A Thursday Night

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A casual Thursday night of drinking, drug taking and picking up fat chicks.

Submitted: May 16, 2013

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 16, 2013




A Thursday Night


There are streaks of shit; black beer shit, down the back of the toilet bowl. Looks like a Jackson Pollock job. Jackson Bollocks. What spastic can’t flick a bit of paint onto a canvas? Must have been laughing his arse off getting away with that shit.

Some daft cunt has snapped the lid off of the bog so I shake the bag and sprinkle it out onto the seat and chop up two lines with my nectar card. I snort back a line unable to avoid vacuuming up a stray pube in the process. Bing-fucking-go. That’s the good stuff.

A glob of mucus crawls down my neck and settles. The coke tramples through my vision for a second, blurring my surroundings and I can barely see the massive cock drawn on the cubicle wall. Then my eyes pinch inwards and refocus and there she is, a beast of a penis. Next to it someone has written ‘JESSICA BRENNA TAKES IT UP THE ARSE’ accompanied by a phone number. The fucking cheek. Somebody’s daughter. Advertised in a piss soaked cubicle just so vulgar perverts can have a Hilary Swank as she answers the phone and tells them to piss off. Fucking animals.

I finish typing the number in my phone and have to put down ‘Arse Whore 2’ under contact name as I already have ‘Arse Whore’ stored.  Waste not want not.

I’m admiring the artwork on the back of the bowl again and almost gag as I take my second hit. I kick back my head and rattle the gunk around that’s filling up my throat. I aim for the shit as I gob into the toilet. The powdered remnants are wiped up with my finger from the lip of the seat and rubbed onto my gums. I’m fucked but the good kind. But I can’t help picturing the hairy, sweaty arse that must have recently occupied this cubicle. I may as well have just rimmed the prick. But the coke forces me through such thoughts and I piss the rest of the guys shit into oblivion.

The queue for the bar is two lines thick. Mental for a Thursday. Bazza is still standing with his arm stretched out waving a tenner over the counter, trying to get the attention of the young sort behind the bar.

“Hurry up you old bastard”, I say, shouting over the crowd of tossers delaying my drinking session. I give a cheeky smile to the barmaid as she passes him by again. She smiles and bites her bottom lip in a single flowing movement. The dirty cow. She wants it. She’d bloody well get it as well. My jeans get tighter thinking about it.

“I’m getting ignored”, he says. Course you are you ugly cunt. “You try Ray, my arms killing me.” Useless is too kind a word for Mr Barry Hobson. Raymondo to the rescue.


Two blobs of lard with vaginas have already sussed out my next move. They’ve closed the gap between their mammoth arses so that I can’t get through to my good friend Jack Daniels. Think again Dykos.

“What’s that Baz?” I call out. “Need a hand with the drinks?” Be right with you.

I move my body within an inch of theirs and get a strong whiff of cheap perfume entwined with the seeping aroma of their sweat glands. A fractured cough gets their attention. They must have thought I said ‘coo-kie’.

“Sorry girls, I say, but would it be at all possible to let me help my friend out at the bar. He seems to be having a little trouble.” With this, I laugh a pitiful laugh and nod towards Baz. “The silly sod’s been up there for half an hour and all he wanted to do tonight was drown his sorrows.” I move my head in closer and direct their eyes on to mine and then on to Baz. Their pathetic faces soften in anticipation. “His fiancé ended things with him tonight”, I whisper, “they’ve got a kid and everything; the boys heartbroken.” They rattle their jowls in disapproval of Baz’s fictional breakup and sculpt out a pitying smile under the thick layer of paint that’s been, rightly, thrown over their faces.

“Oh shit. Poor guy. Of course. Go ahead, please”, the biggest one says. She grasps my hand and her fat fucking fingers are like iced buns as she slowly guides me through their mounds of flesh. Putty in my hands.


My body is sucked into the crevices and ripples of their skin as I pass. Their tits are four massive fun bags that for these two and a half seconds are mine to do as I please. I lift my arms from my side as much as I can and press up against their gigantic sacks of fat. I can see in their eyes that this is the most action they’ve had in years and they are fucking well loving it. My cock springs into life and has taken a horizontal seat in my pants. There are too many people for anyone to notice so I push hard against bun fingers and thrust into a bulge.


