Thank-you so much for your lovely, lovely reviews! Just for you I went nipping round the room and eventually found my muse hiding under my towel.

Shadow Valkyrie: I have spent my life wondering how it would have been to be born any number of basically inanimate objects. I can't help thinking that some spoons have a good life, but yes, a dressing gown would have to be up there among the top choices - Vogon Jelts obviously agrees with me(you're right about being Arthur's though; my gown won't talk to me at the moment, it's been hanging alone for so long.) Anyway, since you asked so nicely, and since I had no definite plans at the time, I accepted your challenge, so this chapter is your fault ; )

Chapter 3 – The 'L' word

'You are aware, I know, that all you read here is conveyed to you via my owner's pyjamas, which are the only translators of which I know. Cognisant of the fact that I am expected to continue my commentary, I was a little worried first thing this morning when, being pulled on reluctantly by my owner (to the accompaniment of a number of 'eughs' and 'eurghs' caused by the general crispy dirtiness of my fabric), the pyjamas, which He had already pulled on, refused to speak to me. Some careful coaxing and a number of promises I hope to be able to keep, have brought me back to a position of relative friendliness with these usually charming beings, and so, once again, I am able to report on the experiences of life with my owner.

'We are walking along one of the corridors. I know this because my dear owner is in a very morose and dejected state of mind and is not paying attention to the mechanics of walking. We are therefore lurching about and hitting the walls on either side. The walls are giving off little sighs as we pass; some of them start to vibrate as He touches in order to attempt to massage Him into a better mood. This is not working. If anything, He is becoming more agitated and, truth be told, we are heading further and further from that trip to the laundry, both physically and mentally.

'When He awoke this morning, I was aware, almost immediately, of a certain coldness emanating from Him. His friend must have picked up on the same feelings since, after an abortive 'good morning,' he sighed and left the room without trying to win my owner round. This, no doubt, is why Iseem destined to remain crispy and unclean for a good few hours more. Now we have passed through a door and, judging by the humming of equipment, we have come to the bridge. My owner has stopped very abruptly. It is as if He has seen something terrifying ahead of Him and does not want to carry on into it. I can feel waves of an emotion firing out of Him. It is…wait…it is jealousy…at least, I think it is. I find the baser emotions hard to sort one from the other at times, but I can feel Him gearing Himself up to speak.'

"Ford…" 'That is a very uncertain noise my owner is making.'

"What are you doing?" 'Oh dear. We have moved up to full panic-covered-by-a-veneer-of-calm mode. He is clearly extremely distressed and doing his best to hide it.'

"Hello Arthur. Talking to me again, are you?" 'Our friend will labour the point.'

"Wha…?" 'He is spluttering now, it is not becoming.'

"Arthur, I am sitting on the bridge, having just finished an extremely pleasant liquid breakfast, and I am resting my head in the lap of my semi-cousin because he offered, and because there are no zarking headrests on these control chairs, and because Zaphod has an incredibly comfortable lap for anyone who likes a post-breakfast snooze. Which I do."

"But…bu…" 'My owner's legs are making little twitching movements as if they want to run and hide. His upper body, however, appears immobile, so I suppose we are staying. I can only assume that the scene that has greeted him this morning is of a more than usually friendly nature. If the pyjamas could just let themselves slide down about four inches, perhaps the underpants could take a look-see and tell us what exactly is going on…

'(Thanks chaps.) The underpants have reported in, and since I understand them better than the pyjamas do, I will relay the information. Apparently, my owner's friend is lying right back in one of the console chairs, which slide to the horizontal, his hands folded casually in his lap. He is in his shirt sleeves and his head rests far back in the depths of the two-headed gentleman's lap. Unfortunately for the sanity of my owner, said gentleman is fondling our friend's head in a cosy sort of way with both his right hands, and there is an early-morning-tentish sort of look about the crotch of his trousers. If our friend had looked a little less comfortable, or the other gentleman a little less relaxed with the situation, then all might have been well, but they look as described and it is not doing my owner any good. He has now yanked the pyjamas back up, high on his waist, and pulled the cord tight with a vicious jerk. I am rubbing his sides in a soothing manner, but he seems too vexed to pay any attention.'

"What's Monkey-man blithering about?" 'Ah, that will be the other gentleman. I spoke to his jacket the other day. The poor creature is in very poor taste, but the mechanics of the tailoring involved are beyond belief.'

"I don't know. 'Scuse me Zaphod, I'll go and find out, or we'll be watching him mouthing like a babel fish all morning."

'A chair is creaking, footsteps come towards us, and there is a familiar hand on my arm. No, it has been quickly removed.'

