The World of Sherby57

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When Kowalski arrived at Maureen’s that crisp September morning, he had no idea what was about to happen to him.  He simply thought he was going to routinely interview a witness about a missing cat.  The same sort of shit that Kowalski would normally eat for breakfast.  On this occasion, it was a breakfast of big (metaphorical) eggy baps.

Kowalski approached the humble abode and couldn’t help but notice how tidily-trimmed the doormat was.  It framed Maureen’s entrance perfectly and it brought a minor-flush to Kowalski’s ruggedly stubbled cheek.  Kowalski tentatively stroked the engorged door knocker.  He sensitively caressed its brassy nodule before tenderly knocking it against the wooden door with his tongue.  He waited.  Kowalski was not a man prone to uncertainty, but even he wondered if he had done it right.  He needn’t have worried.  Slowly, expectantly, Maureen exercised the well-lubricated hinges of her front door.  Kowalski stifled a gasp as the door lay tantalisingly agape.

“Detective Kowalski, I presume” purred Maureen.  ”Do come in.”

Kowalski did not need asking twice.  He looked longingly at Maureen’s hallway.  He was a man of considerable and impressive girth and he worried that it may be too tight a squeeze.  He may have been Kowalski, but Kowalski was a gentleman first and Kowalski second (except on those occasions when he really needed to be a Kowalski, you know, like in an emergency and that).  He gently entered her silken hallway and lovingly wiped his boots on the mat.

The sensation of entering Maureen’s house was almost too much to bear and he feared he could not control himself.  Kowalski was an experienced man and had entered many witnesses’ houses over the years.  None had felt like Maureen’s.  His whole body shuddered and juddered as the barrage of sensations washed over his sufficiently toned body.

He managed to make it to Maureen’s plump sofa and he slumped into the voluptuous cushions, completely spent.  He asked Maureen is she minded him smoking.  Damn, he needed a smoke.

Do you love Kowalski?  Read his further adventures in “A Hazard of Parsnips”.