Perso-Lube

Sheryee, Neville's gonflable friend, was showing her age.

Sighing, Nev hunted for his hardening tube of contact adhesive, and rubbed the residue off a shred of second-hand prophylactic.

Surely there had to be an easier way! (He barely had the puff to blow her... erm... up anymore!)

So, yeah, Nev had tried your off-the shelf lubes in an effort to take the strain off Shezza's pink bits, but they always tasted like... urkh... when he went to give her her bit of pleasure.

Over a schooie at the Hog's Bits, Nev's nerdy mate Quentin agreed.

Over their seventh schooie, the two misfits hatched a plan.

Nev hot-footed it to the bogs to avail himself of a square of loo-roll.

-This orta do the biz, Q-boy nodded as Nev rubbed the paper around above the arm-hole of his faded blue wife-beater.

The next day, Quentin giggled girlishly as he fed the soggy morsel into the machine. His boss at Mass-Spectrometers-R-Us would never know why he'd become an instant millionaire. He carefully titrated the exact mix of esters, minerals, and assorted gluggy shite into a beaker, mixing in a considered ratio of a well-known brand of odourless, flavourless personal lubricant.

That night, as Neville lowered his shapeless maw between Shezza's plump thighs, his only hope was that she'd enjoy this as much as he would.