Return of Strangling Jack

Alrighteyroo Lovers!

I promised you one day I would eventually get back to Jack the Strangler, did I not? Well today is that day! Excited much? Don’t worry, it’s Monday. I know how hard it is to get particularly enthused about anything on Monday’s. But let’s get through it together shall we?

Now where did we leave off? Ah that’s right, I was on the couch with Yanky McHairpull attempting to keep my hair attached to my scalp.

“Argh!” I cried, pulling back from Jack abruptly and pushing him hard in the chest as I did so.

“Back up the truck dude!” I said angrily “ There’s quite a difference between a sexy tug of the hair and your crazy man hand grip!”

Jack laughed.

“You’re so cute.” He cooed patronisingly.

I simmered inwardly with a deep unrelenting rage, imagining all the different ways I could separate his balls from his body in sixty seconds.

However, as most of those options would have resulted in jail time and possibly a place on the sex offenders register, I decided to do the complete opposite.

“I think it’s time for dessert!”

I sprang off the couch faster than his meaty hands could catch me and ran to the freezer. The deal was that he cooked dinner and I would supply dessert.

Chocolate ice-cream and rice! Rice-cream!

Don’t knock it till you try it Lovers, it’s delicious and filling!

Make sure you cook the rice first though, that’s a big one.

I stirred up a massive bowl of my dessert concoction and proudly placed it before Jack, expecting him to grab a spoon betwixt the hairy sausages he called fingers and dig in.

Not the case at all.

I was instead met with a sentence that will forever and always be a deal breaker for me.

“Sorry, I don’t eat carbs after six.”

Christ on a bicycle! Could this guy get any worse?

I refrained from stabbing him in the eye with my spoon and instead sat next to him and attempted to eat my weight in rice-cream.

Let’s just say by the end of that marathon dessert I was not feeling in the least bit sexy.

So when Jack suggested we go for a walk I was more than happy to oblige. All that milk in my stomach was not cooperating so well with the three beers I’d had before hand.

We walked slowly (thank god, as I could feel the splish sploshing of milk in my stomach with every step) and he told me about his life interstate.

At least, I think he did, I wasn’t really paying that much attention as the milk was now making its final decision whether to head north or south.

When we stopped walking I realised with a start that we were in front of a chinese restaurant.


I looked at Jack, non-plussed and queasy.

“It’s ten o’clock.” He said, as if that explained everything.

When I stared at him blankly he explained that he had to eat every four hours to help him bulk up.

Urgh, I was with a total meat head. Kill me now.

No, wait, he actually might.

I waited patiently, happy to be sitting down as he ordered. (Garlic chicken. No rice obviously.)

The food took about twenty minutes, which luckily gave me enough time to digest the rest of my dessert in peace without any untimely milk explosions.

We headed back home and Rambo bolted down his chicken before I could say prawn cracker.

I thought about leaving. I really wanted to, but those damn beers had put me over the limit.

There was nothing for it.

I was staying the night.

Once Jack realised I was his for the night he went total cave man on me, picking me up and slinging me over his shoulder before striding confidently towards the bedroom.

Luckily for me my spidery arms and legs were able to latch onto any nearby object, slowing his progress considerably as he pried me off the couch, the fridge, the door frame, the linen cupboard and countless lamps.

Honestly, you’d think the guy would’ve got the message.

But no, it was a fantastic (if not incredibly one sided) game of wrestling for him, and when he finally flung me onto the bed he let out a manly hoot of victory.

Dude, you’re literally three times the size of me, I wouldn’t call it much of a win.

After I’d been unceremoniously flopped onto his mattress, Jack leapt onto the bed beside me.

He gave me another lip-bruising kiss before pulling back and saying “It’s cool, we’ll just do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I was comfortable with sleep sir, sleep.

“By the way I think your bra just fell off.”

Oh dear.

