Revisiting memories.

The doorbell rang. Walrus Mastur and I looked at each other and smirked. "Don't leer," I warned hypocritically.

The doorbell rang again, politely.

Walrus Mastur carefully hid a stain on our designer couch with a strategically-placed cushion. I got up and unlocked the door, hands vibrating with lecherous anticipation.

"Hello!" Benedict said, smiling a cheerful seal smile. He looked so fresh, hydrated and wholesome I had to actively restrain myself. I heard Walrus Mastur's equally sharp intake of breath. In fact, I heard Walrus Mastur's trademark heavy breathing. We hadn't had a seal, a real seal, in ages. His accordion was slung rakishly around his neck and he wore a comely bowler hat, which he gently hung on our coat-stand.

Our fears of suspicion - his suspicion - were soon allayed. Benedict wriggled past us and bounced into his chair. "What's for dinner?" he asked curiously.

"It's cooking, but might take a while," I said quickly. "Why don't you just help yourself to the wine." I brandished a bottle of Pinot Noir, which he clapped approvingly at, and poured him a full glass. Blandly peripheral conversation (how much do you earn, where do you stay, do you have other seal friends you can invite over) flowed as rapidly as I poured him another. And another. And another.

He didn't seem to notice that Walrus Mastur and I were tensely sipping our water.

"I'd like to dedicate a popular song to both of you," he said warmly, cheeks flushed and whiskers somewhat frizzy. "Take your pick, my pinniped pals."

I was about to suggest some classic, beautiful opera, but Walrus Mastur crudely interjected. "Samwell's What What (In The Butt) or the Bloodhound Gang's Bad Touch."

Benedict opened his mouth, either to protest or enthusiastically acquiesce. "O -" was all he said (Okay? Oh no?) before he collapsed to the floor, serenely unconscious. I noted that he was shinier than the polished tiles.

Walrus Mastur and I slapped each other a walrus high-five. Then we got out our ropes, gag and rolled him into the spare room. Till this day, I am proud to recount that there was hardly any friction involved.