Fuck. I’m through the gap. I slyly lift my cock into the vertical setting and the friction of my helmet against the denim of my jeans almost causes me to spunk into my belly button.

“Thank you ladies. Have a lovely evening.”

“You too. If you two get a little lonely later, we have a table in the corner. I’m Francine by the way and this is Samantha”. I hold back from laughing in her face.

“Certainly. I’ll be sure to let my friend know and if he’s feeling up for socialising, we’ll be right over.” In your dreams Fanny Frannie.


We knock back six or seven drinks and intersperse them with a few more lines, getting ourselves nice and jacked up before we head down to Buddha Lounge for some copious minge mingling.


Outside, the night is cold. The pavement is speckled in a light dusting of snow and vomit that shimmers brightly under the street lamps. My breath warms the outskirts of my mouth and the inner comforts of my jacket warm my stiffening hands. The booze and coke are doing their bit too to starve the bitterness of the air.

“Fucking freezing”, Baz bleats, rubbing his hands together. Reckon? You silly cunt.

“Yeah, sure is mate.”


Inside the club, they’ve got The Who’s Baba O’Riley playing. Now we’re talking. None of this poncy computer generated anyone-could-put-this-together-with-the-right-software-shite. Real men with real instruments with real talent played by the people for the people. Not like the waste of molecules you get now. The MTV generation. Should be fucking murdered, the lot of them. I’d do it myself, for the people.


I’m getting low on my whisky and shake the glass, rattling the ice against the sides. Baz gets the hint and sets himself up at the bar. He gets the round in, too juiced up to remember buying the last two rounds before that. His cash is flying out at a considerable rate of knots and I need to make sure that he’s got enough for a shish and chips for us both later.


Baz has eyed up a couple of sizeable birds in the sofa area. He’s always been a chubby chaser, the boy. Had a thing for that Fern Britton off the telly until she had all the fat squeezed out of her.

“Could be a laugh”, I say. “You might get a bit of a role playing one; pretend you’re Philip Schofield or something.” He’s not listening, the cunt. Wasted a good line there.


The drink causes us to meander over. With one hand, for support, on the back of the opposite sofa, I decide who’s having who. One of them isn’t half bad; packing in the tits department something proper. That’s swayed it for me.

“Bit of you, that”, I say nodding like the Churchill dog towards the uglier of the two.

“You think?” he says as he squints in their general direction.

“Yeah, looks like a right goer”. She does as well. Ugly as fuck but looks as though she knows how to take a cock. Just what Bazza needs; a bit of sperm seduction in his lonely existence. “C’mon, my balls are starting to ache.”

“Alright alright.”


I take the lead, Baz up the rear, as per usual and saunter in the direction of Big Tits Mcgee and Freddy Krueger. “Alright if we take a seat girls? The old dancing feet could do with a rest for a bit.” Baz smiles in conjunction. Good boy. Easy does it.

“Oh, hi. Yeah, go for it.”

“Thanks.” I take my place next to McGee and rest my whisky on the large wooden table in front of us. Baz falls into the leather cushions spilling what’s left of his drink over his fifteen quid Primark shirt. He’s actually improved it.


“Drunk as a skunk”, I laugh, turning towards McGee and then back to Baz.

“Yeah, we aren’t too far from that stage”, she giggles. She’s like a slutty schoolgirl. Her eyes, loose in her head, linger on mine and I feel the warmth of her breath brush my lips.

“Want a drink?” I ask, facetiously winking wishing I was facetiously wanking.

“I’ll never say no to a drink. Thanks.” Her thick black lashes go into seizure above her dilated pupils.

“What’ll it be?”

“Rum and coke please”, she says putting a finger against the wet gloss of her bottom lip.

“Coming up.” In more ways than one.


I push the boat out and get her a double rum and coke and I switch to vodka as I’ve got work in the morning. I buy Krueger another pint and Baz a whisky, single.


