The Butler Did It


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I was driving through Minesvale, one of the more insalubrious areas of town, when my car broke down.
It was late on a Friday night, probably around 10.30.  I was thinking about getting home, thinking about the beer I'd treat myself to, when suddenly the car stopped. Completely died, without warning. The engine just gave up. 

All the lights seemed to be working okay and when I got out and locked the doors, the central locking worked fine too. So I decided that the problem wasn’t electrical. For all the good that did me. I’d broken down near an old pub which sat on the apex of two roads. Although I knew the pub, I hadn’t been in it because it was as much a den of iniquity as the area which it served.

I decided this time I would have to go inside to phone the rescue service. Don’t ask me why, since I’d owned a mobile phone for years; certainly longer than I’d owned the car which had so mysteriously let me down on that fateful night. 

I also decided, for some reason, that I would go into the pub through the back entrance via its car park. I was surprised to see that the rear of the pub was in darkness. So was the car park. There was a small glass conservatory affair attached to the back entrance and I was just looking at it, musing why the pub would be closed at 10.30 on a Friday night, when an absolute vision walked towards me from out of the gloom. 

She was about 5’4”tall with long, straight shiny black hair. She had sharp features, a pale complexion and deep red lipstick that adorned her beautiful mouth. Her looks were accentuated by her clothes; a black business suit, a black blouse and shiny black high-heeled shoes. I noticed she also carried a black briefcase.  

I asked if she could tell me how to get to the front entrance of the pub. It was a daft question. Even if I hadn’t known, it would have been obvious, since all I had to do was walk round the pub to the other side. 

I was puzzled by the fact that I couldn’t understand her reply. I'd worked with people with disabilities for some years and she spoke like someone who couldn’t hear herself. In short, she spoke like someone who was deaf. It seemed all the more heartbreaking that someone as beautiful as her should have such an affliction. I did get the impression, however, that she was assenting and I followed her round the pub to the front entrance. 

It turned out the pub was open after all and I must have invited her into this hell-hole for a drink because she followed me inside. The bar was immediately by the door but it didn’t look like a normal pub bar at all. It was covered in translucent plastic sandwich displays, the kind you used to see at railway stations. This made the actual serving area very small. 

There were three barmaids chatting amongst themselves, but there were no customers waiting. Despite this lack of custom, the women ignored us and carried on with their conversation as if we weren’t there. Now one thing I prided myself on was my ability to get served even at the busiest of bars. And one thing that really pissed me off was being ignored; especially at a bar and especially at a bar with no customers. 

I was just about to make my feelings known when I heard my new friend say, “Everybody always ignores me.” 

This was the first thing she’d said that I’d been able to understand. I turned to look at her. Her head was bowed down and her hair covered her face. I put my hand under her chin and lifted her head. A huge tear dripped from a long, sultry eyelash. 

“Hey...” I began. 

We looked at each other and then she folded her arms behind my head. “Take me out of here please,” she whispered. 

“Do you want to come back to my place for a while?” 

She nodded and gave me a thin-lipped smile, still with her arms around my neck. “You’ve got trouble now, you know.” 

What I also knew was that whenever a woman said something like that to me they were usually right. I’d resolved ages ago that when a woman said she was trouble I’d believe her and tell her to bugger off, irrespective of what she looked like. But right now things were moving suspiciously quickly. I couldn’t just tell this lady to bugger off.? Not under these circumstances.

She disentangled herself from my neck and put an arm around my waist. I matched her gesture and then led her outside. The barmaids still continued to ignore us. 

For some reason we chose not to go out of the same door that we'd come in by, despite it being the nearest door to where we had been standing. Instead we walked the entire length of the room to the other exit. Minesvale has a very high immigrant population. I say this because I noticed, as we walked through the room, that all the customers were white. Not only were they all white, but they were all men. Old men with tweed jackets, flat caps and white scarves. The room was extremely large. More like a concert hall really, but there were only seats on the perimeter of the room. The rest of the floor was completely devoid of furniture. There were a number of customers, but they all seemed to be sat alone. They had pints of beer in front of them but not one of them seemed to be drinking and none of them were speaking to each other. 

At the far end of the room was a stage and sat on the stage was an upright piano covered by a tarpaulin. The exit was to the left of the stage and I guided the stranger back out into the night. 

As we walked, I began to worry how quickly things were developing and what might be expected of me. I had been so struck by the woman's face that I hadn’t really gone any further south than her chin. I couldn’t have described what kind of figure she had, other than to say she was dressed all in black and she was slim. I had just begun to get really concerned when she stopped and tightened her grip around my waist. Her head was bowed and I couldn’t see her face for her hair. I thought she was crying again. 

