The Magic Glasses

by pycus13

Can magic and technology combined beat a villain that is successful in his endeavors? No. Consequences must be suffered, victories must be earned, and entertainment must be provided. Time travel with a twist, canon backstory but with one difference that quickly spirals into great changes. Starts in the middle of Harry's first year at Hogwarts.

2. Who's Bart?

AN: The prologue is not from the main character point of view but an introduction to a side chacter. That character enters the main story later on when the action swaps to the times of hogwarts. However this is not a time travel story, the progression is chronological, there is no going back to the past, there are no flashbacks or flashforwards. The character from this chapter enters the story via a plot device that will couse waves differenting this from canon. If you hate it when the story POV is not from the POV or about main characters you can skip this chapter and start from the next one.

The Magic Glasses:

How I Stopped Worrying About Possessions And Learned

To Love The Ride.

Act 1: Who is this Bart Character you speak of?

Chapter 1: Prologue. Get your ass to Mars!

Once upon a time, right after the fall of communism (fall of communism=freedom!) a baby was born in a very peculiar town of the old Eastern Block. Being small, poor and with a gloomy outlook on life, its only wish was to go west where blue was the sky. "True, to go west was once everyone's dream, but what about the just mentioned peculiarities?"

- A question resounds. It then goes, on and on, makes waves on the grass plain of life, leaves its mark and perhaps even you, my dear reader, had had it form in your mind. But, if that is not the case, then maybe... Maybe a second option ought to be presented? Yes, in order to suit a broader audience, me - the narrator! Will produce... An alternative.

It is my pleasure, and sincere hope that with a choice... With this choice, the story, and my narration, will become more akin to your preferences, for you: the audience extraordinaire! So how about this as an alternative; another question to shape the narration! In case you didn't like the first one, let's test the narrator's thought - guessing - empathy skills, and produce another: "Like, why should I care about some baby communist (freedom!)? U S A! U S A !" Yes? No?

To answer both of these questions let me present you with a simple truth; that the description from the beginning concerned in fact not the baby, but the town. Yes, an entire town wants to go west... Buildings and all. Although, to be honest, no one can blame them, bombed by Hitler & Stalin, trampled with Napoleon's army and the Mongol horde's horses, burned as well as flooded many times… If any buildings deserved to move west, it was them.

Since buildings rarely migrate abroad, an assumption that I was talking about the baby was entirely reasonable. False, and a failure of imagination but yes, reasonable. No reason to feel ashamed. To be honest though, the description couldn't be about the baby. This is because, as most people agree, babies have no characteristics with which they could be described. "Seen a baby once, you've seen it a thousand times, sister!" - Goes a saying.

The reason why it goes like that has been lost to time. Though the general consensus stands, that it is the way it is, because the children are our future. Unfortunately the future is a thing that's utterly indescribable, therefore what it and by extension babies look like is going to stay a mystery forever. It is this narrator's belief that for that very reason, it is at present, the generally acceptable social norm that if you are unsure how to distinguish one baby from another, you'd just say that all babies look alike. Bada bim, bada boom, foggetaboutit, molto bene.

By now I'm definitely sure that this nonsense talk wore all too thin, and it is time to actually start going on with the story. Which we will, just as soon as I finish setting the scene. So here it goes. Due to the Reds leaving before the little blob was born, it wasn't a communist, ok? There. We're back on track. So, where were we? The peculiarities… Right. One such peculiarity is the town's history. It is so, because heck, it's old... It's so old yo mamma came down from a tree there. An apple tree. Why an apple tree?

It's simple really. Without freedom there's a void that builds in your heart. With a void in you, you can't feel whole. Without feeling whole, you're hungry. When you're hungry, you want a piece of pie. When you want a piece of pie, you think of freedom. When you think of freedom, you get apple pie. As every American knows, there is nothing that says freedom more than apple pie does (apple pie - freedom!), and so apple trees got everywhere. Just the nature's way of manifesting "the want for freedom" in primitive cultures. Majestic...

