I asked her if she’d ever had a boy eat her pussy and she said, ‘Naw, you gaunny dae it, well?’ and I told her, ‘Aye; aye, ah fuckin am …’ n I was yanking off her tights and panties in a oner, and was down on her sweet velvet tuft. My tongue parted her vulva and twisted to the spot. I was unprepared for the ferocity of her reaction, she immediately let out a series of gasps, then started growling, ‘Ah’m gaunny suck that fuckin cock … ah’m gaunny suck it till it bleeds …’ and she bucked and inched roond on her back, digging her elbows into the grass, until I felt her tongue licking my dangling baws then her mooth tightening round my cock. We’re both at it, and I let my eyes roam around the bushes tae try and distract myself from the intense pressure building up inside me. Suddenly, she pushed my hips up and pulled my cock out of her mouth, but dug her nails into my buttocks. I realised she was coming in violent, rapid spasms, so I turned round and started fucking her slowly, then hard, and she came repeatedly. Arthur’s Seat and Salisbury Crags surged above us and we weren’t giving a toss about the odd passer-by or jogger on the path below the sheltered bank. We trusted the sycamores and ferns to obscure us as we fucked out the Edinburgh skyline. We were trying no tae make noise, but she was gasping like an epileptic, to the extent I even had tae ask her if she was okay, but she flushed crimson and exploded again in reply. ‘Aw for fuck sake …’ she said, almost hating her final climax, but compelled to carry on and squeeze out the last drops of her rapture. I felt exalted, locked in the moment; I’d never had a bird so rampant that I’ve fucked so senseless before. But I’d still no come, so I pulled oot and turned her floppy, spent body over, parting her soft arse-cheeks, spitting on the tight hole and working my finger in to the first knuckle, then the second. She stayed silent as her sphincter gripped my digit, but was still pretty relaxed which was wild, as whenever I’ve put or tried to put my finger up a lassie’s erse or them mines, there’s always been a real tensing up. I told her what I was going to do, and I started pushing my cock into her arsehole. It took a long time to get it in, but it slowly went. I bit at her ear and her neck, spitting out mouthfuls of hair, while she was screaming, ‘Finish it! Finish it!’ like a boxing coach, and despite no being able to get a good fuck-motion going cause of the tightness, I was demented with lust and blew a load up her bum.
My crumbling cock slipped out and we lay side by side like train-wreck victims, before a thick veil of panic and abhorrence descended on us. I was immobilised by it; Joanne rose first. At this point all I’m thinking about is Fiona, then Bisto, who was probably no long off the Aberdeen train. I’m eaten up with fear and self-loathing, facing the repercussions of what I’ve just done. Joanne sat with her knees up to her chest for a bit, then pulled on her bra, pants and top. Then her tights went on and she was lacing up her Docs. In a daze, I was resolving I’d pack in uni, and never go back, thinking of skag, skag, skag; I needed it now more than ever. I started to recover my clathes and get dressed. Joanne barely looked at me, she just stood up and said, ‘Ah’m gaunny go,’ and she walked away without a glance back. And I sank even further into the mess of my own soul, when I realised that it wasn’t shame on her part; it dawned on me that she wanted nothing from me that she hadn’t already had.
FIONA …
I tried to get a grip.
FIONA …
I’d cut out my heart and tear it into chunks like a loaf of bread, and feed them to the ducks, just to be with her again.
KILLING MYSELF AS I WRITE THIS SHITE.
It was just sex. Fiona and I had never made any declarations, any arrangements as to what kind of life we’d have.
So why did I feel so fucking low?
Why did I feel like I’d done something terrible, wrecked something utterly precious, for nothing at all?
And haunted by Joanne’s harsh stare, her desolate, twisted mouth, I lurched down the hill to Leith and a death in the family.
You think you know somebody. Loyal Mark Renton, who stuck by his wee school girlfriend, that sulky Hazel hoor, who can crush a party vibe wi the downturn ay one petted lip. Then he bored every cunt stupid about how much he loved that Fiona ride. All those tiresome, non-sexist male pretensions, and it turns oot he’s a predatory grotbag like the rest ay us. The thing is, such a minor little contretemps is commonplace for most chappies, but he’ll agonise over it for years like the wimp he is. And not even one mention of me, the cunt! His sexual guru! He’d never have had the confidence tae nail anything if it hudnae been for hinging aboot wi me! That time with slutty Tina Haig, in the park, ah practically had tae take his cock ootay his troosers and physically push it up her fanny for him! Like cleaning a toilet bowl with a ginger bog-brush. Ah’m almost sad; almost, because the choo-choo’s pulling up at the platform.
Ah fight an impulse tae get up tae greet Massima, though ah can see her emerging from the train, stepping oantae the platform with such grace, looking aroond, catching my eye and waving a tight, concerned smile that signals something’s up. I hope the Catholic guilt hasnae kicked in tae the extent ah’m gaunny have tae work for ma hole. The seal’s been burst so the deed’s done. So let’s just fuckin well party and repent them aw at once; last ah heard the sin supermarket didnae have an express checkout for fewer items! Massima’s eyes are almost freakishly huge, her hair as black as ink, with big crescent brows to match. Ah seem tae go mair for bold features and left-field beauty now. Conventionally pretty blonde lassies like Marianne and Esther are like bland dolls, their faces purely defined by the cosmetics they fuss ower for hours. When they annoyingly take their make-up off before going to bed, it feels like fucking a ghost.
Massima appears through the swing doors wearing a short, dark blue gingham cloth dress, like a Ben Sherman ah had yonks ago; with her bare pins, it sets up enough horn to make any self-respecting hippo develop rhinoceros tendencies. — Simon, she greets me in that gargly, almost mechanistic burr that a lot ay Italian lassies have, but there’s something no quite right here. Her posture is stiff as she sits down, and there’s defo misgivings in those eyes. — I have been so frightened … she confesses, then says something in Italian, which ah dinnae get. She gleans from my expression that ah’m scoobied, so she reverts back tae her pidgin English. — I am … behind in my time.
Contretemps! Cosmic forces again!
— You mean late? Ah swallow hard. — Your period is late?
— Si … She looks into my eyes with her glassy lamps.
The key is not to crumble. Keep the heid. You’ve heard this one before, you’ll probably hear it again … you have legs, and there are trains. You will never be the sort who passively accepts cards that are unfairly dealt to him …