For all intents and purposes Brian van Gellert was a red-blooded male.  He had the heart of lion and the throbbing member of a pubescent lad, one with an adult sized penis.  He was a kind and gentle man, balding slightly at the sides.  Sadly though, in his 42 years on this planet kind, gentle and throbbing Brian had never felt the warm touch of a women, but this would all change this Valentine’s Day, he was sure of it.

Linda from work was the source of his affection.  She too was kind and gentle with heaving breasts and a vagina (Brian supposed, for he has never actually seen it).  Brian dreamt about her on a nightly basis.  He dreamt about all the walks they would take along South Bank, past the OXO Tower and the London Aquarium.  He dreamt about the dinners he would cook her; steaming bowls of noodles and chicken katsu curries (Brian was rather fond of Asian food), followed by pudding courtesy of Gü.  He dreamt of laying her down softly on his Asda (3 for 2) bed sheets, where they would hold each other and softly caress one another’s naked bodies until BLAM… he would awake with a start.  “Darn it,” he thought, he would always wake up before shit got real.

This year, was the year.  He could feel it in his mind, his heart and most importantly his loins.  2015 would be the year he asked the gorgeous Linda, with her kind and gentle personality, to be his Valentine (and then maybe to make-out a little in the stationary cupboard – you know how these things go).

He had been through it over and over in his mind.  Countless sleepless nights he had spent writing soliloquy after haiku after short story, devising interpretive dances and recording epic pop songs in an attempt to express his feelings for his buxom co-worker.  Finally inspiration struck one evening as he gently tossed the bean sprouts in that night’s dinner of pat thai – he would keep it simple.  ‘Hey Linda, I think you are so beautiful and kind and gentle, will you be my Valentine and join me for a romantic dinner at The Shard?’ – it was perfect.

The next day however, things were not quite going to plan.  Hands trembling, he had spilt a load of green Thai source down his trousers, leaving a rather unsightly glossy-white stain about his crotch region.  And his state of ever increasing anxiety was causing him to experience a little acid reflux.  Nevertheless his brave heart and throbbing penis would lead him on valiantly and into the arms and heart (and possibly vagina) of his treasured colleague.

It was crunch time.  As he approached the middle of the office where Linda was sat he noticed her voluptuous bosom peeping out of her baby-pink blouse, and the tiniest bit of green Thai curry crept up his oesophagus.

Keep it simple? What a fool he had been! Linda was a complex sophisticated women, she required more than a ‘Hey Linda, blah blah blah, dinner at The Shard’.  In a fit of panic his mind riffled through his top draw which was filled with all his soliloquies, haikus, short stories and DVD recordings of his interpretive dances and epic pop songs, as well as several unopened condoms he had picked up at his Fresher’s Fair, ‘come to think of it, I ought to throw those away’ he thought, before remembering why he was mentally riffling through his top draw.  What should he say? What should he do? Linda’s desk had suddenly materialised in front of him and he was just stood there silent, mind going a mile-a-minute.  He opened and closed his mouth, much like a fish, attempting to form coherent words, whilst a nervous hand anxiously picked at the rather unsightly glossy-white green Thai stain on his trousers.

‘Hi Brian,’ Linda said in that kind and gentle way of hers, ‘did you want to ask me something?’

I think perhaps Brian had made quite a meal out of the whole situation in his mind, and possibly in his throat too, for when he went to vocalise his feelings a large amount of pale green vomit gurgled forth.  Out it came, his love and lust for this women, spewing forth like warm broccoli and stilton soup.

Rarely has a women regretted having large heaving bosoms, but as Linda looked down at her chest and into the green concoction that had settled upon it, as though her breast where like a soup bowl made of mammary glands, she began to wish she was flat-chested and also that she had worn some kind of waterproof cagoule instead of a baby-pink blouse.

Wiping away a tiny bit of onion that had settled on his chin, Brian thought it best to bid a silent and hasty retreat and he thought to himself, ‘you’ll get ‘em next year’.