With that out of the way, let's just say that thanks to its history, the town had a certain kind of atmosphere, (an applesphere if you will), that once the baby grew into a young man, he'd describe in these words: "Sometimes, when the weather is clear, the evening is late or a morning is much too early for sensible people, if you'd just take a look... You'd feel as though from every corner of the city, the ages are calling back on to you."

Yup, my dear reader. The guy loved him some weak sauce like this. He thought that it was very grand indeed. Every time he came up with such things he got much satisfaction out of it . One of the things He used to think was that it amounted to a great combination of an artistic soul and a romantic mind. With such combination personified in words he must seem vibrantly attractive for the female psyche. With what, that tingle on their little smutty minds, it couldn't fail, right? (wrong)

That whole shebang started in Bart's childhood and from that point on, it fostered. Soon enough it became a trend and it only continued whilst he was growing up. It got so bad in his early teens that eventually, he became a full of himself tool. Let me give you an example. One of the things he used to say was that by the age of 13 he already had had ten girlfriends , and with the last one he did the sex. Testosterone oozed out of his skin along with pimples. Many pimples, much testosterone, such macho.

But well… That was then. So we'll put it lightly and say that at thirteen, he still had things to grow out of. However, several years later, during a coming of age party of one of his friends, that state of things would be subject to change, and he'd say something much more akin to reality. That party consisted of 3 other people: Mike, Dom, Vera. Mike was a ginger of a rather slight frame, Dom was the blond haired, tall and fit, picture perfect arian Romeo, and Vera was a black curly haired shorty with a lot of sex appeal and charm on the side.

Twas' in the late evening of a beautiful summer's day, in his friend's living room, when surrounded by close friends, having a merry ol' time and feeling a bit tipsy, he decided to tell a story (the ten girlfriends and sex by 13) and this, is what transpired:

-Hey! - Using his booming bass Bart called out to the rest of the party. -You guys remember middle school? - He began, determined to get the sweet deliverance that so often comes when sharing secrets.

Having had his glass refilled for the third time just moments before, he stood facing the lot of them with his drink of choice the Cuba Libre. He held it close to his chest planning to take his time telling that particular story, probing them for reactions as he spoke. That tale had to be closely tailored so as to not offend his audience's tastes with obscenities too quickly. He felt the need to tell it for so long. To have them shy away before he finished, and get denied the sweet catharsis was out of the question.

His schoolmates not expecting of what was to come, leisured on a large brown sofa in front of him. Their drinks had been refilled probably for the fourth time this evening, relaxing both the people and the topics of conversation, and that meant it was his time to pounce.

-No, we don't . That's because we've gone to different middle schools Bart. - A husky feminine voice with pitch just a little on the high side replied. Taking her adoring browns from the object of her affection she quickly appraised him before continuing. -Please do try to keep up. We soon won't be going to the same high school once this year ends… - She finished, sighing. Being snuggled up in the arms of her Romeo, it was hard to conclude whether her tone was because of the quickly approaching future, or rather due to the present sitting arrangement. Perhaps it's due to both.

Nevertheless, she didn't wait for a reply, and having swiftly untangled herself, her eyes were already set on the glass table holding the drinks in front of her. Basically, an offhand remark instead of her usual challenging, cheeky self. That suited Bart just fine, as it meant that on his journey to tell that long held secret, on the first intersection the lights were green so to speak, and now he'll be able to pass without slowing down.

Without slowing down was also the way a glass of vodka martini was taken, sipped, and put back on the coaster next to the gin and tonic belonging to the other couch dweller. The two outmost coasters, just like their corresponding stools were currently empty. The one to Bart's left awaited him and his Cuba Libre, next sat a gin and tonic, then vodka martini, and the last one was currently vacant. Positioning himself with little grace between the single large wooden column propping the glass table and his short but robust leather-bound stool, after struggling briefly he took a seat and continued.

-Be that as it may, but have I told you about how by thirteen I've already had ten girlfriends? - He asked, intending to talk in a way as to spark curiosity in his friends but, because sitting is hard, just ended up sounding frustrated.

-Oh not this again... - The male part of the couch groaned. -Bart. Even though we haven't gone to the same middle school, you've mentioned this story far too often to, by now, spark even a little bit of curiosity in any of us.