“Are you ok?” 

I bent down to look at her. She had her finger under her nose. 

“It’s all right. I thought I was going to sneeze.” 

Well of course, that did it for me. My entire body was instantly filled with adrenaline. And then my car came into view. 

I'd been so mesmerised by the stranger that I had entirely forgotten why I had gone to that pub in the first place. I’d offered to take this woman home and yet my car had broken down. To be honest I was surprised the car was still in one piece. I don’t know why, but I decided to say nothing. I led her to the passenger door and put in the key. The central locking worked with a satisfying clunk. I then climbed in behind the wheel, put the keys into the ignition and turned. The bloody thing fired up first time. The engine purred away as if there’d never been anything wrong.

I decided not to let on about my car troubles. Instead I turned to her and said, “You’d better put your seat belt on.” 

She shook her head and twitched her nose. “Hang on a minute,” she whispered, “I’m gonna sneeze.” She held her finger to her nose. 

“No.” she smiled. “Not this time.” 

My pulse was racing by now and I could feel it pounding in my ears. Beside me she finally put her seat belt on. “Ok,” she said, “we can go now.” 

As I pulled away I said, “It’s really frustrating isn’t it when you want to sneeze and you can’t?” 

“Oh, I’m used to it. I always sneeze like this. It always takes me a good few attempts to get the first sneeze out, but once I have I’m usually good for a few more.” 

Being a sneeze fetishist, I’d noticed that most people seem to feel uncomfortable talking about sneezing. I was delighted and surprised that this wasn’t the case with her. 

“My name’s Paul, what’s yours?” 

I was concentrating on the road by this time. 

“A..TCH…CHOO..! OH!!” 

We both laughed. “Can you spell that for me?” 

She rested her hand on my thigh. “Eleanor.” Then she pointed to the stereo. "Can I put some music on?” 

My stereo was one of those all-singing-all-dancing affairs. It had a detachable head unit and I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to take it off when the car broke down. I also couldn’t believe that the car hadn’t been broken into and the stereo nicked. You needed a degree in physics to be able to figure out how to work the thing. It wasn't even obvious how to switch it on, since the power button was labeled “source” But no, she went straight for it, extended a red tipped digit and instantly the sounds of The Grateful Dead filled the air. The song was “Mama Tried”

“Oh, great!” I thought, “She’s not going to like this!” 

“Hmmm,” she said. “This is a Merle Haggard song isn’t it?” 

It was my experience that women who take the time and effort to look the way Eleanor did are rather single-minded about it. It’s a similar thing with successful sports personalities, musicians and the like. They don't seem to have much time for other things. I would have bet my pension that a young woman like Eleanor would never have heard of Merle Haggard or “Mama Tried”. I would have lost too. 

I was having a hard time concentrating on my driving with all the surprises that were being sprung on me. It didn’t make life any easier when she gave a little sniffle and said, rather matter-of-factly, I thought, “I’m gonna sneeze again.” There was no trace of a sneeze in her voice then. 

“I’m not such a big country fan, I’m afraid,” she continued with a shrug. 

I’m not either and would have said so but she stopped me by squeaking: “I. gonna sneeze! A..TITCH..OO!! OH! Dear Me.” She sniffled again. “It’s not being played in a country style, though, is it?” 

Then the dulcet tones of Bob Weir’s voice came drifting through the speakers. “Ha!” she announced, “It’s The Grateful Dead.” She snuggled down in her seat. “I like The Grateful Dead.” 

I would have bet my pension against her knowing about The Grateful Dead as well.

Presently we arrived at my place. I let her in and immediately we folded into a long embrace. After kissing for what seemed like forever, she broke off, jabbed her finger into my chest and smiled inscrutably. 

“My nose is still itching!” 

This was the first time I’d noticed a trace of a local accent. I took her by the hand and led her to my bedroom. She sat on the bed and took off her jacket. Having done so, she looked at me and twitched her nose. Her breath began to hitch and her breasts began to rise and fall. She waved her hands dramatically in front of her face. 

“I aahh.. ahh. Have t…to su neeze agai…AHH…! AHH..? A TCH. CHEEEWWW!!!"

I sat beside her on the bed, but she placed a hand on my shoulder. “Wait a bidute,” she squealed, “I have to do another sneeze. HUH..AHH.. AHHH..AHHH.. SHOOO!!!” 