The music has been ramped up a notch. Steven Tyler is rocking out ‘Walk This Way’ and the punters are lapping it up, strumming their air guitars and screaming out the chorus, dripping in sweat, dripping in memories.


“Do you come in here often?” I take my eyes off of the live gig as she leans her head into my neck. My nose has begun to run. Perfect fucking timing. I can feel a slimy one slipping slowly out of my left nostril. I gently guide her chin in closer to me in the aim of using her silk collar as a cloth. Her eyes are fixed on mine. Green; delicate eyes. Dolls eyes. It’s as if she’s looking through me though, into the unknown. I tilt her face with my fingers and hold on to her pale white cheek. Her skin is hot in my palm. For just a glimpsing moment of our existence, we have become one.


The collar does the trick.


“I want to come for you”, I say just out of ear shot, knowing the music will blur my words.

“What’s that? Sorry...the music...it’s...”

“I want to come over your face.” She’s squinting trying to catch the syllables and for a second I think she’s caught on when her eyes move from Asia to Europe.

“You know our faces? That’s b...” I interject.

“I’d like you to fuck yourself with a dildo while you suck me off and stick a finger up my arse...” I say this fast while simultaneously laughing and nodding; her face is a spectacle full of uncertainty. Her eyes are lively with the movement of my lips. “...then you can let old Ray finish off with a nice Bombay roll, you know, for the road and all.” I leave her with a sombre expression and let her come to her own conclusion.

“Wow. Erm. I really didn’t get a word of that”, she laughs. Too bad.


I can hear the faint whimper of Baz as he’s voice is castrated in mid sentence by Krueger. “No no no. It’s fucking bullshit the way men are treated. Like fucking royalty”, she slurs. Here we go. Not so much of a cock sucker as a fully fledged rug muncher. Unlucky Bazza, my old son.

“But, but, surely in this day and age, with all of the equal rights women are obtaining, if there is a female band that is as good as the male equivalency, then they would be recognised without subjective prejudices.” He does talk some almighty bollocks when he’s on the sniff.

“Yeah, I agree”, putting my two cents in trying to rile up the cow. “There just isn’t the talent, musically, to sustain an all female band.” I take a sip of vodka and suck up a cube of ice and slide it across my tongue. Krueger is spurting some feminist concoction while I stare intently at McGee’s tits.


I nip to the bogs but for the life of me I can’t piss. I was pissing like red rum earlier. This coke must be fucking with my insides. Guys come and go and I’m just standing there, dick in hand, rolling my foreskin up and down, wiping away the dead flakes of skin, trying to give it a new lease of life, a bit of breathing space. The looky looky prick surrounded by aftershaves and handing out lollipops like a paedophile in a playground isn’t helping the situation.

“El-lo sir. Are you oh-k?”

“Yeah”, I say holding my free hand up in salute.

“Are you sure?” My helmet seems more red than normal. Or is it just the lighting in here? Fuck, it’s throbbing something rotten though. Gonna have to stay away from Knowles’ gear from now on; can’t have it fucking with my nob. “Sir?”

“I’m ok mate.” Some young cunt thinking he’s Billy big bollocks pipes up.

“He’s got stage fright”, he laughs, looking for approval and receiving it in the form of a hand slap from looky. Cunts. He’s still chuckling away as he drops a series of coins into a glass bowl in exchange for a splash of eau de faggot and a blowjob no doubt. I’ve been mugged off by a fucking kid. I should smash his fucking head into the urinal and piss over his acne covered face. But I can’t piss. So I just laugh. And stare at my red cock.


I eventually manage to squeeze out half an egg cup full of dark yellow piss and zip up. As I head out, I take a handful of lollipops and pocket a large bottle of Issey Miyake aftershave while the coon for hire mops up a regurgitated chicken korma on the cubicle floor. It’s making me hungry for my fat greasy kebab. But that’s enough about McGee and her minge.


I make a quick stop at the bar and order myself a black sambuca. “And one for yourself”, I say to the barmaid, with an engorged smile plastered onto my face and stroking my five o’clock shadow.