-Exactly, Dom's right. You're beginning to talk nonsense, have another drink, mate! - A second male voice spoke, this one although not being in the same room came from behind them. Ghosts in the walls? Mysterious ventriloquists turned party crashers? Who? Where? When? Huh? Those were the thoughts that came rushing through Bart's confused brain, right until he heard that annoying Australian "mate", which immediately made him remember that the alcohol was chilling in the fridge. Knowledge where the alcohol is, and that it's coming, made him relax after that little spot of distress, and a serene smile appeared on his face. Alright mate, indeed.

-No, no, guys.. Guys. It's all true... What I've been telling… Back then. That's what's true... - He rambled, trying not to stall the conversation.

-Bart you're mumbling, have another drink instead! - An interjection, again, from the fridge's vicinity.

-Hush you... It's just that, we were just children at the time you know? - Bart continued, trying to begin to explain his point. -Back then, all it took to get a girlfriend, was to bring her a flower once, then maybe give her some chocolates and bada bim, bada boom you had a girlfriend, yea? – Still the emphasis was on "trying" but what's this? Alcohol to the rescue! After downing it in one big gulp, and before anyone could get a new conversation started, he resumed retelling of his story. -From that point on, there was some hand holding, a couple conversations about sweet nothings, and then two weeks have passed, during which not much has happened, and you forgot all about it... That's just the way it was back then, you know? - He finished… But what's this, ooh a red light, shiny!

-Booo! That story sucked! - Booed the owner of the first male voice.

-Definitely, more drinks are in order! - Said the owner of the other male voice, who by now has returned from the kitchen, and at moment was in the process of refiling everyone's drinks.

-Ok. Thanks, Dom, wait a sec. Hold your horses, that's just the beginning. There are other things coming up. You just wait. - Red and yellow? -For example... In fourth grade I got talking with this girl, a good looking lassy; long dark hair, seemed nice, five out of seven... About kissing, and just like that, she asked if I wanted to do some. Of course, I said yes, never kissed a girl before, and then.. We did! - Exclaimed Bart, gesticulating enthusiastically.

-So, to recap… What you're saying is; young girls are easy, you took an advantage of them, for what, to drive up your count on a clicker? And that there is still more of this to come via your amazing stories. Stories which will drive us all wild, correct? - Asked the female voice, venom glands all filled up.

-No! I'm not saying any of that. I don't have a clicker. Besides, that relationship didn't even last one day... - He responded eloquently, trying to not end up looking like a pedo.

-Then you're just taking the mickey, Bart! Those weren't proper girlfriends, and when you say they were you look like a full of it tool! - Dom accused, pointing accusingly at Bart each time a punctuation mark came along. That the hand he used to point while making his accusations was holding a glass sloshing with alcohol every time he pointed, was obviously of no consequence at the time. Accusation stands… Accusingly.

-Yea. Vera's right. You're such a pedo Bart! – This time it was Mikey who accused Bart. Finished with the refills he used his gazelle like grace to move around the table before plopping on the stool, his Guinness settling on the coaster with a green clover floating on the thin foam.

-Hey! All of them were the same age as me! I was not a pedo... - Bart said forcefully, but in a betraying gesture he ran a hand through his brown hair.

-Whatever. Now... Everybody! We're going to be toasting the birthday boy! - Mike proposed cheerfully.

-Cheers! - Everyone raised their glasses, drank the alcohol down, and Vera called the night's bartender for a change of beverage.

-Mike! The next bottle you'll open, you'll open the one that I've brought. It's chilling in the freezer, the big one with a green label. It's about time we moved on to something more matching the occasion, hm? - She issued her request, getting a stray lock of her long curly hair out of her face before putting her baby-blues on Dom, smiling cheekily and wiggling her dark eyebrows.

-That's what I'm talking about! - He agreed returning the fond gaze with his amber browns and coming right back at her with a wiggle of his own blond ones.

-Sure! I'm all for it. Bottle of whisk-heey coming right up, no problem. - Mike answered enthusiastically, immediately getting up to fetch it.