It was time to bring the actress out. I sat up and stretched, yawning over-dramatically.
“Gosh, it’s late isn’t it?” I asked, blinking sleepily.

“No, not really.”

“Oh, I must be a morning person then, I’m always asleep by now.”

He was yet to know that this was a blatant lie, but by the time morning came and he witnessed the demon snot monster next to him, it would be too late.

It must have been my lucky night, because he bought my outrageous lie and with a sigh began pulling the covers up around us.

Once he was settled I cosied up next to him and readied myself for my reward; spooning!

To my surprise though, every time I got close to him, he would shimmy away. Finally, when he was so close to the wall he was practically humping it, I asked what was up.

“I don’t like touching people when I sleep.” He said bluntly.


Well that was a bugger.

I batted my eyelashes at him and slowly traced my finger up his arm. “You don’t even like this?” I asked seductively.


I stopped abruptly, surprised by his brusque tone.

“I don’t cuddle.”

No shit Sherlock.

“I hate being tickled.”

That’s pretty clear Captain No Fun.

“I can’t sleep with anyone touching me.”

This guy has issues.

“Actually, I can’t sleep when there are other people in the house.”

What the actual fuck dude?

I sighed and stared up at the ceiling.

“So… do you want me to sleep in the other room?” I asked, half hoping he would say yes.

“No,” he said regretfully “I guess I can put up with it.”

Put up with it? Put up with it? You have a half naked girl in your bed and you’re just, PUTTING UP WITH IT?

That’s fucked up on so many levels.

I glared at him in the darkness, silently mouthing all the things I wanted to do to him once he fell asleep, none of them particularly pretty.

Just as I had finished my soundless monologue the monolith next to me decided to pipe up with, “By the way, don’t surprise me in the night.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“You should stay on your side of the bed. Don’t ever surprise me. I mean it.”

I laughed, “Isn’t that a little bit over the top? I mean what if I just-“ I went to boop him lightly on the nose but he grabbed my arm in that now familiar iron tight grip and hissed “Don’t fucking touch me.”

This is it, I’m going to die. In the bed of a hulk with a stomach full of beer, milk and lamb cutlets.

What would my Mother say? Hell, what would the coroner say?

Jack’s grip loosened and he apologised.

“The army, it makes you super sensitive, you know?”

I nodded mutely. I mean I didn’t know, not at all, but I clearly got the message.

Ok, no touchy.

To ease the uncomfortable tension I asked about the first thing that came to my mind, other than the multiple ways he could kill me and make it look like an accident.

“ So when was your last relationship?”

Turns out old Jacky boy had just come out of a long-term relationship about six months ago.

Huh, I wonder where she slept when they were together; must have had a bloody comfortable couch.

I asked why it didn’t work out and Jack replied, explaining that she wanted to get married and have kids. Things were getting really serious really quickly.

“Oh wow, so how long did you date?” I asked, guestimating a year or so.

“Four and a half years.” He replied nonchalantly.

I was shocked.

“And you weren’t even thinking of getting married?”

“Nah. No way. I never want to get married. Plus I hate kids.”

Well there’s a shocker. Chokey McViolent didn’t like kids. Who would have thought?

After that wonderful conversation I decided I had to either sleep or smother him, so I called it a night and rolled over.

Or at least I tried to.

Those damn cutlets he cooked had been so tasty, so well basted in herbs and garlic that I ate them all without question.

But I forgot to ask my butt.

Lord the smells that were coming out of me!

Every time I moved another fart would squeeze its way out, sidling easily past my tightly clenched butt cheeks.

I lay flat on my back for hours, squishing my ass into the bed in an attempt to crush my fluffs into submission.

I had to do this all the while making sure I didn’t make physical contact with the snoring pillar next to me, a difficult task when the bastard insisted on sleeping diagonally across the bed.

Suddenly, with a snort and a grunt, said pillar shot upright in bed.

I yelped with surprise, emitting another air biscuit in my shock.

“What is it?” I asked.