“No thanks”, she snaps back. She looks at me with voluntary disdain and cracks the shot glass down onto the sticky bar top. She’s filled it no more than three quarters full, the cheeky mare. Did I give her three quarters of the price? Not fucking likely. I count out the change, coin by coin as she empties her hand into mine. “Five pounds. Six pounds. Six fifty. Just as I thought”, I say loudly enough for her to cotton on. She’s not looking at me but I say it anyway. “Full price for three quarters of the drink. Cheers”, I say raising the glass and shaking my head in genuine disgust. She struts to the other side of the bar and pulls out a bottle of white wine from one of the fridges, but not before leaving me with a smirk reeking of satisfaction on her part.


 I throw the undernourished shot back in one and savour the anise as it gropes at my throat. As I turn to depart, I swipe my arm across the bar knocking three empty beer bottles to the ground. They shatter violently, flinging shards of glass across the floor. A loud cheer commences from the spastics in the vicinity. The spastic whore barmaid spills the wine in mid flow, startled by the crash. By the time she’s realised what’s happened I’m pushing through the crowded room, merging into non-existence. I slyly look back to see the silly little slag on her knees with a dustpan and brush in her greedy fucking hands. I’ve taken on an emphatic state of euphoria. I’m not sure if it’s the excitement of slaying a woman’s self worth or if that three quarters of sambuca has anything to do with it, but I feel fucking fantastic.


“Hey stranger”, McGee says as I stagger into view. Her eyes are glazed over. That extra dose of rum has done the trick. Baz doesn’t look as though he’s getting anywhere with his one. He’s gonna have to sprout a fanny and a cropped haircut if he wants to get inside that. But fuck it; I’m not here to get that cunt laid. 


She pats the leather cushion and I duly comply, squeezing the varicose veins on her thigh as I lower myself down into the tough fabric. Her head is bobbing from left to right like the unsupported head of a newborn baby. She lifts her empty glass to her mouth twice in rapid succession and is surprised at the outcome on both occasions. “Would you like to go somewhere?” I ask, stroking the unearthed spikes of her upper leg.

“Like where?” she says challengingly.

“Somewhere a little more private maybe? I like you”, I whisper, making sure to blow gently into her ear. They fucking love that.

“I’m not sure”, she winces. There’s no way I’m not shooting my load into this bird’s cake hole. No fucking way. I bought her a drink. She’s out on a Thursday; the night for the desperate and depressed which means she is not gonna want to go home dickless. Surely.


She’s looking at my drink but I’m not giving it up, not for her. I gulp the rest of the glass down and almost fucking choke to death in the process. She smacks me on the back hard and I hate the slag for it; two young lads are sniggering across from us; she’s made me look a right cunt. Fuck this. “Thanks”, I cough, spurting out cold vodka and saliva over my trousers.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, cheers”, I stutter, chuckling moronically trying to make light of it.


“I’m just going to go... to the ladies”, she says, hiccupping in mid sentence. She rises tentatively from the depths of the sofa and beams a drastically intoxicated smile at me. This one is about to fall. TIMBER!!! Right on to the Rayman’s little man.


The silly cow has left her bag. She needs to be more careful; more aware. In a place like this, with the drinks and the drugs that people are consuming. Minds wander far from their moral houses in such mentally warped states of consciousness. I should know. I’ll keep an eye out for her. That’s the right thing to do. But I’m not working for free. No fucking chance. What am I? A serf? Her fucking skivvy? No chance. Not me. She can fuck right off if she thinks that I’m gonna be her fucking skivvy. Not me. No chance.


Baz and his one are laughing up a storm now. Good boy. Keep her distracted. Get her hound nose off the scent. She won’t approve. Good boy. I nestle the bag close to Baz, out of sight of Krueger and unclip the two metal clasps, popping the top open. I get an almighty stench as the combination of perfume and makeup rise up out of the opening. I dive in and rummage around making sure to have a look about for any thieving scum on the prowl. You can’t be too careful. There’s one old boy, clearly three sheets to the wind having a nosey over in this very direction. I give him a precautious nod; one that lets him know I’m on to him but we can all go home happy tonight if we stay on our own paths. He acknowledges the settlement and takes a meaningful gulp of his dark tipple before heading across the room and out of sight.