Meanwhile, his friend's attention distracted by the subject of alcohol, Bart concluded that if he acted now, they wouldn't have the chance to object to another try of Casanova's kumbaya. The mind of a drunk works in mysterious, but simple ways. Putting it simply, if this were a drag race strip the second yellow light would've light up for him. Thus, he put the metaphorical gear in, and went on the offensive.

-Oi! You want proper girlfriends? I'll give you proper girlfriends! Remember my last girlfriend, the one from middle school? She was a proper girlfriend, we even did the sex! - Proclaiming loudly, he started the show using his current state of intoxication as a bravery substitute. He was absolutely sure that he would need it, as the reason why he has never told this story in full before, was that he was: a) scared of the listener's reaction, b) not sure about actual comedic value of it, and without comedy what's the point of telling it, c) scared of its conclusion, or d) all of the above. You be the judge, 'cause at that moment, Bart sure as gold didn't know.

It was Mike who was the first to begin the interrogation. He was positively buzzing with excitement at the sheer thought. Not to mention, that with all of the ideas that at that moment must've been passing through his head, add to that the night's alcohol consumption and he worked himself to quite a state. -You and Icky? You'd actually popped her cherry? Man… Getting to shag a Sheila at thirteen, noice, what a man. - As It appears, the day before the party he watched a marathon of Steve Irwin's and it stuck, because Australia was the ginger's theme throughout the evening.

-Although come to think of it, wasn't she already past that point? Since you know, you weren't exactly the first guy to that party in middle school. Am I right guys?! Bowchicka bow wow! - Even before he finished, Vera started to open her mouth to deliver the follow up. It would soften Bart with by the power of the ol' one - two. He just knew it. A small dose of sarcastic amusement in her voice, and partly veiled disgust present on her face. Oh, and the venom… Lots and lots of venom.

-You guys know, that you are acting like unbelievable pigs. Barty, Mikey, you know that, right? - Left to the body. Bart thought to himself. -Talking about her, like she's a piece of meat, Mike I expected better from you! - Right to the chin? -It's bad enough that Bart here acts like an idiot, but at least he's defending his ego, meanwhile you just act like a daft sod without any reason! - She ranted, her lovely features tainted by disgust at Mike's behavior.

-Hey, I'm not acting like a daft sod! - Mike retorted eloquently. -If Bart wants to do some sharing of his experiences with Icky, to his friends, that's his business. I just got curious, because it finally started to get interesting for once. So forgive me… For showing some bloody enthusiasm here, alright mate! - He shouted back at Vera.

-Be that as it may. - Vera responded calmly. -The fact of the matter is, that the way you asked them didn't differ from a hog running through the jungle. - She continued, hammering her point home into Mike's skull. - Ever heard of not breaking the wall with your head? Mikey.. Come on! - He began to open his mouth to reply, but she cut him off before he managed to say anything. -And Anyway, that's beside the point, because there is no way this party ends, and Bart doesn't spill the beans. - She added, finishing her ribbing into the night's bar person, and having emptied her venom glands, she mellowed down a bit. Mike started to open his mouth, but was cut off, this time by Bart.

-Okay… Mike's lack of subtlety aside, personally I wonder, what does our birthday boy think?- Bart asked, spilling a bit while he drank his eighth shot this evening. -Aren't we just friends having a good time reminiscing, or are we just acting like pigs? What's it gonna be Dom?

-I think... - Dom began, forming his reply carefully. - That in Mike's case it's obviously the hog option. - He said smiling, while Bart and Vera sniggered, Mikey just barked an -'Apreciate it. -And we're gonna be so hammered tonight, that by next morning we won't remember it anyway. So... After another round of bottom's up, I want to hear what Bart's got to say. - He said, and after a call of -Cheers! - Echoed throughout the room and a -That's what I'm talking about! - From Mike, everyone's attention turned to Bart.

Green light lit, Tora! Tora! Tora! Dive! Dive! Dive! And we're finally off from that blasted metaphorical intersection to begin the road to catharsis in earnest.

-Ok. So... We were both thirteen, yea? Our classes have finished, and while we were making our way out I asked her to drop by. She agreed and after texting her folks, we headed to Casa de Bart. Once we got there, I brought refreshments and put some sexy music on. We relaxed and soon it got to making out. After some time was spent on that pleasurable activity, I peeled her clothes off. She took mine, and we hopped under the covers. So far so good, yea? - Here Bart decided to pause in order to build some dramatic tension, and took a swing from his glass.

