– Stop, please stop for a minute, she says nippy-like, and starts shifting her weight, readjusting, trying to find more space inside her and I’m back down here on Planet Earth, sending up this probe, which I use to detect signs of alien life inside her, this spacedyke, yes this fucking super spacedyke, like the alien life inside of me no no no that this fuckin space lesbian who’s fucked all over the universe but who has never been fucked like this before and she loves she . . .– Uugghhh . . .
I blurt out my fucking load into the condom up her arse. This cow’s erse grips my cock and as I pull free she still won’t surrender the condom. She pulls it out her own rectum. There’s little flecks of shit on the end of it. My knob’s as clean as a fuckin whistle though. Thank fuck, the dirty wee cloggie hing-oot.
I pay the hoor and tell her to fuck off and leave me alone. I fall into the bed and into a good sleep for about half an hour. When I wake up, I feel lonely and depressed and hit the minibar. After a couple of whiskies I go to knock up Bladesey but he’s out. Docile wee cunt. I get a notion to give Bunty a call, which I do from the cardphone outside in the street.
– Awright Coontay!
– Go away!
– Ya’ll miss me? I’ve been tellin Little Frank about yaw. E wants taw give your fanny a lickin, e does! I drop my voice and make it go breathless. – Ah do not . . . Then nasal again, – Yes yaw do!
– LEAVE ME ALONE! the hoor screams, then slams the phone down.
I head back into the hotel and upstairs to my room where I watch the Cartoon Channel and have a wee giggle to myself. I’m a wee bit disappointed that Bunty felt unable to take my advice and give me some sport. She’s probably feeling vulnerable with heman Bladesey off the scene. Ha! Anyway, it’s soon time to hit the pish, as I hear the man himself returning to his room next door.
– Awright Clifford, me old son? I smile, – Get any hooring done?
He smiles bashfully, – Eh, actually no . . . I went to the Rijksmuseum and saw Rembrandt’s The Nichtwacht . . . amazing picture.
– Any shagging in it?
– Eh no . . . it’s not a film it’s . . .
– Ah ken what it fuckin well is! Ah ken who fuckin Rembrandt is! I point to myself. Cheeky wee cunt thinks he’s fuckin smart. He knows fuckin nothing. The big zero.
We get out on the pish and I make the mistake of letting Bladesey bell Bunty. I was intrigued as to how my heat from across the street had affected her. Bad move. Even from the barstool looking at the back of Bladesey’s heid and his reddening neck I can tell that it’s a sair yin.
He’s shattered when he comes off the phone. The cunt’s shaking. – Bruce, he gasps, – I think actually I’m going to have to head back . . . Bunty’s upset, the caller was at it again. I should never have left her . . .
– No way! It’s yir fuckin hoaliday!
– She wants the number of the hotel. She thinks I’m in Scarborough. I had to sort of agree to go back . . .
– No fuckin way!
– I don’t know what to do . . . he puts his head in his hands.
I stiffly let my arm fall round his shoulder. – She’s makin your life a misery, eh mate.
– I seem to be able to do nothing right, he whines, – I’m either in her way if I’m there, or I’m neglecting her if I’m away . . . all Craig does is scowl and play that fucking techno music . . . what does she want from me Bruce? What does she want me to be like?
– Bladesey, listen. Ah’m yir mate, and mates back each other up. Ah’ll tell ye exactly what’s gaunny happen . . .
– I’ve got to go back . . . he starts.
I look into his large, shocked eyes. – You and I, I smile, – are going oot hooring. You are gaunny git that fuckin pole workin again, I point at his groin. – We are gaunny git you feeling hunkydory about one Brother Clifford Blades here. And when you swagger back intae that hoose in Corstorphine, the first thing you dae is git a hud ay her and gie her, I grin, protruding my middle finger, – the stinky pinky here. And ah’ll tell ye mate, she’ll be that fuckin well juiced up that the lips ay her fanny’ll part for you like the Red Sea did for Moses. You’ll be fightin her oaf wi a fuckin stick soon, I say, then I point at his groin again, – That fuckin stick.
– You really think that’s going to do me any good?
– Same fuckin rules mate, I nod knowingly, – same fuckin rules. I turn to the bartender, – Same again my friend.
I’ll tolerate no more talk from that sad loser about going home.
Still Carole
When I make up my eyes, I always feel a stirring through my body. I think it’s because it’s true what they say about the eyes being the gateway to the soul. And my soul is a very sexual one. You cannot deny your nature. Bruce taught me that. At times like this I am moved to touch myself . . . I love the feel of this silk blouse against my skin.
I love
My head swoons. It’s as if Bruce were here with me.
Soon.
It’s time to go out. I’m just going out Mum.
Tell Stacey I won’t be late.
Bye.
The bar is large, ideal for people-watching. There are lots of little nooks and crannies to hide in.
Sitting here, alone here, I’m remembering when I first met Bruce’s parents. They were good people, from a mining village in Midlothian. This was before they were corrupted by that Scargill, who split up families and turned everyone against each other. Bruce doesn’t bear any grudges though, even though they were cruel to him and rejected him, their own son. That’s what these people want though: to split up the family. It’s not important to them but the way I see it, if you haven’t got family then you haven’t got anything. Bruce does too. It’s so unfortunate that Stacey’s said those horrible things, but we don’t blame our little girl, all children go through a phase when they tell silly wee lies. In Stacey’s case I think it’s been the wrong crowd she’s been hanging around with at that school.
Anyway, I must say that I look a treat and I know by the way that the guy behind the bar’s staring at me that he feels the same way too. Well, you can look but don’t touch my friend! I’ve got on my heels, that silk blouse and my pleated skirt. I catch myself in the mirror. Not bad Carole. Not bad.
I know what they’re thinking; a woman drinking on her own. They think I’m a prostitute or that I’m easy. All I’m doing is confronting them with their own desire. That’s what they cannot take.
They want me.
All those men, they all want Carole Robertson.
But there is only one man who can have me, although if he wants me to give myself to another man, I will, but only for him. He won’t want me to give myself to any man in this bar.
I have made my point lads, and now I depart, to see my daughter. I am a good mother and a good wife.
All eyes are on me as I leave the bar. I have made my point.
Outside my vision is blurred. All the shop signs and advertising seem as if they’re written in a foreign language. I don’t feel safe here. I must go to where I feel safe.
The Nightwatch
Morning has broken; not so much with a bang as with a whimper as Bladesey knocks timidly on my door and asks me if I want to come down for breakfast, Actually.
– Aye, but I’ll tell ye one thing Bladesey, ah’m no gaun doon there fir that continental breakfast shite. Ham and cheese and rolls? Fuck yon. There’s a British café in the Haarlemerweg. Let’s go.