with one hand whilst resting his elbow out of the window. Baker Street played on repeat on the radio. Just the saxophone bit. I was feeling wild with longing but was not sure what his intentions were.

When we got there it was dark all of a sudden. He leant me some wellington boots because the 6 inch stilleto’s that Boris Johnson had told me I had to wear were no good for the donkey stable.

I watched intently as Sir Keir Starmer finally took off his tie entirely and changed into his own wellington boots. I noticed they still had fresh mud on from this morning. He must really love those donkeys I thought to myself.

He led me into the stables and straight away I could hear the panting and whinnying of a donkey in pain. We found her lying in some fresh straw. Sir Keir Starmer was at her side immediately. He gently lifted her head and placed it on his knee. Stroking her and whispering comforting words to her. I knelt beside her and started to do the same.

“Can you just check her vagina for me?” asked Sir Keir Starmer.

I checked the donkeys vagina and could see two little legs sticking out of it.

“She needs to push” I said, instinctively.

“Go on my girl”, Sir Keir Starmer said to the donkey. “One big push and you’ll be a Mum.”

The donkey pushed and within moments, and rush of blood, there was a squirming little donkey on the floor.

Sir Keir Starmer quickly unbuttoned his shirt and used it to clean the blood off the baby donkey. Underneath his shirt he was wearing a white vest. He was much more muscular than I ever imagined possible.

I tried to focus my attention on the donkeys but it was hard.

And then I realised. So was he.

He laid me down next to the mother donkey and we made love in the hay. When we had finished the baby donkey wobbled over to us and curled up in Sir Keir Starmer’s lap.

We all slept for a while and then Sir Keir Starmer gently woke me with a soft kiss on my forehead and said “I best get you back to The House of Commons”

It was true.

I had work experience to do and the country wasn’t just going to run itself.


Dummy blog 2

Still nothing to say but here i am, saying it.


Dummy Blog 1

Hello, here is my dummy blog 1. I have nothing to say.