“Is it safe yet?” I smirked. 

She smiled back at me. “I think so.” 

She raised her hands to unbutton her blouse but I pulled them away. “Let me do that.” Carefully I undid the buttons of her blouse to reveal a tasteful black laced bra. Then I pulled her into a standing position and we kissed while I undid it. Then I unclasped and unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Her knickers were as black as everything else she wore. Then she retuned the favour by undressing me. She stepped out of her knickers and lay on top of the bed.

"This feels nice and comfortable," she breathed softly.

I was amazed at the speed with which events were unfolding. She motioned for me to join her on the bed. For a while we lay in silence beside each other and then I climbed on top and slid easily inside her. We kissed noisily and she wrapped her legs around my back. The room seemed to diminish and all I could feel was the rhythm of our love making. Her body felt as amazing as it looked and it didn't take long for the tensions of the evening to slip away, released in a brilliant climax. That’s the last I remember of that night. 


The following day I awoke and there was no trace of her and no indication that she had even been here. My plan for that afternoon was to invite the boys round to watch the England international on TV with me. I picked up the phone and dialed John.


“Hiya, John it’s me. Do you wanna come round and watch the football?”


“John, it’s me!”

“Hello? Hello?” He hung up.

Hmm,” I thought, “there must be something wrong with John’s phone.

I replaced the receiver and dialed again.


“Hello, Geoff, it’s me. You coming round to watch the match?”


This time I hung up. Bugger! It was my phone that was knackered. It had cost me a hundred quid as well and it was about five minutes out of its guarantee. And I hated watching football on my own.

With about ten minutes to go before the kick-off the phone rang. "At least it still rings," I thought.

“It smee!!”

I paused, disbelieving. She must have thought I’d forgotten her.

“It’s Eleanor. Have you got Sky?”

“Yeah, well I’ve got cable. Why?”

“Can you get Sky Sports?”

“Yeah, I can. Why?”

She rattled on, almost without breathing. This, remember, was someone whom I’d had a problem understanding the day before.

“I was sure this afternoon’s match was going to be on terrestrial TV. I thought they’d done a deal with Sky to let the BBC televise it as well, to try and prevent England fans going to Turkey, but they haven’t.”

“Yes they have.”

“No they haven’t. They’ve got golf on BBC1.”

I turned the channel onto BBC1. She was right.

“I haven’t got Sky or Cable. Can I come round to watch the game at your place?”

"Er…yes!" I thought. "So she liked football as well!"

“Yes by all means.”

She put the phone down. After about five minutes during which time I’d wondered how she could have got my phone number, the door bell rang and she breezed in before I could get to the door. This time she was wearing all white. A white t-shirt with a cartoon of a mouse on it and white jogging bottoms. She flung her arms around my neck and gave me a quick kiss on the lips and then she moved quickly into the living room. I followed, my head more or less in a daze.

“Have I missed the kick off? No. Good!” she exclaimed. She grabbed hold of my hand and pulled me down onto the couch with her. “I bought some beer to drink while watching the match. It’s called Tiger Beer. I’ve never had it before. I think it’s Indian.”

“It is Indian. It’s nice.”

“Is it? Oh, well, good. It’s just that, with all the rush, I forgot to bring it.”

“Oh, deep joy.”

She smiled and slapped me on the shoulder. Then she grabbed hold of my arm with both hands and pushed me forwards. I didn't have time to react or protest. She leaned over to me, rested her head on my shoulder and put a hand under my sweater, placing it on my bare stomach. The match kicked off and she pulled her legs up onto the couch and rested them on mine.

Almost immediately she said, “Oh, dear… I deed to sdeeze!”

She tried pulling her hand away but it was trapped between me and the back of the couch. I was sat too low down and too far back to move quickly.

“Paul! I’m gonna sneeze!”

It would have been easier to move her hand from my stomach but she seemed disinclined to do this for some reason. “Paul, I can’t sneeze on you!”

But fate instantly proved her wrong.


Her body snapped forward and her hair covered her face. Then, of course, my cock rose up to see what all the fuss was about and she caught it with her hand. This caused her to squeal and bend double with laughter.

“Hey!” I said, “What happened to the big build up?”

She raised her gorgeous face up to mine and looked me in the eye. Her left hand was now fully occupied.

“Listen,  I’ve been dying… Oh, my God… wait a minute… I have to sneeze again.. Huh … Nnntch CHOO!!!”