"Arthur, your gown is filthy." (Thank-you.) "Come to the laundry with me and tell me what's up."

'He has daringly seized us by the arm once more, obviously desperate to usher my owner out of the room before the outburst I can feel building up in Him breaks the surface. The door sighs behind us: we have just made its day. My owner speaks:'

"What's up?" 'Ah; full, high-pitched whine time.' "What's up? Well…" 'The whine is now leaving; forward with the special voice reserved for dealing with difficult door-to-door salesmen, traffic wardens and council-officials-trying-to-knock-His-house-down.' "Well…" 'Oh. I thought he was going to get further than that.'

"Arthur, was there something back there that you didn't like?"

"Oh no. No. Not at all." 'The very soul of patience.' "I don't mind coming into a room in the morning…" ('How does He get three syllables into the word 'mind'?') "…to find the person I slept with last night resting their head on another man's genitalia."

"Good. Well, there's no problem then, is there?" 'Judging by his light and confident delivery, I suspect our friend has once again failed to spot the sarcasm intended by my owner, and may, as a result, be for it.'

"No, Ford. I didn't mean that I didn't mind. I meant that I minded, very much. In fact, I could take it as the deepest insult, if I could summon up the energy; but without any tea, I'm finding that rather hard. You see, what you fail to understand is that…"

"Arthur. What I fail to understand is: one: why you say one thing and mean the exact opposite; two: why my resting on Zaphod's lap denotes, I can only assume, infidelity, in your book; and three: why you care whether I'm faithful to you or not, considering that when we woke up this morning you weren't even interested in looking at me."

'My owner is confused. Judging by the movements of His neck muscles, His face is channel-hopping through his complete range of facial expressions for unpleasant or embarrassing situations, and not finding one on which to settle. I think He's going to give up and speak again. He seems to have ended up with His eyebrows raised to their highest point without His eyelids following them, His lower jaw slack and His upper lip slanting up towards His nose on one side and towards His cheek on the other. Not particularly attractive I suppose, but it does show off His teeth, which the underpants tell me are His best feature.

"I care because…what I mean to say is that…" 'He is taking a breath. He is thinking about dealing with a council-worker again – this seems to work for Him.' "Firstly, I was being sarcastic, and I would have thought you had spent long enough on Earth to come to terms with that particular little device" 'Oh, he can be so acidic!' "Secondly, I know Zaphod is related to you in some hideous way that I can't even begin to contemplate, and I know he can be terribly charming when it suits him, but I find him very hard to get on with, largely because he generally refers to me as if I am not there and he never uses my name and he…Anyway, I find it rather unbalancing to see anyone so chummy with him after a night with me. That's not to say of course that I am in any way a better person than him, I wouldn't be so coarse; but if, after all, you like me enough to do…what you did with me last night, the least you could do would be to keep your face away from intimate parts of other peoples' anatomies…" 'Our friend is hurrying us along the corridors at a breakneck speed now,'

"But you don't want to have sex with me, Arthur."

"Don't I?" 'He sounds genuinely surprised, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him yet. Now it has.' "No. No. I suppose I don't. But…" 'Ah. We have reached the laundry. I can hear watery noises, hurrah! I am to be washed! Oh the joy!'

(That wholly remarkable book, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, includes an extended entry on the special features aboard the Heart of Gold. On the subject of on-board laundry facilities it says: There almost certainly was a better, more hi-tech method of washing clothes available to the creators of the Heart of Gold than the one on which they settled. Legend has it however, that they were feeling in a particularly nostalgic mood when they designed the laundry, and since the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation had some old-style washers they'd fitted up with GPP for a laugh during a late night at the office, it was decided that it would be a great idea to put in this one, as areminder of the harshness of existence for the over-wealthy owners of the ship. It has beensuggested that the washing machines were not the SCC's best effort.)

Our friend has opened the door of one of the machines. Oh yes, it comes from the Sirius Cybernetics Corporation, here it goes!'

"Welcome to the laundry of the Heart of Gold. All the machines in this laundry have been especially designed to wash and process your clothes to the highest standards: undertaking the cycle most suited to your needs, providing a friendly and helpful service, and ensuring that your completed laundry is spotless, fresh, and completely satisfying in every way; leaving you, the wearer of the clothes, free to enjoy life without the fear of difficult washes. It is my pleasure to invite you to load your washing and select your load-type." 'What a friendly washing machine. It has a soothing, husky, female voice with what my owner would call an American accent. My owner is taking me off, the pull I feel is terrible. I hate to leave Him, but I know it is necessary. He has put me on the top of the washer.'