-We can imagine what went next, Bart... You can spare us the details. Oink, oink. - Vera said popping his tension, as if it was a balloon taken to a needle.

-Don't be such a prude Vera! Be glad I didn't describe the 3 hour dry humping session that got me to that moment... - Bart riposted, slightly peeved about his wasted dramatic tension, to which her only response was a sly smile, and hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

-I wasn't planning on sharing the details. Besides I wouldn't have done so without being asked first...
- He added offhandedly, before getting on with his story. -Sigh... So... As I was saying, the action went undercover, and for a while hands and mouths were everywhere, all in all every bit of an afternoon delight, which was nice.

-If you're not going to… - Mike started to say, but Bart plowed on ignoring him, thanks to the use of one of the most effective of rhetorical techniques in such situations: the shouting.

-BUT! One moment everything is going ok, and the next, she gets up and hightails it to the bathroom like a startled doe! I mean come on, O O Spathetti-os, what's the dealio here? - He asked rhetorically, having finished shouting.

-Cut the crap Bart! Did you take her cherry, or not? - This time it was Dom who butted in. Naturally having grown impatient with this beating around the bush his eighteen year old stud-instinct was eager for the main dish.

-Wouldn't you like to know Mr. hothead, just be cool and you'll know in a minute. Jeez... - Bart answered, getting slightly peeved by now. -So.. I got up, walked up to the bathroom the door, and asked her if she was ok... You know the caring and concerned guy that I am. I was worried… I said: Icky, Icky... What's the dealio? - Hearing Bart's trademark obnoxious drone, several hands went up to several foreheads. -She clearly has heard the concern in my voice, because the reply came immediately. – Oblivious, Bart continued. -She said that there is a little bit of blood and the fun is done for the day. - And with that Bart spread his arms wide, having ended his retrospection of that fateful day.

-Bart, dude.. Did you get to put your penis in her? - This time it was Mike who asked Bart as simply as he could.

-No. - Came the reply.

- If there was no dick, there was no sex. - Mike stated with finality.

-There was plenty of dick! - Bart rebutted getting a little bit hot under the collar. Apparently Dom noticed it and instead of teasing him about what it, said something else to calm him down a bit.

-Mike was just saying that in his opinion without a vaginal penetration, you are still a virgin. - Dom said calmly.

-Oh, I don't know about her, but I, am still a virgin. - Bart replied bluntly.

-So you've just lied about having sex with her? - Asked Vera in a disbelieving tone and an expression to match.

-No, we have had the sex. Just not by putting a penis into a vagina. And besides we weren't talking about that... - Bart replied, getting seriously annoyed now.

-And what were we talking about? - Mike asked, confusion written plainly on his pointed face.

-We were talking whether I burst her hymen! - Bart replied, getting angry.

-And did you? - Mike asked disbelievingly.

-I don't know! - Bart yelled angrily, having gotten pretty angry now.

-What do you mean, you don't know? Either there was blood from a burst hymen, or there wasn't, and you said there was... - Dom, trying to be the voice of reason here, said.

-I don't know because, I don't know even if she had a hymen to begin with. Maybe I just scratched her vajayjay with a finger, or maybe she just got her period then. I don't know. - Bart replied, his cheeks pink from anger, bushy eyebrows furrowed, and the twinkle from his normally mischievous greens extinguished.

-How could she not have a hymen to begin with, all women do, along with the lips, the clitoris and so on… - Mike said with a condescending tone.

-Well she wasn't exactly a hundred percent female, now was she? - Bart answered, raising his voice, his face now fully pink.

-What?! -The others yelled in unison.

-Icky... Was a hermaphrodite, and she did not have a clitoris, so she might also not have a hymen. - Bart said through gritted teeth.

-You're having us on, mate. If she didn't have a love button, then how did she pee, huh? Through her asshole like birds, huh? - Mike asked, furrowing his brow and deepening the storm of freckles on his pale face.

-Mike, hermaphrodites have penises as well as vaginas. - Vera scoffed.

