Business was slow for the “only gay in the village”, as he was not so imaginatively called. That joke had worn thin some time ago, not long after the awful TV show was taken off air. Times had changed for sure.

The strep outbreak had seen to that, no more was one off the wrist a regular Saturday afternoon activity out by the bins to the back of the pub. A few flyers lay fading and piss stained ground into the concrete at the base of the phone box, now a defibrillator, which no one had the slightest idea of how to use.

He loved answering the phone in busier times.

“Hello, Anal or Oral?”

“Yep I think I can squeeze you in at the back” or “sorry you’ll have to come in front of Dave” or “I think I can slip you in this afternoon” His cheeky double entendres were a firm favourite amongst his regulars and served as a kind of telephonic foreplay.

He could name anyone by the look and lengths of their cocks.

But now the times had changed, and he’d let himself go a little, an unsightly paunch and bald patch and horrific halitosis bought on by too many farmer blow jobs. 

But at least he had a job,  It still made him chuckle whenever he put on his branded work jacket, which had Village Lengths-man emblazoned on the shoulders! Some things never change.