"Ford, how does this thing work?" ('The last time I was washed, I was in with our friend's laundry while my owner was spending some time kicking a drinks dispenser.')

"You think about your laundry and put your hand in the slot down there. It reads your brainwave patterns and selects the appropriate cycle accordingly. Only make sure you're thinking about the right clothes."

"Okay…"

"You have selected to wash an old woollen dressing gown with a frayed cord and a selection of unmentionable stains. Appropriate cycle selected. Door locked. Commencing cycle. Please wait. Share and Enjoy."

'Wait, no! I am not in the machine! I am still sitting up on the top here…where the vibrations are quite pleasurable…but even so, I should be in there! Excuse me! Hello!… They cannot hear me…'

"Wait, no! Ford! I haven't put my gown in yet. Doesn't it know that?"

"Obviously not. You shouldn't have started the cycle until you were ready."

"Well I didn't know. How do I stop it?"

"You can't. You'll just have to do as it says and wait."

"Isn't there another machine?"

"No. All the rest are tumble driers, spin driers, soap powder dispensers…"

"I thought the soap powder was in there already?"

"It is."

"Then why…?"

"Appearances, Arthur. Never mind. You can carry on with whatever it was you were saying if you like. I'm not in a hurry." 'But I'm not being washed! Don't you dare distract Him and get me left here. My owner is not paying him any attention. He has placed his hand on me and waves of irritation are firing from him at the machine.'

"My laundry is not in you, you stupid machine. Stop and let me put it in."

"You have selected to wash an old woollen dressing gown with a frayed cord and a selection of unmentionable stains. Share and enjoy."

"No! There is no laundry in you. Stop."

"You have selected to wash an old woollen dressing gown with a frayed cord and a selection of unmentionable stains. Nineteen minutes remaining. Share and enjoy."

"Can't you hear me? You are washing fresh air!"

"I am washing an old woollen dressing gown with a frayed cord and a selection of unmentionable stains. Share and enjoy."

'My owner has given up, he is bending down and resting his face on my pile. We should share intimate moments like this more often, it makes me feel very cosy. Unfortunately, I am still crispy and not very comfortable; he is rising again, but pulling me about his shoulders, not fully on, but acting as a shawl. It is quite warm in here, so I am flattered.

'Our friend seems to have lost his fear of me, for his hands are on our shoulders, he is very close, I can feel the heat radiating from him.'

"Arthur, what is the matter?"

"You mean, apart from this wretched machine and your being utterly incomprehensible…"

"I don't know. How about we pretend you didn't mind what I was doing on the bridge, which, I might add, I was doing in all innocence, and see where that gets us?"

"Ford…I might be wrong, but don't you find me incredibly irritating? I mean, you give that impression a lot of the time." 'Our friend has turned away, his hands have left us."

"I'm not…very good at this sort of thing."

"What?" 'Confusion is coursing through my owner.

"Arthur, I couldn't leave Earth without you. I am enduring the scorn and disbelief of my semi-cousin and risking losing my status as a really froody guy, just so that I can stick with you. That's where I'm coming from. You work it out."

"Zaphod knows?" 'He is screeching now; I wish He wouldn't.'

"Holy Zarquon, Arthur! Do you never hear the important bits?"

"What about Trillian? Does she know?"

"How should I know? Probably. Zaphod's not very discreet."

"Ford, I didn't ask you to advertise. In fact, I distinctly remember asking you to go away at one point."

"You didn't mean it."

"You always seem to think I mean what I say the rest of the time…" 'He is sulking again now. Our friend's hands are back,'

"Arthur. Look at me. I do not like the laundry as a social venue. I do not like it as a relaxation room. I am in the laundry purely because you are…" ('his hands have lifted for a moment.') "…because you need to be. Every time you get flustered, every time you look confused, every time you try to explain something pointless to me, I am less and less likely to leave. You have no idea what you do to me. Zaphod and I go right back. Of course we're close. Of course we play around a bit when there's nothing better happening. But right now, I want nothing more than to fill the time, while we wait for this machine to complete its hefty load of air, having boisterous sex with you." 'I think that's what you call blunt. My owner has stiffened up again, and not in the way our friend would like. We are backed up against the gently vibrating machine, that smile is back, I can feel hot prickles of anticipation running up and down my threads and the pile on the back of my collar has raised of its own accord.'

"Now?" 'He is panicking. I pull myself carefully up, an inch or two further onto his shoulders to reassure Him. There is a hand at our waist, gripping firmly, I am squashed between my owner's trembling back and rumbling metal, the sensation is divine. Another hand goes around my shoulders, pulling His upper body forward, I can hear tender kisses, but He is not convinced.'