What have we got here then? Phone, keys, eyeliner, no, no, no. Two tampons tucked down the side. She doubling up? She’s gonna want to once I’m done with her. I feel the silky fabric between my thumb and fingers and it’s getting me in the mood for a bloody good time; the bloodier, the better.


Here we go, her majesty herself. A twenty. Just about the going rate. The sparse lights of the club sparkle off of the holographic strip and into my pocket. I’ve received my wage but feel the need to do a thorough search in the aim of disposing any contraband that may be lurking within. You can’t be too careful.


She’s got a satsuma in there. It hasn’t been touched of course... Fuck me... I’ve hit the jackpot. I take another scan of my surroundings. Baz is playing his part nicely now. “...yeah, well, it was more her than me. She was what you and I would call a nasty piece of work.”

“Ahh I see”, Krueger says. “Well I certainly don’t think you’re boring”, she says, putting her hand to her mouth and sarcastically yawning. She follows it up with a hearty laugh and a swig of her drink. He may just get a pity shag after all, the jammy git.


I turn my gaze back down to the bag and slide my hand inside, grasping a small pale yellow container. I have to force my sudden erection up and to the side of my jeans as my pants are unable to contain it with any real efficiency. It’s like Bruce Banner’s transformation and his shirts inability to contain his pulsating mass of muscle. It’s very much the same thing in my trousers.


A tub of Vaseline. A pot of fucking gold. Those beautiful words on the label. ‘100% Pure Petroleum Jelly’. Those words. Fucking magical. I take off the lid to see how much she’s used. She’s scooped out half of it. There’s a small hair stuck to the inside of the tub. This whore has clearly been double dipping. A surge of blood rushes through my cock and for a moment I think I would give it to Krueger here and now, I’m that horny. I could gag it and bag it. Just shoot it out and up her and be on my way. I’m imagining tying the dyke up and she looks like sausages separated by twine. Hog tied with an apple in her mouth, I’m spanking her pale lifeless skin; her body rippling like shallow waves. I’m just about to squirt out my secret ingredient when Baz’s whiney fucking voice interrupts. “We’re just gonna nip upstairs for a fag mate”, he says. Krueger looks over Baz’s shoulder and stares straight at the open tub of Vaseline in my hand with my two fingers penetrating the gooey content.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, looking at me like I’m a fucking pervert or something. I calmly screw the lid back on and place it into the bag.

“I just knocked her bag and a couple of things fell out. And now I seem to have it all over me”, I chuckle.

“Hmm, ok then”, she says, raising her eyebrows high. I clip the bag’s clasps together. My raging erection has shrivelled. I’m not gonna fuck her now, not with that attitude.

“I’m gonna take it with me ok?” She leans across Baz and removes the bag from my clutches. “She would want me to.” The ungrateful fucking cow. I’ve just been protector for the last couple of minutes and this is the thanks I get. Fuck you fatso. Fuck you.

“Yeah of course.” Fuck you.

“Can you just tell her I’ve got it?”, she says.

“Yeah, will do.” I look at Baz as if to say, what the fuck are you doing with this thing. He doesn’t catch on which propels me into feeling an invigorating pity towards him.

They stand up perfectly in sync with one another and head towards the door at the end of the room. Just two fags going for a smoke .


Baz has left half his whisky on the table. I drink it and recoil in repulsion of the watered down house whisky I had ordered. Piss juice.


McGee drops on to the sofa next to me. I didn’t even see her approaching which seems impossible.

“Where have they gone?” she asks, taking a long sweeping look around the room.

“Didn’t she tell you?”

“Tell me what? I’ve been in the bathroom.” Her voice is becoming brittle and worn.

“They really hit it off and have gone back to her place”, I say, giving her the most concerned look I can muster up. She swings her head around the room once more before looking down at the empty space on the sofa.

“Where’s my bag?” Without a moment’s hesitation I initiate the plan.

“She took it. Your friend.” Her mouth moulds itself into a bitter smile. She’s covering the painful desperation of her friend’s grotesque sense of propriety.

