image of woman sitting in armchair writing

Lady Penelope Wakes Up Gay

On a bright, sunny morning, Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, British agent for International Rescue, and poster girl of the idle rich, threw back the bedcovers in an oddly jerky motion and floated towards the bathroom. As she applied her elaborate eye make-up, she realised for the first time her uncanny resemblance to Dusty Springfield. Suddenly, she was feeling quite, quite gay. And not in the old-fashioned sense.

Pressing the intercom button, Lady Penelope summoned her butler Parker.

"Yes, m'lady?" his disembodied voice said.

"I've decided to go out this afternoon but I'm taking the motorcycle. Hold my calls."

"Yes, m'lady."

"And Parker, I've come over all queer. I thought you should know."

"Yes, m'lady."

Meanwhile, in the scullery, a thin, almost invisible smile spread over Parker's face. He ripped off his suit - Velcro-ed at the back - to reveal a leather harness and black leather shorts. Reaching into a drawer, he pulled out a leather cap and a whip. Then he lifted the telephone on the counter and dialled a number from heart.

"Kyrano. Yes, it's Parker. She's going out. Yes. Bring the equipment."

Back in Lady Penelope's r oom, the blonde bouffant-ed one slipped into her pink motorcycle leathers, tucking the pink helmet under her arm. With one limp wrist held to her chest, Lady Penelope pushed the bust of Oscar Wilde next to the four-poster bed and listened to the mechanical whirr that filled the room. A panel in the wall opened to reveal a secret chute and Lady Penelope donned the helmet before sliding down the entrance.

Two minutes later she plopped into the seat of her big pink Harley Davidson and gunned the ignition. Ah, she thought, one loves to feel the throb of a well oiled beast between one's thighs. With a clunk the garage door opened and Lady Penelope expertly steered the motorcycle out and onto the quaint English country road, navigating the twists and turns with ease. She winked lasciviously at Mrs Goggins the post mistress as she motored past the local Post Office. Lady Penelope was only being a tease, after all, the whole village knew Mrs Goggins was taken. Her lover was a woman by the name of Mrs Hubbard, a tall lady who wore an awful lot of tweed.

Well, I've had enough of roaming the family pile, Lady Penelope thought. It was time to go somewhere more happening. Swinging London here I come!

Later that day, the ultra-femme aristocrat found herself in a small club in Soho, not far from Carnaby Street. It was a strip joint. Oh, she knew it would tarnish her reputation if she was recognised or if the paparazzi discovered her here. But frankly, she was in such a gay mood that she didn't care. Her good friend and former paramour Janice Muppet had recommended this place. Or rather had sung the praises of the star of this seedy little club - a tasty little number by the name of Miss Piggy. Lady Penelope was simply desperate to see the rotund platinum blonde bombshell.

The host of the club was a smarmy little bastard called Kermit. If Daddy could see me now, Lady Penelope smirked inwardly, rubbing shoulders with the criminal underclass. Reaching into her leather jacket, Lady Penelope pulled out her cigarette case and slipped a French style cigarette between her rather rigid lips. Which was harder than it looked when you couldn't move your fingers.

She sucked languidly on the cigarette as Kermit came onstage to announce the show.

When one rounded pink calf emerged tantalisingly from the curtain, Lady Penelope knew she was in love.

It wasn't difficult to get backstage. She made a few idle threats, flaunted her Establishment connections. Kermit wasn't aware that marionettes needed a license to work in adult entertainment. Soon, she was standing outside Miss Piggy's dressing room, the gold star on the door sending a quiver through her body. Physically incapable of making a fist, she knocked with the back of her hand.

"Come." A high-pitched, nasal voice came from within.

Lady Penelope turned the handle and entered the room, her eyebrow rising at the sight of the partially unclothed pig, brazenly devouring the flesh before her. Missy Piggy gasped and covered her ample bosom. "I thought you were Kermie!"

"Let me introduce myself, you wonderful creature. Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward." She held out her stiff hand and Miss Piggy took it hesitantly. As their hands touched, a look passed between them, and Miss Piggy's mouth fell open. "I've heard all about you."

"Oh, really?" Miss Piggy replied flirtatiously. "Tell me more."

Some considerable time later, they emerged flushed from the dressing room (ew, like I was going to write that sex scene! Puh-lease) and into the main club. Kermit knew immediately that something was wrong. They had a glow about them. A very gay glow. Not in the old-fashioned sense.

"I'm leaving," Miss Piggy announced to Kermit, perched as he was at the bar. "Lady Penelope has appointed me as her new secretary. And I'm a lesbian!"

The frog stammered. "B -but you can't be a lesbian! You were always sexually harassing me!"

"Kermie, I've had it up to here with you oppressing me! Hiiiiii-ya!" Missy Pigg dealt a roundhouse kick to the frog's chest, sending him flying into the arms of the barkeep, Fozzie Bear. "And from now on, it's Ms Piggy".

With a purse of her snout, Miss Piggy took Lady Penelope's arm and marched outside. Taking the spare pink helmet, the porcine lesbo settled on the back of the purring motorbike as Lady Penelope revved the engine.

"Where to, darling?" The aristocrat asked, with adoration shining through her plastic eyes.

"There's a gay Pride parade happening down at Sesame Street. My gay best friends Bert and Ernie told me about it."

Lady Penelope winked, or rather shut one eye for a moment. "Sounds F.A.B."

The End