I couldn’t really fail to notice that she gave my cock a squeeze when she sneezed. I could see she wasn’t finished. Her eyes were half-lidded and her cute little nostrils were flaring as she twitched her nose. I decided to add a little more excitement by trying to make her talk while she sneezed.

“You were saying?”

“Yeah,” she gasped, “ I bu.. been dying for that. AHH!!! AHH!! AHH??? Suh.. sneeze all the the wuh way here. . AHH!!! AHH!! AHH??? TICTH…THCHEEEWWW!!! Bless-me. No-bod-y else-will!”

She pushed me with each syllable.

Then she disentangled her hands and pulled down my bottoms and pushed me on my back.

“Lie down,” she commanded.

She then stepped out of her own bottoms and straddled on top of me and we went in for a bit of plug-in-and-play.

“I say.”

“What?” she gasped. This was like a rodeo.

“You do realise…”


“We will miss the match.”

“You’re football mad.” She continued riding me like a bucking bronco. “Come on,” she squealed, “ Come.. come.. make me come.”

“What? I’m trying to hold back.”

We carried on this way for several minutes, the rhythm never seeming to let up.

“Don’t stop!" she kept imploring me. "Come on fill me up fill me! OH, JESUS!! GOD!! JESUS CHRIST ALMIGHTY!!!”

Having had her wicked way with my poor innocent body, she lay down by my side and started running her fingers through my hair.

“Eleanor, please don't do that. It’ll send me to sleep.”


“But Eleanor.. the match.”


The last thing I heard was the TV: “Gerrard’s been brought down in the box and the referee’s given a penalty. It’s a penalty to England…”


“A..ACK. HOOO!!”

“Bless you!”

“A..ACK. HOOO!!”

“Oh, bless you again!”

Two women.  I could barely see them. Everything was blurred and it felt like someone was drilling holes in my head. Shapes. I needed shapes. Where was I? What was happening?

“My nose is still itching but I cuh.. can’t HUH AHH.. AHH sneeze on him. On no! AAHH!! AAAHH! AHH!!..”

“My, God, stop it, you’re making me want to sneeze!”

“I can’t help it. I don’t know what it is about this room, but every time I come in here I sneeze.”

“I want to sneeze as well but I thought… A. TISHOO!!!... that it was because I was watching that performance from you.”

“Hey, his blood pressure’s going up.”

“I’m not surprised with you sticking your boobs in his face.”

“Well , I’ve go to change his sheets somehow. But they’ve been really worried about his blood pressure being low. Do you think he can see us?”

“I don’t know, but Miss Butler says we’ve to assume that he can see and hear.”

“Shall I undo a few of the buttons on my blouse to give him a better view? Do you know, I think he can see us.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because he’s coming round. Look.”

“Oh, My God. He is.”

“Quick. Go and fetch Miss Butler.”


“Paul. Can you hear me?”

A shape finally swam into place. I seemed to be looking at a busty, blonde nurse of sorts doing up the buttons on her uniform. I was lying in a bed. There was a door opposite. The door opened and an absolute vision walked towards me from out of the gloom. 

She was about 5’4”tall with long, straight shiny black hair. She had sharp features, a pale complexion and deep red lipstick that adorned her beautiful mouth. Her looks were accentuated by her clothes; a black business suit, a black blouse and shiny black high-heeled shoes.  I noticed she also carried a black briefcase.

She sat on the bed. “Hello, Paul, my name’s Eleanor Butler.”

“Where am I? What’s happening?”

“You’re in hospital. I’m afraid you’ve been the victim of a shooting.”

I tried to sit up, but it felt like someone had hit me over the head with a hammer.

“Lay back.”

“What? Where? Who? Why?”

“In Minesvale. We don’t know who by, what or why. Try to calm down. You’re going to feel a little disoriented for a while. You’ve been in a coma for the last five weeks.”

“Who are you?”

”I’m a consultant neurologist. Normally, people who suffer injuries like yours don't come round so quickly, but I’ve been trying some new techniques with coma victims and it looks like they’ve been successful with you. You’re actually a very lucky man.”

“What did you do to me?”

”Well, first I had all your friends come in and talk to you about all the things you’re really passionate about. All the things that are likely to get you excited. I recorded them talking to you and then I used that to talk to you myself. I’ve learned some really interesting things about you, you know!”

Oh, My God

“How did the football finish up?” I asked.

“The football? Oh, yes. We drew nil nil. But England still qualified for the finals.”


And there I was, back to reality. She was certainly as stunning in real life as she was in my coma-induced dreams. Could any more of it be true? I guess I’ll never know.