God damn you Valentine.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A young Welsh gigolo meets his end at the hands of his English lover.

Submitted: November 16, 2013

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Submitted: November 16, 2013



Valentine’s Day arrived for the lover of many women. He had loved them throughout the year and had chatted and drank with their husbands.

‘Good Old Nico the men would say, sound bloke, a bit on the gayside but he does like to have female friends, he feels safe in the company of our wives.’

‘He thinks he fools us into believing that he is straight, he’s a bent bastard and he should be castrated at least, that is what I say’ says Big Jim Mulligan.

Many of their wives would sit and laugh and dance with him but he always behaved as the proper gentleman. They would often stand him a drink and look down on his poverty and snigger behind his back as he wandered home lonely at the end of the night.

He always dressed well and he was spotlessly clean, ‘too bloody clean says Murphy to his wife Jeanette, he has to be gay.’

‘God only knows why he lives in that ramshackle house at the edge of town.’

Nico fancied himself as a bit of a gigolo and many women secretly knew him as a charming sponger but he was a good and considerate lover and for that they treated his poverty as a perk of the job.

It would keep him coming back for more, after all it was only she and she alone that he wanted, and it was their secret.

He would be flush today when he had opened all the envelopes from his lovers.

He was not interested in their love poems but in the 50 pound notes that each envelope contained, and like previous years he would not be available.

Each year he would tell them he was in a police cell recovering from a bout of drinking the previous night, and each year, he expected the old as well as the new lovers to swallow his story, hook line and sinker.

Climbing out of his bed he ambled down the stairs and grabbed a handful of envelopes discarding the brown and official ones.

‘Fucking bills’ he said.

He tore greedily at the envelopes pulling out the cards and taking the notes. He chucked the cards in his overflowing bin and when he had finished, he counted the money and remarked to himself, what a tidy sum.

The phone rang and he picked it up from its cradle.

It was Ficola the fat housewife with the Cletus looking husband.

She was rich, she was powerful and she had been his first married lover near nigh on five years now, and he could not toss her aside as she would shed tears by the bucketful, professing her love for him.

Anyhow, her husband was the local magistrate and he could arrange for poor Nico to have his nuts squashed, his arse buggered and god knows what else, as he was known to go easy on the local crims for favours rendered, especially with the female shoplifters and the male shirt lifters.

Jesus Christ no, what if she told her husband in a fit of pique, he would have poor little Nico taken out to the countryside, and him and his jailbird cronies would have a pleasant afternoon, treating poor little Nico and his arse to the seven deadly sins JP style.

On the other hand, was it not time to return to his Welsh valleys, and see how the crumpet there would take to his finely honed English charms?

It was getting far too difficult to keep all these bitches in line, especially since that bitch Rose Devitt ended up pregnant, and her husband over the moon at the news, and he knowing that he was firing blanks.

How long before she let the cat out of the bag and the whole fucking place would know it was him, for everyone knew that Devitt’s pencil was unleaded.

He would leave today, late this morning after he had checked the second post. There was always a second post on Valentine’s Day for those who did not get their timing right.

‘God damn it he swears, it’s bloody hot in here as he wipes the sweat from his brow, I must be coming down with the bloody flu.’

‘Nico, Nico’ she yells as her voice brought him back to reality and hearing her whinging he slammed the phone down.

‘Fuck her and the rest of them’ he mutters to himself “time to strike camp and head west” he drawls John Wayne style.

I will spin her a yarn he thinks out loud, yeah I will tell her I have the chance of a flat in the next town, and that I need a grand for deposit and rent, after all, she doesn’t want me in her town. She is always going on about what if we get caught.

She will swallow that, she is such a gullible bitch, such a weakling married to such a bully boy, opposites do attract.

Making himself a cup of tea, he picked through the remains of his chicken supper and opens his front door and windows. ‘Christ almighty, it’s stifling in here’ as he drags a chair to the front door and sits there, letting the cold morning air wash over him in gusts cooling his burning skin.

He comes too with a start as a stinging slap brings him out of a coma that he is slowly slipping into.

In less than half an hour he will be dead.  

‘Why oh why did you have to be unfaithful to me,’ she screams at him in a voice cold and threatening.

‘Fuck you, you rancid old bag, I have set my eyes on something younger, consider yourself fired.’

He moves his mouth to give her another burst of abuse but no words come.

‘I…I…I…can’t ta…talk……. I know she says you are always biting and sucking your goddamn stumpy fingers and my money was covered in poison.’

He sits there looking at her unable to get up, his mouth makes a couple of final movements as his eyes see her for the last time, her hate filled eyes burning through his head.




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