Every morning Arthur Kirkland would wake up at 6:00 PM to have tea. Because that is what the normal british man did, and what he would always do. Arthur was a normal. And he was fine with that.
But alas, this is not a story about a boring man with a dull life, this story, no, this legend, is about an interesting man on a grand adventure. And who ever could be a better speciman then Arthur Kirkland himself.
Now, Francis Bonnefoy on the other foot was a hole nother story. At the local ghay bar they called him
The Hormone.
He frucked the first thing he saw every morning. Weather it be the alarm clock, the tv, the kitchen sink, we all have no inkling to the idea of how he gets his cock into these things. Certainly, a man of supernatural talents. Sometimes, though, he wouldn't even leave his bed and have a go with the sheets.
But.
Butts.
While strolling to the coffee shop Francis Bonnefoy saw the most scrumptious thing in all the nations. Arthur Kirkland. To the way he walked, like he had a ruler stuck up his pert behind, to the way his eyebrows slightly caught hold of the wind, to the way that he tried to hide a fart at the grocery store. Because Francis was totes not stalking him. No, he was, observing.
"OI YA BLOODY BIG BLOKE WATCH WHA YA FACKIN GOIN"
Francis said.
"WERRR MAYBEE YU WOULDN'T BE SUCK A PLICK IF YU ROOKED WHERE U R GOING, MATE!"
Arthur shyly whispered.
Oh and how Francis caught, the one.
Who knew the one would be an obese black man?
Who was Francis to judge?
That night Francis tasted those sinful lips, caressed the budding boobs.
What a glorious night indeed.
Francis only hoped it would stay that way.
Fine.