Lady Chatterley's Lover

first: there was something about him. A huge prick.
    He, as the day grew on, realized it’s no good trying to get rid of your aloneness; he was all right until the parrot died, he had to admit he tasted delicious. You’ve got to stick to your aloneness. At times that gap may be filled, like when the dog comes in. With a sudden snap Boinggg! his bleeding desire for her broke, and he felt a bleeding sight better. There must be a coming together of both sides, like ladies’ corsets. He turned slowly 360 degrees, which brought him back to where he started. No! She must come to him , it was no use trailing after her. But he’d have one more try. Taking the pole he ran, halfway up the pole snapped. No, she would have to come to him.
    Mrs Bolton watched him limp away.

ELEVEN
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    T HE CHATTERLEYS were a family that all suffered lumbar problems. So Constance was in the lumbar room sorting it out. She unwrapped the old family cot. She had to unwrap it to look at it. A powerful intellect at work, she looked at it a long time. Three days, it’s a thousand pities it won’t be called for,’ said Mrs Bolton. True, in all the years she’d been here, no one had ever called for the cradle.
    ‘It might!’ said Constance. ‘I might have a child.’
    ‘But’, said Mrs Bolton, ‘Sir Clifford...’
    ‘Oh that,’ said Constance, it’s only muscular paralysis — it doesn’t affect him ,’ she said, lying. ‘They transfer the seed.’
    Clifford had put the idea in her head. ‘Of course, I may have a child yet. The potency may even come back
    He had tried everything, pornographic photographs, dipping it into a glass of hot Guinness, he had a black woman come and massage it with mustard and rum. A French woman came and danced the Charleston naked for him. He had hung it out of the window with the sun on it. Finally, he hit it with a mallet, to no effect, but it left him with happy memories.
    If Constance had a child it would not be his.
    ‘Transfer the seed?’ said Mrs Bolton. ‘How do they get it?’
    ‘I think it’s done manually,’ said Constance.
    Mrs Bolton was flabbergasted, this is a condition when one’s flabber is gasted.
    ‘My word,’ said Mrs Bolton. ‘A child in Wragby, what a difference it would make. No one will get a wink of bloody sleep,’
    Among the other monstrosities in the lumbar room was an elephant’s-foot umbrella-stand. Constance thought how cruel to leave an elephant with only three and a half legs. Mrs Bolton thought it wonderful.
    ‘Then you have it,’ said Constance.
    ‘Oh your ladyship,’ said Mrs Bolton, ’I’ll never be able to thank you.’
    ‘Oh, what a pity,’ said Constance, if I’d have known that I’d never have given it to you.’
    Mr Bells drove her and her elephant’s foot to her home, showing her friends. They all started to whisper about Lady Chatterley’s baby (amazing the effect an elephant’s foot can have on people).
    ‘Wonders’ll never cease,’ said Mrs Weedon.
    ‘Oh, wonders do cease,’ said Mrs Bolton. ‘Look at the Pyramids, they’ve ceased, and what about the Hanging Gardens of Babylon?’
    ‘Have they ceased as well?’ said Mrs Weedon.
    Back at Wragby the vicar was having tea with Lord Chatterley. ‘May we hope for an heir at Wragby?’ he said.
    ‘We may hope,’ said Clifford, who at that moment had his willy in a battery-heated wooden splint trying to revive it.
    One afternoon old Leslie Winter called, he was every inch a gentleman, his grand total was 77¼ inches. He owned a coal-mine and had bought a sack of it for Clifford. ‘They’re the very best nuts,’ he said.
    ‘Thank you,’ said Clifford, who wished he had some of his own.
    ‘What’s this about there being an heir at Wragby?’ said three inches of the 77¼ inches.
    ‘There’s hope,’ said Clifford, throwing a best nut on the fire.
    Old Winter came across the room to Clifford, it took him an hour. ‘Congratulations,’ he said and wrung Clifford’s hand.
    ‘You rang, sir,’ said Mrs Bolton.
    Old Mr Winter was very moved, together they moved him into the street.
    ‘Constance,’ said Clifford, as he played with Mr Winter’s best nuts. ‘There’s a rumour you are going to bear a son and heir.’
    ‘No,’ she said, is it a joke?’
    ‘Well, I can’t see a funny side. I hope it’s a prophecy,’ he said.
    ‘Beware false prophets,’ said Constance. ‘Remember John the Baptist prophecy, John: X, 6, line 3: “They that cometh with the fish