Jack got up and walked out of the room without a word. Was he sleepwalking? Did he need to pee? Was it time for carbs?

Turns out my last guess was pretty accurate, as a few minutes later Jack returned with a bowl of yogurt.

“What are you doing?” I asked, confused.

“I told you,” he replied “I have to eat every few hours.”

“It’s four am!” I cried

“Yogurt time.”

Fucking crazy bastard.

I rolled over and went to sleep. He could marinate in my farts for all I cared at that point.

The next morning I was awoken by the gentle tinkling of the ensuite shower.

I blinked sleepily in the sunlight, praying last night had all been a dream.

Then I heard a colossal honking from the shower and I knew it was all too real. Oh my God, the guy was hacking up a hairball in there!

I covered my head with a pillow as I tried not to listen to his constant guttural, phlegm filled heavings and gaggings, followed by insistent snortings as he cleared his nose with the old bushmans blow technique.

When he finally finished and turned the shower off I was about as unattracted to him as I had ever been to any human being.

Like ever ever.

Jack entered the bedroom in nothing more than a towel. I assume it was an attempt to  show off his ‘rig.’ I groaned inwardly, unimpressed by the gun show.

“I’m going to make some soup. Want some?” he asked.

“Ah, no thanks. I’m not really a breakfast soup type of girl.” I replied

“Pfft, breakfast was hours ago!” And he laughed and laughed at his own fabulousness as he walked off down the hallway.

I feel very sorry for the pillow he’d lent me, which took the brunt of my vicious attack. Once I was done pummeling his poor pillow into submission (wishing the whole time it was his head of course) I realised I was alone.

Perfect time for an unfettered fluff!

Ah the joy of not having to hold the old bottom burp in! I lay back and let a cheeky one rip, safe in the knowledge that soup man was still preoccupied with his breakfast, lunch, brunch whatever.

And thank God he wasn’t around! Turns out a nights sleep had intensified my anal salutes! Phoar! What a stinker!

I giggled to myself maniacally, secretly wishing I’d had the foresight to fart on his pillow instead of wasting my ammo in the air.

Then I heard a sound that sent a cold chill of dread running straight down my spine to the source of said fluff.


He was coming back!

No no no! This wasn’t happening! With the stench of my tepid ass musk still hanging thick in the air and only seconds to spare, I did the only thing I could.

I flung myself off the bed, ripping the top sheet off with me as I did, before flying into a crazy windswept whirling dance, trying desperately to dissipate the smell with deft flaps of the sheet.

Then when his footsteps were mere centimetres away, I threw myself back onto the bed so hard I flew straight past my intended landing spot and slammed head first into the opposite wall.

Just as he walked into the room.

Nailed it.

His reaction was not unwarranted, as returning to one’s bedroom one rarely expects to see a bedraggled, out of breath, slightly smelly girl ruefully rubbing her head and glaring intently at the wall.

Let’s just say he stepped out of the room and gave me a few minutes to collect myself.

Which I did in record time I must say. Dress on, zip done up, hair pulled back and shoes in hand, I was ready to go!

When I walked back out Jack looked up suprised. “You’re leaving?” he asked dolefully.

“Yeah,” I sighed ruefully “lots of stuff to do today like… Well you know, just stuff.”

“You want to go home and play with your toys?” he said angrily.

Wait, what? I hadn’t told him about my vibrator last night had I?

“What?” I asked, completely blind sided.

“Well you’re acting like a child, so you may as well just go home and play with your dollies.”

I could have done many things at this moment. I could have yelled at him. I could have told him what a complete and utter head case he was. I could have kicked him in the balls for being such an arrogant self absorbed fuck face. But instead I did something which to this day I am still proud of.

I looked him dead in the eye for a moment, then sarcastically saluted him and said

“Good day sir.”

And I never saw Strangling Jack again.

Claire xx

Pickup line of the week: I want our love to be like pi, irrational and never ending.





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