Monday, 25 June 2012


Pic on the left is a street shot, taken outside the local court in one of the areas where smokers tend to congregate. It sparked off an idea, and the idea is below. It's deliberately urban and grunge and the main character is pretty dysfunctional and has poor impulse control. Especially around sex.

There was a condom, incidentally, just like the story describes. It's just out of this shot near the toe of the topmost shoe.

See what you think. Do you like it? Do you want more?


They won’t let you smoke on the steps of the courthouse. You have to go to the back of the building, where there’s a little grass area. If you want to smoke a last spliff before your case so you don’t get caught with weed on you, you go a bit further, down an alley next to where the prison vans come and go.

So that’s where I go. Rest my butt on a low red-brick wall, kick off my ballet pumps and spark up.
I get about a minute with my own dark thoughts before a guy turns up. I know instantly what the score is. He’s wearing a suit and tie, which means he’s a defendant.

“Which court are you in?” I make it sound like I’m in the same position. Because I am.

“Court three.” He swallows, looks uncomfortable. “Pleading not guilty, though.” Pulls a pack of ciggies out of his pocket, offers one to me.

“I’ll have one for later, but you can try this if you want.” I hold out the spliff. “It’s resin, so it doesn’t smell as much.” He takes a drag, passes it back.

“They got the wrong guy, then, like they always do?” But I’m smiling, mocking just a little but open to being told I’m wrong.

“Yeah. Came out of a club, there was this big ugly guy laying into some dude half his size because he’d looked at the guy’s girlfriend. I thought it was out of order, because the club bouncers were just looking the other way. So I just tried to stop him, got knocked out and then the cops arrested me instead of him.”

Well, what do I know? Could have happened that way.

“Yeah, I’m pleading not guilty too. But I think they got too much evidence.”

Well, I did trash my boyfriend’s car. Smashed every window, slit every tyre, and it wasn’t enough and it felt good so I did the cars parked next to it as well. Taking speed probably didn’t help.

He deserved it, though. I went to his place and he was there fucking this bitch who’d been hanging around with his mates. And his excuse was “She likes anal and you don’t.”

That last bit I didn’t mention, though, talking with him.

He looks me up and down. Hoop earrings, red jacket, over a tight white T-shirt top, black power skirt – the kind that’s a wide elastic bandage, you can wear it with the top at the waist to the hem is just above the knee, like I will in court, or with the top just under the bust so the hem is miniskirt length like I’m doing now.

“Well, you look cute,” he says. “And if you were my girlfriend I wouldn’t be cheating on you.” That’s his idea of a compliment, I guess, because he doesn’t know me.

“Yeah, well. I doubt you’ll get the chance to cheat on me. I reckon if they find me guilty this time they’ll give me custodial.”

That makes him pay attention.

“I’ve got a history.” That’s all the explanation I’m going to give.

“Does that scare you?”

“Only the bit about not getting any sex.”

“What about all those lesbian prison movies?”

“Yeah, well. If that’s all can get, that’s what I’ll have to do.”

He’s got a stump on thinking about it. I guess he’s got a mental image of watching me with another woman. Or maybe it’s just me telling it like it is.

But then I think about it. I get off the wall, plant my ass against it, legs braced wide.

“If that’s all I’ll be able to get, I should have a memory to keep me warm.”

So right then, right there, bend over, reach out, unzip him and flick his cock out of that nice-looking suit.

See, that’s me not doing well on impulse control.

It’s not exactly a strength of mine.

I’m looking into his eyes and he says “You can’t do that here!”

“Why fucking not? What are they going to do, send us to jail?”

He laughs. And then he moans, because I’ve got one hand round his balls and I’m squeezing them gently, with my forefinger pushing the sweet spot just behind the balls where the pumped-up vein is a hard bulge. Plus, I’m brilliant at deepthroating. You don’t have to take my word for it, there’s a dozen guys will back me up on that. And that’s not counting the ones whose names I can’t remember and the ones I don’t know cos I was blindfolded at the time…

Taste: insipid and clean, like he’s recently showered. No nice man-smells. But he’s a handy and mouthy not-too-small not-too-big size, fits my throat nice and slippery.

Only problem is he’s going to spurt soon.

Condom in my clutch bag. I may not be good at impulse control but I do remember the condom thing. Tiny G-string that moves aside like it’s just a single thread of cotton. I’m glad I made than choice this morning, even though I only made it to avoid a panty-line with this skirt.
And then my skirt’s round my hips, my legs are wrapped around his hips, I’ve got my back up against the wall and most of my weight is bearing down on his cock. Which drives it deep.

“Don’t you dare,” I say breathlessly, “come quickly and leave me hanging on.” Because I know what’s in his mind. All the worry about being in court, and then the sudden shock of a random blowjob and fuck from a complete stranger. I’m not just fucking him, I’m fucking with his head and that’s going to be on a hair trigger.

I’m wrapped around this guy and looking right into his eyes. Grey eyes. Big pupils. I see that’s flickering behind those eyes, see into his brain, see the orgasm switch snap closed in a shower of sparks, right inside there. Feel the jacked-up pumping of his veins, pressed right against the inside of me. Feel the smack of his pelvic bone against mine. Feel him as he comes and it’s almost too early for me but then I’m with him, mouthing Gah! Gah! Gah! and then the blast comes up from clit and slit to spine and brain, and I’m already on a one-way trip to shameless raging fucking ecstasy.

When I’m finally able to see straight, think straight, and straighten my legs, he lets me down and I have to cling onto the ground because my legs won’t support my weight.

He pulls off the condom, flicks it into a corner. Takes the packet of cigarettes out of his pocket again and this time I accept his offer.

When I look round I hear applause. Couple of guys there in hoodies and tracksuit bottoms. I don’t know if they’re defendants, or just hanging out and maybe waiting for a friend.

I’d smile and curtsey but I’d probably fall over.

“I gotta go. My brief will be waiting for me.”

“Yeah.” Cough. Spit. That’s the thing about deepthroating. It encourages your throat to produce a wad of mucous. Then by the time I was coming, with the moans and all, I was almost gargling it.

Once my leg muscles have stopped trembling, I stand up, adjust my G-string, pull the skirt down to above-the-knee respectability. It’s dirty from the wall. Can’t be helped.

I finish the ciggie and go off to meet my destiny. The guys who were watching me snigger, because I still can’t walk straight.

It’s only later I realise I forgot my shoes and I’ve lost an earring.

Here’s the strangeness. I get a not guilty. Maybe it’s the fact I look like shit, only one earring, and sound dippy and ADHD. Maybe it’s because the figure on the CCTV, wearing camo and a balaclava, smacking the cars with a hammer, doesn’t look or move like me. The girl I see on the video was wired on speed. Even I have to look twice, and I remember doing that stuff.

And the guy I fucked – I ask around when I leave, because frankly I’m so weirded out I could go another quick and hard round with him. But he got a guilty and a custodial.

I don’t get to play with the lesbians and he gets to be some tough dude’s bitch.

Makes me think. I have all the what ifs going round in my head. What if the sex transferred the guilt from me to him, the innocence from him to me? What if I stole his innocence from him? Or contaminated him with my fucked-up head-shit?

His name’s on the court hearing list. I write it down. If I can keep the paper for more than a day or two I might mail him. Might even visit him in jail. I’ll light a candle for him, anyway.

In the meantime, I’m single and very fucking available. I adjust the power-skirt up to miniskirt length and I’m going shoeless in search of a victory lay.

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