-You sucked a cock, mate?! - Mike exclaimed, closing his naive blues from the sheer amount of mirth.

Mike's exclamation finally pushed Bart past his boiling point. Needing to let his anger out somehow, he tackled poor, old Mikey to the ground. At first the ginger couldn't even do anything to defend himself because he was laughing so hard. And then Bart yelled: -After I'm done, she will be more of a man than you! - For a while neither Dom, nor Vera could help poor Mike, because while he was being pummeled in the crotch the couch was shaking from their laughter.

Soon though, Bart got out of breath and he let go of Mike. After that, the culminating moment of the evening passed, Vera's whiskey finished, and they've been reduced to just chilling and playing cards. They did that for a while but to Bart it soon became apparent that Vera and Dom wanted to spend the rest of the evening together. He bid them goodbye, and having nothing else to do, went home. He was the only one who remembered what really happened on Dom's coming of age party. Although Mike did walk funny for a few days. At the end of the day, this was a welcome outcome.

Following Bart's experience with Icky, there came eight years of celibacy during which, he focused on the "calling of the ages" of his town. After a while not only did he become a computer nerd, but also a history buff. A wombo - combo that (who knew) would somehow not swoon the ladies for that he wasn't interested, because clearly he was. No sudden bouts of coming out of the closet in this story. It's just that in the matter of swooning, it's not his interest that matters. Thus, having been given the proverbial lemons from life, he went on to make the lemonade out of them.

Alas it is not difficult to pretend to others as well as to yourself that instead of the ladies, one is interested in one's future. Especially since if the future held good grades then the future's future was promised to also hold a car. Such were Bart's highschool beginnings. Not even a year passed before his wish came true. He got great grades in stuff he was interested in, and as a reward for those a car from his parents. Not exactly the pussywagon, yet... But all was well. The sweet and sour taste of life's lemonade was exactly the Bart's fancy at the time.

But wait, there's more. To add the metaphorical sugar to the metaphorical lemonade he even became the vice-president of the student body. Even his grandfather's eyebrows were impressed. Good sport Bart, have a scooby snack. Life, being a fickle mistress that she is, quickly grew bored of all of that added sugar. Unfortunately for Bart the new hobby she picked up was brewing. Brewing as in: far above him unseen before it hit with a force of a hurricane, a storm was brewing.

To be precise until it actually hit, everything was sunshine and roses so it's understandable why he didn't expect anything. Understandable but a failure of imagination nonetheless. Especially since it struck only because on a school trip his roommate decided it was just the most prim of an idea to make a little joke when someone was knocking to their door.

During their trip, the school was staying at an Ukrainian monastery. Bart's room was the only one not in the building's main body, and so he and the three of his friends concluded that being out of the teachers way, they could relax and have a consequence free evening. They've had a grand ol' time, talking, laughing, and admiring what they bought on the local bazaar that day. Soon the booze was fished out, and they started drinking some cheap Ukrainian (not the native garbage they made there, the imports of course) red wine and beers out of the cups they've nicked from the cafeteria.

Bart was in the middle of his particularly passionate (loud) retelling of one of his favorite stories from history, when all of a sudden there came a knock to their door and someone began to turn the handle trying to get in. Being at least a little bit smart before they brought out the booze, the window, its curtains and the door were closed and locked. Feeling secure, they were sure, cocky even that they were safe from any unwanted intrusion on the teacher front.

So, it was with good reason that they've assumed, it couldn't have been one of the teachers. Instead it must be just one of their friends trying to get it. And thus, as if it was a bad knock knock joke the disaster unfolded:

-...AND THE WHOLE NAZI ARMY GROUP WAS BOGGED DOWN THERE, UNTIL THE POLES RETREATED! - Bart boomed at his audience. He was just about to segway to the bit about two gun trains and a German panzerdivison, when a knock on the door suddenly made him stop.

-*Knock knock* - An energetic knock and a twist to the door handle came from the outside.

-Who's there? - Mike asked, full of mirth from the alcohol and amusement from Bart's story.

-The police. - A male voice answered from the outside.

-F**k off! - Came Mike's cocky reply.