“Are you being serious right now?” She’s now just looking wholly pissed off. Perfect. “I’ve got my fucking phone in there. My keys.” Your 100% pure petroleum jelly for your back door you slag bag. I’m getting excited again.

“She was really drunk. I did say I’d look after it for you but she insisted on taking it.” I put my hand on her shoulder and lightly stroke the fabric of her top. It feels like her tampon. “I told her you were in the ladies and just assumed she was going to let you know she was off. I guess she just got caught up in the moment and forgot. I’m really sorry.” I lower my head like a kid who’s disappointed his mother.

“It’s not your fault.” She places her hand on my knee and looks around the club again. “She’s a fucking nightmare when she’s drunk.” She picks up a half finished bottle of beer that’s been abandoned on the table and downs the lot. She slams it down onto the wood and covers her face with her hands. “She’s got my money as well. Fuck’s sake.”

McGee is broken.


“C’mon, let’s get out of here”, I say, rubbing her back, moving up into a sensual massage of her neck. “I’ll ring my mate and get them to come back, yeah?” She spins her head around almost connecting with mine.

“Yes please”, she bleats, showing her stained teeth. “I didn’t think of that.” Course you didn’t you pissed up thing you.


We walk out of the club and stop in the small foyer at the front entrance. I randomly tap at and scroll down my phone’s screen before putting it to my ear. McGee has her arms nestled neatly across her breasts, forcing her cleavage up. Lovely jubbly. After a few seconds nobody comes onto the line. “Baz”, I say. “Where are you mate?” I stare at the floor. They’ve had a refurb. Used to be carpeted out here. Now they’ve given it a posh marble finish. I approve. “Well I’ll tell you what’s up”, I say. “I’m with her friend, her poor friend who has been sabotaged tonight.” I look over at McGee who’s giving me the eyes. Those big blowjob eyes. Soon to be put to the test my girl. “What I mean is, your woman of choice this evening has taken her bag without letting her know what’s going on. So now she’s stranded, with me, a stranger of the night”, I say, giving McGee a cheeky wink, “and what’s more she has not a penny to her name which is quite obviously a staggering inconvenience. Now of course I will pay for this young lady to get a cab but that is neither here nor there.” I put my free hand into my back pocket and crumple McGee’s twenty in between my fingers. “She would like her possessions back tonight, now.” I think to myself that her tits look the tits and can’t help but snigger indiscreetly at my own wit. I let several seconds pass before forcing my features into a structurally sound grimace. “Wow. Well you do know how to pick them”, I say before pressing a button and lowering the phone into my jacket pocket.


“What happened? What did he say”, McGee mutters..

“It’s not good news I’m afraid.” Her face melts into victorious scorn. “Apparently she’s out of her face and at this moment in time is essentially more interested in getting her way with my friend. I’m sorry.”

“Oh good”, she says lowering her hands to her hips. “Could you hear her?”

“Well I think I heard something.” I look down at the newly fitted marble. There are thin black shapes leading towards the double doors. Rhombuses I think. Or diamonds. Or are they the same thing? “It wasn’t polite”, I say picking up my eyes and resting them on hers.

“Tell me.”

“Erm... I think I heard her say...well... ‘I don’t give a fuck’, in the background. I may have miss heard but...”

“What the fuck”, she snaps. “That bitch.” She flings her arms up and out like a wild aviation stewardess.

“Don’t take it personally. She obviously just had a little too much to drink. Who hasn’t been there? I blame myself really. I should never have bought her that drink.”

“No, it’s not you”, she reassures me.

I wrap my arm around her and guide her out of the double doors into the desolate street.


I take her down past the snooker hall, down the narrow backstreet, Drummond Road I think. She’s walking like a genuine spastic in her heels. They’ve almost buckled under her several times but I keep her up, gripping tightly of her upper arm. The cab office is up ahead, just off of the next turning. You can see the red luminescent sign from here though. ‘STAR MINICABS’. Perfect.