"Ford, it's barely half-past nine in the morning. Even assuming I was happy with this, don't you think it's a bit early? And we're in a laundry, isn't that a bit public?"

"It's never too zarking early to get friendly, if the mood takes you and the right body is in front of you. Besides, who do you think is going to come to the laundry at this time of day?"

"Any…" 'Stopped by a kiss again. Our friend is very determined.' "…one might. Marvin. Trillian. I don't suppose Zaphod would stoop to doing his own laun…dry. Why now anyway? Why can't you wait? Have you no self-control?"

"Zarking fardwarks! Arthur, I lo… no I haven't. I want you now, and I don't honestly think you mind, so I'm going to finish persuading you." 'Another smile, and if I'm not mistaken, he almost said it, just then, a couple of words that would have blown my owner away: He's very old-fashioned when it comes to things like that.

'He is being kissed again, our friend's hands are moving under me. If his elbows are anything to go by, he is undoing my owner's pyjama top buttons. The pyjamas are starting to whimper again. I promised them I would try to find a way to let them stay the next time, but I don't honestly see what I can do. I hate to break a promise, but… Hold on. My owner is fighting free.'

"No. Not the pyjamas. I absolutely and totally refuse to strip naked in a public room. If you want to do…this…you'll have to work around them. If anyone walks in, I want to be able to salvage a shred of dignity."

"If I want to? Arthur, I'm not doing anything without your consent. You did let me kiss you." 'Undeniable, that. My owner is cracking. Our friend may not be able to feel it, but I can: that loss of reserve, the resurgence of the warm friendship he has always felt for this alien man, a warmth that easily melts into lo…ohhhhhh! Not only, has, the, excuse me being short of breath…Not only has our friend raked his hands savagely up my back, sending bolts of pleasure to the very cuffs of my sleeves, but the pyjamas have taken this as a fulfilment of my promise and done something unbelievably sensuous to me that I can't quite describe. They are so happy, I could cry. I am getting heightened pleasure signals from them that pervade my being. On top of the steadily rising emotions of desire coming from my owner, and the joyful adoration and dangerous smile of our friend, the cumulative Feeling is explosive in its intensity. I feel like I am hovering above my owner's shoulders on a cloud of pleasure. He is writhing under our friend's touch, the pyjamas are breathlessly reporting to me that his hand is inside the trousers, inside the underpants no less, and I am being rubbed up and down on the edge of the machine.

'Our friend's hair is rubbing along my collar, he must be nuzzling his face into my owner's neck, His head is lolled back, His own hair tickling the top of my back. Our friend is fighting with the drawstring on the pyjama bottoms. My owner has tied it so tightly that the knot will not budge. Little noises of exasperation are escaping into my collar.'

"Flying photons! This knot is hopeless, Arthur."

"Here, let me do it." 'Well, if that isn't acquiescence, I don't know what is.

'Our friend has broken away and we are all waiting in patient expectancy. The pyjamas are mortified: to think, it is their fault that proceedings are delayed. It could be that they will not get their chance after all…My owner's elbows are digging me in the sides. In my excited state, this feels like the most tender caress. His determined picking, learnt from his mother I think, hastriumphedover the knotat last; the pyjamas are heaving a sigh of relief and our friend is pressed back up against us. Part of my skirt has become trapped between them and I can feel the pressure of the lump in his trousers, rubbing insistently against my piping. He has undone the buttons on my owner's top and I can feel his hands roving inside. Now they are moving down. I can hear the sound of his own zip being undone. The pyjamas are in a state of high animation again. The bottoms are being eased down at the front: I can hear their squeals as they are hitched over the increasing bulge contained within the underpants, and slide deliciously down the underside of the bulge, making my owner shudder inside me. The underpants have judiciously slipped down to join the bottoms and they are exchanging joyful tugs on each other's fabric as they realise their dreams. I only hope the pyjama top is holding it together enough to continue to take this dictation.

'I am slipping off my owner's shoulders. We are being bent backwards over the top of the machine as our friend kisses Him. Now his hands are trailing down my front again. Even through my thick wool and the soft cotton of the pyjamas, His nipples project, hard and proud; they stand even more erect as the fingers of our friend pull the pyjamas across them. Our friend's hands are gripping me hard at my owner's hips. He is kneeling in front of us. My owner's hips are thrusting madly backwards and forwards, threatening to dislodge me completely. He is steadying himself on the machine through me, but the slipperiness of the contact between me and it mean that He may soon lose his grip and fall.