-Open the door! It's your teacher… - Groaned the voice from the outside.

While the smiles still stayed on the young and naive faces, for Bart it was time to act, and act quickly. Being the only one to recognize to whom the voice belonged, he went into a frenzy. Damage control was something that he was well experienced in. Flying around the room, he closed the bottles and hid them under the beds. Seeing that, his friends just looked at each other, shrugged, dropped the smiles and humoring Bart drunk what was still left in the cups, before putting them away with the bottles.

Since the whole thing took only seconds, nothing seemed amiss when the door was finally opened. To their constipating horror behind it… Was the wimpy history teacher. He came in, took a little look around, and after saying an "-All right then." - He left. Everyone let out a sigh of relief, and after Bart scolded Mikey for being an idiot, they relaxed. But not even five minutes passed, before the gestapo came knocking. This time there were no smiles to be replaced by expressions of horror.

When the door opened for the second time, the wimpy guy came accompanied by the strictest teacher in the whole school. Having brought the backup with him, he felt confident enough, and did a thorough frisk of the room. With his NKVD partner as witness he found all the cups, as well as all of the bottles of alcohol there was to find. Suffice to say that even though they could legally buy and drink alcohol there, the teachers did not hold to the same idea on the matter. After the trip poor Bart was no longer the vice-president.

Coincidentally another joke, this time made by Bart himself got him thrown out of his class, permanently. After that little stunt he upped the ante by managing to fail his finals on ironically; The Cabaret - a presentation. Damn you Microsoft Powerpoint! After all, Bart was nothing if not stubborn. In the face of such adversity he dug his heels in, and got to work. Having studied all summer, he managed to get a decent score on his finals, and just by the skin of his teeth he got accepted to a university. Filled with determination to not to allow for happenstance to dictate his life, he enrolled into law.

Due to some creative administrative pleas he managed to complete 3 years out of five. Not flunking out, but a bit of on and off education. Thanks to that he was able to spend a couple of months living in England and got himself an Insurance Number. Something that turned out to be indispensable in getting any employment. Sadly, Bart found out about that little tidbit, after he had come to Britain. So let's be kind and just say that this time he made great groundwork for a second try at assimilating in the UK, and leave it at that.

Unfortunately when you're away from home, time doesn't stop along with your education. While he was away the situation at home changed and although back when he first enrolled a career in law promised wealth and easy money... By the time he finally got back to the homecuntry, lawyers multiplied like crazy. These days instead of wealth, a job in this field promised long working hours for minimum wage, and that was if you got lucky and someone actually hired you.

Bart a 24 year old uni senior (4th year), wasn't lucky. Going British was an obvious choice for him and so he transferred. Although he did swim in pussy a couple of times, so in theory he had that going for him, which was nice... Except, at first it wasn't quite what he hoped for. First of all, it was not the good grades or the car that brought this on. Instead it was an electric hair shaver. It turned out that shaving pussies is exactly the way to get yourself swimming in pussy. Who would have guessed? Not Bart, obviously.

Second of all, it turns out that giving his mother's pussy a haircut a couple of times wasn't exactly the dream he envisioned when he was imagining it. It wasn't easy, pleasurable (or even painless for that matter, course those little teeth), and he was positively swimming in pussy hair each time, something absolutely inexcusable if it had been an actual woman. Luckily, not all was doom and gloom, and deep scratches from cat's claws on hands and legs. Since there were only eight years of celibacy, and not a decade, we can reasonably conclude that at twenty one years of age Bart's fortune changed.

Having reached the age of manhood, he decided that it was about time to put an end to the sausage party, and get himself laid. The days of summer passed on visits to the pubs and several parties, sampling the fine British way of life but alas, even though he tried so hard, in the end it didn't even matter. That's because his luck only changed when Destiny had its fill of the sour taste of lemons, easy on the sugar, thank you very much. The stream of that particular metaphorical fruit was sourced from only the finest organic back pains that just suddenly exploded one day.

To remedy them at first Bart tied his GP but after getting laughed out of the doctor's office he started going to a local massage studio, and there he met Klara. Klara looked like everything he found attractive in a woman. She was fit, curvy, and had a sharp wit coupled with an open mind. They clicked straight away, and soon their relationship moved to dating. Before long the bottled up passion found its release, and continued to do so for a while.

