We get oaf at Central Station. Like maist ay the tourists offay oor boat, we’re heading left, straight for the red-light district. It’s wild watching the lassies in the windaes and every cunt openly dealing gear in the streets aroond the Newmarket. We go tae a bar and me n Sick Boy order lemonade, Charlene and Nicksy settling for a beer that comes in a wee gless. We’re gabbing away, especially me and Nicksy, who’s recountin loads ay tales aboot us in that auld squat at Shepherd’s Bush wi Matty. Charlene seems tae be distracted eftir a while and she heads off.
— She must be an agency hooker, off tae pit in a shift on her back at some hotel, Sick Boy says, but he’s lost interest and quickly departs on ‘a spying mission’ wi instructions tae meet us at Central Station in a couple ay hours. He’s probably arranged something wi Charlene, the sneaky cunt. They dinnae huv tae be aw cloak-n-dagger aboot it. As if we care.
Nicksy’s drinking heavily, those empty beers lining up like sodjirs, and slavering shite. He seems a bit freaked oot. He talks about that Marsha lassie again, then his ma and dad, and how he’s ey fightin wi them, but how much he really loves them. That boy is one ay the best cunts ye could hope tae meet. It was excellent ay um tae pit baith me and Sick Boy up, when he barely kens Sick Boy n aw. Ah’ll make it up tae him one day.
But ah get restless and decide to pad the hoof fae a bit and leave him with his peeve. So ah’m ootside wanderin aroond the cobbled streets, watchin the drunks watchin the lassies in the windaes, thinkin how mental this place is. Ah’m headin doon this canal and end up in this big square they call the Leidseplein. Then ah check the time and realise ah should be gettin back. This wasted-lookin gadgie, whaes accent ah cannae place, starts gabbin tae us in the street. He sells us some speed. Ah take a dab and it’s surprisingly good. In fact, it’s fuckin rocket fuel and ah feel less slumpy and start tae enjoy the skag mair. Amsterdam fuckin rules! One day ah’m gaunny live here. The boy tells us he’s a Serbian, then says that if ah go up this narrow street ay shops, it’ll be quicker tae get back tae Central Station.
Even though it’s late and dark, aw the shoaps ur still open. Britain is a fuckin graveyard compared tae Europe. Headin up the street, ah run intae Charlene, who’s comin oot a lassies’ boutique. First ah clock the Sealink bag she’s carrying, then that hair. — Hiya, ah goes, and she looks aw wild-eyed and jumpy. — Where’s Sick Boy?
— Fuck knows, I ain’t seen him. He’s your mate, she says, chewing and looking busily aroond. She might have hud mair speed.
— Sorry, eh, ah thought you were … eh …
— With him? Do us a favour! He might really fancy himself, but not everybody does!
It’s impossible tae convey just what sweet, sweet music these words are tae ma ears. — Shopping? ah ask her.
— Something like that.
We go for a coffee in a side-street cafe and she’s askin us aboot Nicksy, who ah realise ah’ve loast, n Sick Boy: whae kens what the fuck he’s up tae. Ah decide no tae tell her about his rendezvous plans and we chat for ages, then jump back oan a later train. Ah’m wrecked but buzzing on the speed, as the train hurtles through the darkness. Judging by what ah saw comin oot here, we arenae missing much, the Dutch countryside is flat and shite. Ah’ve a terrible urge tae run ma fingers through that mad hair ay Charlene’s. Lassies’ hair totally rules; ah fancy that ah might train as a hairdresser, just a lassies’ hairdresser mind. Sick Boy did that eftir leavin school, his first n last legit job. His boss jist aboot tolerated his fingers in the female apprentices, then the customers, but he drew a fuckin line at the till.
Charlene, sweepin a hand through that mop, says, — I’ve got a cabin ta myself. They didn’t put anybody in with me. Come back for a smoke?
— Okay.
— When I say smoke, I mean shag, obviously, she smiles tightly.
— Sound, ah say, likin this burd’s style, but realisin that’s another reason why ah take drugs. If ah wisnae oot ma face ah’d huv goat a pure beamer at such a remark. Now, ah’m right in that zone. Ah’m sortay wonderin if ah should pit ma airm roon her or kiss her or something. Ah dinnae bother, in case ah picked her up wrong, or she wis takin the pish, n ah keep spraffin.
We get back oantae the boat. It’s pretty quiet and thankfully we dinnae see Sick Boy or any cunt, as we get tae her cabin and she immediately slips oaf her jaykit. — C’mon then, she says, and she’s unbuttonin her blouse. Fuckin hell, she’s no kiddin! Ah git ootay ma gear, worryin that ah smell because ah huvnae washed much ower the last few days and my breath is probably minging. Ah’m naked and ah must look like a flick knife, cause ah’ve a dirty hard-on, which seems tae be takin aw the blood fae ma emaciated frame. Ah feel like it’s gaunny brek off and slither away, a parasite leavin the host it’s sucked dry, ma body crumbling like a pillar ay ash.
Charlene disrobes methodically, hanging up her smart jaykit and skirt. She removes her blouse but keeps her bra and pants on; they’re a brilliant lilac see-thru, and you can see the nipples on her small breasts and make oot the bush, even though it looks natural blonde. She has a very small frame and she steps ower tae me and shimmies past my cock like Jimmy Johnstone, and embraces us. — You’re really thin, she whispers, her airms round ma neck and her small, almost oriental eyes, looking up at us.
Ah realise that she must get the hair thing aw the time, so ah start feeling her erse, easin us back oantae the bed. Ah slip her panties off, exposin a silky golden bush, as she says, — Doncha wanna snog first?
My breath might be a big turn-off but fuck it, Charlene’s hair’s spread ower the manky pillay and we’re kissing and she doesnae seem tae mind it, so ah say those magic words that kind ay work, even if they excite me mair than any lassie, — I want tae eat your pussy …
— I really don’t think so, she says, tensing up.
— How no?
— We’re not lovers. It’s just a shag. C’mon, Mark, fuck me!
— Later, ah mumble, movin doon and oantae her, tongue across her stomach, intae her navel and oantae what is a very fine, thin bush. — Mark … she protests, but ah’m on her clit and feel it stiffen under ma tongue. Her hands ur pushing at ma heid, but then she’s exhaling n gaun, — Oh fuck … do what you fucking well like … and ah can feel her beginnin tae loosen up and then suddenly tense again, but this time in a barry wey, and now ah couldnae get ma heid away if ah tried, as she comes ower n ower again.
She eventually pushes us away, then gasps, — I’m on the pill … c’mon, give it to me …
— Nae worries, like, ah goes, n ah push inside her, we fuck for a bit and she comes again; she’s oan the circuit eftir they clitoral orgasms. It reminds us ay …
Fuck … how long does this go oan?
Ah realise that the drugs, which can sometimes make it difficult tae get it up, have made blawing ma muck impossible. Ah pull out and she’s oan top, then ah’m giein it tae her from behind, then she’s on top again, and it’s best cause ah’m lovin the spread ay that big hair, n ah feel ah rampant tickle rising through the numbness in me n ah finally shoot ma load. It actually hurts ma cock, but it’s such a fuckin relief.
We collapse in a sweaty heap oan that single bed in the metal box ay the room. It’s barry that we’re baith that thin. Imagine the likes ay say, Keezbo n Big Mel fi Gillsand’s or one ay the barrow girls tryin tae shack up here. Nae fuckin chance! Must be a vicious circle for the cunts: hard tae git yir hole, so git depressed, eat too much, git fatter, harder tae git yir hole, git mair depressed …