I stop us outside the back of a Chinese restaurant. There’s an intense stench of rotten egg and raw chicken pouring out from the massive yellow bins lined up at the side of the wall. A light steam floats above the mounds of shit these chinks have thrown out and I’m actually getting hungry.

“What are we doing?” McGee asks. Her breath is swimming in the cold air.

“I thought we could finish the night with a touch of romance. You know, we may never cross paths again, would be a shame to let this opportunity pass us by”, I say. Before she can react, I pull her waist into mine and push my alcohol saturated tongue into her mouth. I feel her resist for a moment and the bulge in my pants presses against her. She pulls back from my grasp and looks straight at me.

“I need to go home”, she whines, breathless, taking a small step backwards off of the path and into the quiet road.

“Go on then.” I nod in the direction of the glowing words up ahead.

“Can I borrow some money, like you said?” I dig out the crumpled twenty pound note from my pocket and flatten it out between my fingers. Her eyes widen.

“Thank you”, she says with a child’s smile.


My zip is stiff and staggers down slowly.

“No”, she urges, “come on, please.” She’s shivering. I rustle the purple and silver note in my hand.

“Come on. Not like you’ve never done it before”, I say accusingly as if I know this for a fact.

She looks desperately at the luminescent sign and then at me. The look of total destruction as all control has been wrested from her.

“Have you got a girlfriend? A wife?” she asks, looking for a way out. There is no way out girlie. I bought you a fucking drink.

I ignore her. “What’s it going to be”, I persist. “There’s a hell of a lot of weirdos knocking about at this time of night.”


She searches the street. Empty. Nothing but the sound of a squealing cat in the distance. “Alright”, she says reluctantly, staring straight into my eyes as if expecting me to say anything else. I don’t.


She pushes herself into my body and forces her lips onto mine, kissing me hard as if I’ll just accept a passionate snog. Wrong. I guide us behind a low wall, just out of sight from the street. I pull at my cock and feel the sharpness of the cold air as it flings out of my trousers. I reach down and hike up her skirt, squeezing one of her arse cheeks. I think about giving it a prod but think better of it after I see a pile of dog shit right next to us. My fingers go to the main course and it takes a little working to melt the icicles off. But once I warm it up she’s like Niagara fucking falls. I could have gone up to the elbow.


She’s moaning like a fucking retard and it’s putting me right off. It’s that and the booze. It’s really kicked in now. I’m feeling a little woozy truth be told.  My cock’s deflating and I’m becoming a little anxious. I grab her hand and place it onto my semi (at best). After a few violent tugs I can smell the grit under my foreskin waft up into the night sky. I don’t think she’s caught on to it though so I gesture her down onto her knees. She grudgingly bends herself into position and wraps her mouth around my helmet. We’re at the business end at last. I can see her massive tits down her top. That’s doing me a sure favour in the stiffening department. I want to see those eyes but she’s getting on with the job and I don’t want to put her off her stride. After a minute of slurping up my sweaty cock I tell her to finish me off in her hands. After a few strokes, I order her to put it back in her gob and I blow my load to the back of her throat. I get a bit of a stinging sensation and have to quickly remove it from her mouth before she sucks me dry. I shake it out and the air cools my foreskin. A good performance all in all. I’ll take that.


As I zip up, she’s giving me a look encroaching on disgust. It makes me feel fucking brilliant. “Here you go my dear”, I say handing her, her twenty pound note. She snatches it from my sticky fingers and walks in the direction of the cab office.

“You’re welcome”, I shout. The words echo down the empty street. She doesn’t look back as her heels smack the cement and her skirt nestles high up her thigh.



The cab driver hasn’t spoken a word. My kind of ride home. I would tip him if he wasn’t a Paki. Now, I’m all for equality but learn the fucking language my friend. I count out the exact fare and pour them into his hands.

“Thank you sir”, he says, with a beaming smile across his face. I nod as I fall out of the car.


There are only two sleeping pills left. I’ll have to pick some up tomorrow. I throw them back and wash them down with some milk. I get into bed without taking my socks off and kiss Christie on the back of the head. She’s been using a new shampoo I think. It smells good. Like peaches.

© Copyright 2017 Terry Walker. All rights reserved.

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