Chapter 5: The Fat Man

Mike strolled back into Parliament House and immediately proceeded to walk to the office of the foreign ministery. But before he reached the elevator, a voice called out after him. “Mike! Mike! Oh Mike, the Minister for Agriculture needs to see you regarding section 18C of the trade agreement immediately!” Mike was surprised, as he had never even met the Agriculture Minister before. Doing as he was told, however, Mike immediately steered himself in the direction of the minister’s office. It would take him several minutes to reach it.

Mike knocked on the enormous mahogany door, and awaited a reply. The door opened, to reveal a tiny, older woman. ‘This must be his secretary’ thought Mike. Indeed it was the ministers secretary. ‘Who are you?’ she asked in a very thick Australian accent, or rather, as Mike identified correctly, a very North Queensland accent.

“I am Mike Laycock, and I have been asked to see the Minister!” he replied, firmly but politely, much like his own cock.

“Indeed you are” she replied. “I’ll take you through to his office” and with that, Mike followed her into the minister’s office. He was immediately surprised by the bareness of the office. There were no book cases, only a small desk with very plain chairs either side and a hideous photo, at least 6 foot tall, plastered on the wall behind the desk. The photo featured a man, a very fat man, draped in an Australian flag, with a rusty chain hanging limply over his shoulder. The photo was taken from the side to enhance the projection of his enormous gut, and it was very clear that he was both naked underneath the flag, and that he also appeared rather aroused, given his erection protruding from his groin. His piggy eyes squinted out from under a layer of blubber, as if to say ‘I love my country more than you could imagine’. Mike was immediately repulsed, and fought the urge to vomit. But there wasn’t time for further gazing, as suddenly the minister had appeared. He looked exactly like he did in the enormous photo, but instead was wearing an Australian flag tank top and a pair of very tight, white shorts. Mike could tell he wasn’t wearing underwear.

‘You must be Mike’ said the minister, in the same north Queensland accent as his secretary. ‘My name is Fred Catholicman. Well Mike, we do need to have a chat about the transglobal agreement. Now on review, I have noticed that one of the sections discusses beef trade with the Americans, 18c I believe. Do you really think we are going to allow the americans to sell beef to us here without any import fees? No! We have our own bloody farmers here struggling to rub two one hundred dollar notes together while those fucking americans are rolling in riches!’ The minister was very angry, and his enormous stomach was wobbling with rage. ‘Explain that to me!’ demanded the minister.

“well sir,” started Mike, “I did not formulate that part of the agreement…” Mike continued on, before Fred rudely interrupted.

“I want it removed!” he bellowed. Mike knew this would take some very delicate negotiating and he knew just the way to do it.

“I’m very distracted by that wonderful photo on the wall” he said. “It’s exquisitely stunning”

“Thank you!” said the Minister. “yes, that was one of my proudest moments. That photo was taken right after I managed to catch and kill a wild boar with that very chain. I am so proud of this country.”

“you certainly seem very proud,” said Mike. “I am thinking of getting a Southern Cross tattoo myself actually” he said, to the Minister’s apparent delight. “I’m thinking of getting it right here” he continued while taking off his shirt of pointing to his right shoulder blade.

“That is a good spot, but mine is better” said the Minister, taking off his shorts and exposing his bare ass. On the left buttock and extending up to his geletenous love handles, was his very own Southern Cross tattoo. Turing around, Mike also saw an Australian flag in the shape of a love heart tattooed on his very inner hip, just next to his dark and curly pubic hair. His penis was beginning to harden. It wasn’t very big in length, but it was certainly very thick, with a large bulbous head at the end. “That feels much better” Fred exclaimed. “I’m a nudist myself, Mike. All good Queensland men are nudists.”

Mike shuddered. The grotesque man kept eyeing him up and down, as if Mike was to become his next kill, just like the boar. Surely not, surely Mike would not be able to fuck this man, no matter how hard he fantasized about someone, or even something else.

“You look like you’d enjoy a bit of nudity too, eh?’ Fred continued, his enormous backside wobbling like underset gelatin.

Mike knew he had to think quick. ‘I can’t today, because I, uh, I have a rash and I’m a bit embarrassed by it.’

‘What! You’re scared of a bit of herpes?!’ roared the fat men. ‘We’ve all got a bit of herpes!’ he cried.

‘Um, no, it’s not that, and I’d rather not say what it is. Anyway, I had best be off now!’ said Mike, feeling himself panic.

The fat man stopped, and looked Mike right in the eye, with his stubby appendage poking out from under his colossal gut. He snorted and coughed up a bit of phlegm. ‘Oh alright, you head off. Fix that problem or you’ll be dealling with me again very soon!’

And with that, Mike ran out of the room, and vomited in a nearby wastebin.


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