Wednesday, 8 March 2017

St. Peter Swore He'd Never Eat Trout, And This Coming From A Guy Who'd Eat Any Bastard Out

I'd never known a girl who sashayed. She was moving in perfect harmony as music made up from bits of older bands I'd never heard of played. 

The summer sun was streaming through the sheer curtains, lighting her golden hair and making me want her all the more. If this roach motel room, which was about the best we could afford, wasn't full of all our mutual friends (and some others I abhorred), then perhaps we could find each other's eyes, hands, and clasp each other's bodies on the floor. Take the grand sexual tour: en-suite, bedroom, up against the refrigerator doors. This wasn't lust though, that's for sure, I'd been pursuing her (as well as a teenager can), for a year or more. I dropped hints, smiles, and worked my gentlemanly wiles. I bought her booze and when she had a blue I even stood up for her too. So finally I got my wish: highschool ended, and all us mates were totally in bliss, we packed up a camper van and ran, to the big smoke, to fill ourselves up on sun and sand.

And then one night she walked in with you. A DJ. A bastard faced asshole douchebag bucket of spew. I always thought that one day I'd wake up next to you, but not like this, not whilst you're using the bed I'm in as a place in which to screw.

Silently I wait for him to finish deflowering you, I wait for him to fall asleep, and I wait for you to snooze. Only then can I allow myself to cry, to sneak out and come to terms with the feeling I've just been sodomized.

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