After his third year yet another summer vacation started. While his plan was to just pamper his posterior all summer, his mum decided to send him on a marketing and social networking symposium / meeting at the Mars Marketing Events PR Agency in London. She hoped he would bring back ideas on how to not go out of business in a constantly shrinking market for travel agents. Both the customers and destination options were just not as many as it used to be. Thus the Mars idea was born. Seeing this as the perfect opportunity to do some sightseeing in the capital, he eagerly agreed. Things moved quickly and in few days he was packed, the hotel was booked, and the plane tickets were placed in his wallet along with some spending money.

The journey was smooth and uneventful. Passing by central London Bart thought that it seemed very nice. Maybe too posh for his taste, but he was not one to complain. After travelling all day, the night fell by the time he got to his hotel room and as soon as his face touched the pillow he entered the land of Nod. Having slept like a rock he woke up refreshed for once and was ready to start his big day. He dressed in a white shirt, dark jeans and a sports jacket before coming down for breakfast. There, not even a minute passed before the choice fell on a big plate of a full English, which instantly became his new favorite.

Once the plate was cleaned out of all the yummy sausages, delicious plain eggs, all of the fried beans got scooped with toast, and mushrooms mixed with tomatoes devoured, he ventured out of the hotel. The sun was out on a miraculously clear sky, and along with a slight breeze it gently caressed his face with pleasant warmth. Breathing in the fresh air of a beautiful English morning, he made his way for a train into London. From Crystal Palace the choo-choo got to Victoria, then from Victoria it was the Tube to Shoreditch, where the Agency was located.

-Man, I've gone west and the sky really is blue... - Bart said to himself, having travelled all that way from the north part of town where the airport was located, to the south, and now going back to the city center he could really appreciate how much time one had to spend commuting through this urban behemoth. The event started at 10 o'clock sharp and involved several talks on connecting shoppers to the distributors, building business relationships with clients, managing the public profile of a brand on social networks, some public relations stuff, and promotion of their own work.

All in all Bart left Mars at half three pm with a handful of folders, and promotional portfolios. He was richer in knowledge that what he already told his mum about going international, or coupling together vacations and flight tickets on her own, were great ways to connect her to the customers. And now he had to say that to her again, but this time he had the support of leaflets in a foreign language. Oh, and the receipts that she spend her own money for that sole purpose. Surely, this couldn't go bad or anything…

Thinking about it for a while, and with God not forthcoming with any miracles, he decided to put that hypothesis to the test. Without further ado Bart called his mum, and described the event. To his great surprise, she was not pleased. Being not pleased wasn't what surprised him, what happened afterwards, though, was. In fact she yelled at him so hard he became quite the spectacle. Around him people on the sidewalk literally stopped and stared. Minutes passed, her yelling continued and the merriment only grew on their faces. There were some pitying looks here and there, but mostly he was just a spontaneous entertainment for them. Seriously the lungs on that woman...

Finally, having ran out of steam she hung up on him. He stood there, speechless. Looking at his phone, even though the conversation ended three minutes ago, it was still held at arm's length. Obviously he expected a yelling, but becoming a spectacle for an entire street of busy Londoners during the afternoon rush… Jippers. People around him resumed walking to their destinations, and without anything else to do he sighed, and too, moved on. To get back to his hotel in Crystal Palace, he needed to get to the Victoria underground station, and that, was still a long way away. With that thought in his head he started walking.

He was currently at a station that belonged to the black lane of the London Underground. It didn't reach Victoria, but he took it anyway to at least start moving in the right direction. He intended to swap lanes at St. Pancras, but after a couple of yards there, his stomach growled with the voice of the beast. Finally reminded of how hungry he had gotten, the destination changed. Instead of continuing on his journey, he left the tube and entered King's Cross. Making his way to the nearest snack shop he began unconsciously stroking the bulge, that formed below his trousers front pocket.

The wad of cash residing in his wallet consisted the aforementioned bulge and was very eager to be spent. With this being the only thing that currently drove him, he joined the nearest queue for tea and crumpets.