'I can hear him moaning softly, but his fevered mutterings are almost drowned out by the shrieks and sighs of the pyjamas. They are in paroxysms of ecstasy. Their fibres are electrified, the collar of the top runkled up round my owner's neck, its front panels dishevelled and folded back under me; the bottoms are almost insensible, they are touching my owner's skin and the waves of pleasure they are receiving from him must be nearly unbearable. They are bunched up at the back between me and the tense-muscled protrusions of his behind, and I can feel them twisting and turning, working themselves between the fleshy mounds with no consideration for his feelings. A change in vibration has occurred in the machine,'

"Spin cycle commencing." 'The movements of my owner have increased in speed, our friend is gripping me with all his might, trying to prevent His vigorous motion, but with little success. The machine is speaking again, though no-one except me seems to hear. I am only listening because I shall explode if I don't take my mind off the physical sensation for a while,'

"Spin cycle underway, please change the frequency of your thrusting, Sir, you are resonating with my casing and it is causing damage in a way that may invalidate my guarantee." 'My owner may not have heard but, oh Zarquon, He has increased His frequency none the less (save me!).'

"Thank-you. Spin-cycle resumed. Four minutes remaining. Share and enjoy."

'My owner is losing His grip. I can feel him sliding away from me. No! I can't leave now, I shall go mad, finish me off, I can't stand it…He is slipping away, I shall be left hanging on the edge of the machine, our friend's hands have moved and he no longer grips me, only the pyjamas, who cry out with the unforeseen pleasure/pain. I am being left behind. Hot misery is gnawing at me and the dye is starting to run on my left shoulder.

'But I have been rescued! The Pyjama top, with a great flailing effort, has clung to me, twisting its fibres with mine in the last moment as it falls away from me with my owner. I am being dragged down with it, and now I lie, panting on top of them, my collar up over the top of my owner's head, my skirts surrounding our friend, caressing the back of his head, his curls brushing me lightly in return, dipping back and forth between me and my owner. His left elbow is moving against the inside of my right front skirt panel, catching on a worn patch that is turning into a hole, and I don't care in the least. Inside my confines it is a seething hot enclosure of lust and delight. The pyjamas are struggling manfully to keep up, but they are unused to this and they have been exhausted by the intensity of the experience. Their happy weariness is calming in the otherwise frenzied atmosphere beneath my folds. My owner is on His knees, our friend almost lying down, clinging to His waist as if it were the last thing in the galaxy.'

"Spin cycle complete. Commencing pre-door-release cycle. One minute remaining, Share and enjoy." 'The washing machine clearly feels that since we are here, it may as well provide a commentary. At least it gives me a sense of time. I cannot believe that my owner has held out this long under such great attention. Perhaps it is our friend's skill. Or perhaps it is just that he is still aware, at least peripherally, of being in a fairly public place.

'Now our friend's movements are becoming less organised. That elbow is moving more rapidly, he is moving erratically, scraping along the underside of my hem. The machine is chugging gently behind us, an accompaniment to four set of moans: my own, the pyjamas' (delirious now), our friend's, and my owner's. The chugging has stopped, there is a pause, a clunk, a whirr, it is off again, a rapid increase in pace to its final short spin, and my owner is shaking his head and his back is arching, and he stiffens,'

"Fo-o-o-or-rd, unghhhh." 'And he falls forward and is silent, panting, and our friend is vibrating almost as fast as the washing machine as he lies, flattened under my fallen owner, and,'

"A-a-a-a-r-thh-urgh-ohhh-z-unn-eurrr." 'My skirt is wet again where it covers him and he too lies still beneath me.'

"Cycle completed, door unlocked. Please remove your load. Thank-you for using this washing machine, it has been my pleasure to provide you with clean clothes. Please take advantage of the other Sirius Cybernetics Corporation washing facilities in this room to finish your laundry to your complete satisfaction. Share and enjoy."

'I can hear the door, it is sighing with pleasure.'

"Thank-you for making a simple door very happy…"

'Somebody has entered the room. I shall preserve the dignity of the heavily-breathing forms beneath me and cling tightly over them, since there is no-one else to perform this function. If only they had their towels, they could be better protected. I only hope this newcomer leaves quickly. Otherwise, I fear, I shall never get that wash, which I now need more than ever, as do the pyjamas.'


Who has found Arthur and Ford in this compromising position? Has the dressing gown really preserved Arthur's dignity, or is it just a token gesture? What does the washing machine think? Could Arthur's new-found acceptance of Ford survive the embarrassment of being discovered like this? Will the dressing gown finally get laundered and will the pyjamas, having got their end away at long last, get to share the wash? Reviewing is the path to finding out whether or not I know!